‘So why are you hesitating? The council’s bid involves Iben’s father, an evil bastard who abused his own daughter. Sell the dump to Pontus and Erica and be done with it.’
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘No?’ Steph looks sceptical. ‘I really don’t like being on the same side as your mother but she’s right – your aunt’s death seems to have stirred up a lot of old crap. Family feuds, incest, arson . . . But instead of doing what any sensible person would do – sell up and get the hell out of Dodge – you stay around. Carry on poking around in the mud and slime even though you’ve had more than one warning, and all this clearly isn’t good for you.’
Her tone becomes serious.
‘This isn’t about your childhood sweetheart any longer, the Prince Charming you keep hoping will show up; this is about you, Laura. Do you really want to get dragged down into this mess?’
She leaves the question hanging for a few seconds, then goes on:
‘Your aunt didn’t contact you once in thirty years. Nor did Prince Charming. Ask Erica and Pontus to name a road or something after Hedda, then you’ll be quits. Go and meet someone who cares about you. You deserve it, Laura. You deserve to be happy, whether you believe that or not.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ Laura says eventually.
‘Good.’ Steph puts an arm around her. ‘How about wrapping everything up over the next couple of days, then we can return to civilisation? All this nature is making me nervous. I need to see tarmac, inhale exhaust fumes.’
Laura has almost forgotten that she promised to have dinner with Peter and Elsa. Steph isn’t happy about being abandoned, and for a moment Laura considers cancelling, but then she thinks about Elsa. She likes the girl, or the young woman – whatever she is. She likes Peter too, so she explains to Steph that this is a farewell dinner, which improves her mood a little.
Laura’s car is still at Gärdsnäset, but Steph solves the problem with a quick phone call.
‘Heinz will take you to Peter’s and pick you up, so we can carry on drinking wine. He offered before I’d finished speaking.’
Heinz Norell’s car is waiting outside the main entrance five minutes before the agreed time, which Laura appreciates. They make small talk on the way into the village, mainly about the weather.
He is obviously still embarrassed about his faux pas during lunch, and tries hard to make up for it. He asks polite questions, but stays well away from anything that could possibly relate to business.
She directs him to Peter’s house and he stops right by the door.
‘Do you have any more of those brochures?’ she asks as she’s about to get out of the car.
‘Sorry?’
‘About the Vintersjön project? I left the one you gave me at Gärdsnäset and I haven’t had time to look at it yet.’
For a moment he looks confused, then his face breaks into a broad smile.
‘Of course.’
He opens the glove compartment and hands her another copy. She tucks it into her inside pocket as she walks towards Peter’s front door.
‘Hi, Laura – come in!’
Elsa opens the door before Laura can ring the bell. She looks delighted to see her, and unexpectedly gives Laura a big hug. She frowns when she sees the car.
The entrance hall is generous, with a shiny marble floor and a chandelier. The walls are painted in a coral shade that is a little too brash. Elsa notices Laura’s expression.
‘The décor was down to Mum. As I said before, it’s not really my style, or Dad’s.’
Peter emerges from the kitchen, wearing a leather apron and with his shirt sleeves rolled up. He looks very professional. And handsome, Laura has to admit. His eyes are sparkling in a way that appeals to her.
‘Welcome to our home, Laura.’
She kisses him on the cheek, lingers a fraction longer than last time. She blames the wine she’s been drinking with Steph.
‘Whose is the car?’ Elsa asks.
‘A friend’s.’
‘From Vintersjöholm?’
Laura nods, sees Peter frown.
Dinner is very enjoyable. Peter turns out to be an excellent cook, and Elsa is good company. The wines Peter has selected contribute to the positive atmosphere. They talk about all kinds of things – TV series, politics, which educational path Elsa should follow come the autumn.
‘What did you do?’ Elsa wonders.
‘We lived in Hong Kong, so I went to a private school. You can’t really compare it with the Swedish system.’
‘What was your favourite subject?’
‘Behavioural science.’
Elsa’s face lights up.
‘My first choice is sociology. Maybe you can help me with my homework.’
Peter’s cheeks flush red.
‘Maybe,’ Laura murmurs.
As they clear the table she finally gets the chance to have a quiet conversation with him.
‘I saw the fire all the way from Gärdsnäset,’ she almost whispers. ‘Is Tomas OK?’
Peter looks worried.
‘I don’t know, to be honest. He’s not answering his phone, but according to the fire service the hut was empty. And his car is gone.’
‘Have you told anyone that he was living there?’
Peter shakes his head, then gives a meaningful nod in the direction of Elsa, who is on her way into the kitchen.
They have coffee in the living room at the back of the house. The garden is lit up, just like the front. A sun terrace, a pool, various exotic plants – all beneath a thin covering of snow. Whoever designed this garden invested a great deal of time and money. Laura assumes it was Elsa’s mother. At the same time she realises she hasn’t been swimming for quite a while, and that she misses it.
‘So have you decided what to do with Gärdsnäset?’ Peter asks.
‘I think I’m going to sell.’
‘Why?’
Elsa’s question is instant.
‘Because Laura doesn’t have the time to take care of a rundown holiday village,’ Peter explains.
‘Why not?’
Laura and Peter exchange a glance.
‘Because I have a job and a family in Stockholm.’
Elsa’s mouth becomes a thin, straight line. For a second she reminds Laura of someone she knows, but the moment passes. Elsa gets to her feet.
‘Excuse me,’ she says, but her body language and tone are anything but polite. She marches out of the room.
‘Teenagers. You can’t win,’ Peter says with an apologetic smile. ‘So who are you going to sell to? The castle?’
‘I can’t see any other option. The council would give the building project to Ulf Jensen, and as far as I’m concerned he and his fucking family farm can go up in smoke.’
She immediately regrets the clumsy choice of words.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .’
Peter waves a dismissive hand.
‘I understand. But what if the council agreed to go with a different construction company? How would you feel about that?’
‘That’s hardly likely. You said yourself that—’
‘But if they did,’ he persists. ‘If Ulf Jensen was out of the picture. Would you consider selling to the council then?’
She shrugs. ‘Possibly.’
She reads his body language, his eager expression, the keen interest in his voice. This is more than a hypothetical discussion.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because I might be able to persuade someone to pull a few strings.’
Before she can ask him what he means, Elsa reappears. Her face is bright red and she slams something down on the coffee table in front of them.
‘Are these your plans for Gärdsnäset, Laura? A mini fucking Torekov where only the rich can afford to live?’
It’s the brochure Heinz Norell gave her, the one that was in her pocket.