The Man In The Window [Mannen i vinduet - no]

Shesent him a faint smile, as though she had remembered something funny.

'Never.But some time in the autumn – October or November – I met him in Bygdøy allé.He rushed up to me and seemed – erm – ill and very old. He was holding a leaf -from a tree – must have been either maple or chestnut…'

'Didit have fingers?'

'Fingers?'

'Wasit like a large hand with fingers?'

'Yes,it was.'

'Thenit was a horse chestnut.'

'Hm,well, at any rate, the point is that he stopped me. He didn't say hello, he wasexcited, almost like a boy. "Look," he shouted. "Have you everseen such a large leaf?" I stood gaping at him and didn't quite know whatto say – to me the leaf could have been any leaf in the autumn, yellowing ofcourse, and quite big. "Yes,"I said. "It is a nice leaf." He beamed like a young boy."Isn't it!" he grinned and said: "I'll have to go home and showit to Ingrid." With that he toddled off up the street and home.'

Gunnarstrandasat staring into the beyond with a lined brow. 'And this incident made youthink he was ill?'

Witha grave expression, she nodded her head. 'I watched him disappear. This proudman who all of a sudden seemed shaky and bent, and then this outburst. I'dnever seen him like that, neither before nor after. It was like he was runninghome to mummy. I remember thinking: he hasn't got long to live now.'

'Sohe was ill.'

'Notjust ill, but at death's door.' She frowned. 'He seemed frail, on his lastlegs.'

Gunnarstrandanodded. 'And the will?'

'It'shere, but officially it has been revoked and won't be presented to thebeneficiaries.'

'Whenwas it made?'

'Along time ago, before my time. He was here last summer and went through thewording with me, on his own. That was all. But we didn't make any changes.'

'Didhe seem ill then?'

'No,'she smiled. 'Just old.'

'Didhe give any reason for revoking the will?'

'No.'She shook her head.

'Andthe request – it wasn't accompanied by any comments, such as why he chose toring you at that precise moment?'

Herlips parted in another smile. 'I'm afraid not. I thought you would ask. He wentstraight to the point. All I did was to ask him if he wanted to make anotherwill. But he said no.'

'Withoutoffering any explanation?' 'That's right.'

'Andthen?' asked Gunnarstranda, impatiently. 'The will?' she asked and said: 'It's veryshort. Nothing earth-shattering in it. I think you'll be disappointed.'

'Letme be the judge of that.'

Withoutanother word the solicitor moved away some papers and opened a yellowingenvelope on the table. 'Here you are. Feel free,' she said, passing him thedocument.

Chapter 17

Evening Mood

Eva-Brittserved fried Arctic char and made a lot of fuss about the trouble she had goneto in order to lay her hands on some. At first he ignored the cutting remarks,but he didn't escape. She attacked his complacency, and went on with her usualrant about his lack of commitment to the relationship, and his escapism whichmanifested itself in indifference since he had not even bothered to buy fish onthe way home as she had asked. Of course, she had known he would forgeteverything and had therefore done the shopping herself. He studied hernoticeboard for the duration of the tirade. Home, he thought to himself,contemplating the postcard he had once sent her from a course in Bergen, therow of Beaujolais nouveau wine labels, the other cards from her friends, allwith the conspicuously similar Mediterranean beach scenes, and right at thebottom a few words of wisdom signed by Piet Hein. He knew he would explode ifhe made an effort to answer. Her goal was to vent all her pent-up frustrationbefore the meal, an objective which he was generous enough to let her achievewithout any interruptions so that he could have the first beer of the eveningwithout her starting up again.

Afterthey had eaten Frank Frølich sat thinking about Ingrid Jespersen. He couldn'tget the thought out of his head that she had lived for a quarter of a centurywith a man who was a quarter of a century older than her. He and Eva-Brittoccupied their fixed places in her living room – in front of her new widescreenTV. He turned the volume right down and zapped between channels. But he hadpicked a bad time. There were advertisements or crap series about young celebson every channel. On Eurosport there was a boxing match between two roly-polywelterweights waddling around the ring. Every time he pressed the remote controlthe TV screen flashed, sending bluish-green tints along the walls towardsEva-Britt who was curled up in her new, white armchair from Ikea. She wasimmersed in a book by a writer called Melissa Banks and immune to his boredom.Frank switched off the television.

'Whydo women decide to marry older men?' he asked.

Eva-Brittraised her head and sent him a distant look.

'Iwas just wondering why young women marry older men.'

'Infact I'm older than you,' Eva-Britt said. 'Eight months.'

'Mm…'He considered how to express himself. 'Do you remember Rita?'

Eva-Brittlooked up from her book again. 'Rita?'

'Shewas in the year above us at school.'

'Oh,her.' Eva-Britt flicked through the book absent-mindedly, helping herself to abiscuit from the dish on the table and taking a nibble.

'Shewas with… Anders, the dark-haired guy… almost five years older than her…'

'Mm.'Eva-Britt smiled at something she was reading.

'Therewas always such a terrible to-do at parties. No one wanted to invite him whileRita was always nagging and pushing for him to be invited. Do you rememberthat?'

Eva-Brittwas munching the biscuit.

'Weren'tyou in love with Anders, too?'

'Hey?'She looked up.

'Therewas something between you and him. At one party…'

Eva-Brittput the book down. Frank could see her ear- lobes going pink. 'What are yougoing on about now?'

'Iwas wondering why women choose older men.'

'I'mnot in the slightest bit interested in older men!'

'Did Isay you were?'

'You'retalking about things that happened many years ago!'

Franksighed. 'When you're with Trude, the only thing you talk about is yourschooldays,' he countered. 'Teachers, crushes and all the so-called crazythings you did to celebrate the end of school!'

Shetook a deep breath. There was an ominous hard look in her eyes. He didn't havethe stamina for her to crank it up again so late in the evening. Time to row tothe shore, he thought with a diplomatic smile. 'You see, I've interviewed thiswoman who is twenty-five years younger than her husband. I mean, she'sattractive, elegant and all that, but she chose such an old man. I don'tunderstand.'

'That'sbecause you're thinking the wrong way around. Women don't choose older men.It's older men who chase younger women!' 'Mm,' he sighed, trying to imagineIngrid Jespersen being courted by older men. What did she have in common withthe dead man, except for an interest in design, he wondered. The same taste inmusic? Friends? She had been interested in literature – he hadn't. On the otherhand, the son was interested in literature – Karsten.

Eva-Britthad opened her book again, but was looking at him with gentler eyes now. 'Doesit have to be a mystery? It could be true love,' she suggested silkily.

Hegave an ironic smile. 'True love?'

Shesent him a meaningful glance from over the top of the book. 'Like ours.'

Heside-stepped the provocation and said: 'If it wasn't true love – like ours -what could it be?'

'Ishe rich?'

'Presumeso.'

'Hasshe got a difficult relationship with her father… I mean… are her parentsdivorced… or is her father a sailor?'

'Ihave no idea.'

'Moneyand/or no father figure,' Eva-Britt suggested, searching for the right page inher book. 'Young girls, on the other hand,' she smiled, tucking her legsbeneath her on the chair, 'young girls choose slightly older boys because theyhave fewer pimples, broader shoulders and are a bit more experienced thancertain other boys.'