Ann got up with some effort, forced, but also lured by the smell of coffee.
“Now your Nobel Prize winner is taking a beating again,” said Anders.
He sat hunched over the newspaper, grinning a little. He liked conflict and polemics.
“By who?”
“An Associate Professor Johansson, if you’re familiar with the name.”
“I am, in fact,” said Ann.
She leaned over Anders’ shoulder and peered at the prominently featured article. There was a photo of Ohler as well as Johansson, a twenty-year-old archive picture where the two were posing together in what apparently was a laboratory setting. Both dead serious. The associate professor looked young. She read the lead-in and the final paragraph.
“The mild-mannered old guy has sharpened his pencil properly,” she observed. “Now there will be a real feud with the neighbors.”
Ann briefly told about what had happened earlier. He was visibly amused and that made her happy. He was working. She was infected by his boyish delight at two neighbors attacking a third one.
“Torben Bunde has never really been in his right mind, but Johansson is all right,” said Anders. “No ferocious jabs or complicated academic double-talk-instead dry and factual but still razor sharp. I can imagine how the feelings are cooling at home with Ohler. This is not some outsider grumbling but someone who’s been there. That hurts.”
Ann wondered whether she should tell about the connection between the housekeeper and Viola, but refrained. It was good that their conversation had left the island.
She pulled the other section of the newspaper to her, opened a page at random, and found that divine justice had arrived before the worldly kind. The first thing she saw was Ludwig Ohrman’s obituary. He was forty years old, deeply mourned and missed by mother and father, and a whole throng of brothers and sisters.
She checked the date of death. I see, she thought, not strange that he didn’t show up for questioning.
“I’ll wake Erik,” said Anders.
It had become a routine for Anders to make sure the boy got breakfast in him and left home in time. Most mornings he went with Erik to school and then took a long walk.
She knew that it was an arrangement Erik liked. Anders was something out of the ordinary where stepfathers were concerned. First he had been run over by a bus and then almost killed by knife thrusts administered by a murderer, with impressive scars as evidence.
Erik had decided to become a policeman. Ann did not bother to protest. Soon enough he would realize and start dreaming about something better.
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“Thanks,” she said.
He looked up from the newspaper with surprise.
“For what?”
“For…”
She did not know how to continue. He smiled at her, but it was a doubtful smile and she saw a flash of worry in his eyes.
“You’ll have to guess,” she said at last, and left the kitchen.
Thirty-five
Ronald was a taciturn young man who lugged Agnes’s plastic bags and suitcases down without comment. He did not seem a bit impressed at finding himself in an aristocratic Nobel Prize winner’s home. Perhaps he was eager to get going.
Agnes stayed upstairs. Even though the two rooms she had the use of were emptied of her belongings she was worried about having forgotten something. She opened wardrobes and pulled out dresser drawers, wandering around like a lost soul in the bedroom and the small drawing room. Greta had silently observed her and then went down to help pack the things in the car.
Neither the professor, Birgitta, nor Liisa Lehtonen had been seen at all.
The atmosphere in the house was unnatural. In an attempt at a joke Ronald asked if someone had died.
When everything was packed there was nothing more for Agnes to do: She had to go down one flight. Birgitta was standing in the hall, pale and without makeup, peering out through the open door, as if she wanted to check what was being carried out of the house. Birgitta said nothing when Agnes slipped through the hall and into the kitchen. It was as if Birgitta did not notice her.
Greta had made coffee and Agnes really wanted a cup, perhaps have a sandwich, before she left. She had also thought about fixing something for Ronald and Greta but she remained standing in front of the counter in the kitchen where she had worked for fifty-five years. During the first twenty years there had been a cook. After that Agnes had been the one responsible for the food.
Everything went so fast, she thought. The idea that she would pack up and move away was a foreign thought only a few weeks ago. Sure, she had thought about having passed the retirement mark several years ago, but during the past week everything had accelerated with a dizzying velocity. She could barely keep up herself. Without Greta the departure never would have been possible. Then she would have submitted to the professor’s anger and Birgitta’s attempts at persuasion.
Mechanically she took out bread and fixings. She made a few sandwiches, had a few mouthfuls of coffee, and quickly felt livelier. It was also as if the weather powers were in a lighter mood. The clouds were pushed aside and she could glimpse a few patches of blue sky.
Agnes did not hear Birgitta slip into the kitchen and jumped in fright when she started talking. She stood leaning against the doorpost. Her expression was that of the injured party, it was the sullen Birgitta Agnes knew so well. She had nothing new to say but instead repeated her arguments that Agnes was putting them in a difficult position.
Agnes decided not to defend herself. She realized that it was pointless.
“So you don’t even notice me anymore?” Birgitta complained.
“I just didn’t hear you come in,” said Agnes. “Would you like some coffee?”
Birgitta shook her head. Bitterness made her ugly. She took a couple of steps toward Agnes and was preparing to go on renewed attack when Greta came into the kitchen. She ignored Birgitta. Agnes sensed that they had had a dispute.
“Everything is stowed away. Ronald is waiting in the car.”
“Doesn’t he want a sandwich?”
“No, he wants to get going.”
Agnes sensed that her sister was at least equally eager to leave the house. She had seemed strangely absent the whole morning, blamed it on sleeping poorly.
“Well, then we’ll say good-bye,” said Agnes, extending her hand.
Birgitta sobbed. Agnes felt sorry for her in a way, understood that in the future she was the one who would have to take the blows when the professor got worked up and shouted about things large and small. On the other hand her way of reacting with anger was insolent. If she had only been sad Agnes could have given her a hug and consoled her like in the past.
At the same moment the professor entered the kitchen. Behind him Liisa could be seen.
“See to it that you leave now!” he hissed.
Even Birgitta looked dumbfounded. Greta shook her head.
“Goodbye,” said Agnes, extending her hand.
The professor pretended not to see it. Instead he turned toward Birgitta.
“Now that the servants have abandoned the house you’ll have to see to-”
“We can talk about that later,” Birgitta cut him off.
The professor stared. Agnes knew that he loathed being interrupted. She saw besides that he was dizzy.
“Thanks, then!” said Greta, making an effort to continue, but Agnes stopped her by placing a hand on her sister’s arm.