background material for her books, that for some reason people talked more easily with a coffee cup in their hand.
‘From what I understood from Henri, Alex’s parents asked you to write a commemorative article about her life.’
‘Yes. I’ve only seen Alex on brief occasions in the last twenty-five years, so I need to find out more about what she was like as a person before I can start writing.’
‘Are you a journalist?’
‘No, I write biographies. I’m only doing this because Birgit and Karl-Erik asked me. And besides, I was the first one to find her, well, almost the first. And in some strange way I feel as though I need to do this to create another picture of Alex for myself, a living picture. Does that sound odd?’
‘No, not at all. I think it’s fabulous that you’re taking so much trouble on behalf of Alex’s parents-and Alex.’
Francine leaned across the table and placed a well-manicured hand over Erica’s.
Erica felt a warm blush spread across her cheeks and tried not to think of the draft of the book she’d been working on for large parts of the previous day.
Francine went on, ‘Henri also asked me to answer your questions with the utmost candour.’
She spoke excellent Swedish. She rolled her R’s softly, and Erica noticed that she used the French Henri rather than Henrik.
‘You and Alex met in Paris?’
‘Yes, we studied art history together. We ran into each other the very first day. She looked lost and I felt lost. The rest is history, as they say.’
‘How long have you known each other?’
‘Let’s see, Henri and Alex celebrated their fifteenth anniversary last fall so it would be…seventeen years. For fifteen of those years we’ve run this gallery together.’
She fell silent and to Erica’s astonishment lit a cigarette. For some reason she hadn’t pictured Francine as a smoker. The Frenchwoman’s hand shook a little as she lit the cigarette, and then she took a deep drag without taking her eyes off Erica.
‘Didn’t you wonder where she was?’ Erica asked. ‘She must have been lying there a week before we found her.’
It occurred to Erica that she hadn’t thought to ask Henrik the same question.
‘I know it sounds strange, but no, I didn’t. Alex…’ she hesitated. ‘Alex always did pretty much as she liked. It could be incredibly frustrating, but I suppose I got used to it over the years. This wasn’t the first time she was gone for a while. She usually popped up later as if nothing had happened. Besides, she did more than her share when she took care of the gallery all alone when I was on maternity leave. You know, in some way I still think the same thing is going to happen. That she’s going to come walking in the door. But this time I know she won’t.’ A tear threatened to spill from her eye.
‘No, she won’t.’ Erica looked down into her coffee cup to allow Francine to dry her eyes discreetly. ‘How did Henrik react whenever Alex simply vanished?’
‘You’ve met him. Alex could do no wrong in his eyes. Henri has spent the past fifteen years worshipping her. Poor Henri.’
‘Why poor Henri?’
‘Alex didn’t love him. Sooner or later he would have been forced to realize that.’
She stubbed out the first cigarette and lit another.
‘You must have known each other inside-out after so many years,’ said Erica.
‘I don’t think anyone really knew Alex. Although I probably knew her better than Henri did. He has always refused to take off his rose-tinted glasses.’
‘During our conversation Henrik hinted that in all the years of their marriage it felt as though Alex was hiding something from him. Do you know whether that’s true? And if so, what it could be?’
‘That was unusually perceptive of him. I may have underestimated Henri.’ She raised a finely shaped eyebrow. ‘To your first question I will answer yes: I’ve always known that she was carrying some sort of baggage. To the second question I must answer no: I don’t have the faintest idea what it could be. Despite our long friendship there was always a point at which Alex would signal, “so far, and no farther”. I accepted it, while Henri did not. Sooner or later it would have broken him. And it probably would have been sooner.’
‘Why is that?’
Francine hesitated. ‘They’re going to do an autopsy on Alex, aren’t they?’
The question took Erica by surprise.
‘Yes, that’s always done for a suicide. Why do you ask?’
‘Because then I know that what I’m about to tell you will come out anyway. My conscience feels lighter, at least.’
She stubbed out the cigarette carefully. Erica held her breath in tense expectation, but Francine took her time lighting a third cigarette. Her fingers didn’t have the characteristic yellow discolouration of a smoker, so Erica suspected that she didn’t usually chain-smoke like this.
‘You must know that Alex has been going to Fjallbacka much more often for the past six months or so?’
‘Yes, the grapevine works very well in small towns. According to the local gossip, she was in Fjallbacka more or less every weekend. Alone.’
‘Alone is not exactly the whole truth.’
Francine hesitated again. Erica had to check her impulse to lean across the table and shake the woman to make her spit out whatever she was holding back. Her interest was definitely aroused.
‘She had met someone there. A man. Well, it wasn’t the first time that Alex had an affair, but somehow I got the feeling that this was different. For the first time in all the years we’ve known each other, she seemed almost content. And I know that she couldn’t have taken her own life. Someone must have murdered her, I have no doubt about that.’
‘How can you be so sure? Not even Henrik could say for certain whether she might have committed suicide.’
‘Because she was pregnant.’
Francine’s reply caught Erica off guard.
‘Does Henrik know about this?’
‘I don’t know. At any rate, it wasn’t his child. They haven’t lived together in that way for many years. And even when they did, Alex always refused to have a child with Henrik. No matter how much he begged her. No, the child must have been fathered by the new man in her life-whoever he may be.’
‘She never said who he was?’
‘No. As you probably realize by now, Alex was very sparing with her confidences. I have to admit that I was quite shocked when she told me about the child, but that’s also one of the reasons why I’m absolutely sure she didn’t kill herself. She was literally brimming with happiness and simply couldn’t keep the news to herself. She loved that baby and never would have done anything to harm it, certainly not take its life. For the first time, I saw an Alexandra who had a zest for life. I think I would have grown quite fond of her.’ Her voice sounded sad. ‘You know, I also had a feeling that she intended to come to terms with her past. I don’t know exactly how, but a few scattered remarks here and there gave me that impression.’
The door to the gallery opened and they heard somebody stamping the wet snow from their shoes on the doormat. Francine got up.
‘That’s probably a customer. I have to go. I hope I’ve been of some help.’
‘Oh yes, I’m very grateful that you and Henrik have both been so frank. You’ve been a great help.’
After Francine assured the customer that she would be right back, she showed Erica to the door. In front of an enormous canvas with a white square on a blue field they stopped and shook hands.
‘Just out of curiosity, what would a painting like this go for? Five thousand, ten thousand?’
Francine smiled. ‘More like fifty.’
Erica gave a low whistle. ‘So, there you see. Art and fine wine. Two areas that remain complete mysteries to me.’
‘And I can barely write a shopping list. We all have our specialities.’
