Finally through the gauntlet, Bella is shown to Gunilla’s anteroom by one of the assistants. She takes a seat, opens her briefcase, and takes out the Camus essays, which she hasn’t found the time to concentrate on in the unpredictable emotional climate of the past few days. But after a few moments, the receptionist’s intercom sounds. “Yes, madam,” she says, then she informs Bella that Gunilla is ready to see her. Bella replaces the Camus in her handbag and, her knees creaking from lack of exercise, rises and knocks on Gunilla’s office door.
They shake hands, they hug, and they kiss, touching cheeks. Not long after they sit, Immaculata the tea girl comes in without knocking. Bella can tell Gunilla isn’t happy about this, but she lets it pass without comment.
Bella brings Gunilla up-to-date, starting with how much she and the children have enjoyed the album of photographs she gave them. Then she tells Gunilla about the cameras and the darkroom.
“How did the outing go?” Gunilla wants to know.
“Good until the last few minutes.”
“Then what happened?”
“Salif and Dahaba took turns putting unpleasant personal questions to Valerie,” says Bella, making sure that she doesn’t portray Valerie in a way that may prove counterproductive.
“What were the questions like?”
“Dahaba asked first and Salif followed suit, the two of them working her like those little dogs that go for your feet and bark nonstop,” says Bella, not wishing to reveal more than necessary.
“How did Valerie take it?”
“She was less worked up than I expected. But today was another story.”
“What happened today?”
Bella asks if Gunilla has had any recent contact with Helene Nsembemba. Gunilla replies, “Yes, we spoke a couple of days ago because I called her to make sure that we go over her billing.”
“Did you give my name and details at any time?”
“I didn’t.”
“Well, somehow Valerie found out more than she should have. She discovered that it was I who settled the bill, and she knows that you have been functioning as my intermediary as well. My guess is that someone at your bank provided her with the information, not through Helene, but through the other lawyer Valerie has been using since she regained her freedom.”
Gunilla reflects on this then says, “In my capacity as a UN official, I must abide by the banking laws of the countries I visit. My primary base is Kenya, but we have accreditation in Uganda. It is very possible that a banker there was able to trace both your name and mine. I am sorry; I meant well and did what I could to process the transaction as quickly as possible, but I can’t control everything.”
“No blame is intended,” says Bella.
“Anyway, was she grateful that you settled her and Padmini’s affairs so they could regain their freedom and leave Uganda?”
“No! She said that she could do without my charity.”
“How very ungrateful.”
“There is something else besides. In our Somali culture and also in Islam, if you give someone a gift, you don’t boast about it to others. If you do, then your present is deemed worthless.”
“So she is saying thanks but no thanks.”
They fall companionably silent and mull over their situation as Immaculata brings them their tea. Then Gunilla tells the tea girl to tell the receptionist that no one must disturb them again.
It has been increasingly obvious to Bella from each of their encounters that Gunilla had fallen under Aar’s spell, abandoning herself to his abundant charm. He could work wonders when he set himself to pursuing a woman with interest, and maybe his interest had grown keener after so long a time without a serious female companion. To see Gunilla savoring her memories of him is a novel way of appreciating Aar. But Bella reminds herself not to mix the official business that has brought her here with her increasing affection for Gunilla and her longing for Aar; there is time enough to explore both outside these walls when time and circumstance permit.
So Bella turns her attention to the papers Gunilla has placed before her, crossing and uncrossing her legs as she concentrates on the thick file in her lap. Bella reads in silence, noting questions and comments here and there with a red pencil. Gunilla has explained that Bella must sign the documents, which include important insurance papers, in the presence of an outside lawyer, Godwin Wamiru, once her questions have been answered. He is expected to join them shortly, but just now he texts to say that he is going to be very late. “I hope that doesn’t put your schedule out of joint,” says Gunilla. “Do you have other business you need to get to today?”
“No,” says Bella, “I cleared the day for this.” Then she adds, as an afterthought, “For you, I have all the time in the world.”
“There is no worry then,” says Gunilla. “Let us go to lunch.”
“Do we have to go back through security when we return?” says Bella.
“You’re with me,” says Gunilla. “I can sign you in. Just bring along your passport, and I’ll lock the rest in my office.”
A flush of affection sweeps over Bella. She is looking forward to spending time with Aar’s lover, not only to hear about him but also to get to know her better for herself.
—
It takes them a few leisurely minutes to walk to an Italian deli nearby, where they sit apart from everyone else at a corner table with an umbrella. Gunilla is known to the staff here and the manager, a Sicilian with heavily accented English, comes round to greet her.
Gunilla sits across from Bella and, as if for the first time, Bella takes her in. She knows that Aar’s lover is soft of voice, pleasant of face, and sweet-smelling, especially for a Swede in the tropics. On the matter of scent, Bella harbors a personal and unscientific theory: If you are the kind of person who bears grudges or is given to unfounded mistrust, she believes, your body will betray that in the sour odor it emits. Gunilla, for example, seems to produce less sweat than, say, Valerie. Bella has noticed all this before, but now she is struck as if for the first time by how gorgeous Gunilla is. Bella can hardly take her eyes off her, admiring her every move. Bella cannot recall feeling this way about another person, male or female. The only person who came close was Aar, with that beautiful face she knew better than her own almost from the moment she opened her eyes upon the world. Somalis say that you love the jinn of the person you adore. Maybe what she is seeing and adoring in Gunilla is the Aar both of them adored, if that makes sense.
Gunilla is wearing a dress and heels, her blond hair long but kempt, her makeup light, her skin evenly tanned wherever it shows except for a paler bit at the neck. Bella watches her chest rising and falling as she breathes, her fingers fondling the necklace Aar gave her, Bella’s twin. Bella is sorry she hasn’t worn her own today. It brings to mind a story she heard, about a poet who, fearing that he would die at the hands of a neighboring foe, composed a couplet and taught it to his daughters. If he was murdered, he told them, they should recite the first line to anyone who called on them; whoever knew its mate would also know who his murderers were. Is there some secret about Aar’s last days on earth, some uncovered mystery, Bella wonders, that only Gunilla knows? A pity he died in Mogadiscio, not in the arms of this woman who loved him dearly.