A Week in Winter(64)

He had only been there a week when he met Erika, a textile and design student. She came straight over to him at a party and asked him to dance.

Later, he asked her why she had approached him that night.

‘You looked smart, that’s all. Not scruffy,’ she said.

Anders was very disappointed. ‘Does that sort of thing matter?’ he asked.

‘It matters that you care enough about yourself and about the people you meet to present yourself well. That’s all. I’m tired of scruffy people,’ she said.

They were an item from then on, it seemed. Erika loved to cook but only when she wanted to and what she wanted to. But she loved to have people to her apartment, and when she found out that Anders could play the nyckelharpa she was appalled that he hadn’t brought it with him to university. So the very next time he went home she insisted that he bring it back with him. And then she set about organising jam sessions at her place, and she would make the most delicious suppers.

Erika was small and funny and thought that women’s rights and fashion were not incompatible. She loved to dress up for any occasion, and astonished Anders when she was the most attractive and stylish woman in the room. They made each other laugh, and quite soon became inseparable.

It was just before Easter time that she told him she would never marry him because she thought marriage was a kind of enslavement, but she would love him all of her life. She said she needed to explain this to him at once lest there be any grey areas.

Anders was startled. He hadn’t asked her to marry him. But it all looked good, so he went along with it.

Erika asked him home to meet her parents.

Her father ran a tiny restaurant; her mother was a taxi driver. They welcomed Anders warmly, and he envied the kind of family life they all had. Her sister and brother, twins aged twelve, joined in everything and argued cheerfully with their parents about every subject from pocket money to breast implants, from God to the royal family – subjects that had never been discussed in the Almkvist household. The twins asked Erika when would she be going to meet Anders’ family. Before he could answer, Erika said quickly that there was no hurry. She was an acquired taste, she explained. It would take longer for people to welcome her in.

‘What’s an acquired taste?’ her brother asked.

‘Look it up,’ Erika teased.

Later, Anders said, ‘I would be happy for you to come and stay at my father’s house.’

‘No way. I don’t want to give the man a heart attack. But I might go with you and stay at your mother’s in London, though.’

‘I’m not sure if that would be a good idea . . .’

‘You just don’t want to meet William and think of him sleeping with your mother, that’s all.’

‘Not true,’ he said and then, because he couldn’t keep up the lie, ‘Well, I suppose it’s a little true.’

‘Let’s see if we can get to London. I’ll try and find a project, and we can improve our English and see London and check out your new stepfather at the same time.’

It was April when they finally made the visit to London. The daffodils were out in all the parks and gardens and everything seemed alive and sparkling. Gunilla and William were living in an elegant house in a beautiful square quite close to the Imperial War Museum; from there, it was only a few minutes’ walk to the River Thames and all the history and pageantry London was famous for. It was the first time they had seen the city and all the richness and bustle. The crowds and the noise were daunting at first, but they dived in with enthusiasm, determined to make the most of every moment.

Gunilla was relaxed and delighted to see them. If she had any doubts about Erika’s suitability as the partner of the next head of Almkvist’s, she did not even hint at them. William was very welcoming and took three days off work from his television production company to show the young visitors the real London. The first stop was the London Eye, from where they could see for miles in every direction. He had looked up a few of the folk-music clubs in the city so they could take off on their own for an evening if they wanted to. To Anders’ delight, William had even found out that there would be nyckelharpa playing at a Scandi session in a pub not far away in Bermondsey.

Anders found that it was easier to talk to his mother than it had ever been. No longer was she complaining about how he looked. In fact, she was full of admiration.

‘Erika is just delightful,’ she told Anders. ‘Have you taken her to meet your father yet?’

‘Not yet. You know . . .’

If his mother did know, she didn’t say so.

‘Don’t leave it too long. Take Erika to meet him soon. She’s lovely.’

‘But you know how snobby he is, how much he cares about what people do, and are. You’ve forgotten what he’s like. She stands up for herself. She hates big business. She can’t bear the kind of people he deals with all day.’

‘She will be much too polite to let any of that show.’

Anders wished he could believe her.

Gunilla wanted to know about the office. Did Anders go in there much when he went home?

‘I haven’t been home much really,’ he admitted.

‘You should go and keep an eye on your territory, your inheritance,’ she said. ‘Your father would like that.’

‘He never asks me or suggests it.’