Rites of Spring

by Anders de la Motte

  Be careful with him, Hubert had said on the castle steps. She had interpreted it as a warning, but in fact it was an exhortation.

  They stand in silence as the ambulance drives away.

  ‘He loves you, doesn’t he? The strongest love is unrequited love – that’s what he wrote in his favourite book. It’s you he’s referring to.’

  Per doesn’t answer.

  ‘You were riding Nelson that night,’ she goes on quietly. ‘You were dressed as the Green Man. You were the father of Elita’s child.’

  Eventually Per shakes his head slowly. ‘I loved her, more than I’ve ever loved anyone else. But we were so young, all three of us. Hubert helped me to get dressed up, then he hid in the forest and watched. The plan was to scare the kids, pay them back for all the crap Elita had had to put up with over the years. Hubert and I weren’t too keen on the idea, but Elita insisted. She wanted to kill off her old self. We were going to fly away from here together, become something better.’

  ‘You’d arranged to go to Paris, to Hubert’s aunt. That’s why Elita had her passport in her suitcase. The three of you were going to stay with her until Elita had had the baby. Maybe even longer.’

  Per nods. ‘We were dreamers, dreaming of something different. Something bigger. And for a few weeks it actually felt real, as if we could actually do it. A ridiculous dream, of course. Doomed to crash and burn.’

  ‘So tell me about Walpurgis Night.’

  ‘Nelson was nervous. Everything frightened him. He reared up, then took off. Galloped all the way home with me clinging to his back. I didn’t know what had happened until Hubert showed up in the stable. He said Nelson had kicked Elita, and that she was dead. He’d laid her on the sacrificial stone. It was all over. I was in total shock, I couldn’t speak. Hubert took care of the horse, then drove me home. Told me not to say a word to anyone. He said the whole thing was an accident, it wasn’t my fault.’

  He shakes his head again.

  ‘I should have said no, but I was terrified of my father and the count. I didn’t have the guts to look them in the eye and admit what I’d done. So I kept quiet, and suddenly Leo was in custody, Hubert was sent away to England, and I was alone with our secret. The children identified Leo, and I suppose I wanted to believe that he really had done it, that I wasn’t responsible for her death. When he confessed, I felt a huge sense of relief. For a while, at least.’

  He takes a deep breath.

  ‘Deep down I knew the truth, but I chose to keep quiet like the pathetic coward I am.’

  ‘And Hubert didn’t say anything either,’ Thea says. ‘Because he didn’t want to see you get into trouble. He never told his father that he wasn’t a murderer, not even when the count took away the castle and the land.’

  ‘As I said, Hubert is the most unselfish person I know. Time for me to try and be more like him, don’t you think?’

  He pats her arm, then turns and walks over to one of the police officers.

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ she hears him say. ‘Something I’ve kept quiet about for far too long.’

  92

  ‘The story is almost over, Margaux. There is only one chapter left, and a confession. My own.’

  S

  ister Aubert is sitting in the staffroom when she hears agitated voices in the corridor.

  She has worked at the clinic for four years, and enjoys her job. She gets on well with the other nurses and the doctors, especially Dr Roland, who is unfortunately too shy to ask her out. She’s decided to give him another two weeks before taking matters into her own hands.

  The voices are coming closer. The door opens to reveal Sister Papin and Sister Ribot, her closest colleagues.

  ‘Another message has arrived,’ says Sister Ribot. ‘From the Swede.’

  Sister Aubert gets to her feet. Leaves her coffee and accompanies the two women to room fourteen.

  The patient is a doctor, she knows that. The woman suffered a severe head trauma over a year ago during a bombing raid in Syria, and has been in a coma ever since. She will probably never regain consciousness, but her body hasn’t given up. It continues to fight on, and as long as it does that, all they can do is wait and pray.

  The patient has many visitors. Her family and friends are often here, sitting by her bed and chatting to her as the doctors have recommended. The family has even installed a telephone answering machine so that friends can leave little messages for her.

  Every afternoon at four o’clock, Sister Aubert or one of her colleagues presses the button and plays the latest messages. They usually leave the room, but not when she has called. The Swede. That’s what they call her, even though they know her name is Thea.

  It is all Sister Papin’s fault. She was the one who started listening to the Swede’s story, then passed it on to the others.

  A story about a castle and a dead girl.

  As the days went by they all found a reason to be in room fourteen at four o’clock to hear the next instalment. Sat there in silence while the Swede told the tale of how she had slowly begun to untangle old secrets.

  They have no idea whether the story is true. Maybe the Swede is making it up, maybe it’s something she’s read in a book, but they don’t care. They simply sit there together and sometimes, although she knows it’s impossible, Sister Aubert gets the feeling that the patient is listening as intently as they are.

  They thought it was all over when the ambulance drove away with poor Hubert, and Per finally revealed what had happened on that Walpurgis Night so many years ago. Several weeks have passed since then – but now there is a new message.

  They hurry along the corridor, close the door of room fourteen behind them. Settle down around the bed as usual, before Sister Ribot presses ‘Play’.

  ‘Hi, Margaux, it’s me,’ says the Swede. She doesn’t sound quite as unhappy as she normally does. ‘I’m sorry it’s been so long; things have been a bit chaotic here. Ingrid and Arne have been arrested and are waiting to go to court. The police dredged the canal and recovered the pick-up and the Ford with the remains of Lasse, Eva-Britt and Lola inside, just as Kerstin said. The women will probably be buried next to Elita. For some reason that feels like a kind of consolation, that she won’t have to lie there alone anymore.

  David has decided to sell the restaurant. He’s not going to work for a while; he wants to take care of his father. Nettan and Sebastian have returned home. I think they, like David, are relieved that the truth has finally come out. Jan-Olof definitely feels that way. His fall was a pure accident, and he’ll make a full recovery.

  Hubert has promised to look after Emee for a while. The two convalescents will get better together, as he puts it. Neither he nor Per will face any charges. Elita’s death was also an accident, after all.

  It was a lynx that killed the deer. The glycol Emee ingested came from a bait trap set by Erik Nyberg. A stupid idea, according to Per. Hubert made Erik pay the vet’s bill by way of an apology.

  I also found out that it’s Hubert and Per who pay for the upkeep of Elita’s grave, and sometimes lay flowers upon it – but I’m sure you’d already worked that out, just as you’d worked out that it was Arne who locked me in the cellar at Svartgården, and who left the Green Man figures on my windscreen. As he said outside the hunting lodge, he was trying to scare me off so I’d stop digging.

  I honestly don’t think Arne is a bad person. None of them are, not even Ingrid. She loves Bertil, her family and Tornaby. She’d do anything to protect them. In that respect she has certain similarities with my father. I’ve written his reprieve petition, in case you’re wondering. I might be angry with him, I might never be able to forgive him, but I can give him that.

  You could call it grace.

  I hope the others will also receive grace, especially David. He and I are talking again. We are friendly, almost affectionate, but we’ve agreed that divorce is the right course of action. Our journey together is finished. Just like yours and mine.

>   The story is almost over, Margaux. There is only one chapter left, and a confession. My own.

  We will begin with the remaining chapter. I’ve asked a private detective to track down Leo in Canada. He deserves to know the truth. After all, he was the real spring sacrifice. I’m intending to go over there on my own. My first trip without you. It will feel very strange. At the same time, you are always with me, in my thoughts and in my heart.

  And the confession. I’ve saved it until the end because it’s the most difficult part. Maybe it was Hubert who gave me the strength to admit to myself who I am. Or maybe it was Elita Svart.

  Thea Lind was a disguise. An alter ego I hid behind until I met you. I only wish I’d told you while there was still time. I almost did, on several occasions. And now I’m doing it. Confessing to you who I really am.

  You are the person you want to be. And I only want to be your beloved.

  I love you, Margaux. I always will. You are the great love of my life.

  I miss you so much.’

  The message ends. There is total silence in the room. And it might be her imagination, later Sister Aubert is almost certain that it is, but at that moment she could swear that the patient in the bed beside her smiles.

  Epilogue

  T

  he log cabin lies deep in the forest. The private detective drops her off at the end of the drive.

  ‘I’ll wait here,’ he says. ‘Good luck.’

  Thea picks up her bag and sets off towards the house. It is warm. The trees are dark green, the air is still. There is a boat on a trailer on the drive, and a rack of fishing rods on the veranda.

  Two girls aged four or five are playing on the lawn.

  ‘Hi!’ one of them says. ‘What do you want?’ She has black hair, dark eyes and confident expression.

  ‘I’m looking for John Swanson,’ Thea says.

  ‘He’s my granddad!’

  The front door opens and a tall man steps out. His beard and hair are peppered with grey, he has a slight stoop, and he’s wearing jeans and a checked flannel shirt.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asks in almost perfect English.

  ‘I’m looking for Leo Rasmussen,’ Thea says in Swedish. She sees him recoil, as if the name opens doors in his head that he would prefer to keep closed.

  ‘I’m Thea Lind,’ she adds quickly. ‘I’m here to tell you what really happened on Walpurgis Night in 1986.’

  The man stares at her, and for a few seconds she is convinced that he’s going to tell her to leave. But then he gestures towards the veranda.

  ‘Take a seat,’ he replies in Swedish. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  She sits down in a wicker armchair and he disappears into the house. He returns with two bottles of mineral water and sits down beside her.

  Thea takes a deep breath, then tells him everything from beginning to end. He listens in silence.

  ‘Here.’

  She passes him her iPad, shows him a series of newspaper headlines from last spring. Pictures of the pick-up and the Ford being recovered from the canal. Of Leo and Elita when they were young. Of the Polaroid.

  He scrolls through the images, still saying nothing. He lingers for a while on Elita’s self-portrait. Touches her face with his index finger before moving on.

  ‘Thank you,’ he says when he’s finished. ‘Thank you for telling me all this.’

  His eyes are shining with unshed tears, and it might be an illusion, but she thinks his back is suddenly a little straighter, as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

  She stays for a while and answers his questions, then gets up to say goodbye. She gives him a card with her phone number, then leaves him in peace with his thoughts.

  On the way back to the car, the little dark-haired girl catches up with her. Takes her hand.

  ‘What’s your name?’ the child asks.

  ‘Thea. What’s yours?’

  ‘Elita.’

  ‘What a lovely name,’ Thea says.

  For a brief moment she almost feels happy.

  If you enjoyed RITES OF SPRING, don’t miss the next in the series, END OF SUMMER

  Author’s note

  Tornaby and Ljungslöv are both fictional places. Just like Reftinge in End of Summer, Nedanås in Deeds of Autumn and Vedarp in Dead of Winter, they are based on the area where I grew up in north-western Skåne.

  Walpurgis Eve in Sweden falls on April 30th. Walpurgis, or Valborgsmässoafton (‘Valborg’ for short), is the night where bonfires are lit to celebrate spring. Traditionally the bonfires were believed to ward off evil spirits, and today people still gather together to light the fires and sing. On May Day there are parades and festivals held across the country as May 1st has been a public holiday in Sweden since 1939.

  Keep reading for an exclusive extract from the next book in the Seasons Quartet

  End of Summer

  You can always go home. But you can never go back . . .

  Summer 1983: Four-year-old Billy chases a rabbit in the fields behind his house. But when his mother goes to call him in, Billy has disappeared. Never to be seen again.

  Today: Veronica is a bereavement counsellor. She’s never fully come to terms with her mother’s suicide after her brother Billy’s disappearance. When a young man walks into her group, he looks familiar and talks about the trauma of his friend’s disappearance in 1983. Could Billy still be alive after all this time?

  Needing to know the truth, Veronica goes home – to the place where her life started to fall apart.

  Prologue

  Summer 1983

  T

  he baby rabbit was crouching in the tall grass. Its coat was wet and shiny with the dew that had accompanied dusk into the garden.

  He should really go in. His mum didn’t like him being out on his own, especially not when it was getting dark. But he was a big boy now, he would be five in a few weeks, and he liked dusk a lot. Soon all the night animals would start to appear. Hedgehogs would peer out cautiously from beneath the big bushes, then set off across the grass in funny, zigzag paths. Bats would start to swirl about between the tall trees, and from the avenue of chestnuts on the other side of the house he could already hear the first cries of the owls.

  It was the rabbits he wanted to see most. Having one of his own was right at the top of his wish list. A fluffy baby rabbit, just like the one sitting over there in the grass. The little creature looked at him, twitching its nose as if it wasn’t sure about his smell. If he was dangerous or harmless. He took a couple of careful steps towards it. The rabbit stayed where it was, it didn’t seem to have made up its mind.

  He had been looking forward to his birthday for a couple of months already. He was hoping to get a kite from Mattias. He had watched his big brother spend hours making kites out in Dad’s workshop. The way he carefully measured the canes for the frame, stretched twine between the ends and covered the whole thing with taut, shiny fabric that he had pinched from the boxes up in the attic. Clothes that had once belonged to their grandmother, that Mum hadn’t got round to getting rid of.

  Several times this summer he had watched as Mattias and his friends held competitions with their homemade creations. Mattias’s kites always flew highest, every time. Hovering above the fields just like their feathered namesakes.

  The rabbit in the grass was still looking at him, so he took a few more steps towards it. He stopped when the animal raised its head slightly. He felt like running straight at the rabbit to grab hold of it. But Uncle Harald always said that a good hunter didn’t rush things, so he waited, standing perfectly still and thinking about his wish list.

  He was hoping to get a red car he had seen in the shop in the village from his big sister. It had big flames on its sides, and if you pulled it backwards and then let go, it would race off on its own. It was probably expensive, but Vera was bound to buy it for him anyway. Dad would give her the money. If she asked for it. He didn’t really know if she had forgiven him for the business with the ha
wk’s eggs, but he didn’t want to think about that. Mattias had forgiven him, but it was harder to tell with Vera.

  The baby rabbit lowered its head again and started to nibble on a blade of grass. Its whiskers were twitching so cutely that he very nearly broke Uncle Harald’s rules. But he needed to wait a bit longer. Wait for the moment the rabbit relaxed and was no longer looking in his direction.

  He had asked for a bicycle from Mum and Dad. He had already started practising on Mattias’s old one, even though he wasn’t actually supposed to do that on his own. The other day he fell off and grazed his knee. Not badly, but enough to draw blood. He had started to cry, and went and hid in the treehouse. Uncle Harald had found him and gave him a telling off. ‘What did your mum say? Don’t you understand that she gets worried?’

  Yes, he understood. His mum worried about him pretty much the whole time. ‘Because you’re my little mouse,’ she always said. ‘Because I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.’ That was why he had hidden himself away and didn’t go back into the house. After telling him off, his uncle had put a plaster on his knee and told Mum that he had fallen over on the gravel path between the barn and the house. Easily done if you’re running in wooden-soled shoes. The lie was for his mother’s sake, not his. So she wouldn’t worry. Since then he hadn’t been allowed to wear wooden-soled shoes like Mattias and Vera. He thought that was unfair.

  Suddenly the baby rabbit moved. It took a couple of short hops in his direction, in search of longer grass. Instead of running towards it he stood perfectly still. Waiting, just like Uncle Harald said.

  Uncle Harald was the best hunter in the area, everyone knew that. There were almost always dead animals hanging from the roof of his boiler room. Pheasants, deer, hares, with empty eyes and stiff bodies. Uncle Harald had rough hands. He smelled of tobacco, oil, dogs and something he couldn’t identify. But he guessed it was something dangerous. A lot of people were scared of Uncle Harald. Vera and Mattias were, even if Vera pretended not to be. She sometimes contradicted him, but you could hear the wobble in her voice. Mattias, on the other hand, didn’t say anything, just stared down at the ground and did as he was told. Fetched Uncle Harald’s pipe or fed his dogs. They weren’t the sort of dogs you could play with. They lived outside in big pens and travelled on the back of the truck rather than inside it. Rough coats, anxious eyes that followed Uncle Harald’s every movement. The other week he went to the swimming pool with Dad and Mattias. He had sat in the sauna listening to the old men talk. When Uncle Harald came in everyone moved out of the way, even Dad. Clearing the best space for him, right in the middle. Looking at him the same way the dogs did.