A Week in Winter(68)
‘There’s no way you can go to Boston now. You have to go in at the deep end, Anders. I need you in there as my eyes and ears. It’s your time now.’
It couldn’t be his time yet. He was much too young. He hadn’t even begun to live properly.
Boston was cancelled. Soon it seemed as if Anders had always been in charge; he welcomed the challenges, yet he knew he would not have been able to cope without Klara’s expertise and loyalty. She briefed him before every meeting, gave him background information on every client. He did make time to swim at lunchtime each day rather than go to eat the heavy meals in dark, panelled dining rooms that the previous regime had favoured. Once a week he went to listen to some live music but every other evening he sat with his father as Fru Karlsson cleared away their supper, and he spoke about what had gone on at the firm that day.
Little by little, Mr Almkvist’s strength returned. But never to the level it had been. When he came back to work it was for short days and mainly involved meetings in the boardroom, where his presence managed to give weight and importance to the occasion.
The weeks turned into months.
Sometimes Anders felt a bit crushed by it all; other times he felt that out there somewhere was a real world with people doing what they really wanted to do or what mattered, or both. But he realised that he was privileged to have inherited such a prestigious position. In a world of uncertainty and anxiety about employment and the economy, he was amazingly lucky to be where he was, doing a job that presented new challenges every day. Privilege brought duties with it; he had always known this. This was where his duty lay.
It was his father who suggested the holiday to him.
He said that the boy was working too hard and must go to recharge his batteries. Anders was at a loss to know where to go. His friend Johan from the folk club said that Ireland was good. You could just go there and point yourself in some direction and there was always something good to see or to join in with.
He booked a ticket to Dublin and set out with no plans. Unheard-of behaviour from anyone at Almkvist’s, who normally researched everything forensically before setting out anywhere. He missed Erika desperately at the airport. They had set out from here to London, to Spain, to Greece. Now he was on his own.
Had he been mad to let her slip away?
But there had been no other decision he could have made. Anders could not have stayed for ever with Erika in Gothenburg, where she had found the perfect career. And she would not have come to live in the shadow of Almkvist’s and be a complaisant company wife like his mother had done.
He had hoped that he would forget her, and it was easy to find companions for dinner or dancing. As the heir to Almkvist’s he was considered a very eligible catch, but no woman ever held his interest for long. He went to all the social occasions but never cared about anyone enough to seek out their company, and he had been pleased to learn that Erika had not formed any other attachment. Now, at the airport, he wanted so much to speak to her and tell her he was going to Ireland. She answered her phone immediately and was genuinely glad to hear from him. She seemed interested in everything he had to say, but then Erika was always interested in everything and everyone. It didn’t make him special.
‘Are you going with friends?’ she asked.
‘I don’t want to go with friends,’ he said ruefully. ‘I want to go with you.’
‘No, you don’t get the sympathy vote by saying something like that. You have all the friends you need. You have the life you chose.’ Her tone was light but she meant it. He had made his choice. ‘You’ll make lots of new friends in Ireland. I go to an Irish bar here. They have great music. They’re easy people to get to know.’
‘Well, I’ll send you a postcard if I find an Irish bar when I get there.’
‘I believe it will be hard not to find one. But do that anyway.’
Did she sound as if she really would like to hear from him, or was she just being Erika – easy, relaxed and yet focused at the same time?
He walked glumly to the plane.
Erika would have loved the Dublin hotel, which managed to be both chaotic and charming at the same time. They advised him to take a city bus tour to orientate himself and to go to a traditional Irish evening in a nearby pub that night. Then, at breakfast the next morning, he met a group of Irish Americans who were discussing renting a boat on the River Shannon. It was proving to be more expensive than they had hoped. They really needed another person to share the cost. Would he like to make up the numbers?
Why not, he thought? The brochure looked attractive – lovely lakes and a wide river, little ports to visit. Before he realised it he was en route to Athlone in the middle of Ireland, going aboard a motor cruiser for a lesson in navigation. Soon they were cruising past reeds and riverbanks and old castles, and places with small harbours and long names. The sun shone and the world slowed down.
His fellow passengers were five easy-going men and women from an insurance company in Chicago. They were meant to be looking for ancestors and relatives, but this sat lightly on them. They were more interested in finding good Irish music and drinking a lot of Irish beer. Anders joined in enthusiastically.
He bought three postcards at a tiny post office and sent them to his father, his mother and Erika.
He puzzled for a long time before he wrote the few lines to his father. There was literally nothing to say that would interest the old man. Eventually, he decided to say that the economy of the country had taken a serious hit because of the recession. That at least was something his father would understand.