Everything went as Peter wished. He became administrator of the estate of the late timber merchant and shipbuilder, William Hermansson. A week ago he would have shaken his head at such a possibility. Now the thing was almost obvious.
Old Lundbom had to supply the necessary expert knowledge. He was so touched and so flattered when Peter came and wanted to make him guardian over his father that he willingly sacrificed his evening hours to clear up all difficulties of the administration. He had managed Ekbacken’s business practically alone during recent years—but without having asked for a penny’s increase of salary. The old man had never realised that one might be clever on one’s own account too. He was a servant and nothing but a servant. And now in the midst of his sincere grief at the death of his beloved old master he took a childish pleasure in seeing his knowledge of law being put into practice on such an important occasion.
The winding-up of the estate was entirely Lundbom’s work. It gave Peter a very interesting insight into the affairs of Ekbacken and six thousand crowns into the bargain. At first he made a few diffident attempts to refuse the money that Herman pressed on him. Herman was flushed with excitement and very stiff in the back. Had not the estate shown more than three hundred thousand crowns assets? Then he supposed he could afford to pay a friend for his solicitude and care. Peter gave in in good time and put the cheque in his pocket with a sigh:
“Thank you, dear Herman! We Selambs are unfortunately too poor to say no!”
When this matter was settled they walked about a long time on the estate discussing the future of Ekbacken. Herman wanted to give up building barges and instead wanted to build racing yachts of a type that had just won through. It was a high-class and interesting-quality work. He would build his own boats and compete for prizes just as people kept racehorses in their stables. It would be a fine advertisement and would perhaps interest Laura.
Peter looked thoughtful but did not contradict him.
They came out on to the high road, which was dusty and worn out by the constantly increasing traffic. The heaps of road metal and the stonecutters’ sheds were drawing nearer the old oaks. The town was grinding the hills around it to powder. Soon the last grey granite fortress of Ekbacken would fall. But Herman swore that he would defend his own idyllic home. There were already plenty of people who came to him and wanted to buy sites for factories. But his father’s old Ekbacken must not be split up and spoilt in that way.
Peter still did not contradict him. He was absorbed in deep thought. Suddenly he warmly pressed his future brother-in-law’s hand:
“You are a fine fellow, Herman. Damn me, but you are a fine fellow!”
After this Peter the Boss stalked homewards—with the first great cheque of his life in his pocket he stalked homewards this cold, still evening in spring. He felt strangely cool about his forehead, and sometimes he felt as if he were treading on air. Strange how everything played into his hands. By making Lundbom guardian he ruled absolutely at Selambshof. Through Laura he would soon be able to control Ekbacken. And the town with its thousand possibilities, crept nearer and nearer with every hour.
X
Laura’s Marriage
For more than two years Laura had been at a boarding school in Neuchatel. She had been home a few times, at Christmas and Midsummer, but soon she had contrived to get away again. It was quite amusing to meet Herman for a week or two. And it was awfully nice to have him to think of in lonely and sentimental moments. But she was afraid to bind herself to him quite definitely.
“We can’t marry yet, of course,” she said, “and then it is better not to wear out each other’s feelings.”
It was always so delightful to say goodbye to Herman. His grief did her good. There was always a faithful heart waiting for her whilst she flew out into the wide world.
And it may even have happened that Laura cried a little in the train.
But it was always with the happiest laughter and the most excited talk that she rushed back to her school friends. And she was greeted with delighted shouts of welcome. For though she had no real friend, she was liked by all. They never got tired of ruffling her unusual, fair hair, which in the general opinion, was frightfully pretty. She was the obvious leader whenever they wanted to throw dust in the eyes of the poor teachers on returning home too late after walks or after mysterious expeditions in the dense garden of an evening. With a mixture of fear and unwilling admiration, the good German teachers nicknamed her “Die blonde Lüge.”
Had Laura so much to lie about then? Well! perhaps a little flirtation with the students in the town. But nothing serious. As a matter of fact Laura was very careful—much more careful than one would have believed if one had been allowed to read her diary, written in profoundest secrecy. For there she exaggerated and romanced in a most charming manner and seized every opportunity to make herself interesting to herself. Yes, she falsified her own memoirs, quite gaily and airily. All of which your moralist would no doubt consider the height of mendacity, but after all it does not signify very much when you are at boarding school.
“Die blonde Lüge” had nothing to do with a certain little Polish lady who was packed off
