The Ice Princess (24 page)

Trying on all those clothes along with the emotional stress had made her sweat, and with a deep sigh she washed under her arms again. Her make-up took almost twenty minutes to perfect. By the time she was ready, she realized all the primping had taken a bit too long and that she ought to have started cooking long ago. She quickly tidied up the bedroom. It would have taken far too much time to hang up all the clothes, so she simply picked up the whole pile, dumped it on the floor of the wardrobe and shut the door. Just in case, she made the bed and looked round the room to make sure that no unused knickers lay about the floor. A pair of dirty everyday knickers from Sloggi could dampen any man’s desire.

Out of breath she rushed down to the kitchen. All the stress made her feel utterly at a loss. She didn’t have any idea where to start.

Erica forced herself to stand still and take a deep breath. There were two recipes lying on the table in front of her, and she tried to plan the time needed for each of them. She was no master chef, but a fairly decent cook, and she had found the recipes after digging through back issues of
Elle Gourmet
. The appetizer would be potato pancakes with crème fraiche, lumpfish caviar and finely chopped red onions. For the entree she had planned fillet of pork baked in puff pastry with a port wine sauce and mashed potatoes, and for dessert Gino with vanilla ice cream. Thankfully she’d already prepared it that afternoon, so she could cross that off her list. She decided to start by putting the potatoes on to boil. Then she would grate raw potatoes for the appetizer.

She concentrated on her work for an hour and a half and jumped when the doorbell rang. The time had gone a little too fast, and she hoped that Patrik wasn’t roaring hungry since the food would take a while before it was ready.

Erica was halfway to the door when she noticed that she still had her apron on. The bell rang again as she struggled to undo the granny knot she had tied at her back. She finally got it undone, pulled the apron over her head, and tossed it on a chair in the hall. She ran her hand over her hair, reminded herself to hold in her stomach, and took a deep breath before she opened the door with a smile.

‘Hi, Patrik. Welcome! Come in.’

They hugged briefly and Patrik handed her a bottle of wine wrapped in aluminium foil.

‘Oh, thank you, how nice!’

‘Yes, they recommended this one at the State Liquor Store. Chilean wine. Robust and round with a trace of red berries and a hint of chocolate, supposedly. I’m no wine connoisseur, but they usually know what they’re talking about.’

‘I’m sure it’s excellent.’ Erica gave a warm laugh and put down the bottle on the old hall bureau for a moment so she could help Patrik off with his jacket.

‘Come in. I hope you’re not starving. As usual, my planning was much too optimistic, so it’ll be a while before dinner is ready.’

‘No problem, I’m fine.’

Patrik followed Erica into the kitchen with the wine.

‘Can I help with anything?’

‘Yes, you can take a corkscrew from the top drawer and open a bottle of wine for us. Perhaps we could start by tasting the wine you brought?’

He obeyed willingly. Erica set two large wine glasses for them on the worktop and then began stirring pots and checking the progress of what was in the oven. The fillet of pork had a good way to go, and when she poked the potatoes they were still only half cooked. Patrik handed her one of the wine glasses, now full of deep-red wine. She swirled the glass lightly to release the wine’s aroma, stuck her nose deep into the glass and then inhaled with her mouth closed. The warm oak fragrance of the wine was sucked in through her nostrils and seemed to propagate all the way down to her toes. Delightful. She tasted it cautiously, letting the wine roll round as she sucked in a little air through her mouth. The taste was just as pleasant as the aroma, and she could tell that Patrik had spent a significant sum on this bottle.

Patrik gave her an expectant look.

‘Fantastic!’

‘Yes, I realized last time that you knew about these things. Unfortunately I couldn’t tell the difference between a wine in a box for fifty kronor and a wine that cost thousands.’

‘Sure you could. But it’s all a matter of habit as well. And you have to take the time to really taste a wine instead of guzzling it down.’

Shamefaced, Patrik looked at the glass of wine he had in his hand. A third of it was already gone. He carefully tried to imitate Erica’s method of tasting the wine when she turned her back to check something on the stove. It did seem to taste like a whole new wine. He let a sip of wine roll round in his mouth the same way he had seen Erica do it, and suddenly distinctly different tastes appeared. He even thought he could sense a faint hint of chocolate, dark chocolate, and a rather strong taste of red berries, red grapes perhaps, mixed with a little strawberry. Incredible.

‘How’s it going with the investigation?’ Erica made an effort to ask the question casually, but she waited anxiously for the reply.

‘I think we’re back at square one, so to speak. Anders has an alibi for the time of the murder, and we don’t have a lot else to go on right now. Unfortunately we may have made a classic mistake. We allowed ourselves to feel too certain that we had the right person and stopped investigating other possibilities. Although I have to agree with the superintendent that Anders is perfect in the role of Alex’s killer. A drunk who for some inexplicable reason is having a sexual relationship with a woman who, according to all the rules, should be far, far out of reach of a wino like Anders. A crime of jealousy with the inevitable outcome, when his improbable luck finally runs out. His fingerprints are all over the body and in the bathroom. We even found his footprint in the pool of blood on the floor.’

‘But isn’t that proof enough?’

Patrik swirled his wine and looked thoughtfully down into the red eddies that formed in the glass.

‘If he hadn’t had an alibi it might have been enough. But now he does have one for what we think is the probable time of the murder. And as I said before, it doesn’t prove anything except that he was in the bathroom
after
the murder. A small but important difference if we want an indictment that will hold up.’

The aroma spreading through the kitchen was wonderful. Erica took the potato pancakes she had sautéed a while ago out of the fridge and put them in the oven to warm up. She set out two appetizer plates, opened the refrigerator again and took out a container of crème fraiche and a jar of lumpfish caviar. The onions were chopped and ready in a bowl on the worktop. She was intensely aware of how close Patrik was standing.

‘So, Erica, have you heard anything more about the house?’

‘Yes, unfortunately. The estate agent rang yesterday and proposed that we show the house during the Easter holiday. He said that Anna and Lucas apparently thought that was a brilliant idea.’

‘It’s still a couple of months until Easter. A lot can happen before that.’

‘Yes, I can always hope that Lucas has a heart attack or something. No, pardon me, I didn’t say that. It’s just that it makes me so mad!’ She closed the oven door a bit too hard.

‘Oi, be kind to the appliances.’

‘I’m probably just going to have to get used to the fact and start planning what to do with all the money I make from the sale. Although I have to admit, I always thought I’d feel happier if I became a millionaire.’

‘You don’t have to worry about becoming a millionaire. With the taxes in this country, you’ll probably have to spend the majority of your profit on financing terrible schools and ever worse health care. Not to mention the incredibly, fantastically, totally underpaid police force. We’ll probably eat into a good share of your fortune, you’ll see.’

She couldn’t help laughing. ‘Well, that would be wonderful. Then I won’t have to worry about whether to buy a mink or a blue fox coat. Patrik, believe it or not, the appetizer is ready now.’

She took a plate in each hand and led Patrik into the dining room. She had pondered whether they should sit in the kitchen or in the dining room, and she finally decided on the dining room with its lovely wooden drop-leaf table, which looked even lovelier by candlelight. And she hadn’t skimped on the candles. Nothing was more flattering to a woman’s appearance than candles, she’d read somewhere.

The table was set with silverware and linen serviettes, as well as Rörstrand plates for the entree. It was her mother’s finest, the white Rörstrand china with the blue trim. She remembered how careful her mother had always been with those plates. They were only taken out on very special occasions. Which did not include the children’s birthdays or anything else that had to do with them, Erica thought bitterly. The ordinary china at the kitchen table was good enough for them. But when the pastor and his wife, or the vicar, or the deacon came to dinner, then there was no end to all the fuss. Erica forced herself back to the present and set the appetizer plates across from each other on the table.

‘It looks delicious.’ Patrik sliced off a piece of potato pancake, added a healthy dollop of onions, crème fraiche and caviar on his fork, and managed to lift it halfway to his mouth before he noticed that Erica was sitting there with her wine glass raised along with one eyebrow. Shamefaced, he put down the fork and switched to his wine glass.

‘
Skål
and welcome.’

‘Skål.’

Erica smiled at his
faux pas
. It was refreshing in comparison with the men she’d dated in Stockholm, who were all so well brought up and knowledgeable about etiquette that they could have been clones. Compared to them Patrik felt like the real deal, and as far as she was concerned he could eat with his fingers if he wanted to; it wouldn’t bother her. Besides, he looked terribly cute when he blushed.

‘I had an unexpected visitor today.’

‘Oh? Who was that?’

‘Julia.’

Patrik gave Erica a surprised look. She was pleased to see that he seemed to have a hard time tearing himself away from the food.

‘I had no idea you knew each other,’ he said.

‘We don’t, really. Alex’s funeral was actually the first time we met. But this morning she was standing at my door.’

‘What did she want?’

Patrik scraped his plate clean so eagerly that it looked like he was trying to scrape the colour off the porcelain.

‘She asked me to show her pictures from when Alex and I were kids. The family apparently don’t have many photographs, according to Julia, and she took a chance that I might have more. Which I do. Then she asked me a lot of questions about when we were kids and things like that. The people I’ve talked to said that the sisters weren’t very close, which is not so odd considering the age difference, and now she wants to find out more about Alex. Get to know her. Anyway, that’s the impression I got. Have you met Julia, by the way?’

‘No, I haven’t yet. But from what I heard they aren’t, or weren’t, very similar,’ said Patrik.

‘No, God no. They’re more like complete opposites, at least in appearance. They seem to be both introverts, even though Julia has a sullenness that I don’t think Alex had. Alex seemed more, how should I put it…indifferent, based on what I heard from the people I talked to. If anything, Julia seems angry. Or maybe even furious. I get the impression that there’s rage bubbling and fizzing just below the surface. Rather volcanic. A dormant volcano. Does that sound stupid?’

‘No, I don’t think so. I imagine that as an author you have to have a feeling for people. A knowledge of human nature.’

‘Oh, don’t call me an author. I don’t think I’ve earned that title yet.’

‘Four books published and you don’t consider yourself an author?’

Patrik looked downright uncomprehending and Erica tried to explain what she meant.

‘Well, four biographies, working on the fifth. I don’t mean to denigrate it, but for me an author is someone who writes something from her own heart and her own brain, and doesn’t just describe someone else’s life. The day I write something that comes from me, then I can call myself an author.’

She was suddenly struck by the fact that this wasn’t the whole truth. Looked at superficially, according to that definition there was no difference between the biographies she’d written about historical personalities and the book that she was writing about Alex. It was also about another person’s life. And yet somehow it
was
different. First, Alex’s life had run at a tangent to her own in a quite obvious way, and second, she could express some of her own views in this book. Within the framework of actual events she could even steer the book’s soul. But she couldn’t explain that to Patrik. Nobody could know that she was writing a book about Alex.

‘So Julia came here and asked a bunch of questions about Alex. Did you have a chance to ask her about Nelly Lorentz?’

Erica waged an intense battle with herself and finally decided that she couldn’t in good conscience withhold this information from Patrik. Maybe he’d be able to draw conclusions from it that she couldn’t. It was the one small but vital piece of the puzzle she had chosen not to reveal when she went to dinner at his place. But since she hadn’t got much further with it, she saw no reason to keep quiet any longer. But first she had to serve the entree.

She bent over to take his plate, making sure to lean forward a bit more than usual. She intended to make the most of the trump cards she had. Judging by Patrik’s face she had just shown herself to be holding three aces. So far her Wonderbra had proved to be worth the 500 kronor she had invested. Even though it had left a sizeable dent in her pocketbook.

‘Let me get that.’ Patrik took the plates from her and followed her into the kitchen. She drained the water from the potatoes and put him to work mashing them up. She reheated the gravy one last time and tasted it. A splash of port and a generous dollop of butter and it was ready to be served. No light cream in this dish! Then all that was left was to take the baked pork fillet out of the oven and slice it. It looked perfect. Light pink in the middle, but without the red juice that signalled the meat was underdone. For the vegetable dish she had selected steamed sugar peas, which she put in the same Rörstrand bowl with the mashed potatoes. They both helped carry in the food. She let Patrik serve himself before she dropped the bomb.