Blomkvist was entertaining company, as always, but Salander had an uneasy feeling that he was looking at her with an especially odd expression when she paid back the loan with a cheque for 120,000 kronor.
They took a walk to Trovill and back (which Salander considered a waste of time), had Christmas dinner at the inn, and went back to the cabin where they lit a fire in the woodstove, put on an Elvis CD, and devoted themselves to some plain old sex. When Salander from time to time came up for air, she tried to analyse her feelings.
She had no problem with Blomkvist as a lover. There was obviously a physical attraction. And he never tried to tutor her.
Her problem was that she could not interpret her own feelings for him. Not since before reaching puberty had she lowered her guard to let another person get so close as she had with him. To be quite honest, he had a trying ability to penetrate her defences and to get her to talk about personal matters and private feelings. Even though she had enough sense to ignore most of his questions, she talked about herself in a way that she would never, even under threat of death, have imagined doing with any other person. It frightened her and made her feel naked and vulnerable to his will.
At the same time—when she looked down at his slumbering form and listened to him snoring—she felt that she had never before in her life had such a trust in another human being. She knew with absolute certainty that Mikael would never use what he knew about her to hurt her. It was not in his nature.
The only thing they never discussed was their relationship to each other. She did not dare, and Blomkvist never broached the subject.
At some point on the morning of the second day she came to a terrifying realisation. She had no idea how it had happened or how she was supposed to cope with it. She was in love for the first time in her life.
That he was almost twice her age did not bother her. Nor did the fact that at the moment he was one of the most newsworthy people in Sweden, and his picture was even on the cover of
Newsweek
—that was all just soap opera. But Blomkvist was no erotic fantasy or daydream. It would have to come to an end. It could not possibly work out. What did he need her for? Maybe she was just a way to pass the time while he waited for someone whose life was not a fucking rat hole.
What she had realised was that love was that moment when your heart was about to burst.
When Blomkvist woke up late that morning, she had made coffee and been out to buy breakfast rolls. He joined her at the table and noticed at once that something in her attitude had changed—she was a bit more reserved. When he asked her if anything was wrong, she gave him a neutral, uncomprehending look.
On the first day between Christmas and New Year’s, Blomkvist took the train up to Hedestad. He was wearing his warmest clothes and his proper winter shoes when Frode met him at the station and quietly congratulated him on the media success. It was the first time since August that he had visited Hedestad, and it was almost exactly one year ago since he had visited it for the first time. They chatted politely, but there was also a great deal that had gone unsaid between them, and Blomkvist felt uncomfortable.
Everything had been prepared, and the business with Frode took only a few minutes. Frode offered to deposit the money in a convenient foreign bank account, but Blomkvist insisted that it should be paid like a normal, legitimate fee to his company.
“I can’t afford any other type of payment,” he said curtly when Frode persisted.
The purpose of his visit was not solely financial. Blomkvist had left clothes, books, and a number of his own things in the cottage when he and Salander had abandoned Hedeby in great haste.
Vanger was still frail after his illness, but he was at home. He was being looked after by a private nurse, who refused to allow him to take long walks, or walk up stairs, or discuss anything that might upset him. During the holidays he had also come down with a slight cold and was ordered to bed.
“Besides which, she’s expensive,” Vanger complained.
Blomkvist knew that the old man could afford any such expense—considering how many kronor he had written off his taxes all his life. Vanger gave him a sullen look until he started laughing.
“What the hell, you were worth every krona. I knew you would be.”
“To tell you the truth, I never thought I’d solve it.”
“I have no intention of thanking you,” Vanger said.
“I didn’t expect you would. I’m just here to tell you that I consider the job done.”
Vanger curled his lips. “You haven’t finished the job,” he said.
“I know that.”
“You haven’t written the Vanger family chronicle, which was agreed.”
“I know that. I’m not going to write it. In fact, I can’t write it. I can’t write about the Vanger family and leave out the most central event of the past decades. How could I write a chapter about Martin’s period as CEO and pretend that I don’t know what’s in his basement? I also can’t write the story without destroying Harriet’s life all over again.”
“I understand your dilemma, and I’m grateful for the decision that you’ve made.”
“Congratulations. You’ve managed to corrupt me. I’m going to destroy all my notes and the tape recordings I’ve made of our conversations.”
“I don’t think that you’ve been corrupted,” Vanger said.
“That’s what it feels like. And I think that’s what it is.”
“You had to choose between your role as a journalist and your role as a human being. I could never have bought your silence. And I’m quite certain that you would have exposed us if Harriet had turned out in some way to have been implicated, or if you thought I was a cretin.”
Blomkvist did not reply.
“We’ve told Cecilia the whole story. Frode and I will soon be gone, and Harriet is going to need support from someone in the family. Cecilia will play an active role on the board. She and Harriet will be in charge of the firm from now on.”
“How did she take it?”
“She was very shaken. She went abroad for a while. I was even afraid she wouldn’t come back.”
“But she did.”
“Martin was one of the few people in our family that Cecilia always got along with. It was very hard for her to find out the truth about him. She also knows now what you did for the family.”
Blomkvist shrugged.
“So thank you, Mikael,” Vanger said.
“Besides, I couldn’t write the story because I’ve had it up to here with the Vanger family. But tell me, how does it feel to be CEO again?”
“It’s only temporary, but…I wish I were younger. I’m only working three hours a day. All the meetings are held in this room, and Dirch has stepped in again as my enforcer if anyone acts up.”
“The junior executives must be quaking in their boots. It took me a while to realise that Dirch wasn’t just an old sweetie of a financial adviser but also someone who solves problems for you.”
“Exactly. But all decisions are made with Harriet, and she’s the one who’s doing the legwork in the office.”
“How are things going for her?”
“She inherited both her brother’s and her mother’s shares. She controls about 33 percent of the corporation.”
“Is that enough?”
“I don’t know. Birger is trying to trip her up. Alexander has seen that he has a chance to make an impact and has allied himself with Birger. My brother Harald has cancer and won’t live much longer. He was the only remaining person with large shareholdings of 7 percent, which his children will inherit. Cecilia and Anita will be on Harriet’s side.”
“Then together you’ll control, what, 45 percent.”
“That kind of voting cartel has never existed within the family before. Plenty of shareholders with one and two percent will vote against us. Harriet is going to succeed me as CEO in February.”
“That won’t make her happy.”
“No, but it’s necessary. We have to take in some new partners and new blood. We also have the chance to collaborate with her company in Australia. There are possibilities.”
“Where’s Harriet today?”
“You’re out of luck. She’s in London. But she would very much like to see you.”
“I’ll see her at our board meeting in January if she’s going to take your place.”
“I know.”
“I think that she realises that I will never discuss what happened in the sixties with anyone except for Erika Berger, and I don’t see why Erika needs to know.”
“She does. You’re a person with morals, Mikael.”
“But also tell her that everything she does from now on could end up in the magazine. The Vanger Corporation won’t have a free pass from scrutiny.”
“I’ll warn her.”
Blomkvist left Vanger when he started to doze off. He packed his belongings into two suitcases. As he closed the door to the cottage for the last time, he paused and then went over to Cecilia’s house and knocked. She was not home. He took out his pocket calendar, tore out a page, and wrote:
I wish you all the best. Try to forgive me. Mikael.
He put the note in her letter box. An electric Christmas candle shone in the kitchen window of Martin Vanger’s empty house.
He took the last train back to Stockholm.
During the holidays Salander tuned out the rest of the world. She did not answer her telephone and she did not turn on her computer. She spent two days washing laundry, scrubbing, and cleaning up her apartment. Year-old pizza boxes and newspapers were bundled up and carried downstairs. She dragged out a total of six black rubbish bags and twenty paper bags full of newspapers. She felt as if she had decided to start a new life. She thought about buying a new apartment—when she found something suitable—but for now her old place would be more dazzlingly clean than she could ever remember.
Then she sat as if paralysed, thinking. She had never in her life felt such a longing. She wanted Mikael Blomkvist to ring the doorbell and…what then? Lift her off the ground, hold her in his arms? Passionately take her into the bedroom and tear off her clothes? No, she really just wanted his company. She wanted to hear him say that he liked her for who she was. That she was someone special in his world and in his life. She wanted him to give her some gesture of love, not just of friendship and companionship.
I’m flipping out,
she thought.
She had no faith in herself. Blomkvist lived in a world populated by people with respectable jobs, people with orderly lives and lots of grown-up points. His friends did things, went on TV, and shaped the headlines.
What do you need me for?
Salander’s greatest fear, which was so huge and so black that it was of phobic proportions, was that people would laugh at her feelings. And all of a sudden all her carefully constructed self-confidence seemed to crumble.
That’s when she made up her mind. It took her several hours to mobilise the necessary courage, but she had to see him and tell him how she felt.
Anything else would be unbearable.
She needed some excuse to knock on his door. She had not given him any Christmas present, but she knew what she was going to buy. In a junk shop she had seen a number of metal advertising signs from the fifties, with embossed images. One of the signs showed Elvis Presley with a guitar on his hip and a cartoon balloon with the words
HEARTBREAK HOTEL
. She had no sense for interior design, but even she could tell that the sign would be perfect for the cabin in Sandhamn. It cost 780 kronor, and on principle she haggled and got the price knocked down to 700. She had it wrapped, put it under her arm, and headed over to his place on Bellmansgatan.
At Hornsgatan she happened to glance towards Kaffebar and saw Blomkvist coming out with Berger in tow. He said something, and she laughed, putting her arm around his waist and kissing his cheek. They turned down Brännkyrkagatan in the direction of Bellmansgatan. Their body language left no room for misinterpretations—it was obvious what they had in mind.
The pain was so immediate and so fierce that Lisbeth stopped in mid-stride, incapable of movement. Part of her wanted to rush after them. She wanted to take the metal sign and use the sharp edge to cleave Berger’s head in two. She did nothing as thoughts swirled through her mind.
Analysis of consequences
. Finally she calmed down.
“What a pathetic fool you are, Salander,” she said out loud.
She turned on her heel and went home to her newly spotless apartment. As she passed Zinkensdamm, it started to snow. She tossed Elvis into a dumpster.
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stieg Larsson was the editor in chief of the antiracist magazine
Expo,
and for twenty years the graphics editor at a Swedish news agency. A leading expert on antidemocratic, right-wing extremist and Nazi organizations, he died in 2004.
THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK
PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF
Translation copyright © 2008 by Reg Keeland
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Originally published in Sweden as
Män Som Hatar Kvinnor
by Norstedts, Stockholm, in 2005. Published with agreement of Norstedts Agency. Copyright © 2005 by Norstedts Agency. This translation originally published in Great Britain by MacLehose Press, an imprint of Quercus, London. Published by arrangement with Quercus Publishing PLC (UK).
Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Larsson, Stieg, 1954–2004.
[Män som hatar kvinnor. English]
The Girl with the dragon tattoo / by Stieg Larsson; translated from the Swedish by Reg Keeland.
—1st American ed.
p. cm.
Originally published: Stockholm: Norstedt, 2005.
e
ISBN
: 978-0-307-27211-9
I. Title.
PT
9876.22.
A
6933
M
36 2008
839.73'8—dc22 2008017771