Silver Tears(39)

After an hour or so, the boys shouted that we had arrived. I raised my gaze and saw Yx?n. A rocky, forested green oasis in the midst of all this blue. We moored beside some rocks, lowered the rubber dinghy, loaded it up with our backpacks and provisions. Roger lit a cigarette while rowing.

I put my hand to my breast and felt the necklace hanging there. I ran my fingers over the silver tears that felt so fragile even though they were pretty robust, according to Mom. The island grew larger before my eyes and I shuddered as a cold shiver ran down my spine.





Faye stared at the woman standing outside her front door. She had been on the verge of crying out in surprise. She took a deep breath as Ylva Lehndorf raised a hand in greeting.

“Sorry, did I scare you?”

“A little.” Faye juggled with her keys. She stuck them in the lock and opened the door and security grille. “Come in.”

Her body was trembling as she kicked off her shoes. Once Ylva had stepped into the apartment, Faye quickly locked the front door.

“What a beautiful home,” Ylva said in a low voice.

“Thank you, I’m happy here. Come in. I’ve had a really shitty day, so despite the early hour, I thought I’d have a glass of wine. Do you want one?”

Ylva nodded with a wry smile.

“Good,” said Faye, leading her into the kitchen.

She got out a bottle of Chardonnay, two wineglasses, and a corkscrew. Good God, she was going to be an alcoholic by the time this was all over. Her wine consumption was getting beyond all reasonable measures, but right now she needed either wine or Valium to survive. And at that particular moment, she definitely preferred a well-chilled Chardonnay. She would have to juice-cleanse when it was all over, or check herself into the La Prairie Spa in Switzerland for a week of major detox. She opened the freezer and took out a bag of ice, which she poured into a metal bucket and passed to Ylva.



“Let’s sit on the terrace.”

Faye poured the wine and they sat in silence, staring out across the rooftops of ?stermalm while sipping their drinks.

“Aren’t you wondering why I’m here?” Ylva asked tentatively.

“No,” said Faye, without dropping her eyes from the view. “I assume you’re here because you’ve realized that my offer is too good to refuse.”

Ylva nodded.

“If you still want to hire me, then I gratefully accept the job as finance director of Revenge. And I’ve got the plan you asked for.”

Faye felt a tingle of expectation, but first she had something even more pressing to raise with Ylva. Something that overshadowed everything else.

“Has Jack still not been in touch with you?” she asked.

Ylva shook her head quickly.

“And you?”

“No.”

Faye’s mobile phone rang loudly, sounding across the terrace, and made both of them jump. They smiled at each other shamefacedly. Faye assumed it was another journalist and put her iPhone upside down. When a text arrived to say someone had left a message, she called her voicemail.

“Hello, Faye, my name is Johanna Schiller and I’m married to David. I’d like you to call me as soon as possible on this number. We need to talk.”

The voice sounded tense, almost neurotic, Faye thought to herself. Ylva stared at her quizzically.

“Is everything all right?” she asked cautiously.

Faye considered her answer carefully. It ought to be okay to tell her about the affair with David—after all, he was divorced…or would have been if Johanna hadn’t strung out the process. She wasn’t proud of being the other woman, but Ylva of all people ought to understand.

She summarized the events of recent weeks and Ylva listened with an intent expression.



“Do you have a guilty conscience?” she asked when Faye had finished her account.

Faye thought about this for a while as she drank her wine.

“I care about him a lot, and he feels the same way. We’re two adults. Obviously it would have been preferable if the divorce was finalized, but she refuses to let go. Are David and I meant to stay away from each other? No, I don’t have a guilty conscience.”

Faye reached for the bottle and refilled their glasses.

“What are you going to do? Are you going to call back?”

Ylva nodded at the phone.

“No. It’s not up to me to solve this. That’s for David. I don’t know exactly how much he’s told her. Unfortunately, she found out about us before he had time to say anything, but I didn’t think she knew it was me in particular that he had been seeing. Either way, what good would talking to her do? It might just make things worse.”

She looked at Ylva with curiosity.

“Did you have a guilty conscience?”

Ylva took a swallow of wine. Faye admired her calm—the self-confidence she radiated. Faye’s tone had been neutral, but she really wanted to know. She suppressed the memory of Ylva and Jack’s naked bodies in her bedroom. It was surreal to be sitting with the same woman talking about the moment that had—perhaps more than any other—changed Faye’s life.

“Yes and no,” Ylva said thoughtfully. “I mean, at times Jack made you out to be a monster, at times a doormat. And I was in love. Fuck me, I was so in love. And before I knew it, he had changed me in the same way he changed you. I didn’t even notice it. It was as if I were a toy—a hollow tin soldier with a single purpose: to make the little boy inside Jack Adelheim happy.”