Karin Alvtegen
Missing
Copyright © Karin Alvtegen, 2000
2003 Translated from the Swedish by Anna Paterson
As the servants of Christ and as guardians of God's secrets, thus should we be seen and understood. Nothing more than fidelity can be demanded of such a guardian. For me, it is as nothing if mankind or any of its courts of justice should decide to condemn me, nor do I sit in judgement over myself. Indeed, I know myself to be truly without guilt, but this alone is not sufficient justification for what I do. The Lord will judge me.
No one must sit in judgement before the right time, when the Lord comes. He shall force that which has been hidden in darkness to emerge into His light and He shall make known all councils of the heart.
Then God will praise each one as he or she deserves.
Thank you Lord for my courage. You have listened to me, heard my prayers and directed me on the right path.
Let me be Your instrument. Let me execute the sentences due to those who have sinned. Let my beloved meet with You and be with You always.
First then will my hope return.
First then will I find peace.
The green suit had a classy label and no one who looked her over could have guessed that it cost less than one hundred kronor at Oxfam. The waist button on the skirt had been replaced by a safety-pin, but no one would notice.
She called the waiter and asked for another glass of white wine.
One empty table away, tonight's target was sitting on his own. She hadn't begun her act and wasn't yet able to judge how aware he was of her.
He was just getting on with his starter.
There was plenty of time.
She swallowed a mouthful of wine from her refilled glass. The wine was dry, cool to perfection and probably quite expensive. She had no idea of the price. It didn't matter.
She looked at her man surreptitiously and felt, rather than saw, that he was staring at her. Over the edge of the wine glass, she let her glance swivel in his direction and meet his, but then, marking mild disinterest, she allowed it to wander across the room.
The Grand Hotel's French dining-room was really a magnificent place. She had been there three times before, but tonight had to be the last visit for a while. Pity, because they put out fresh fruit in the bedrooms. The towels were exceptionally thick and laid on in such quantity that it seemed risk-free to let a couple slip into your briefcase.
Still, it was unwise to challenge fate. It would be a disaster if the staff recognised her.
He was looking at her again, she could sense it. She quickly pulled out her diary from the briefcase, checking today's date.
How irritating… Impatiently, she tapped on the table-top with her immaculate red nails. Two different meetings at the same time – how could she have allowed herself to be double-booked? Worse, with two of her largest customers!
She observed him out of the corner of her eye. He was still watching.
A waiter walked past her table and she hailed him. 'You wouldn't have a phone I could borrow, please?' 'Of course, madam.'
She kept following the waiter with her eyes as he walked over to the bar counter, returning to her table with a cordless phone. 'There you are, madam. Please dial nine to get a line.' 'Thank you.'
She leafed through her diary to find the right number before dialling.
'Hallo, this is Caroline Fors, my company is Swedish Laval Separator. I'm so sorry but I've managed to get myself snarled up tomorrow morning – a double booking. I just wanted you to know that I'll be with you, but about two hours later than we agreed.'
'Twenty, twenty-five and thirty. Pip.'
'Good. I'll be there as soon as I can. Bye for now.'
She sighed and wrote salamiwurst 14.00 hours on the line just below basement flat and closed her diary.
By chance their eyes met just at the moment she took another drink from her wine glass. She felt sure of his complete attention by now.
He smiled at her.
'Got a problem?'
She too smiled but shrugged her shoulders, a little embarrassed. 'Easily done,' he said sympathetically, looking her over. He was edging close to her carefully positioned bait now. 'Are you alone or are you waiting for someone?' His eyes were fixed on her.
'No, I just liked the idea of a glass of wine or two before going back to my room. It's been a long day.'
She picked up her diary and put it into her briefcase. This was it, nearly done. She would hook him soon. When she had replaced her briefcase on the floor, she saw him pushing away his emptied plate and raising his glass to her.
'Would you mind me joining you?'
Already – and she had barely begun her fishing trip. With a little smile, she got ready to beach her catch. She mustn't be too quick, though. Playing hard to get for a while always worked a treat. She hesitated for a couple of seconds before answering his question.
'That would be nice, but I'm really about to withdraw for the night.'
He rose, picked up his wine glass and sat down opposite her. 'I'm Jorgen Grundberg. Pleased to meet you.' He held out his hand to her, she shook it and introduced herself.
'Caroline Fors.'
'That's a lovely name for a lovely lady. I'd drink to that.' On his left hand a thin wedding ring caught the light. 'Cheers.'
The waiter was bringing Mr Grundberg's main course, but stopped short when he realised that his guest had gone away. Jorgen Grundberg waved to him.
'Here I am. The view's better from over here, don't you agree?'
Her smile was rather forced, but happily Mr Grundberg did not seem particularly sensitive to people's feelings.
A white plate with a silver cover was put down on the table between them. He shook open the decoratively folded linen napkin and draped it over his lap. Then he rubbed his hands together. This guy clearly enjoyed his food.
'Aren't you going to eat anything?'
She could feel her stomach rumbling with hunger.
'No, I don't think so.'
He lifted the silver lid and a gorgeous smell of garlic and rosemary wound its way into her nostrils. She could feel saliva filling her mouth.
'Come on, of course you must have something to eat.'
He wasn't looking at her now. Instead he was focusing his attention on the delicate operation of cutting pieces off the fillet of lamb.
'You must eat to keep up your strength,' he said, moving a laden forkful towards his mouth. 'Didn't you learn that on your mother's knee?'
As likely as not, her mother had said so and much else besides. That alone was a good reason for declining. But by now she was really very hungry and the bowl of fruit in her room did not seem so tempting any more.
While he was chewing, he called the waiter who came immediately, but was kept standing by until Grundberg had finished his mouthful of food.
'Another one of these for the lady. Charge it to room 407.'
He smiled at her and waved his key-card in front of the waiter.
'Room 407.' The man went away. 'I hope you don't mind?'
'I'm perfectly able to pay for my own food, you know.' 'Of course you are. I just thought I'd better pay to make up for being so pushy.' With pleasure, to be sure.
She drank some more wine. The guy was almost too good to be true. Ran on autopilot. There he sat, champing away at his lamb fillets, totally absorbed by the food as far as she could see. In fact, for the moment he seemed to have forgotten that he had company at the table.
She observed him. About fifty years old, she guessed. His suit was expensive and since he'd just ordered two meals, without a second thought even though it was the Grand's French dining-room, his bank balance must be more than favourable.
Good. He was perfect.
He looked as if he was used to eating well. His neck wouldn't stay contained inside his collar and had oozed outside it at a point just above the knot on his tie.
Overall, his appearance might have deceived an untrained eye, but she was far too acute: he was obviously an upstart. For one thing, his table manners told even a casual observer that no one had spent much time on teaching him how to eat politely. No one had tapped his elbow when he let it rest on the table and no one had taken the trouble to tell him off for putting the knife in his mouth.