“What are you doing?” Axel asks.
She turns around.
“I thought maybe he’s sitting in the car waiting for me.”
“You know that he doesn’t drive to Stockholm,” Axel says.
“I just want to look out the window and make sure.”
“We can give him a call-should we call him?”
“I’ve already tried,” she says.
Axel reaches out and brushes her cheek with his hand and she sits back down on the edge of the bed.
“Are you tired?” she asks.
“So tired I’m feeling sick,” he replies.
“Do you want me to sleep in your bed tonight?”
“Yes, that would be nice.”
“I believe that Pappa would like to talk to me tomorrow,” she says softly.
Axel nods. “I’m sure it’ll go well tomorrow.”
Her large shining eyes make her look younger than ever.
“Come lie down,” she says. “Lie down so you can sleep, Axel.”
He blinks tiredly at her and then watches her lie down on her side of the bed. Her nightgown smells like freshly washed, pure cotton. As he lies down beside her, he wants to cry. He wants to tell her that he’ll arrange psychiatric help for her. He’ll help her out of this mess. Everything will get better. Everything always gets better.
He slowly clasps one of her upper arms and lays his other arm over her stomach. He hears her squeak as he pulls her closer to him. He presses his face into her neck, breathes moistly against her skin, and holds her tight. After a while, he hears her breathing soften. They lie completely still as their body warmth together brings sweat to their skin, but he does not let go of her.
The next morning Axel is up early. He’s slept for only four hours and his muscles ache. He stands awhile at the window looking out over the dark outlines of the lilac hedge.
When he comes into his new office, he’s still feeling frozen and tired. Yesterday he’d been one second away from signing his name to a dead man’s contract. He would have put his personal honor into the hands of a man who’d hanged himself-trusted the judgment of a suicide and not his own.
He’s glad he decided to wait, but regrets drawing the cartoon on the contract.
He knows he’s obligated to approve the export of ammunition to Kenya in the next few days. He opens the report folder and begins to learn about Sweden’s trade there.
One hour later, the door to Axel Riessen’s office opens and Jorgen Grunlicht comes in. Without a word, he pulls a chair up to the desk and sits down. He opens the folder, takes out the contract, flips to the page where Axel’s signature was supposed to be, and then meets Axel’s eyes.
“Hi,” Axel says quietly.
Jorgen Grunlicht can’t help smiling. The cartoon face with spiky hair does resemble Axel Riessen and in the dialogue bubble from the figure’s mouth the word “Hi!” had been written.
“Hello,” Jorgen says.
“It was just too soon,” Axel explains.
“I understand. I didn’t want to pressure you, even if we’re in a bit of a hurry,” Jorgen says. “The trade minister was on my case again and Silencia Defense is ringing the phone off the hook. Still, I get you, you know. This responsibility is totally new to you and you… want to be especially thorough.”
“That’s right.”
“And that’s a good thing,” he continues. “But you can send the agreement to the government instead if you’re unsure about it.”
“I’m not unsure,” Axel replies. “I’m just not finished. That’s all there is to it.”
“It’s just… from their perspective, things are going unreasonably slowly.”
“I’m putting everything else aside for the moment and so far I can say that everything looks good,” Axel replies. “I’m not telling Silencia Defense to wait before loading the freighter, but I’m just not finished yet.”
“I’ll let all parties involved know you are positive.”
“Go ahead. I mean, if I don’t find anything unusual, it’s just-”
“You won’t. I’ve done all the research myself.”
“Well, then,” Axel says softly.
“I won’t disturb you anymore,” Jorgen says. He gets up from the chair. “Any hint when you think you’ll be ready?”
Axel glances down at the paperwork.
“Count on at least a few days. Maybe I’ll have to look a little more into Kenya first.”
“Of course.” Jorgen Grunlicht smiles as he leaves the room.
61
Axel leaves the ISP office at ten o’clock in the morning to work from home. He puts all the paperwork needed into his briefcase. He still feels cold from being so tired, and now he’s hungry as well. He drives to the Grand Hotel and picks up brunch for two people.
Axel carries the food into his kitchen. Beverly is sitting cross-legged on top of the kitchen table, right in the middle, and she’s flipping through the bridal magazine Amelia Brud amp; Brollop.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“I don’t know if I want to wear white when I get married,” Beverly says. “Maybe light rose…”
“I like white,” Axel mumbles.
Axel prepares a tray and then the two of them ascend the stairs to the salon, where a red rococo sofa group is placed next to the large windows. As part of the grouping there’s an eight-sided table from the eighteenth century. It shows how much that era appreciated intarsia; this motif shows a garden with peacocks and a musician, a woman playing the erhu.
Axel sets the table with the family china. It is imprinted in silver. He sets matching silver-gray napkins and heavy wineglasses beside the plates. He pours Coca-Cola into Beverly’s glass and mineral water with slices of lime into his own.
Beverly’s childish face has a tiny, chiseled chin above a fragile neck. The entire curve of her head is clear under the fuzz of hair. She drinks the entire glass, then stretches her upper body indolently; a beautiful, innocent movement. Axel thinks that she’ll do it exactly that way when she’s an adult, maybe she’ll stretch that way even as an old lady.
“Tell me more about the music,” she asks him.
“Where were we?” Axel directs the remote toward his music system.
Alexander Malter’s incredibly perceptive interpretation of Arvo Part’s Alina comes out of the speakers. Axel sets his glass down on the table. The bubbles of the mineral water dance. Axel wishes with all his heart that it were champagne in that glass, champagne to go with this food. He wishes for another heart’s desire-sleeping pills to get through the night.
Axel pours more Coke into Beverly’s glass. She looks at him in thanks. He stares right into her large, dark eyes and doesn’t notice that he’s over-pouring until the Coke starts spreading over the table. The entire Chinese landscape darkens as if its sun is covered by a cloud. The liquid film shimmers over the park with its peacocks.
Axel stands up. He sees Beverly’s reflection in the glass of the windows. The curve of her chin is so strong… and then he makes a sudden blinding connection. He realizes all at once that she resembles Greta.
How could he not have seen this before?
All he wants to do now is run away, run from this room, run from this house. Instead, he forces himself to get a cloth to wipe up the spill until his heart has a chance to slow and return to its normal rhythm.
