Satellite People

by Hans Olav Lahlum

  I made a photostat copy of the letter and sent the original to be checked, without any great hope that it would help. No matter who had posted this letter, he or she was not very likely to have left any fingerprints or other clues. So I reported orally to my boss that several of those who witnessed Magdalon Schelderup’s death might be under threat and asked if the evening shift could be incremented should the need arise.

  Then I rang Magdalena Schelderup and said that I needed to speak to her as soon as possible. She did not sound overly enthusiastic at the prospect. I heard a quiet ‘Oh, no’ when I asked if she could come by the police station. When I then offered to drive over to her, she asked if we could not meet somewhere in between. I conceded to this and we agreed to meet in a cafe on Bogstad Road at a quarter past two.

  VII

  The cafe was nice and the coffee was good. As we sat undisturbed in a corner with a piece of chocolate cake each, I decided that our surroundings were far preferable to the study at Schelderup Hall. But Magdalena Schelderup’s face was definitely less relaxed and more aggressive than it had been during our first interview. She leant forwards in her chair, almost angry, as soon as I started to ask about her situation and stance during the war.

  ‘Have the Wendelboes been wagging their poisonous tongues again? They have hated and scorned me for nearly thirty years now. I am sure that Herlofsen and many others do too, but those two are malicious through and through. I should, of course, have told you myself rather than allowing others the chance to say it for me.’

  She took a breath and then pressed on.

  ‘I was, like my late younger brother, a member of the NS from autumn 1940 to autumn 1942. My younger brother and I saw it simply as a practical means to safeguard the family fortune. I left the party when they started deporting the Jews and never took part in any NS events of any sort. After the war, I was given a suspended sentence of sixty days or the option to pay a fine of 1,000 kroner, which I paid in order to put the whole thing behind me and cause as little damage to the family and business as possible. The case was closed a long time ago now and really should be a thing of the past. And it is for everyone else except those hypocrites from the Resistance. Does someone really want to make it look like I murdered my brother because I was a member of the NS in the first two years of the war?’

  After this outburst she quite literally sat in silence for a few moments, stewing. The first cigarette was lit, which had a calming effect.

  ‘Apologies if I appear to be over the top, but I have been hounded by whispering voices ever since the war. It is of course a source of immense frustration to me that I could be so stupid as to get involved in all that to start with. But one,I have never been a Nazi and, two,I most certainly did not kill my brother.’

  I noted that the latter was said with more conviction than the former, and that what she told me now was pretty well in accordance with what was written in the case file from the treason trials. So I moved swiftly on and asked her to tell me about her broken engagement.

  This prompted an unexpected change of mood. A shadow of a smile played on Magdalena Schelderup’s lips when she replied by asking: ‘Which one?’

  I knew nothing about either of them and so said that I would like to hear about both.

  ‘The second one, the one to which you are perhaps alluding, was no great loss at the time. He changed his mind only days before we were due to walk down the aisle, because of all this nonsense with the war and my NS membership. I didn’t shed too many tears. I had realized some time before that he was not the great love of my life, and he was neither charming nor particularly good-looking. But he was a decent, presentable man with sound finances, who would no doubt be a good father and husband. I was thirty-eight years old when he broke off the engagement. It somehow felt too late and too complicated to start looking for a new husband afterwards. So perhaps in retrospect the loss was greater, now that I know he was my chance not to end up alone, a childless spinster.’

  ‘And the first one?’

  She nodded, and straightened up in her chair.

  ‘That was a great loss. It was my first, greatest and only young love. A short and intense romance that lasted the summer and autumn of 1925, but which left its mark on my life for another decade. He was irresistibly handsome and charming, in my eyes and everyone else’s. It was as though everything stopped the moment we met by a cafe table, one day when I was staying with a friend in Bergen. It would be safe to say that I did not see very much of my friend for the rest of the summer holiday, but all the more of him.’

  A smile slid over Magdalena Schelderup’s face, but soon froze to a bitter grimace.

  ‘Apparently I later said of that trip to Bergen in 1925 that I was so comfortable on the bed, I might as well lie in it. When I came home from Bergen to Bærum wearing an engagement ring, I was left standing. I had not expected it to be easy. He was from the working class and, as if that were not enough, he was not working and did not have a family fortune. But I had not expected it to be so utterly hopeless either. They had never really bothered much before at home about what I did. Mother and Father were not too opposed to it at first. Magdalon, on the other hand, was adamant that this was nothing more than a youthful romance and that my fiancé was after the money. Back then, my older brother was the strongest in the family and has been so ever since. Within a matter of days, there was a united family front against my fiancé, without any of them, other than me, having met him.’

  A sad expression flooded Magdalena Schelderup’s face as she stubbed out her cigarette in silence and immediately lit another. She had definitely lost any appetite for her piece of cake, but her cup of coffee was empty. She suddenly looked far older than her sixty-seven years.

  ‘We have time to do so many stupid things over the course of a lifetime. Every day I have regretted becoming a member of the NS during the war, but still, it is peanuts in comparison to how much I regret allowing myself to be persuaded to break off the engagement and return the ring by post. I knew that I would not be able to go through with it if I met him and perhaps not if I even heard his voice. So I asked him never to contact me again. He was an honourable man and respected that. But then we did meet again all the same, in an almost bizarre way, in a hotel reception here in Oslo. There were sparks for a few minutes, just as there had been ten years earlier, until his wife appeared. And the worst thing was that I had been right, that he would have made a wonderful husband. He was now a successful businessman of his own making and was on the local board of the Liberal Left Party. When we met again in 1935, my family would no doubt have thought he would make the perfect husband. But by then he had married someone else and they had three children. It was a terrible feeling to go home alone that night, having met her and seen her beaming happily between him and their children.’

  Magdalena blew out the cigarette smoke in a violent blast. The tears I had not seen when her brother died were filling her eyes.

  ‘And I have never forgiven myself. It was the greatest mistake of my life, to betray him, not to dare to fight for my one great love when he was there, holding me in his arms.’

  Without warning, she raised her right hand and pulled the odd pewter ring from her ring finger.

  ‘I sent back the engagement ring in 1925. But I have always kept this. It was the first ring he bought for me. I think he got it for one krone. But it was as good as the only krone he had, and it was the first ring a man had ever given me. And as it turned out, I got it from the love of my life. So I am going to wear it until my dying day, to remind me of what was and what could have been.’

  ‘And your brother – did you ever forgive him?’

  Her sigh was heavy.

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot say yes to that, even on the day after Magdalon’s death. It has lain between us for all these years, without us ever speaking about it. After I met my beloved again in 1935, I told him about the episode when I came home. But asking for forgiveness was not in Magdalon’s nature. Having heard
what I had just been through, he did nothing, just sat there. He shook his head pensively, but said absolutely nothing. Then he turned back to his work and carried on in silence until I left. And I have waited and waited for him to ask me for forgiveness. He never did.’

  Magdalena stubbed out her cigarette and finished her story in a determined voice.

  ‘People want to believe that the reason why we have spoken so little to each other in recent years is the war. But my old love story from 1925 left a deeper cleft between us. And it started to come to the fore again as I got older and was left sitting my own, alongside my brother’s steadily growing family. He thought he had the right to dismiss his only sister’s great love, but he could take whoever he wanted whenever it suited him. That did not make it any easier to forgive, not even for a sister who only had one brother left.’

  I expressed my understanding. At the same time, I concluded that Magdalon Schelderup had been very sharp and astute in his telephone conversation with me. His closest circle was almost exclusively made up of people who might have wished him dead. And it was clear that even the deceased’s older sister had burnt with a deep passion.

  I stayed in the cafe for some minutes after she had left and pondered the case. Then I got up, more thoughtful than ever, and went to my car, so I could drive up to the reading of the will at Schelderup Hall. This time I knew the content of the will to be read by Rønning Junior, but I was all the more anxious to see what reactions it caused.

  VIII

  When Schelderup Hall loomed into view at ten to three, I was the last of those invited to arrive at the reading. Synnøve Jensen arrived just ahead of me; she had rounded the hill and disappeared in through the gate. The other cars were, as far as I could remember, parked in precisely the same places as last time. And when I came into the dining room, the ten supper guests were all sitting in their usual places. Magdalon Schelderup’s chair stood empty, but his rule was still evident in the house.

  The bourgeois etiquette for receiving guests had been followed to the letter. Coffee, cakes and sherry had been put out on the table, but no one made any move to help themselves and no one said a word. It seemed to me that the silence was almost as oppressive as when I came into this room for the first time. I went over and stood by the window. It was almost a relief when I saw Edvard Rønning Junior park his car at four minutes to three, and then walk up towards the front door with his rolling gait, a file tucked under his arm. I had to hold back my laughter when the dogs’ furious barking made him jump a couple of feet into the air. But he managed nonetheless and quite impressively to keep a tight grip on the file. In the tense and somewhat false atmosphere that prevailed in the room, the pedantic young lawyer was absolutely himself and someone I could depend on – which could not be said for many of the others present.

  Edvard Rønning Junior surprised me, however, in a positive sense, when he made no attempt to sit down in the empty chair, but instead remained standing at the head of the table. As expected, he started precisely as the cuckoo clock on the wall struck three.

  ‘On behalf of the late Magdalon Schelderup’s estate, I would first of all like to thank you all for making the effort to come here today as requested, at such short notice.’

  He received no applause for this, and so continued after his first forced pause.

  ‘It is no doubt known to all those present here that at the time of his death Magdalon Schelderup was married and had three living children, and a fortune amounting to more than 100 million kroner. In this situation he was free to divide his wealth as he wished, with the exception that each of the children should inherit a minimum of 200,000 kroner, as required by law.’

  The lawyer paused again and leafed through his papers to find the will. Ten pairs of eyes were glued to his every move. I personally was having difficulties in deciding which side of the table to focus on. I eventually decided to watch the person I was most interested in and about whom I had the greatest doubt: in other words, the deceased’s secretary and mistress, Synnøve Jensen. She was sitting on her chair with impressive calm thus far.

  ‘The deceased’s will was clearly certified and dated by a lawyer in the presence of witnesses on 6 May 1969.’

  Something twinkled in Synnøve Jensen’s eyes. She straightened up, but remained sitting in silence, her face tense. I glanced quickly over at Sandra and Maria Irene Schelderup. The mother’s mouth twitched when the date was mentioned. The daughter’s face, on the other hand, remained expressionless and looked relaxed. Only her eyes, which were riveted on the lawyer, revealed just how alert she was.

  ‘The aforementioned will states as follows: The undersigned, Magdalon Schelderup, born on 17 November 1899, hereby announces his last will regarding the division of his financial wealth and assets. Firstly, I waive the amount outstanding owed to me by Hans Herlofsen, my manager of many years. The promissory note and other documents relating to the case have been destroyed.’

  Edvard Rønning allowed himself another pause. I promptly switched focus to Hans Herlofsen. He was also keeping his mask impressively under control. The two sentences that had just been read out saved not only his honour but also his future. All the same, his only reaction was a fleeting smile and a slight loosening of the tie. Then Rønning’s drawling voice picked up the thread and continued. My eyes swung back towards Sandra Schelderup.

  ‘My wife Sandra Schelderup shall be paid forthwith the sum of two million kroner to support her for the rest of her life.’

  His widow furrowed her brow, and understandably enough her eyes darkened. The sum was undoubtedly less than she had hoped. But she stayed sitting calmly on her chair. The major blow was not to her, however, but to her daughter, who was sitting beside her, just as composed. My gaze slid over to Synnøve Jensen.

  ‘I hereby acknowledge that I am the father of my secretary Synnøve Jensen’s unborn child, and request that it be given my surname upon birth. It is my wish that Miss Jensen shall forthwith be paid the sum of 200,000 kroner from my estate to cover all costs in connection with the pregnancy and birth.’

  If Synnøve Jensen had known this beforehand, she was a better actress than I had imagined. In the few seconds before she covered her face with her hands, her expression changed from great surprise to tremendous relief. The tears in her eyes were visible even from where I was sitting.

  Another, more visible twitch passed over Sandra Schelderup’s face. The other faces around the table were, as far as I could see, still tense and expectant when the lawyer once again spoke, this time to read out the final and longest paragraph of the will. The fact that the secretary was the deceased’s mistress did not seem to have come as a shock to any of them.

  ‘It is my wish that the remainder of my wealth is divided equally between my four living children as of 6 May 1970. This because my youngest child must first be born and given a name, and because any immediate dissolution of my companies would give rise to inordinate financial costs. In anticipation of the later dissolution, my companies will continue to be run by a board comprising my three grown children, my wife Sandra Schelderup, my manager Hans Herlofsen and my secretary Synnøve Jensen.’

  Now all the waiting was over. This time the surprise around the table was tangible, even though they all maintained a stiff upper lip and avoided any emotional outbursts. Fredrik Schelderup smiled broadly and mimed his applause. Ingrid Schelderup also smiled with relief. Her son, on the other hand, chewed ever more furiously on his gum and looked just as serious and pensive as before. Mrs Wendelboe looked around in confusion and even her husband’s stony face showed signs of surprise. Synnøve Jensen still had her face buried in her hands, but the tears were falling, round and ready, down her cheeks now. Sandra Schelderup sent both her husband’s sons and his secretary a less-than-loving look, and clenched her hands.

  The only person at the table who appeared to be unruffled was, incredibly, the youngest. Maria Irene Schelderup’s face and body were both still completely relaxed. Her charming young girl�
�s hands lay open and still on the table.

  ‘However . . .’

  A tense silence fell in the room as soon as the lawyer’s voice was heard. This time, I also stared at him in anticipation. This was not something he had mentioned on the telephone.

  ‘However, an earlier version of the will exists, which Magdalon Schelderup gave orally and which he wanted to be read out with his current will. It was written on 12 August 1968 and was then annulled when this new will was formalized on 6 May 1969. The annulled version is far shorter . . .’

  He took another short, dramatic pause while he looked for the second sheet, and then apparently checked three times that it was the correct one.

  ‘The annulled will stated the following: With the exception of two million kroner to be paid to my wife Sandra Schelderup, 200,000 kroner to be paid to my son Fredrik Schelderup and 200,000 kroner to be paid to my son Leonard Schelderup, I hereby leave all my financial wealth and assets to my daughter Maria Irene Schelderup.’

  Suddenly all the dammed-up emotions in the room broke loose. Audibly.

  Hans Herlofsen heaved a sigh of relief, clutched his throat and loosened his tie further.

  Fredrik Schelderup’s smile was even broader this time and he raised his glass with a jovial: ‘Here’s to the new will.’

  Leonard Schelderup hid his face in his hands, but judging by the movements in his neck, he was chewing more frantically than ever on his gum.

  Sandra Schelderup looked daggers at him a couple of times and then lost all composure. The atmosphere was electric and everyone, including Mr Rønning Junior himself, started when she flew into a rage, first slamming her fist down on the table and then shaking it threateningly at her two stepsons.

  The only person who appeared not to be affected by this outburst was the very person my eyes were trained on.

  As the annulled will was being read, I thought I saw the very tip of her tongue in the left-hand corner of her mouth. But afterwards, Maria Irene Schelderup was just as impassive as before.