Silver Tears(36)

Faye tapped her Amex Black on the card reader.

“I assumed you’d show up sooner or later.”

“We’ve got a mutual problem,” said Faye.

Ylva nodded, but her eyes wandered to the people standing behind Faye.

“I’ve got to take orders from the people who are waiting, but take a seat and I’ll come over when I get a gap.”

Faye nodded, took her coffee and sandwich, and went to a seat at a table for two by the window.

She looked at her phone. David had messaged. Every time she saw his name on the display her heart leaped for joy.

With a smile, she opened the message and read it.

I couldn’t help myself when I saw this. It’s so you. And I took a chance on you liking it.

Faye pulled up the picture he had sent. And gasped. David had managed to identify the single photographic work in the whole world that she wanted the most. It was a photo of Faye Dunaway, in the pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel, taken by Terry O’Neill, the morning after she had won an Oscar. How could he have known? How could he know her so well after such a short period of time? Faye couldn’t help cracking a big smile.



She put away her phone and helped herself to a napkin, which she doodled on with a fountain pen. Then she got her laptop out of her bag, put it on top of the napkin, and opened her inbox. She didn’t look up from her emails until Ylva sat down on the chair opposite her.

Ylva brushed the crumbs off her top and then smoothed it out. She didn’t quite meet Faye’s gaze.

“Has Jack been in contact with you?” Faye asked.

Ylva shook her head vigorously.

“No. And I don’t think he will. Why would he? I didn’t mean a thing to him.”

She said it so straightforwardly, as if it were obvious that Jack had never loved her. Faye didn’t want to think about what her life with him had been.

“He hasn’t been in touch from prison, either?”

“No. I don’t think he’s at all interested—not in me, not in Nora.”

Faye looked through the window. She rarely thought about the fact that Julienne had a little sister who was now almost two.

“How are you getting on?”

“Surely you can see for yourself?” said Ylva, holding out her hands. “I lost everything after Jack. No one would hire me, and how was I supposed to do my old job when I also had a baby to look after? But I’m getting by. We’re getting by.”

Faye took a sip of coffee. She was convinced that Ylva was right. She would manage. She was a survivor.

“Are you afraid?” Ylva asked.

Faye nodded slowly.

“Yes, I am. Jack killed our daughter. And he hates me. For testifying against him and for moving on. Becoming successful. For having everything that he had.”

Ylva looked over toward the register, but there was no customer waiting for assistance.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “For everything. For what we did to you. For me being stupid and na?ve and going along with everything he said. And I’m so, so sorry about what happened to Julienne. Now that I’ve got Nora, I can’t even begin to imagine…”



Her voice broke and Faye realized that she felt sympathy for the woman in front of her. They had both been tricked by Jack. They had both paid the price. The past was water under the bridge.

“Are you happy serving people coffee?” Faye asked.

Ylva fidgeted on her chair.

“It’s my job—no better or worse than anything else.”

“You’ve got a work ethic and you’re conscientious,” said Faye. “I’m pretty sure that your bosses have never had a better employee. You’re a perfectionist, and you should know that I respect you.”

She picked up the computer, pulled out the napkin with the doodles, and pushed it across the table. Ylva bent forward and examined the napkin suspiciously.

“What’s this?” she said curtly.

“A contract of employment.”

“Oh come on,” said Ylva, her face turning red. “You won, Faye. You don’t have to come here and rub it in my face. I get it. I lost and I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

Faye put her hand on the laptop and slowly closed it.

“In my inbox, I’ve got almost one hundred and fifty emails from people who want to invest in Revenge ahead of our expansion in the USA. Mostly men. I need someone who can do finance—properly—to go through the proposals and check out the investors. I want to know who I’m getting into bed with.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the best woman for the job. And because I believe I can match the wage they pay you in this joint, thus bagging myself one of Sweden’s best economists for a song.”

Ylva looked dumbfounded.

“But…I took your husband.”

“Yes, I forgot to thank you for that,” said Faye, smiling briefly. “I then stole him back, even though it was only to con him out of his company. The way I see it, it’s one all.”



“I just don’t get what I have to offer.”

“This is how it is. This is information that I don’t want getting out, but I’m going to take a chance and trust you.”

“You can,” said Ylva gravely, and Faye believed her.