"How?” Britta asked.
"You could follow him."
The panicked look returned to her face. “Oh, no, Erik. I couldn't do that. He's my boss!"
Erik strode to her. “Look, I'm not asking you to hang around and see who shows up. Simply get the name of the renter from the post.” His blue eyes were compelling, and he knew it. “Please, Britta. I need your help."
She swayed toward him. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “I must be crazy, but okay. I'll do it."
Her lips were just a few tantalizing inches away. Erik squeezed her shoulders briefly and smiled. “Thank you.” He moved away from her. “You'll give me a call as soon as you know something, right?"
Britta's face clearly showed her disappointment, yet, she managed a seductive smile. “Of course, Erik. You can count on me."
"Thanks.” He moved toward the door. “I have to get going. Margit is expecting me home early this afternoon."
When Erik reached the sidewalk outside her flat, he took a deep breath and stared across the street at the campus lawn. Students taking summer courses were gathered in the cool shade of pines, studying for exams or trying to arrange an evening's date. Doing the kind of things college students did all over the world every day, year in and year out. But Erik saw none of this.
An image emerged in his mind, taking shape like a child's puzzle. The pieces were beginning to fit together, but the picture was one he didn't want to see.
Chapter 39
Leigh hated the print of Munch's “Chamber of Death,” but still, it mesmerized her. One afternoon in late July, she almost took it down. That was the day Knut couldn't get up to go to the bathroom. He'd called to her and asked for a bedpan, his face burning with humiliation. Equally embarrassed, Leigh gave it to him, then left the room so he could have privacy. A few minutes later, he'd summoned her back in to take it away. His eyes had refused to meet hers. Instead, he'd stared up at the I.V. bottle.
"This is just the beginning,” he'd whispered.
Leigh knew what he meant. Soon, he'd be too weak to get on the bedpan by himself. And then it would only be a matter of time before he'd be so incontinent he wouldn't have time to get on it at all. She tried to shake the ominous thoughts from her mind. There was still time before that happened. Wasn't there?
It was at that point when she'd almost taken the print off the wall. In fact, her hands were on the frame, ready to remove it. But she stopped. No. It wouldn't do any good. It would still be there, even if it were hidden away in a closet. “The Chamber of Death” wasn't just a vision in the mind of a long-dead artist. It was a reality, and it was in the tiny house on Kjelsaveien. After this realization, the painting became a comfort to her. She wasn't alone. Others had gone through this situation before.
Knut was moody for the rest of the day, more so after each session with the bedpan or urinal. When Leigh brought in his lunch, chicken broth and toast with a cup of hot tea, he gave her a black stare and refused it.
Leigh tried to smile. “Oh, come on, darling. You need to eat to keep your strength up."
The remark had been made lightly, thoughtlessly. She wasn't prepared for his reaction. With all the strength he had left in his frail body, he sat up in bed, his face a gray wash of fury, and with one bony hand, he reached over and wrenched out his I.V. needle. Dark blood gushed from his open vein and trickled down his arm, spilling onto the white sheet.
"Knut!” Leigh dropped the tray on the bureau and rushed over to him.
"No!” His roar was that of a weakened, but enraged lion. “I don't want your fucking food! I don't want this fucking I.V.! I just want you to let me die! Do you hear me, Leigh? Let me fucking die!"
Leigh began to cry. “Your arm, Knut. Let me help..."
"No. Go! Just get out of here, and leave me the hell alone!"
"But Knut..."
"Please! I can't stand to see the pity on your face, Leigh.” Tears streamed down his gaunt face. “Just go away. For a little while. Let me be alone."
With fists clenched helplessly, she stared at him. When she could no longer bear to look at his anguished face, she whirled and ran out of the room. Her fingers trembled as she dialed Sigurd at work.
"I'll be right over,” Sigurd said crisply.
When she walked in the door a half-hour later, Leigh had never been so glad to see another person in her life. Sigurd went immediately to Knut's room and shut the door. An hour passed. Leigh was sitting numbly at the table when Sigurd walked into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. A few minutes later, she placed a cup of the steaming brew in front of Leigh.
"Drink this,” she said. “I've put a bit of aquavit in it for your nerves."
Automatically, Leigh lifted it to her lips, forgetting she'd vowed to never drink aquavit again. But it tasted good, and almost immediately she felt the calm begin to flow throughout her body.
The two women sat silently at the table and drank their laced coffee. Finally, Sigurd spoke, “The I.V.'s back in. I've given him a sedative, but before he fell asleep, he asked me to tell you he's sorry. He loves you very much, and he didn't mean to hurt you. He'll tell you himself tomorrow, but he wanted you to know right now."
"I've never seen him like that,” Leigh said.
"An independent man finds it very difficult to be helpless. And even though he's dying, he still has his pride. You are the woman he loves. A woman he was sexually involved with. It's only natural he doesn't want you to empty his bedpans and change his soiled sheets. He finds it humiliating."
"But he shouldn't!"
"He does.” Sigurd took another sip of her coffee. “I think...” She looked Leigh in the eye. “...it's time we hire round-the-clock nurses for him."
They gazed at one another. Then slowly, Leigh nodded.
* * * *
Erik heard nothing from Britta in the next two weeks. He decided she'd changed her mind about helping after all. And now, it seemed as if he'd reached a dead end. Unless he could find the person leaving the notes. Then another thought occurred to him. Perhaps he'd already found her. If Britta knew Margit and Bjorn were having an affair, maybe this was her way of discreetly informing the cuckolded husband. Obviously, she was interested in pursuing more than a friendly relationship with him. And if he were to find out his wife was unfaithful, Britta would be waiting on the sidelines to console him. But then, if that were the case, why not just come right out and tell him about Bjorn and Margit? Why the game of leaving mysterious notes on car windows? Erik didn't know what to think anymore.
Life with Margit had become more and more strained. He tried his best to carry on normally, but every time he looked at her now, he saw a stranger. She was no longer the sweet, quiet girl he'd grown up with, nor was she the forlorn young widow who'd struggled bravely to raise her young son in the face of adversity. This Margit, he didn't know at all any more. She had become a temptress, a siren. Even her reddish hair glowed with hidden sultry lights that beckoned to be disheveled by masculine fingers. From the beginning, her prowess in bed had surprised him. It had seemed so alien to her demure personality. But then he'd believed she was in love with him. That he excited her so much she happily discarded all inhibitions. Now, he wondered if the bedtime Margit wasn't perhaps the real Margit. Had Bjorn been her teacher all these years?
Erik had to know. Why hadn't Britta called? And another thing. The results of the tests he'd taken over two weeks ago still weren't in. He didn't know what was causing the delay. When he called the urologist's office for information, the receptionist had been evasive. But she'd assured him the doctor would call as soon as he had something to report.
That had been two days ago. Erik decided to try again, and this time, he would ask to speak to Dr. Borgen personally. It didn't work. The receptionist informed him that the doctor was with a patient, but she would have him return his call as soon as possible. Erik slammed down the phone. Before he could remove his hand, it rang.
"Yes?"
Her voice was smooth as honey.
“Erik, it's me, Britta. I have the information you want."
* * * *
His name was Egil Karlsefne and he rented a small flat on Wilhelms Gate near Bislet Stadium. Near also to the child care center where Margit worked, Erik thought ruefully. The flat was just a few streets away from the hospital where Karlsefne worked as a resident—the same hospital where Bjorn delivered babies. Erik figured it was approximately halfway between the child care center and the hospital. Conveniently close enough for a one-hour lunchbreak.
As Erik had expected, there was no answer to his knock at the door. It was hard to imagine Margit arriving at this place for a rendezvous with Bjorn. Perhaps because it was so sleazy, and that was one word that, even now, he couldn't associate with his wife. Seductive, yes, but not sleazy. Still, he half-admitted to himself he'd gone to the flat on the chance he would catch her in the act. What would he have done if he'd seen her come out of the building, her face flushed by the excitement of recent lovemaking, her clothes rumpled and hastily donned?
He went on to the hospital. At the information desk, an attractive young receptionist told him Dr. Karlsefne was on duty in the Emergency Room, and would probably be unavailable for the rest of the day. Erik thanked her and turned to make his way to the Emergency Room.
Although it was only ten in the morning, the waiting room was filled with a conglomeration of ailing people. With a resigned expression on his face, Erik stepped over to the nurse at the triage desk.
"I need to speak to Dr. Karlsefne when he has a free moment."
The woman looked up at him and ran a nervous hand through her graying hair. “A free moment? I don't think he remembers what that is. But I'll give him your message."
The emergency room activity didn't slow down until nearly noon. Erik had almost given up on ever seeing the young resident when a figure appeared at his side.
"You wanted to see me?"
Erik looked up into the boyish face of a man with a punkish Kevin Bacon haircut, dressed in a white jacket over green surgical scrubs. His hazel eyes assessed Erik and then glimmered with recognition. “Hey, aren't you Bjorn's brother? I think we've met before."
Erik didn't remember him, but then he'd met so many of Bjorn's colleagues at various functions. He felt a vague stirring of apprehension. Suppose this guy was so loyal to Bjorn that he wouldn't volunteer any information? “Yes, I'm Erik. Listen, I know you're busy. I just wondered if I could ask you a couple of questions."
Egil Karlsefne plopped down on a chair with a relaxed grin. “Sure. What do you need to know?"
"Well, I'm aware you lend your flat to Bjorn occasionally. Has he ever told you why he uses it?"
Egil laughed. “Christ! Of course, he has never come out and said anything, but I can make a few guesses. The practice is not that uncommon around here. And a lot of us residents won't turn down an opportunity to make a few extra krone, if you know what I mean."
When it looked as if the resident had said all he would, Erik withdrew his wallet from his jeans and pulled out a fifty-krone bill. “I think I know what you mean. Will this help?"
Egil took the bill and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket. “I don't know who the woman is. I've never seen her. But one thing I do know. She's a redhead."
Erik's heart gave a lurch. “How do you know that?"
"Doctor!” The nurse from the triage desk appeared at his side. “Sorry, but you're needed back in emergency."
Egil stood up. “She left a hairbrush there last week, and it's full of long reddish-blond hair. I have to get back to work.” He extended his hand. “Hey, if I can help out again, let me know."
Erik watched the young resident disappear back into the mysterious interior of the emergency room. So, Bjorn's mistress was a redhead. One more piece of the puzzle complete. But was it enough to see the entire picture? In his heart, Erik felt as if he already knew the answer. Margit and Bjorn were having an affair. Anne-Lise had suspected it back in France. And thinking back upon it, he remembered that day when Margit and Bjorn had stayed behind when everyone else went to the Nordic-Combined. A perfect opportunity for a tryst.
Erik stood. No, he didn't need to wait for the test results. He would confront her ... tonight.
* * * *
The phone was ringing when he entered their flat late that afternoon. Margit and Gunny weren't home from the child care center yet. He dropped his lunch box on the counter and grabbed the phone. It was the receptionist at Dr. Borgen's office. His test results were in. Could he stop by the office tomorrow afternoon at four-thirty to talk to the doctor?
Erik hung up. Slowly, he moved to the kitchen window that overlooked the parking lot. Okay. One more day. He'd give it until then. Until he knew what the tests results were. As if there were any doubt...
He had trouble sleeping that night. Earlier, Margit had turned to him, pressing her breasts against him in the dark, sliding her cool, slim hands over his chest and abdomen. “Make love to me, Erik,” she'd whispered. And he had turned away. Coldly and without explanation. He couldn't bring himself to touch her. Not now. Not until he knew. It had been several weeks now since they'd made love, and he knew she was mystified. But he felt no qualms. He didn't want her, couldn't bear the thought of touching her.
Tomorrow would almost be a relief. When he found out he was definitely sterile, it would give him the opportunity to end this sham he'd been living for the past twenty months. It would mean losing Gunny, of course, and the thought killed him. Yet, there was no way he could go through the rest of his life living with Margit and her lies. Not even for Gunny.
He thought of Kayleigh. Dare he return to the states? What about the man Mags had seen her with in France? Suppose she'd married him? He couldn't deal with that right now. First things first. Tomorrow. He had to get through tomorrow.
Chapter 40
Erik stepped out of the medical center into the late afternoon sunlight, blinking against the glare. For a moment, he stood still because he couldn't remember where he'd parked. Only twenty minutes ago, he'd entered the building, prepared, or so he'd thought, for what Dr. Borgen had to tell him. It seemed like hours. Even days. How could so much change in a matter of minutes? He could still hear the urologist's words.
"You're perfectly healthy, Erik. Normal sperm count. No abnormalities of any kind. I think if you just give it time, you and your wife will be able to conceive."
His brain spun. Could it be true? Had it all been a mistake? Everything ... starting with the results of Dr. Oien's tests. But then, what about all the evidence he'd compiled about Margit and Bjorn? Too many coincidences. And ... here was something that had to be considered. Dr. Borgen was a close friend of Bjorn's, and God knows that doctors stuck together. Could Bjorn have “encouraged” Borgen to come up with the new test results? Christ, he didn't want to believe that! But so many things had come to light in the last weeks. Things he never would've believed his brother was capable of. Knowing all this, how could he not suspect these new results?
But then ... what if the test results were true? That meant he really was Gunny's father. His heart spasmed as he thought of the little blond boy with the laughing blue eyes. His son. Oh, Christ, he wanted to believe that with all his heart. And now, on the heels of that thought, he felt a deep, enveloping shame. How readily he'd been about to give up all claim to Gunny in exchange for a life with the woman he loved. What kind of man did that make him?
He needed to believe those results. Needed to believe that Margit hadn't been playing him for a fool all along. Wasn't it possible that there was an explanation for everything he'd learned about Bjorn? After all, there were plenty of redheads in Oslo. That didn't mean Margit was the one he was sleeping with. Yet ... the notes. What about the notes?
He shook his head. No answer for that. Another thought hit him, and his face grew warm. Wasn't it true that deep down inside he'd hoped his suspicions would be proven correct? So he would have an excuse to end his marriage to Margit. That was the most vile thing of
all. To wish his son away so he could leave his wife. Only once before had Erik felt like such a scoundrel. On the night he'd told Kayleigh about his one night stand with Margit.
There was only one thing to do. He had to confront Margit. Show her the notes. Ask her flat-out. He would know if she lying. Wouldn't he? Something would give her away.
Right now, he wanted ... needed ... to get home to his son. Hold the boy in his arms and feel his warmth, breathe in his little boy scent. It was the only thing that would make the doubts go away.
* * * *
On the way home, he stopped at a toy store and bought an elaborate fire truck for Gunny. Little enough to assuage his guilty conscience. If anything ever could.
When he pulled into the parking lot, he was pleased to see Margit's Saab already there. Good. It was time to start over. To really make this marriage work.
He was just about to insert his key in the lock of their flat when he remembered he'd left Gunny's gift in the boot of the car. Shaking his head in disgust, he turned to go back to the parking lot.
As he bounded down the outside stairs to the ground, he saw a figure bending over the windshield of his car. Erik's eyes narrowed. There was something very familiar about the man's stance. He broke into a run.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Hakon's head snapped up and his eyes darkened in fear when he saw Erik. His hand reached for the note he'd just placed under the windshield wiper, but Erik beat him to it. Roughly, he pushed Hakon away from the Volkswagon and grabbed the slip of paper. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother-in-law start to slink away.
"You take one more step...” Erik said grimly, “...and you're going to be looking for your balls up your asshole.” He unfolded the note and stared down at the green printing.
Ask your brother if his blood type matches Gunny's.
Erik's eyes stabbed into Hakon. The man quaked with fear. Erik grinned, but there was nothing warm in it. He walked over to Hakon and threw an arm around his shoulder, crushing his bone in a steel-banded bear hug. “What do you say, Hakon? Let's you and I go have a couple of beers. One brother-in-law to another."
East of the Sun, West of the Moon Page 41