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A Small Indiscretion

Page 8

by Denise Rudberg


  Harry had been silent through most of the dinner, but now he raised his glass.

  “It is time to toast our hostess! I think that my daughter is looking absolutely wonderful this evening! And if I may say so, without your thinking less of me, it’s about time. It has been painful to see my daughter hanging around the house like a ghost. And today, we can see the light at the end of the tunnel. So, let me be the first to say skål!”

  Marianne made a face at her father, but she lifted her glass with everyone else. Putting her glass back on the table, she cleared her throat to get their attention. She patted her mouth with a napkin.

  “I have something to tell you, too. I’ve decided to go back to work. Olle came by today and asked me personally. We agreed that I’ll start on Monday.”

  There was silence around the table. Sigrid and Peder glanced at each other.

  Peder asked, “So, you’ll be working with Olle again?”

  “That’s the plan. I’ll belong to a small unit reporting directly to him.”

  They were all quiet again. Marianne knew what they were thinking: How could she return to the place where both she and her husband had worked? Harry broke the silence.

  “But that’s absolutely wonderful! You will be a fantastic addition to the team. It is my hope that my daughter will have the career of her dreams and rise as high as she wants! So, another skål for that!”

  Everyone laughed, and Marianne shook her head at her father.

  “I hardly think you could call it the career of my dreams. But at least I’ll be back to work. That’s something.”

  “I think it will be great for you,” Sigrid said. “You need to get out. What else would you do all day?”

  “That’s just what Chrisse told me. Then I talked to Lola and promised to come to her art exhibit next week. She has a big show.”

  Peder whistled. “Good for you, Mamma! You’re really getting out there! You’ve gone from being a marmot in hibernation to a career woman and party animal!”

  They all laughed again. Marianne loved this happy atmosphere around her kitchen table. She’d taken her first step back into the world and couldn’t look back now. Truth be told, she didn’t want to look back. Not when things were finally getting exciting again.

  CHAPTER 15

  As she turned toward the house, Paula Steen took a deep breath. Jens had just laughed when she’d told him about the text message. He told her she should look at the funny side of it. He thought there were two possibilities: The first was that someone meant the messages for someone else and got the wrong number. That someone was flirting with his new Internet date, not a sex-starved housewife from Djursholm. She’d brought up the sex-starved housewife bit herself, but Jens seemed to agree with it. The second alternative was that some neighbor was keeping an eye on her to see if she was interested in a little fling on the side. Perhaps one of the other fathers at school?

  Jens thought she should see this second possibility as a compliment, but Paula didn’t agree. She felt uncomfortable and thought this was strange and intrusive. She had tried the number a few times that afternoon. Why didn’t the caller answer?

  Lotta had invited her to stay in her guest room after going out that night. Paula didn’t accept that offer right away but knew she would later. After a few glasses of wine, it wouldn’t be so embarrassing. She didn’t want to appear dependent, nor was she about to inform Jens. He’d just make fun of her.

  Paula’s stiletto heels crunched on the gravel driveway, and she did her best to make sure the gravel wouldn’t rub the shine off of them. She’d chosen to wear her tallest heels—which she’d never worn out of the house. Only in the bedroom. She bought them to excite Jens, but he was just annoyed that she wanted to wear shoes to bed. He believed it was unhygienic—disgusting, even—although her elegant shoes with the bright-red soles were brand-new. The six-inch heels would have been impossible to walk in if the shoes weren’t raised beneath the balls of her feet to provide some shock absorption.

  Paula found it harder to walk downhill. She was happy when the driveway started to slope upward as she approached the house. She couldn’t have made it much farther. She’d packed a pair of ballerina shoes in her overnight bag but didn’t need them yet.

  “Hello, darling,” Lotta greeted her at the door. “Everyone, say hello to Paula!”

  Paula waved at the company of women her own age. They all stared at her with interest. She’d met one or two of them briefly before, but most were new to her. Paula took off her coat, and Lotta smiled approvingly at her outfit. She was wearing a plum dress with a plunging neckline that revealed a good deal of her breasts. She’d also made the radical decision to leave her bra at home.

  “Oh, my, what a babe you are tonight! Now hurry up and get a drink to catch up with the rest of us. We started with mojitos at five.”

  Lotta took Paula’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Paula felt awkward as she followed her tipsy friend into the kitchen, where a young man with bronze skin and black hair handed her a glass with mint leaves and a straw. The drink’s sweetness balanced perfectly with the alcohol. Paula took a cautious sip from the straw while casting a discreet glance at the clock. It was just past eight, and Lotta had said that Velvet didn’t open until nine thirty. If she drank slowly, perhaps she’d get away with having just two drinks. She really didn’t want to drink more calories than absolutely necessary.

  The young man leaned toward her and laid a hand on her arm.

  “Would you like more ice?”

  Paula jumped and looked into his dark-brown eyes. He was so attractive, almost beautiful. She smiled and shook her head.

  “No. Thanks. You made a perfect drink.”

  The young man held her gaze and gave her a big smile until she was forced to look away. What did he see in her that made him think he could so openly flirt with her? And here she was acting like a Mademoiselle at a seventeenth-century royal court. She raised her eyes and returned a big smile before going back to the women sitting on the sofas.

  Lotta beckoned to her.

  “Come sit down, Paula! This is Purran. She’s just moved to Djurgården. Her husband is Michael and they have three kids, two dogs. They’re in the middle of renovating their house.”

  Lotta pulled Paula down beside her and laid a hand on Paula’s thigh. It seemed as if Lotta was making a point that Paula was her friend—like she was marking her territory. Paula found it somewhat sweet—she’d never seen Lotta so open. Then again, this was the first time they were going out together without their husbands. With the men around, the women never let down their hair, never let themselves get smashed.

  “Purran’s like us. She doesn’t have a job. She got tired of all the traffic into the city and the never-ending stress of finding time for the kids. We all know we can’t depend on our sweet husbands, now, can we?”

  Purran was short and had a wide face. Paula disliked her and mistrusted her fiery temperament immediately. And it appeared the feeling was mutual. Purran flashed a fake smile before saying, “So you’re the one who’s afraid of the dark. Lotta was just telling us about that.”

  Paula blinked and looked over at Lotta, who seemed not to have heard what Purran had just said.

  “Yes,” she replied, “although it’s not as bad as all that. But I’m alone most of the day, and I tend to wind myself up a bit.”

  Purran seemed surprised by her honest response. She sipped her drink, taking in Paula’s shoes and outfit.

  “I decided long ago that I would never allow myself to be afraid of being alone at night. Why fear everything in life? You can saddle yourself with all kinds of phobias if you start down that road. Our alarm system goes off all the time. What if I panicked each and every time that happened? It would drive me nuts. So, what does your husband do for a living?”

  “He’s a marketing head. What does yours do?”

  “He
’s a hedge fund manager, a self-made man. Yes, I believe I met your husband at school. He’s the one who drives that old silver Porsche, right? My husband keeps saying he wants to get one of those antique cars, maybe next summer. He used to have an old MG after he finished high school, so now he’s having flashbacks of those good old times.”

  Paula suddenly remembered who Purran was. Lotta had told her about a family that had recently moved here. The husband didn’t do a thing at home and, according to Lotta, he tried to get into the pants of every babysitter north of the Stocksund Bridge. Purran was more concerned about keeping her social and economic status than anything else, so she turned a blind eye on his behavior. Paula didn’t understand how Purran could live with herself. She wasn’t sure she wanted to get into a deeper conversation with this woman who seemed eager to stir up trouble. Purran wore stretch jeans from Filippa K, and the sleeveless top she had on made her upper arms look strange. Paula forced herself to smile and asked, “So, where does your husband work?”

  “He’s just started a new hedge fund with an old friend. They mostly manage money from their own friends.”

  “That sounds awfully risky. Especially if the friendships end.”

  “Why would any friendships end? They’re professional enough not to let that happen. Your marketing head—what does he do?”

  “He’s the international representative for a family-owned cosmetics business. He helps oversee their marketing campaigns and their media strategy. And what do you do, besides look after the children?”

  Purran’s expression hardened further, and Paula had to keep from moving away from her. Paula pressed her lips together, forcing them to turn up.

  “I used to be the lead attorney at Apoteket,” Purran growled. “But, as I mentioned, that was some time ago. I can barely remember those days. It was endless stress. What about you?”

  “I worked as a designer at the same company as my husband. I designed products geared for a younger customer base. I’d love to get back to work. In fact, I received a fantastic offer just a month ago, which I had to decline.”

  Purran looked at her in surprise. “Why’d you turn it down?”

  “We wouldn’t be able to manage if both of us worked full time. Who would be home with the children? Especially if we both had to travel at the same time. Not to mention all the activities. I already hire a babysitter so I can manage to just get the two to all their activities! Those take place at times a working person could never manage. Who can get off work to take a child to ballet at two in the afternoon?”

  For a half a second it looked like Purran might agree with her, but then her expression changed again, making her look ready for a fight.

  “I think you’re just making excuses. You might as well say it like it is. You want to stay home with your children. Any woman with any sense at all would rather be with her children than work. The ones who talk differently are secretly jealous.”

  “I don’t agree. I do want to work. But Jens can’t cut back his workload, so one of us has to compromise. Don’t you ever miss working?”

  “Sure, but not so much that I’d choose it over my children.”

  Paula’s smile became strained as she shook her head.

  “Then I must be a horrible person. I think it’s sometimes stressful to be home with the children all the time. You never think so?”

  “Of course not. Yes, there’s stress raising children. But it helps to make it absolutely clear who is in charge. A mother must make sure that the children know she makes the decisions.”

  Paula glanced to see if Lotta had heard what Purran said, but she and everyone else were involved in their own discussions. Purran continued:

  “Anyone who’s read Anna Wahlgren’s theories of child rearing knows how it works. If you follow her rules line by line, you’ll never have any difficulty raising kids. The children will never be a problem at all.”

  Paula wanted to argue, but this wasn’t the right time and place. She wasn’t interested in any authoritarian view of child rearing. So instead of starting a fight, she took a large swig of her drink and wondered how she’d wound up here. This woman was the last person she’d ever want to hang out with. She suddenly longed to meet up with her old friends from Gothenburg. Paula turned forty-five degrees and gave her attention to Lotta, who was in the middle of a funny story about her three-year-old’s latest escapades.

  Before realizing it, Paula had finished her drink. Lotta quickly grabbed the enormous glass from her and made sure she got a refill.

  “Come on, girls, drink up! Time to get in the mood for the evening!”

  She turned up the stereo and gestured to everyone to get up and dance. The young man in the kitchen smiled dutifully as all the middle-aged women stood up and danced to “Mamma Mia.” Lotta clapped along with the rhythm, and, although she didn’t feel like dancing at all, Paula soon found her body moving in time with the others, even if she was dancing a bit more stiffly. Purran’s compact body was totally in sync with the music, but Paula thought Purran looked grotesque with her thick thighs in her tight jeans. She should have chosen something that fit better. The other women also followed Lotta’s lead, but—even with the alcohol—they had difficulty cutting loose.

  “Oh, boy! We are going to have fun tonight! Just us girls!”

  All the other women hooted in response, lifting their arms into the air.

  This was the one day of the year when Lotta was on her own. Her husband had taken their three children to visit his mother in Halmstad, and they wouldn’t be back until Sunday. Lotta could party all night and sleep in as late as she wanted. Paula had always envied Lotta’s annual break from her duties. And now, here she was—also free.

  Two taxis drove into the driveway exactly at nine thirty. Lotta was already fairly drunk. She kissed the young man serving drinks on the mouth before she left the house, and whispered to Paula: “He promised to stay until we got back. We can share him if you’d like.”

  Paula looked at Lotta in shock and waited for an I’m only joking that didn’t come. Instead, Lotta leaned over and gave Paula a soft kiss on the mouth. Paula jerked back and sucked in a deep breath. Lotta looked at her tipsily, laying her head on Paula’s shoulder, “Don’t look so shocked. I know you want to,” she said. She laughed and asked the taxi driver to turn up the music.

  Paula realized that she, too, was pretty drunk. She’d had four mojitos! She looked out the window and felt Lotta’s hair tickle her cheek. An image of Jens flitted through her mind, and she wondered what it would feel like to kiss that young bartender. Or even Lotta.

  Another thought flew through her head. What if Lotta was behind those text messages all along? Perhaps she’d wanted to frighten Paula into wanting to stay overnight at her house. Could Lotta have actually plotted this? It seemed like a pretty big coincidence that all this was happening the same weekend Lotta had the house to herself. Perhaps she’d borrowed one of her children’s cell phones? She’d ask Lotta later—after they’d had more to drink.

  CHAPTER 16

  Torsten threw himself onto the sofa and unbuttoned his pants, pulling off his socks and kicking them under the coffee table. The microwave buzzer let him know his veal rolls were ready. He’d taken them out of the freezer that morning before going to work. He was getting better at preparing food and freezing it. He and his son, Noah, liked cooking together and finding new recipes to try out, including this one.

  Torsten put two rolls on a plate and poured some warmed-up sauce over them. The mashed potatoes were still a little cold, but he was so hungry he didn’t care. He added a tablespoon of lingonberry jam to the plate and was pleased by the dash of color. He took his plate and a glass of alcohol-free beer into the living room. He was looking forward to Noah’s return from visiting his mother. It was depressing eating dinner alone every evening. The food never tasted as good. But he did have to eat.

  While
putting his plate in the dishwasher, he wondered if a scoop of ice cream would put him in a better mood. No, he thought, it would be a shame to undercut the training session he’d had with Bertil earlier. They’d swum three thousand meters, ending with four lengths of butterfly stroke. He couldn’t compete with Bertil, who’d come in half a length ahead. Bertil, though he was ten years older, was still in incredible shape. It bothered Torsten just a bit. Wasn’t it time for Bertil to start aging like everyone else? Even if he was a super athlete? Torsten thought that his shoulder had suffered from the exertion, but it would probably heal itself overnight.

  Visiting the Turin family home on Narvavägen hadn’t given him much to go on, much like Christopher Turin’s office. Their apartment building, next to King Oscar’s Church, was an Art Nouveau fin-de-siècle building, and just stepping into it was an experience in itself. Ghostly hallways led him to the Turin apartment on the fourth floor. The apartment was modestly decorated and had few details. He could tell that the Turins had tried for minimalism, but they hadn’t really succeeded. Instead of creating a roomy space, the impression was of someone having just moved out. Several areas were worn and untidy. Torsten decided that this was a messy family. He saw burns on the counter from pots set down without trivets. The refrigerator was covered with sticky notes about school, even though school had been out for weeks. And the well-designed furniture had seen better days: the white sofa at one end of the living room, for instance, was covered in stains showing these people ate dinner in front of the television.

  After Torsten left and hopped back into his Corolla, he decided he’d visited a home with no soul. People ate and slept there, but not much more. It felt as if the owners had already moved out.

  On the way home, Torsten stopped to buy two new potted plants for his balcony. Large, rounded chrysanthemum blooms looked good in early fall. He wanted Noah to come back to a house that looked presentable—and perhaps they’d still have a chance to eat dinner on the balcony before it got too chilly.

 

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