Jenny was caught up in the mood; she loved this moment. Seconds before the show started, her mind cleared of all thoughts. She stared attentively at the stylist, waiting for her cue. Then the curtains parted and she stepped out on to the catwalk. A gasp passed through the audience when they caught sight of her. She paused for a moment and couldn’t help smiling. She looked for his face and found it at once.
Then she moved forward.
A PALE NOVEMBER light strained to make its way through a few gaps in the heavy cloud cover. All the stones worn smooth by the water lay untouched on the shore. No one had walked along that stretch of beach in a long time. The sea was grey, with hardly a ripple. Far off in the distance, leaden waves lapped steadily at the scattered boulders that seemed to have been randomly tossed into the water.
Anders Knutas, who had just stepped out on to the front porch of the summer cottage, shivered and pulled up the collar of his jacket. The air was fresh but raw, and the damp cold seeped through his clothes. There was almost no wind. The bare branches of the birch tree down by the gate didn’t move. They were covered with drops of water that sparkled in the morning light. The ground was spongy with tiny yellow leaves that had fallen when the autumn chill crept in. But a few roses were still blooming in the garden, glinting like red and pink will-o’-the-wisps against all the grey; they were reminders of another season.
He headed out along the muddy gravel track that wound its way parallel to the sea. Their cottage was a couple of kilometres beyond Lickershamn, an old fishing village on Gotland’s north-west coast, also called the Stone Coast. Nowadays, it was a summer paradise with only a few permanent residents. At this time of year it was peaceful, and he enjoyed the quiet.
Knutas, who was a morning person, had slipped out without waking Lina. She was sleeping soundly, as usual. It was no more than eight o’clock on this Saturday morning, and he had the road all to himself. It was uneven and muddy, with countless potholes that had filled with water after a night of rain. Lying upside down on the grass-covered strip of land next to the sea were several flat-bottomed rowboats, one of which belonged to Knutas. He loved to go out fishing, and he was a long-standing member of the Lickershamn fishing association. Brown trout, salmon, flounder, cod and turbot were plentiful in these waters. He usually went out with his neighbour Arne, who was a fisherman and one of the few people who lived here year round.
Along the road grew reeds that had now yellowed and withered, a few bushes with beautiful, gleaming red rose-hips, and a gnarled apple tree with a dozen or so yellow apples still clinging to its branches.
Further away, steep chalk cliffs rose dramatically out of the sea. The big rauk called Jungfrun, the Maiden, was sharply outlined against the sky, keeping watch over the small harbour, where only a couple of fishing boats and a few rowboats were now moored. There wasn’t a soul in sight.
On Friday afternoon, Knutas had left police headquarters early and picked up Lina after her shift on the maternity ward of Visby Hospital. Then they had driven out to the cottage. Arne had phoned to tell them that a tree on their property had fallen in the latest autumn storm, which had swept over the island with such violent force a few days earlier. So they had decided to spend the weekend cleaning up. Their marriage had been going through a lengthy rough patch, and they were both making a real effort to find their way back to each other. And, lately, things seemed to be going well.
During the past year, he’d sometimes thought that divorce was inevitable. Lina had become withdrawn and didn’t seem to need him in the same way as she had in the past. She did more things alone, took weekend trips to Stockholm, and spent time with her female friends. She and Maria, who was a photographer, had spent all of October on the West African islands of Cape Verde, documenting the high rate of mothers who died in childbirth. Maria wrote the report and took the photographs, while Lina contributed in her capacity as a midwife and researcher. When Knutas offered some mild objections to Lina taking the trip, she had angrily declared that in the developing countries the death rate among women giving birth was an enormous problem that deserved attention. He shouldn’t even try to stop her going.
Knutas had never imagined how lonely it would be without Lina. Their twins, Petra and Nils, were seventeen and seldom at home. Petra had always been sports-minded and loved outdoors activities. She’d been playing floorball for years, but her biggest passion was orienteering, to which she devoted almost all her free time. Several evenings a week she went to track practice, and when she had no floorball matches at the weekend, she went with her friends to Svaidestugan, outside Visby. That was where the local orienteering community had a clubhouse, and there were also a number of different types of training trails. Healthy hobbies, of course, but recently Knutas had hardly seen her at all.
Nils was the exact opposite of his sister. He was totally uninterested in anything having to do with sports or exercise. He belonged to a theatre group and played drums in a band that practised every evening. Knutas was glad that his children had so many interests. And both of them did well in school, so there was no real reason to complain. They were in the process of separating from him and Lina, which also meant that they, in their role as parents, had to do the same. Lina didn’t seem to think this was a problem. She had adapted to the situation and at the same time had found new activities to keep herself busy.
Like that trip to Cape Verde, which, for Knutas, had been sheer torture. On that first evening when he came home from work, he’d felt as if the walls were echoing with emptiness all around him. Outside the windows the autumn darkness had settled in even though it was only four thirty. He’d switched on all the lights in the house and turned on the TV, but he’d been unable to fend off the feeling of being abandoned. And it got worse each day. If the children were spending the night somewhere else or didn’t come home for dinner, he lost any desire to cook or even make a cup of coffee for himself.
He had suffered through the silence of that month, without fully working out whether the empty feeling was because he was missing Lina in particular, or because he missed having someone else’s company in general.
The day before she was due back home he was suddenly seized with a great surge of energy. He cleaned the whole house, filled the refrigerator and pantry with food, and bought fresh flowers, which he put in a vase on the kitchen table. He was determined to do his utmost to be loving and considerate.
And it had worked. They’d started talking more to each other. Their relationship seemed deeper, more intense, and they’d drawn closer.
On Friday afternoon they had cleared the toppled tree from their property, then raked up leaves and burnt them on a bonfire. They ended the day by cooking a good meal together, and then sat in front of the fireplace, drinking wine and talking. Before going to sleep, they had made love. It almost felt like old times.
Knutas drew the fresh sea air deep into his lungs and continued walking. He passed the home of one of the permanent residents and saw smoke coming from the chimney. Off in the distance, he noticed light in a window. A flock of black jackdaws was perched in the treetops. With a loud shriek they all took off at once when he approached. The sea birds, clustered on rocks out in the water, reacted the same way. As they rose up into the sky, he realized how many there were.
The fishermen’s huts that were lined up down by the harbour were all empty. Some of the larger ones had been turned into summer homes with kitchenettes and bunk beds.
Knutas sat down on a bench and gazed out at the sea. One evening in September, they’d gone swimming here on their last visit to the cottage. He thought about Lina’s voluptuous body and soft white skin. Her long, curly red hair, her smile and warm eyes. He was still very much in love with her.
When he got back, he saw her sitting on the porch wearing a long grey cardigan and thick socks, with her pale, freckled hands wrapped around a coffee mug. She waved and smiled at him as he came walking along the road. He waved back.
WHEN THEY REACHED the road that con
nected the peninsula of Furillen to Gotland’s north-east coast, Jenny rolled the car window down halfway and breathed in the sea air. She hadn’t been here in a long time, and she’d forgotten how beautiful it was. Solitary, barren, and nothing but sea, sea, and more sea. In the distance she saw several wind turbines reaching towards the sky, their blades turning slowly in the light breeze. The beach was deserted, the road bumpy and dusty, the landscape bare and rocky; the higher up they drove, the more stripped everything looked. Like a moonscape, devoid of all traces of civilization.
The photographer Markus Sandberg was driving; she sat next to him in the passenger seat. There were two other people in the rental car: Maria, the make-up artist, and Hugo, the stylist, who were both going to work on the photo shoot, which was expected to last three days. They were quietly talking in the back seat and seemed to be completely absorbed in their conversation.
So much the better. That meant Jenny could enjoy the company of her companion in the front seat. As often as she dared, she let her eyes rest on Markus. She couldn’t believe how attractive he was, so mature, so worldly. He was one of the fashion industry’s most sought-after photographers and a favourite of the agencies. He’d travelled the globe with all the most famous models and stylists, working for the best magazines. He was nicely suntanned, with several small tattoos on his muscular arms and a silver bracelet on one lean wrist. He had a dark stubble on his cheeks, full lips, and intense, deep-blue eyes. His hair was thick and almost black, with no hint of thinning, even though he was close to forty. But that was hard to believe. Jenny thought he looked much younger. Maybe thirty at most. Markus was careful about maintaining his appearance. He worked out at the gym, shaved only enough to be fashionable, and spent a lot of time in front of the mirror styling his hair. ‘I’ve devoted my whole life to appearances,’ he’d cynically explained when she teased him about being so vain. ‘Both professionally and in my personal life. If I don’t take care of how I look, what would I take care of? It’s the only thing I know how to do – making myself and other people look our best. Beauty is my great passion in life.’
At first glance, the clothes he wore seemed casual and thrown together, as if everything he’d put on just happened to look right. A scarf wrapped around his neck, a pair of jeans faded in the proper places, a seemingly simple print shirt. But, on closer inspection, his clothing turned out to be from one of the foremost designer labels. He looked fabulous even with no clothes at all, she thought, longing for night-time, when they would share a bed. Markus had insisted on staying in one of the separate cabins that belonged to the hotel and were intended for guests who wanted to be left in peace. Personally, she wasn’t exactly thrilled about the arrangement. It didn’t sound especially appealing. Markus had told her that the cabins had been built at some distance from each other and about a kilometre from the hotel itself. They were barely visible because of the surrounding shrubbery and trees. They had no electricity or running water, with only paraffin lamps for light and wood stoves for heat. She had promised to sleep there with Markus. The one positive thing was that it would be easy for her to slip out, spend the night in the cabin, and then return to her room in the hotel early in the morning without being seen.
So far, their relationship was a secret. She wondered how long it would be before they could show their love openly. Markus was a bachelor, and he had no children. When the other models talked about him, they always claimed that he’d stay single for ever. They also pathetically agreed that he was completely unreliable. In the past, he’d photographed girls for various men’s magazines, and he’d developed a reputation for constantly changing girlfriends. At first, Jenny had been bothered by the fact that he’d taken nude photographs, but now she no longer cared. Everybody had to start somewhere, after all. Although she did try to avoid looking at his old photos of those girls with the big boobs. The models looked like they were eager to have sex with the photographer at any moment. She’d also felt a bit shy in the beginning, since he was so used to seeing such shapely women naked. She was embarrassed, and that made it hard for her to relax when she was with him. But he’d managed to convince her that none of that mattered; it belonged to his past, and he wasn’t proud of that work. Plus, she was more beautiful than any other woman. So she had decided to ignore all the spiteful gossip about Markus. Including the fact that he had never had a serious relationship with any woman.
She studied his handsome profile. Maybe it was simply because he’d never met the right person. In her mind, Jenny pictured the two of them sitting together on the veranda of a huge luxury hotel near the sea with several little children playing around them. What if she was the one to finally snare him? She laughed at the thought.
‘What’s so funny?’
Markus’s eyes were smiling behind his sunglasses. A dimple appeared in his unshaven cheek.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Nothing at all.’
She turned to look out of the window again. It was wonderful to come out here after the hectic fashion week in Stockholm. What a contrast to the noise of the big city. Right now, they were passing the abandoned limestone quarry where water had formed lakes in the huge pits. Far below, she could see the hotel, which looked so small and insignificant from this distance. The Hotel Fabriken had been built on the grounds of a former limestone factory. It stood in the middle of an expansive gravel-covered lot, surrounded by pyramid-like heaps of crushed limestone. A few factory buildings remained, reminding visitors of the industrial operations that had once been carried out on the property. Still present were an old stone crusher, a warehouse and the solidly constructed wharf that stretched out into the water, from which ships loaded with limestone had headed out to sea in the old days. In the middle of everything stood a caravan shaped like an egg, with shiny aluminium panelling. It looked out of place, like some sort of vessel that had just landed from outer space. She wondered if it was available for hotel guests.
An efficiently run business had operated on this site into the early seventies. After that, the military had largely taken over the land, and for the next twenty years or so Furillen had been a restricted area of Gotland, and foreigners were not permitted access. By now, most of the barbed wire had been removed, and the old radar stations remained as memorials to a bygone era.
When she was a child, Jenny had sometimes come out to the peninsula with her parents. They would take hikes in the barren landscape, walk along the deserted shoreline, or pick strawberries in the woods. Her mother knew a secret place where they could always find plenty of berries.
Now Jenny had returned for a completely different purpose. Who would have believed that the next time she set foot on the peninsula it would be as a celebrated fashion model?
A year ago, she’d been discovered by a scout from one of the biggest modelling agencies in Stockholm. She’d gone to the city with her family, and the scout had stopped her on the street to ask if she’d be willing to pose for some fashion photos. Feeling both surprised and flattered, she’d gone with him to the agency office and had auditioned during a photo shoot that very afternoon. The next day, the scout had phoned to invite Jenny back to the agency along with her parents, since at the time she was under eighteen. Her mother and father were impressed by the agency and its intentions, so they gave their permission, and with that the matter was settled.
Jenny quickly became popular, and it wasn’t long before her diary was fully booked. Since the modelling was going so well, she quit school after Christmas and started working full time. She travelled to Milan, Paris and New York, each photo session more successful than the last. Everyone seemed to appreciate her unique look. She was soon a well-known Swedish name within the international fashion world. And after being photographed for the cover of the Italian edition of Vogue, which was the most prestigious magazine of all, she became one of Europe’s top models. The money poured in, and the amounts were greater than she could have ever imagined.
Now she was sitting here in this car, on her way t
o an exclusive photo shoot with one of Sweden’s foremost photographers. Not to mention that she was in a romantic relationship with him. Markus had stressed that they needed to be cautious at first. It was a sensitive matter, since he’d recently broken up with a model from the same agency, and she seemed to be having a hard time accepting the fact that she needed to let him go. Diana would sometimes phone in the middle of the night, and he would have long-drawn-out conversations with her. So things weren’t exactly without complications at the moment. Markus thought that if they made their romance public, Diana, who was very temperamental, might hit the roof. It was better to wait.
Now the road was heading down a steep slope. Again Jenny turned to look at Markus. Of course she could be patient.
‘I CAN’T BELIEVE it’s that late!’
Karin Jacobsson threw off the blanket and climbed out of the big double bed. She was naked, and her short dark hair stuck out in all directions.
‘What?’
Her companion sat up, looking startled. He squinted at the glare when she turned on the ceiling light.
‘I can’t understand how I could have overslept. That never happens!’
Karin kept on grumbling as she dashed for the bathroom. He couldn’t help casting an admiring glance at her lean, supple body before the door closed behind her.
‘Could you make some coffee?’ she called. ‘I’ve got to have a cup or I’ll die.’
The next second he heard the shower go on. How could anybody move so fast? She was like a little ferret, he thought as he plodded off to the kitchen. An extremely sexy ferret.
Five minutes later they were sitting across from each other in Janne Widén’s big, bright kitchen in Terra Nova, a residential neighbourhood outside Visby. It was on this very street that they’d first met, six months earlier.
The Dangerous Game Page 2