“Oh, my legs were uncrossed for sure. He leaned me over someone’s fur—beautiful, beautiful fox—anyway, he leaned me over and took me from behind,” Mandy said, the fingers of her right hand sliding down between her breasts.
“I came back to the party with his semen between my legs,” Mandy said. “It was intoxicating. Drinking champagne and eating caviar and all the while being wet from Vlad. He watched me when he played the violin. I saw him a couple more times at Hotel d’Angleterre where he was staying. The sex was still good, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as holding his semen in between my legs while I held Ravn’s hand and had Vlad watch me as he played the violin. I orgasmed with Vlad that day on top of that fox fur like I never had before. It was explosive. Ravn has a big dick, but you know what? He’s never fucked me over fox fur.”
“Maybe when he comes back home, it could be one of the things you ask of him,” Penny suggested.
“If he comes back and he wants back into the marriage, he’s got to stop sleeping with other women,” Mandy said. “He’s had oh so many affairs.”
“You knew?” Penny asked.
Mandy made a face. “Please. I know the blond hair makes it hard to believe, but I do have a ticking brain underneath the golden tresses.”
“Ravn thought he was being careful,” Penny said.
“So you knew?”
Penny shrugged. “He’s blood.”
“And I’m not a real blonde, anyway,” Mandy said wearily. “He was careful. He did it all rather professionally, I must say. Not a word out of place. Not a . . . nothing. But I knew.”
“Well, they do say the wife always knows. I didn’t,” Penny said. “I can’t believe Mark ran away. I told that odious chief inspector, and he said that there wasn’t much they could do and it would have to be handled diplomatically. So Mark is going to live it up with Jinny somewhere in Southeast Asia . . . with my money.”
Katrine came into the sunroom when the bottle was empty and Penny and Mandy lay on the couch, talking about love lost.
“Oh, darling,” Mandy said. “How lovely to see you. Is your brother with you? We have important . . . fam . . . family stuff to discuss.”
Mandy stood up, her body swaying, the world swimming around her.
“Have you both been drinking?” Katrine asked as she steadied her mother with hands on her shoulders.
“Yes,” Penny said. “I’m afraid that between our husbands we had no choice but to finish that lovely bottle of Lagavulin.”
“It was lovely. Aged how many years? Sixteen?” Mandy wondered, shrugging away Katrine to pick up the bottle and look keenly at it to spot the number of years it had been aged. She set the bottle down with a thud on the coffee table. “Doesn’t matter how aged the whiskey was. It’s all gone now. So, go get Jonas and we can have a family meeting.”
“Jonas is not in Denmark, Mom. You know that, right?” Katrine asked.
“Where is he?”
“Traveling. Last I heard, the Philippines,” Katrine said.
“The Philippines?” Mandy repeated and then squealed. “Maybe he can say hello to Mark and Minnie.”
“Jinny,” Penny said right before they both started to laugh uncontrollably. They laughed until Mandy had to rush to the guest toilet and throw up. It was a nice distraction, Mandy would think later on, a way to hold off from telling her daughter about her husband.
Chapter 38
Harry Meets an Angel
It was Penny who suggested that Harry meet Michael “Tandhjul” Øvesen. Tandhjul was Danish for “gear,” and Tandhjul was the leader of the biker gang Iron Angels, a supporter of Hells Angels.
“And you think this biker can help you find Sanya?” Lucky asked while they drove to the biker bar that Tandhjul used as his office.
“Penny said that Tandhjul is his best friend and that Ravn listens to him,” Harry said.
“Why am I not surprised that Ravn’s best friend is a biker?” Lucky said. “How does a guy like Ravn even know a biker?”
The ambience at the biker bar was the antithesis of what Harry had expected and not hostile at all. The music was Iron Maiden, and several bikers were scattered around the bar. Some were playing pool, while others were drinking beer at the bar. There were a few bikers playing a board game. It seemed very congenial.
They went to the bar, where Harry ordered beer for both of them. “To blend in,” he said to Lucky, who stared at him in bewilderment. Harry then told the bartender that he was there to meet Tandhjul.
“Also, you know that he didn’t kidnap Sanya; she probably went with him willingly,” Lucky said while they waited for Tandhjul. “This Copenhagen trip has fucked with your head. You’re going cuckoo.”
“I’m not losing my mind,” Harry told him.
“Then maybe I’m losing mine, because if I was in full control of my faculties, would I be standing in this biker bar in my Missoni suit, holding a cheap bottle of Tuborg beer in my hand as a way to blend in?” he said. “And here you are wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, which you never do, and we’re here to meet a biker. Are you aware of how incongruous this is with the way we live our lives?”
Harry ignored him when a man came up and introduced himself as Tandhjul. Harry shook his hand, as did Lucky.
Tandhjul was a large man, not overweight, just big. This is what Thor would look like, Harry thought. He was bald but had a nice thick blond beard. He was dressed in a traditional biker outfit: jeans, boots, T-shirt, and leather vest, and looked just as badass as Harry had thought someone called Tandhjul would look.
“Ravn and I go back a long way,” Tandhjul said.
His English was accented, and he had already apologized for not being articulate in the language. He had suggested German, which neither Harry nor Lucky spoke. Romanian was also not an option for them, so they settled into English.
“You say he’s kidnapped your wife?” Tandhjul asked. He didn’t seem surprised at all. “And what did he say he’ll do with her if you don’t destroy this evidence you have against him? Will he kill her?”
“Of course not,” Harry said.
“Rape her?”
Harry looked aghast and then shook his head.
“Then what?”
Harry cleared his throat. “He’ll . . . well, he’ll take her.”
“Take her where, dude?”
Harry sighed. “Look, my wife may be in love with Ravn.”
Tandhjul looked at Harry in surprise. “Dude, are you here because your wife ran away with Ravn? I don’t do that kind of couples counseling. Okay?”
Harry showed Tandhjul the message he had received from Ravn.
She’s with me. If you want her, you need to make sure I can go back, unharmed.
Tandhjul read the message and gave Harry’s phone back to him.
“This has to do with that asshole Mark Barrett, doesn’t it?” Tandhjul said, and when he saw Harry’s surprised expression, he sighed. “I told Ravn that Barrett was a loose cannon. But he didn’t listen.”
“Do you know where he would take her?” Harry asked.
Tandhjul nodded. “I have a good idea.”
“I don’t have any evidence to destroy; the police already have it, and in all honesty with a good lawyer he’ll probably get away with it,” Harry said. “I need to get my wife back.”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why do you want your wife back, dude?” Tandhjul asked.
“Because I love her,” Harry said.
Tandhjul looked at Lucky. “Does he?”
Lucky sighed. “Sure.”
“Are you a faggot?” Tandhjul asked him.
“I’m a homosexual,” Lucky said. “And faggot is not a nice word to use.”
“You must excuse the language. We Danes learn English from Hollywood movies, so we don’t know it’s not okay,” Tandhjul said. “Are you seeing anyone?”
Lucky didn’t respond for a long moment and then said slowly, “No.”
“Hey, Rap
hael,” Tandhjul called out to someone in the bar, “This guy is a fa . . . a homosexual and he’s single.”
Lucky visibly gaped at Tandhjul, and then another large man called Raphael, with a thick dark beard and a full head of long black hair, came close to him, gave him a once-over, and shook his head. “Not my type. Sorry, man. No offense.”
“None taken,” Lucky said wearily to Raphael’s back as he walked away from him. He looked at Harry and sighed. “How has my life come to this, where a biker is rejecting me? Damn you, Harry, and damn your wife and damn that son of a bitch Anders Ravn. I’m out of here. I’ll Uber.”
“Uber is illegal in Denmark,” Tandhjul said. “Relax, dude. Someone will drop you off wherever you need to go. And it’s not personal. Raphael likes them more . . . less corporate. But he broke up with someone last month and he’s still a little unhappy so . . . I thought maybe he’d take a chance.”
Lucky held his hand up. “I’m not taking it personally.”
“Will you help me?” Harry asked.
Tandhjul looked at him for what seemed like an eternity and then nodded.
“Can you ride a bike?” he asked.
Harry nodded.
Tandhjul threw him a keychain and then put on his leather jacket. “Pick up a helmet on your way out.”
“I’ll see you later,” Harry said to Lucky, and handed him his car keys.
Lucky stared at the car keys and then his best friend. He looked at the beer bottle in his hand and toasted Harry with it. “Good luck.”
Chapter 39
Mythical Indian Villains and Heroes
He took her to a summer house on an island off the West Coast of Denmark. It was the only summer house on the island, which wasn’t very big.
They left the Mercedes in an empty parking lot. It was early, just seven o’clock, and the sun was still high and bright.
“There is a bridge on the other side, but it can’t handle a car,” Ravn said. “Motorbikes and bicycles only. It’s too narrow.”
Ravn rowed them across the water in a small rowboat. She watched him as he rowed, one oar down, another oar down, while she sat across from him, their knees touching.
“Do you know there is a Ravn in Indian mythology and he’s a villain?” she told him.
“The family name refers to the bird.”
“In Hindu mythology Ravn is Ravan, an extra a, and a bad guy, what they call an asura, a demon,” she said.
“He sounds promising,” he said, rowing steadily.
Sanya dipped a hand in the water, which was cool but not unpleasantly so.
“Once upon a time, a prince named Ram married a princess named Sita. Ram’s brother Lakshman was always by his side, devoted to Ram. When they were exiled . . . there is a melodrama here with a stepmother and dying father, blah, blah, blah . . . so where was I?”
“They were exiled,” Ravn offered.
“Right,” she said. “They were living in a hut in a forest where a demoness called Shurpanakha saw Ram and immediately fell in lust with him. She hit on him, and he turned her down and asked her to try Lakshman, who also turned her down. And somehow one thing led to another and Lakshman cut the lady demon’s ear and nose off.”
Ravn paused in his rowing. They were midway between the mainland and the island. “That’s a bit harsh.”
“What can I say? Temper, temper,” Sanya said. “So lady demon gets justifiably angry and goes to her brother.”
“Ravan?”
Sanya grinned. “Yes, and he comes to take revenge. But then he sees Sita and he falls in lust with her. He kidnaps her and takes her to his island, Lanka.”
“And does she fall in love with him?” Ravn asked.
“No, she is pious and makes a circle of honor around her so Ravan can’t touch her,” Sanya said. “Ram and Lakshman make some new friends, monkeys, and then come and save Sita. Of course Ravan is killed.”
“Of course.”
“But then comes the strange part,” she said. They were getting closer to the island with the sole idyllic wooden summer house. “Ram says to Sita that he knows she’s pure, but he worries people will doubt her because she’s been living with Ravan for so many days. So he asks her to take a fire test. She has to walk into fire, and if she doesn’t burn, she’s all good, but if she does, then, well, it’s all for the better.”
“That’s a tough crowd. I’m assuming she passes the fire test,” Ravn said as they came close to the sandy beach of the island. Once they were out of the boat, he added, “If you’re worried that Harry will ask you to take the fire test, let me assure you that you won’t pass; you know that, right?”
“The problem is not the fire test but . . . Ravn, that evidence you’re hoping Harry will destroy to get me back? He doesn’t have it. I found out what happened. I connected Lala and Cirque Fernando,” Sanya said.
She could see his surprise. He had not expected this. They stood on the sandy beach, and Ravn shook his head as realization struck him. “Damn Degas.”
“Before you came to Café Victor today, I met with Anette Sørensen; she is . . .”
“I know who she is,” Ravn said. He closed his eyes as if coming to terms with what Sanya had done, who she was.
“I gave her everything I had, and I had everything,” Sanya said.
Chapter 40
Helen of Troy Maybe Had a Similar Problem
Unlike the summer house in Sweden, this one was basic. The house was just a small wooden structure with a living room, a bedroom, a kitchen, and a toilet. There was a shower outside. Next to the summer house was a small well-maintained greenhouse where chilies, tomatoes, green beans, and spinach were growing. Ravn told her that there was a gardener who took care of the greenhouse and kept the house stocked as needed.
The bedroom had a wall of glass, opening onto a wooden deck toward the waters. The porch had an old coal grill that Ravn used to cook the fish he caught in the fjord for dinner.
He hadn’t railed at Sanya after she told him what she’d done; he simply said, “We’ll see what happens. For now, I’m hungry and we need to eat; and so I need to fish.”
They had dinner on the wooden deck, where there was a small worn wooden table and two weathered wooden chairs. There was a bench on one side, and Sanya sat there and watched Ravn cook. He told her how his grandfather had taught him to fish and that it was one of his favorite things to do alone. He made her laugh with fishing stories, and she forgot for a while that this wasn’t her real life; this was a place away from time.
For dinner, they ate grilled sea trout with a spinach and tomato salad. They shared a bottle of Muscadet from the Loire Valley in France that Ravn said was very good with trout, and it was. And when they finished the meal and the bottle, they started on another bottle of the same wine.
The domesticity of it was not uncomfortable but surprisingly familiar. Maybe because both of them had done something of this nature with their spouses and their roles hadn’t changed. Sanya didn’t grill or open wine bottles, but she was excellent at setting the table and drinking the wine.
It was a romantic getaway. The conversation flowed easily between them like they were familiar lovers; the magic between them stayed alive despite her betrayal of him.
“Is there anything for dessert?” she asked as they sat and watched the sun flirt with the edge of the water. It was late now, around one in the morning, and the sun was just below the horizon, getting ready to bounce right back.
“Of course there is,” Ravn said with a smile.
“And a blanket?” she asked.
“And that, too,” he said.
He brought back a box of Summerbird chocolates, a chocolatier that Sanya had seen all around Copenhagen. The box was pink and wrapped with a silk ribbon. The blanket was beige and woolen. He wrapped the blanket around Sanya and set the box of chocolates on the table next to the wine.
He opened the box, and Sanya chose a chocolate that promised to be filled with Armagnac, and he chose a chocolate fill
ed with Grand Marnier.
“You’re not angry with me,” she said.
“No,” Ravn said. “I’m hurt that you didn’t love me enough to protect me. But I’m not angry. I brought this upon myself. However, I’m still hoping to get lucky tonight.”
Sanya had known, deep down, as she had played this conversation out in her head, that he would not be angry, even though a part of her refused to believe that could be possible.
“So you think we’re going to have sex tonight?”
“I’m hoping,” Ravn said, smiling.
“I knew you wouldn’t be angry with me,” Sanya said.
“Love is recognizing yourself in another,” Ravn said.
Sanya smiled. How easily he had unraveled the question that had been plaguing her. What is love to me? Sanya had wondered. And how simple it was to recognize oneself in another. To be seen. Arthur had said that Sanya wanted Harry to see her. This is why Ravn had been so attractive, because he saw her when no one else had, because his propensity for depression was also Sanya’s.
They sat in silence for a small while, drinking their wine, choosing their chocolates.
The implosion seemed like a million years ago. The old isolated system had disappeared, and the chaos was clearing now, Sanya thought. Whether she slept with Ravn or not, a new isolated system was forming, and the waves were quieting.
He stretched out his hand and Sanya put hers in his. He squeezed gently.
“I never believed in soul mates,” he said.
He rose and came to kneel in front of her, not letting go of her hand. He put his head on her lap. She touched his hair, letting her fingers explore his scar.
The sun was slowly rising, painting the sky in shades of gold and orange.
“I’m scared,” he said.
He didn’t have to tell her what he was afraid of; she knew, because she feared the dark abyss of depression just as much as he did. And as they stood at a crossroads not sure what the future held for either of them, the risk of slipping, of falling through, was greater than ever before.
“Yes. I know. Me, too,” Sanya said as she held him close.
Sanya woke to the sound of motorcycle engines.
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