A Death in Sweden(37)

They went to their adjoining rooms with some vague idea of having dinner downstairs. Dan slipped the piece of paper with the contact details into his bag, then heard a door open and turned to see Inger standing there with a surprised look on her face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—I thought it was just . . .” There was a connecting door between the two rooms, something Dan hadn’t noticed himself until now. She laughed a little, but she still looked down, and a bit of him wondered if the mistake of opening that door had been intentional, if she just wanted some company.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded but without conviction, and then she said, “I think it’s just, I never lost anybody, you know. Well, a friend at school when I was fourteen who died from some rare kind of cancer, but no family members, nothing like you’ve known, or them. It was just difficult being there. They were lovely people, weren’t they?”

“Yeah, I liked them, but it was tough. Must have been tough looking through the photographs.”

She lowered her head, as if unable to sum up how difficult it had been; pictures of Sabine from across the short span of her life, each with a happy association, but all equally possessed of a terrible sadness, a sepia tint visible only to those who knew.

“It made me think of you too, the way you lost your son.”

Fleetingly, he regretted telling her about Luca, because he was certain he didn’t deserve her sympathy, but at the same time, he couldn’t deny that it felt right in some way that he’d finally shared it with someone, and that the someone was her.

Even so, he said, “What happened to Luca is . . . What I mean to say is, you can’t compare my loss with theirs. Even I can’t begin to imagine what they’ve been through.”

She nodded, and the light in the room was so soft that it took him a moment as she stood there to see that she was crying. He stepped closer, unsure of himself, and reached out to put a hand on her shoulder.

She shook her head, saying, “It’s stupid of me.” But she held onto him all the same. He could feel the heat of her breath against his neck as she said, “She was so full of life. It was unbearable, and her mother so matter of fact and dignified. I knew it would be terrible to go there.”

“I know you didn’t want to go, I should have . . .”

“No, it’s just me. I’ve been spoiled by life.”

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, but she held him still, and he became increasingly aware of the warmth and softness of her body against his, but more than that, aware of the affection he felt for her and how stealthily it had crept up on him. Without thinking, he kissed her head where it nestled against him and, immediately, he knew he’d made a mistake.

She pulled back, though her arms were still around him, and stared at him with a look he couldn’t quite read—accusing, insulted?

“Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .”

He fell silent, the air charged between them, and he found himself oddly nervous. He still wasn’t sure how to read her or the situation, so he remained motionless and then she kissed him, tentatively at first, but then with more ease and confidence. He felt the first stirrings of adrenalin, his thoughts spinning slightly out of control as she started to pull at his clothes.

Quickly, he worked at her clothes too, and having believed and accepted that she was out of reach, he found himself almost like a teenager again now, a wave of excitement and heightened desire with each revelation; stomach, breasts, thighs. He couldn’t get enough of her, and couldn’t catch up with the fact that it seemed to be mutual.

A couple of times as they made love he wondered at this change in her, if she was bisexual, if she’d ever had a boyfriend before, because she seemed easy and comfortable and self-assured with him. He said nothing, a selfish part of him not wanting to ruin the moment or break the spell.

It was only as they lay afterwards in his bed that he said, “Er, have you . . . always been a lesbian?”

She laughed loud, doubling up, her leg curling around him. He laughed too, not even sure if they were laughing at the same thing.

She fell onto her back again and said, “I’m not a lesbian.”

He felt like punching the air, but he was curious too, and said, “Why did you tell me you were?”

She didn’t reply at first so he turned to look at her and she looked embarrassed as she said, “To avoid this happening.”

“You could’ve just told me you had a boyfriend.”

She turned to face him now, looking into his eyes as she said, “I don’t think you’re the sort of person who would see that as an obstacle.” He was still trying to think of a response to that when she said, “I was wrong though. Despite everything, I think you’re quite honorable, and quite sweet.”

“It’s been a long time since anyone’s called me that.”

“Honorable or sweet?” She was teasing him and didn’t wait for an answer. “You see, you know your way around a woman’s body, but not a woman’s mind. It’s like, in a way, all these years of adventure and always moving on, a part of you has remained . . .”

“Immature?”

“I was going to stay stunted.”

He laughed, but said afterwards, “I don’t want to be that person, and I’m trying to find a way of moving on, but, it’s not easy.”