Now I really was staring at her with horrified fascination. It was easy to understand what her brother had meant when he said that she was a competitive person.
‘So what you are actually saying is that Leonard could have a very strong financial motive for wanting to kill his father now – before time played to your advantage?’
Her smile was brief and unexpectedly wide. It made me think of a young female lion who has an antelope in her sight.
‘As you yourself said, given the peculiar sequence of events, it is a conclusion that I would not dismiss. But it is hard to know. Leonard is, no matter how reliable, rather unpredictable in his own way. He is one of the weakest strong people I know – or if you prefer, one of the strongest weak people. Leonard is strongest in the places where he feels secure and is known, be it the running track or the library. However, he becomes very weak when he is forced into places where he does not feel secure, and my guess is that he is a very lonely man. So if I were you, I would hold all options open.’
I was reminded of what Magdalena Schelderup had said about her brother having understood other people exceptionally well, but having only ever acted in self-interest. It would appear that his daughter resembled him in this respect too. She was by now positively chatty, and carried on after a brief pause.
‘So, thanks to my half-brothers’ inadequacies, I became, over the years, my father’s favourite child, even though he actually preferred sons to daughters. I recall that on a couple of occasions when I was young, he was asked about the position of women in our time, and he cited a former Danish prime minister who had said that he for his part still liked women best in a horizontal position. But the experience of having me and my half-brothers seemed to change that somewhat. In the past year he has said to me a couple of times that despite my thin arms, I was the one of his children who had the greatest ability and strength.’
‘And what about your mother?’
Maria Irene smiled again.
‘I have something from them both. My mother is one of the strongest and most clear-sighted people I know, but she often reacts emotionally, all the same. So if I were you, I would keep all options open there too.’
Unlike her older brother, Maria Irene seemed to be unexpectedly at ease in an interview situation. I noticed that her tone was very familiar, and that I wasn’t opposed to it. She held my eye, and was keen to carry on.
‘You must understand that my father was a conservative man in many ways, but he was also a very complex character. One group of people in society that he could not stand, a group that Fredrik came to symbolize more and more, was those who had been given every opportunity in life but had taken none. Father was not a generous man. He gave small amounts to charity only when it would obviously improve his reputation. But he did have a certain respect, I might even venture to say love, for people of strong will who had worked their way up to become something despite a more difficult start in life. And I think it was that, as well as pure physical desire of course, that prompted him to start an extramarital relationship with my mother.’
Maria Irene Schelderup took a deep breath. Then she continued with determination.
‘And I suppose that that was the very reason why he betrayed her nearly twenty years later with another, even younger woman. History repeated itself in a way that must have been deeply unpleasant for my mother.’
I was staring at her intensely – and noticed that she liked it.
‘Did your father have a new lover in his later years?’
She was obviously relishing the situation and permitted herself to smile before continuing.
‘Oh, so you hadn’t heard yet . . . I thought it was something that we all knew, but never talked about. Mother must know, though we have never discussed it. It is perhaps less certain that my half-brothers or aunt know, as they do not live here. But I would have thought that they knew too. My father’s history of relationships with his secretaries is well known, after all, and then last year he announced that she was going to be given her own room here on the ground floor.’
Finally I got the picture.
‘So you maintain that, despite the forty-year age difference, your father and his secretary Synnøve Jensen were having a sexual relationship. Is that something you know or just think?’
She flashed a self-assured smile before carrying on.
‘Something I know. My bedroom is directly above hers. The walls are quite thin, and my father was physically strong and active, despite getting on in years. His secretary was also surprisingly vocal in bed, when you consider how meek she is otherwise.’
We sat in silence for a few seconds. I studied the young Maria Irene Schelderup’s face for any sign of emotion. I expected some anger towards her father for his obvious betrayal of her mother. But I could detect nothing, not even when she carried on talking, not in her face, her voice or her body language.
‘So, the situation with the secretary is also an unknown now. If she has been left a substantial sum in his will, then it is possible that he promised it to her and so she also has a possible motive.’
I had to agree with her, but swiftly added: ‘In other words, soon your conclusion will be that everyone has a motive – except you, who only maybe has one?’
She smiled her predator smile again.
‘Your words. I suppose what I am saying in as many words is that everyone around that table has a possible motive. There was some old stuff between my father and his sister Magdalena, and the Wendelboes, and even Mr Herlofsen. Something to do with the war that was never mentioned, which I therefore know nothing about. You will have to ask those who were there about that. Depending on the content of the will, I may also have a motive, in which case I still maintain that I did not avail myself of the opportunity.’
I noted this down and said that I had no more questions for her, for the moment. She immediately stood up. In contrast to her older half-brothers, her hand was still as dry and firm when she left the room as when she had come in. With an arch smile, she said that it had been a very interesting conversation, and that I was welcome to contact her at any time, should I have any more questions.
She looked me in the eye as she said this – and it felt to me as though she saw straight through my uniform and me.
I hurried to close the door behind her, and then called in the secretary, Synnøve Jensen, as my next witness.
IX
Synnøve Jensen was slightly younger than I had first guessed. She told me that she was twenty-nine, and now that I saw her at closer quarters in a better light, it seemed possible. Her skin was young, although her eyes were serious. Her body was slim, and not without grace, but her movements were unsure. She stood gingerly by the door and did not approach the table until I had asked her twice.
I started with some tentative routine questions about how Magdalon Schelderup was as a boss. She replied earnestly and responsibly that he could at times be very demanding, but that he was also inspiring and nice as long as one did what was required. She had seen the job as a great opportunity and had thrown herself into it. After waiting a while to see how things went, he had declared himself satisfied with her work, and given her a pay rise as well as presents on her birthday and festive holidays. His death was completely unexpected and she had no idea who might have killed him. The idea had never entered her head and his death was a great personal loss to her. She did not want to say anything negative about either his family or the other employees on the day that he died.
Synnøve Jensen told me that she herself had grown up on a smallholding in Sørum and that she still lived in the small house that her parents had left to her. She had neither a driving licence nor a car, and took the bus to and from work every day. It was Magdalon Schelderup who had suggested that, during a very busy period at work, she should have her own bedroom here. She had accepted this, but always stayed at home at weekends and generally also during the week. Synnøve Jensen was single, had no brothers or sisters, and in fact had no clos
e relatives at all following the death of her parents some years ago. After completing school and a secretarial course, she had for several years had various short-term office jobs. It was a great relief to her to have found a position that offered not only a regular and secure income, but also an employer and work that she liked.
She had thus far kept up her appearance as a conscientious secretary impressively well. But this crumbled rapidly as soon as I commented that her relationship to the deceased was perhaps somewhat closer than she intimated. She sat with her face in her hands for a short while. Then suddenly everything came out in a torrent.
‘I didn’t plan it! No matter what they say, it is not something I had planned when I started to work for him. I desperately needed a job and was shocked and overjoyed when he employed me. The idea that anyone in this house might have an interest in me other than as a secretary was ridiculous. I am not clever and I am not beautiful. And I never tried to seduce him in any way.’
I attempted a nod that was at once pacifying and encouraging. It all sounded plausible enough, given what I knew of Magdalon Schelderup so far.
‘But he was tempted all the same – and you did not deny him?’
She gave her head the tiniest shake and sighed deeply.
‘No, I admit it. It would not be easy for anyone to deny Magdalon Schelderup what he wanted – especially one of his employees who was dependent on the income. But to be honest, I am not sure that I would have stopped him otherwise. Magdalon could be harsh, but he was a fascinating and very charming man for all that. He was the first man who had ever really cared about how I was and thought that I deserved better.’
‘And he had the money to give you a better life.’
She nodded.
‘Absolutely, and that may have played a role. I have never had much. My father drank and my mother took out all her frustration on me. I was not going to bite the hand that fed me. So I put up no resistance when one day it slid round my waist.’
It was easy to feel sympathy for the plain Synnøve Jensen and her story, in the midst of all the rich people around the table. My feelings remained mixed, however. She clearly was not innocence itself, and she also had potential motives for murder. Maria Irene’s words were still ringing in my ears. Synnøve Jensen was apparently surprisingly vocal in bed considering how meek she was otherwise – even when her lover’s wife and daughter were there in the same house.
‘Now that he’s dead, your job is presumably in danger? Certainly if his wife knows about this?’
She nodded again.
‘Which I am sure she does. She is not stupid and he hardly bothered to hide it. I assume that I will be without a job tomorrow. But that is not my biggest problem right now.’
I looked at her, mystified. She didn’t say anything and for a moment again hid her face in her hands before she continued.
‘You see – I no longer have just myself to think about.’
It started to dawn on me what she meant. And the picture was clear as soon as she patted her tummy gently.
‘Magdalon has three children, but leaves behind four. Another one will be born just before Christmas,’ she said, very quietly.
All life and sound in the room seemed to stop for few seconds. Synnøve Jensen shed a few tears and then dried them with a whispered apology.
In the meantime, I thought about the consequences of this sensational news. It took perhaps half a minute before I asked whether he had known. She nodded in answer.
‘I had no idea what to do when I found out, and had thought of saying nothing for as long as possible. But Magdalon guessed himself – it was Sunday, exactly a week ago. He had come to know me very well and was good at noticing things. And I could not lie when he asked if I was expecting a baby. I was terrified that he would be furious. But not at all. ‘Ha!’ was all he said at first. Which was what he often said when he saw or understood something that pleased him. Then he asked if I was absolutely certain that he was the father of the child. I told him the truth, that there was no doubt whatsoever. For the past few months I had been working for him literally night and day. He was the only man who had shared my bed, not only in the past year but in all the years before that. This made him very happy and he was in an excellent mood. He laughed, hugged me and said that I need not worry – he would make sure that both I and the child had everything we needed.’
She stopped there, hesitant, until I prompted her to continue.
‘But then . . .’
She gave a bewildered shrug.
‘But then he said nothing more about it! I trusted what he had said, and did not want to nag. And strangely enough, he did not mention it all week. And now he is dead and I have no idea what is going to happen to me or our child!’
Synnøve Jensen looked mournful for a few seconds, with tears in her eyes, but then she continued.
‘Believe it or not, I did try to warn him that it might all result in a child. But he said there was no danger of that, that he could no longer have children with any woman. He seemed irritated when he said it, so I asked no questions. I was so afraid that he might get angry. But he seemed to be happy, even though making mistakes or incurring unexpected costs were not something he generally liked. So I chose to believe that he loved me and that he wanted to have our child. It is a thought that will comfort me tonight.’
I quickly interjected to ask if they had ever discussed the possibility of him divorcing his wife. Synnøve Jensen shook her head firmly, and assured me that this was never discussed. She admitted that she would not have protested if he had wanted to divorce his wife in order to marry her. But he had never mentioned the possibility, and she had never expected the matter to be raised. She had been prepared to be a single mother with no income and was more than happy with his promise to look after herself and the child. Now that he was gone, who knew what might happen, she concluded with a deep sigh and heart-rending sob. The child was his, but to prove it might be difficult. In the meantime, she was left with neither work nor income, a fatherless child in her womb and no more than five hundred kroner in the bank.
When asked if she knew what was in the deceased’s will, her reply was a firm no. It was only a few days since he found out about the unborn child so he would barely have had time to make any changes, she added with a sob. He had never mentioned anything to her about how he had divided his wealth amongst his three older children.
Synnøve Jensen claimed that she did not have a bad relationship with the children of her boss and lover. She had known the young Maria Irene since she was fourteen, and had an intuitive affection for her. It felt as though they understood one another’s difficulties. On the other hand, the secretary had thought at first that Mrs Sandra Schelderup was very demanding, then power-crazed, then jealous and, finally, downright hateful. It was not hard to see why the two older boys had such a difficult relationship with their stepmother.
Magdalon Schelderup’s sister had always been very correct in relation to the secretary, if more than a little distant and patronizing. It was not easy to understand the relationship between Magdalon and his sister. Magdalena was often in the house, but never talked much with her brother when she was here.
There were not many people on the company staff. Magdalon Schelderup did not waste unnecessary money on wages. The manager, Hans Herlofsen, ran the office in the centre of town and was the only person who had an office at Schelderup Hall. He had the best overview of company business and was a very good businessman whom Magdalon Schelderup seemed to trust enormously, but still did not treat particularly well. Schelderup appeared to take his manager for granted, and the manager simply accepted all his sarcasm without ever threatening to resign.
Magdalon Schelderup’s relationship with Petter Johannes Wendelboe seemed to be more equal, according to the secretary. Wendelboe had his own company and had long since sold any shares that he once had in Schelderup’s company. But Schelderup remained in regular contact with Mr Wendelboe and his wife. And as with the sis
ter, it did not appear to be a relationship where they talked much. The secretary had been taken aback by the frequent presence of the Wendelboes, especially as Schelderup had very little contact with anyone outside the immediate family unless for very good reason. She had simply accepted that it was because they had known each other since the war and had probably been close back then. Whatever the case, it was none of her business.
As far as Synnøve Jensen understood, Hans Herlofsen had also known the others since the war, even though he must be around fifteen years younger than Magdalon Schelderup and Petter Johannes Wendelboe. The otherwise good-natured Herlofsen had always made it very clear, though in a friendly way, that he did not want to talk about the war and the years immediately after. Magdalon Schelderup himself never talked about the war, but that was because he was so focused on the present and the future that he did not dwell on the past.
The secretary seemed relieved and stood up as soon as I said that we were finished for today. When she reached the door, she asked for permission to take the first possible bus home. She was tired and it was not very tempting to stay here at the mercy of Sandra Schelderup. I agreed once I had obtained a telephone number where I could contact her. It was perfectly understandable that Synnøve Jensen was tired, and that she had no particular desire to stay there with Magdalon Schelderup’s wife. I asked her to stay in the Oslo area. She looked at me with sad eyes and asked in response where on earth she would go otherwise.
For one reason or another, I stood by the window and watched Synnøve Jensen until she was safely outside the gate. It did not take long. She left the house swiftly and walked away fast, with her head down. It struck me that she was the only one of those questioned so far who would actually miss Magdalon Schelderup.
X
The manager, Hans Herlofsen, was a slightly overweight man of fifty-five, with greying hair, dressed in a simple grey suit. I could imagine him being a jovial and kind uncle at any other time. But now he was visibly affected by the day’s events and seemed to be somewhat tense at the start of our conversation.
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