All that stood between her and death at the hands of a stranger was a door, but all one had to do was bribe the desk clerk, or trick a chambermaid, or pick the lock, and then all her training would be for nothing.
But this was Oslo, not Atlanta. Honeycutt had no idea she was here. Nor had his blackmailer.
“Julia.”
She turned away. The scent of sleepy, warm woman drifted from the bed.
“Julia.”
“Mmmn.” She turned back towards me, face soft and unfocused. Still asleep.
“Julia. It’s five o’clock.”
The essential Julia flowed back into the body on the bed, reanimating the flesh, sharpening the face, focusing the gaze, and I understood why some people believe in possession.
“It’s five o’clock,” I repeated. “Our luggage arrived. I’ll go get yours.” I also went back out into the corridor and retrieved the DO NOT DISTURB sign. Then I waited an extra minute or two.
She was standing by the window in her robe, curtain drawn back. Her skin looked soft and warm and alive against the white towelling. “It all looks so fresh and clean, as though people here don’t even sweat.” Her hair fell forward over her eyes. She tucked it back behind her ears. “What time do people eat in Oslo?”
“Early, though not as early as they used to. But there’s someone I should visit before dinner. You are welcome to come with me, unless you prefer to stay in the hotel and rest.”
“Someone who takes precedence over dinner?” She studied me. “A relative.”
“My great-aunt, Hjørdis.”
“A relative…. Yes, I’d love to meet her. But I need to shower, then work out my travel kinks. How about a walk?”
“Norwegian or American?”
“Norwegian. I’ll dress appropriately.”
“I’ll be in my room.”
When I looked up forty minutes later she was standing in the doorway, wearing stretch twill pants, light boots, and a thick sweater the swirling colours of sunset over the sea. “Nice room,” she said, then: “I’m not a vampire. If you invite me in you can always get rid of me later.”
I stood. “I’m sorry. Please, come in.” It sounded wooden and overly formal. Her boots made deep imprints on the carpet. Walnut and moss, not raspberry and Viking gold. I wondered how long they would be visible.
Ulleval Hageby, where Tante Hjørdis lives, is almost three miles from the centre of the city. I walked between Julia and the road. It was a beautiful evening. The sky, cloudless now, arched overhead like a fragile eggshell painted blue so long ago it was beginning to fade, and the sun slanted across the pavement like a glass sword. Trees absorbed the traffic fumes and the world smelt deliciously of green sap and distant ozone. I walked fast, letting my blood pump through veins and wash away the travel toxins and rush oxygen to my scalp and fingertips and retina, and all the time scanned the trees automatically, listened for following footsteps. Nothing. This was Oslo. Julia kept up, moving easily, alert, enjoying herself. She seemed to have shed her city skin, or perhaps just a layer of armour. Red squirrels jumped from tree to tree ahead of us. “It’s like walking through a garden.”
“Hage means garden, and by is town. Hjørdis has lived here ever since I can remember.”
“Do you like her?”
That surprised me. “She’s my aunt.”
“But what’s she like?”
I thought for a while. “Older than she seems.”
Julia laughed and picked up the pace and for a while we swung along in opposite step, hip to hip, her right leg moving out with my left, so I could feel her boot hit the ground, feel it through the soles of my feet, up my calves, in my pelvis. It didn’t last, of course. My legs are longer.
Tante Hjørdis’s house is made of wood, in a row of wooden houses painted bright colours. Hers is red. We climbed a short flight of wooden steps and I lifted the brass knocker. I’d always loved its tidy, bright rat-tat-tat sound as a child.
The door opened so fast Julia took a step back and there was Tante Hjørdis, still tall, still with that iron-grey hair in a short bowl cut. The sweater was brighter than usual. There was no Hello, no Aud, how lovely to see you!, but her eyes were bright, and she said, “You’re the only person these days who doesn’t try hammer that thing through the wood.” She turned to Julia and said, in English this time, “Everyone else thinks I’m going deaf.”
She held out her arms and we hugged. I remembered when she used to engulf me. Now I was an inch or two taller, though her bone and muscle still felt like granite.
I stepped out of the embrace and spoke in English. “Tante, this is Julia Lyons-Bennet. Julia, this is my great-aunt, Hjørdis Holmsen.”
Julia held out her hand and they shook heartily. Hjørdis nodded approval. “Come in. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
The vindskap was dry and tidy now, nothing like the muddy, wet and cold room of my childhood winters when my mother and I pulled off boots, down jackets and sealskin hats, and leaned skis up against the wall. Even though it was dry outside, I wiped my boots carefully on the mat and Julia copied me. There was a large mirror on the far wall. I ran my fingers through my hair, more because it was expected than necessary. Julia shook her hair loose, combed it with her fingers, and tied it back again. Like Hjørdis, she looked impossibly young.
The vindskap led into a hallway whose walls were lined with family photographs; a painted wooden staircase lay at one end and a single door in the middle.
The sun would be up for another two or three hours but the living room blazed with candles. I smiled at the familiar warm scent of beeswax.
“It must run in the family,” Julia said, pointing at the polished wooden floor and big French windows in the dining area that led to the back garden. The dining table was draped with a linen cloth and sparkled with three places of crystal and sterling flatware. I sighed.
We nearly ran into Hjørdis in the kitchen doorway. She was carrying an enormous tray. “You take this one,” she said to Julia—in Norwegian, but her intent was perfectly clear. “Aud, you come in here and help me carry the rest.”
I had told her we were on our way out to dinner, but she had laid out plates of geitost and crackers, home-cured ham and rømme and lompe, salmon and cucumber salad…. I followed Julia to the dining room table. Hjørdis brought homemade wine and fresh, very strong coffee.
“When did you get here?” In English, this time, directed at Julia.
“About four hours ago.”
She handed her a steaming cup of coffee. “You don’t look tired.”
“Aud persuaded me to take a nap.”
“She’s good at that.” They both turned to look at me and I wondered how a person could become the outsider so fast. “So you want the key to the seter.” It was still in English but this time addressed to me.
“Yes.”
“When will you be there?”
“Julia will be doing some business in the city tomorrow and perhaps the day after. Then we will go on to Lustrafjorden. If Julia likes it, we’ll stay for a week or two.”
“Or longer.”
Julia smiled and said, “No, I can’t take too much time away from my business.”