‘Such as?’
Laura takes another sip of red wine. It’s her second glass, and after the champagne and the white wine that accompanied the first course, she is feeling a little tipsy. It’s not like her at all, but she’s enjoying herself – which is unexpected.
‘Such as your name, for example. Your surname is Norell, but you said your mother was Swedish and your father was German. Why don’t you have your father’s surname?’
Heinz pulls a face.
‘Nothing dramatic. My parents weren’t married. I grew up mainly with my mother. Is that all, Miss Holmes?’
He looks disappointed, so Laura decides to dig deeper. She observes him closely, his face, his hands, the smile that never really leaves his lips. His dark eyes.
‘You wear coloured contact lenses,’ she says.
To be honest she isn’t completely certain, but there is a faint discrepancy between his eyes and his general colouring – his skin, his pale eyebrows, the neatly trimmed beard.
He is clearly taken aback, but then that confident smile returns, accompanied by an impressed whistle.
‘Busted!’ he says. ‘Caught out in one of the worst sins – well done!’
‘Which sin is that?’
‘Vanity, of course. I have an eye defect known as coloboma. The pupil in my right eye appears to spill over the iris. I noticed from an early age that certain people found it unpleasant, and avoided looking me in the eye. Coloured contact lenses solved the problem. I’ve worn them since my late teens.’
‘So your eyes are actually blue?’
‘Yes. Unfortunately that’s the shade that shows up coloboma particularly well. So I live in disguise. Hardly anyone knows my dark secret, or rather my pale blue secret, but you exposed it. Bravo, Miss Holmes.’
After coffee Laura finally gets the chance to catch up with Peter.
‘Are you having a good time?’
‘Absolutely. Steph is charming. By now I know more or less everything about you.’
‘Like what?’
‘That you keep the company going more or less single-handed, in spite of a manipulative mother, a freeloading younger brother and an ex-husband who refuses to let go. That you haven’t had a holiday for years.’
‘I see.’
The description is so accurate that she can’t help blushing and smiling at the same time.
‘Steph said something about germophobia, but after seeing you rummaging around at Gärdsnäset, I told her you must have got over it.’
Laura grabs a drink from the tray of a passing waiter. She thinks she recognises him as one of the star boys from earlier.
‘The fact is I’m taking some time off right now. I’ve dragged my brother Marcus out of the blind spot and made him do some work.’
She makes a gesture to illustrate what she means, and spills some of her drink. Peter catches both the glass and her hand. Holds onto her hand.
‘I’m glad you invited me,’ he says.
Laura empties her glass, then gives in to a sudden impulse.
‘I think Iben was murdered,’ she says. ‘I think someone wanted to stop her from revealing what was going on at Källegården. And I think Hedda was murdered for the same reason.’
She sees Peter’s smile fade. At first, she doesn’t understand why – not until he lets go of her hand.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean . . . I’m glad you’re here. Very glad.’
Peter turns away.
‘We’re missing the dancing,’ he says tersely.
58
Laura was expecting a live band, but instead there’s a DJ. A dozen couples are already dancing in front of the stage. The women’s jewellery sparkles by the light of the crystal chandeliers, and at one side of the room a bartender is busy mixing cocktails. Laura tries to find a way of convincing Peter that she didn’t invite him here to talk about the fire or Iben, but before she comes up with anything Heinz appears out of nowhere.
‘Excuse me,’ he says to Peter. ‘I’d like to ask my table companion to dance.’
Peter gives a brief nod and heads over to the bar, where Steph is holding court.
Laura doesn’t really like dancing. She’s never understood the appeal of pressing her body against that of a sweaty stranger in what is essentially a prolonged embrace, following a series of predetermined movements. Nor does she like the sensation of someone else’s hand on her back.
Needless to say, however, her mother forced her to learn how to deliver some basic moves, at least.
Heinz steers them to a part of the room where the music allows them to talk to each other.
‘So is he your boyfriend?’ He nods in the direction of Peter, who has just sat down next to Steph.
‘An old friend.’
‘From your childhood?’
She can feel the warmth of his hand through her dress, on the scar, turns a fraction to try to shift it, but instead Heinz draws her closer.
‘You’re a very special woman, Laura.’
The expression brings her up short. She’s heard it a number of times over the past week, always to describe Hedda.
‘You deserve someone who realises how special you are,’ he murmurs in her ear, pulling her even closer.
She looks at Peter, sees him watching them. Feels Heinz’s lips brushing against her skin.
‘Why don’t we get out of here for a while, just you and me?’
Before she can answer, the music stops and Erica von Thurn takes over the microphone.
‘Dear friends – how lovely to see you all here. My darling Pontus has been working on the renovation of the castle for several years, and it’s high time we celebrated his achievements!’
She blows her husband a kiss, and Laura think she sees a flash of irritation cross Heinz’s face.
‘If you could make your way out onto the terrace, I have a little surprise for Pontus. Don’t worry about the cold – there are blankets, and plenty of champagne!’
The glass doors are flung open. Outside there are a dozen or so fire baskets burning brightly, and the waiters and waitresses are ready with trays laden with glasses.
Heinz takes Laura’s hand and leads her towards the doors. She looks for Peter, but there’s no sign of him. The flames in the fire baskets are high, and she stays as far away from them as possible. Heinz wraps a blanket around her shoulders and passes her a glass of champagne. The girl holding the tray is the one who represented St Lucia earlier. Laura tries to avoid looking at her.
Roughly a hundred metres away on the snow-covered lawn halfway between the castle and the lake, two figures wearing head torches are moving back and forth. Laura can just make out some kind of frame that has been set up, presumably for a firework display.
Erica leads her husband to the balustrade.
‘Darling Pontus,’ she declaims. ‘I know how much you love the castle and its history. You like to tell the story of its inauguration in 1712, when an overenthusiastic and intense canon salute set fire to the roof.’
‘Seventeen thirteen!’ Pontus shouts, making everyone laugh.
‘Whatever,’ Erica responds. ‘I would like to offer you your very own little salute – hopefully a less dangerous one. Skål, my love.’
She clinks glasses with her husband, then picks up a torch from the balustrade and flashes the beam twice in the direction of the lawn. Seconds later the sky explodes in a huge firework display. Laura is standing right next to the von Thurns; she sees Pontus’s eyes shining, sees Erica tuck her arm beneath his. At the same moment she feels Heinz’s hand on her hip, then it slides further down.