‘You’ll never be able to explain to them, and when the truth gets out, as it will, the price you’ll pay will be unbearable. You’ll lose them and the only chance you still have to right the wrongs of the past is passing you by at this very moment.’
The Countess allowed a long and pregnant pause. Without result.
‘The choice is simple. Either you tell us now what happened on that revision trip or else you can let us drag it out of you, then later you can try and make your children understand why you chose to remain silent.’
A muscle beneath one of Hanne Brummersted’s eyes began to twitch, but apart from that she failed to react.
‘Hell is getting used to hell.’
Brummersted collected herself.
‘You’ve been wanting to say that for a while, haven’t you? I must admit, it does sound rather good, but the reality of the matter is, it’s nonsense. Absolute values can’t be compared, I’d have thought you’d have known that.’
‘I’m not doubting your intelligence, only your morals.’
‘If you’re not doubting my intelligence, then why on earth do you think I’d be here without a solicitor if I did kill Jørgen Kramer Nielsen?’
‘We’ll ask the questions. We told you that last time, too. Now, you were telling us about your morals.’
‘No, I wasn’t as a matter of fact, but let me do so anyway. All through my adult life I’ve worked hard, every single day, without a let-up. And you’re asking me how I bring up my children? Well, I tell them people should keep their promises… that I’ve sworn an oath…’
At last, a crack in her voice. A little hiccup, then another, and finally tears, rolling down her cheeks. Her mascara followed suit. Simonsen prepared himself to take over. Promises – he wanted to know more about those. But before he had the chance she’d already got the better of them and left them floundering like a pair of novices. She turned her tearful face to the video camera Simonsen had ostentatiously rigged up to put pressure on her, and then said to the Countess:
‘Last time we met you threatened me by saying you’d leak this story to the press unless I admitted certain things I couldn’t remember. Regrettably, that didn’t make it on to your tape recording, did it? You also promised that you would make me cry. Well, you’ve succeeded. Are we finished now?’
The address Konrad Simonsen had been given at the concert in Frederiksværk turned out to belong to a multi-storey car park. The man at the gate was friendly enough. He checked Simonsen’s name and business and said:
‘She’s expecting you. Hang on a minute, I’ll see if I can find her.’
He studied a bank of flickering monitors to his left.
‘She’s up on level four. Let me try and give her a call. Can’t promise anything, though. We’ve been having all sorts of trouble with the signal, it disappears all the time after they pulled the building next door down. Work that one out if you can.’
Simonsen stopped him.
‘It doesn’t matter, I’ll just go up.’
The man hesitated, seeming rather sceptical for a moment, then replied:
‘If you can’t find her, come back down again. We’ve been told to help you if you ever turn up. Orders, you could say.’
‘She gives the orders around here, does she?’
‘I’ll say. She owns the place. The lift’s over to your right, just follow the signs.’
‘I think I’ll walk. Get the exercise.’
‘Fine by me. But mind the cars, now. People tend to forget.’
Much to his satisfaction, Konrad Simonsen walked up to level four keeping a decent pace and without losing his breath. Reaching the landing, he ventured forward into the parking area proper, finding the place apparently empty and gradually beginning to feel somewhat at odds with himself. He stopped and glanced around. Daylight slanted in through the openings in the outer walls, flooding the barren structure, lending the prefabricated concrete elements a grainy, almost surreal quality. Here and there, a zinc pipe broke the visual monotony, and the cars and other vehicles that were dotted about the place sparkled like jewels in a forsaken, silent world. Rita was nowhere to be seen. Only after a depressingly long wander around the level, during which he began to consider going back down to the security guard at the gate, did he finally catch sight of her, standing behind a black Passat, filling in a ticket in a little white book, like a conscientious meter maid. He had all the time in the world simply to look at her.
Time had not been kind to her. She looked gaunt, tight-lipped as though to demonstrate to the world that she wasn’t complaining. The once rebellious curls of her hair had been tamed and hung tired and listless. Not even her eyes had aged with grace. They’d seen what there was to see and didn’t care to strain themselves for what could only be a pale imitation. Her army-green poncho, reaching to her ankles, made her look older than she was, and combined with the grey bag slung across her shoulder made her resemble a rather shabby army officer.
Simonsen felt his heart sink. The girl of his youth was gone. She had existed only inside him, frozen in time, a precious illusion now cancelled out by a woman he no longer know. Cautiously, he stepped back and glanced around in search of the exit. Immediately, she looked up and saw him. And when she did, the miracle happened: her smile swept away the years as though they had never passed, and Rita was suddenly there in front of him.
‘Hi, Konrad, I’m so glad you came.’
The same husky, sensual voice he remembered from the past. Words from his youth abruptly tumbled out.
‘Hi, Lovely Rita. Are you free to take tea with me?’
They laughed, not realising how tight they held each other until a car came past and the driver sent them a smile. Simonsen asked her out for dinner.
‘If you’ve got time, that is?’
‘I’ve got lots of time. To be honest, I don’t do much, I just like to go about and savour the feel of this place, smell the petrol fumes, write out tickets, little things of no importance. I could get other people to do it.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard the place is all yours.’
‘Half of it’s yours, Konrad. I realise that.’
He put his hand to her mouth and pressed a finger to his own lips, silencing her gently, but firmly.
‘Are you sure? I’ve already spoken to my accountant, and it’s…’
He repeated the gesture, and she acquiesced. After a moment she asked:
‘Haven’t you ever told anyone about what happened back then?’
‘No.’
‘Me neither, but there have been times when I’ve really wanted to. How about you?’
‘Only once. Just recently, as a matter of fact.’
‘Your wife or partner? Your children, perhaps?’
It was obvious she was angling.
‘Neither, but let’s not talk about that. There are so many other things to discuss.’
‘No, of course… though I’d like to… talk about that, too, I mean.’
He said nothing.
The Countess probed when he got home. He didn’t want to lie, and she wasn’t the sort to be fobbed off with half-truths.
‘She wanted to give you half her multi-storey? Why would she want to do that?’
‘That was the gist of it, I think, yes. I gave her some money once, so she could go to America. She was in a tight spot. I never knew the exact details.’
‘How much did you give her?’
‘I can’t remember, but a lot.’
‘Where did you get it from?’
‘I used to do the pools, everyone did.’
‘And you won the famous jackpot, did you?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You’re a very generous and highly fortunate man, Simon. Are you going to be seeing her again?’
‘No, and we’re agreed on it. We realised that during dinner.’
They had laughed a lot while they were out together. And said they had to see each other again, knowing full well it wouldn’t happen.
‘Did you ever get to San Francisco?’ he asked.