A Small Indiscretion

by Denise Rudberg

  They hung up, but Marianne still had the feeling that something was wrong. Something left unsaid. Nina seemed to have something on the tip of her tongue. She weighed the phone in her hand, wondering whether to call Nina back. But then, if Nina wanted to tell her something, it wasn’t good to press her about it. It was better to wait and see. She also had to remember to call Peder tomorrow. She set her cell phone to mute, slipping it back into her purse. She was not on call this evening, and Olle was in the office. But it was difficult for her not being available. Still, she couldn’t let her phone ring in the middle of Lola’s dinner. How gauche that would be!

  Lola lived in a building that had once been a cold-water bathhouse. She’d snapped up the former rental when it went on sale. She converted the ground floor to a gallery, and the second floor was her private residence. The gallery was in a great spot, close to the Modern Museum. The large windows looked out over the water and faced Djurgården.

  Marianne hurried up the stairs to the second floor. She rang the doorbell, and it gave off a buzzing sound. She heard clattering footsteps, and the door opened with a creak. Lola smiled widely. She was wearing a bright-red dress, which left one shoulder bare. She looked like a dream. It was hard to tell that Lola was almost sixty. She could hold her own with any thirty-year-old.

  “Finally! I was beginning to think you might back out. Hurry up and come in—everyone else is already here. Oh, what have we here?”

  Marianne smiled. She handed Lola the purple box and turned to hang up her coat. She buttoned a button on her sweater and pulled in her stomach as best she could.

  Lola eagerly pulled off the silver ribbon and opened the box.

  “I’ll bet Sigrid was behind this! It’s beautiful!”

  Lola draped the scarf around her shoulders, and Marianne saw that Sigrid had been absolutely correct. The color suited Lola perfectly.

  “Yes, Sigrid chose it. I’m such a bad guest.”

  “You are forgiven. You were clever enough to ask your talented daughter for help. But couldn’t she have found a more colorful dress for you?”

  “She tried…but one step at a time.”

  “Well, I have to say, you still look pretty good. And your hair! Wonderful! Going to the hairdresser wasn’t a bad idea at all! Now come inside and say hello. Stand up straight and hold your stomach in, for the love of God!”

  Marianne pinched Lola’s arm and laughed. She glanced briefly into the gold-framed mirror and bared her teeth to make sure no lipstick was on them; then she entered the living room.

  Lola had recently renovated her apartment. The minute she owned it outright, she’d set to work. It hadn’t been changed in over forty years, but Lola had chosen a classic style with a great deal of white, matched to splashes of black and gray. Not surprising for a gallery owner. When it came to clothing, Lola’s style was cutting edge, but in interior design, she was much more conservative. The two overstuffed sofas in an English style had white coverings. Six people were spaced out on them, and four more were sitting in armchairs. Marianne looked around in confusion for somewhere to sit before a Gripsholm-style chair was placed behind her. She received a quick kiss on both cheeks.

  “Bonjour, Madame! You look stunning tonight!”

  “Thank you, Philippe.”

  Philippe, Lola’s partner, winked. “Let me get you a glass of champagne.”

  Marianne sat down and waved briefly to the other guests. She had already met most of them on other occasions, and it would be rude to make them all stand up and kiss her cheek. Her father had always insisted if there were more than twelve people in a room, it was inconsiderate to go up and greet each one.

  Philippe and Lola didn’t live together, and Lola loved using the Swedish expression särbo to get a rise out of people. Philippe was divorced and lived with his sixteen-year-old daughter, Viki. He only stayed at Lola’s place on occasion. He was ten years younger than Lola and ran a successful furniture company, whose designs sold to over twenty countries. He’d started off taking prototypes to furniture manufacturers all over the country, hoping they’d sell his designs.

  Philippe loved Lola deeply and had courted her for two years before she agreed to go out with him. They’d been friends at first, but within a year, they were a couple. Lola refused to move in with him, and Philippe said he was fine with that since Viki was still living at home. When Viki moved out, he planned to ask her to marry him and to live in the same home. He joked that it was time Lola made an honest man out of him. Lola always said time would tell. When it came to relationships, she was afraid to commit, and Marianne understood why. The year Lola turned eight, both her parents had died, and she was tossed from one boarding school to another, all over Europe. She met a German count fifteen years her senior and married him when she was thirty. For ten years he beat her, until Lola had the courage to leave him and demand a divorce. She moved to Berlin and worked at an established gallery, specializing in photography. Her former husband stalked her in Berlin, becoming aggressive and violent whenever he tracked her down. Despite reporting him to the police and getting a restraining order, Lola never could hide from him for long, and she lived in daily fear of his reappearance. Then a miracle happened: One October evening after a fancy dinner, he was in a car crash on the autobahn. He passed away two days later at the hospital. He was said to be drunk behind the wheel, but Marianne suspected it might have been a case of suicide. She never talked about it with Lola. He wasn’t worth their attention.

  Lola finally had peace. She returned to Stockholm at forty-plus after only visiting a few times during her marriage. She opened her own gallery and went right to work. She’d inherited a fortune from her parents and, luckily, her husband had never been able to touch it. She decided she would never be involved with another man again. Philippe had his work cut out for him when he met her, but as far as Marianne was concerned, Philippe was a gift from Heaven. He treated Lola well and was able to smooth away her rough edges. She stopped battling fiercely just for the sake of getting her way, and she became much warmer and friendlier to other people.

  It wasn’t strange under the circumstances that Lola had no children. Marianne couldn’t imagine any children in her life. Art was her focus, and she took artists under her protective wing. That was enough for her. Lola had also used her fortune to set up a prize for promising young artists. Swedish cultural life had a patron in Lola, and people gladly accepted her assistance.

  Marianne leaned back and tasted the champagne. It was chilled properly, and she could have drunk it all at one go. She’d had only coffee all day, and she realized how thirsty she was. She got up from her chair with difficulty and smiled at the people sitting next to Philippe. He was talking to a red-haired woman who’d been a very popular author but had given up writing for painting. Her work pleased the critics, yet was easily accessible to the average person—a balancing act few could accomplish.

  In the kitchen, everything was well under control. The dishes were arranged attractively, and a chef greeted her, asking if he could be of assistance.

  “I just need a glass of water, please. I’m going to be too tipsy from champagne if I don’t drink some water. I’ve only had coffee today.”

  “Of course. Let me get you a glass.”

  “Everything smells wonderful. What are you serving tonight?”

  “For the appetizer: Swedish river crabs with Västerbotten cheese and home-baked crisp bread. For the main dish, I’ve made saddle of venison with buttered new potatoes. To end the meal, there will be warm cloudberries with fried Camembert.”

  “It sounds terrific. I haven’t had warm cloudberries in over thirty years!”

  “I understand that it was a fashionable dessert in the seventies.”

  “You weren’t even born then, were you?”

  The young man reddened a bit. “You’re right,” he said. “I was born in 1981.”

  Marianne
finished her water and smiled. “You’re the same age as my youngest daughter. It’s a good year. Is there anything I can help with here in the kitchen so I can avoid rejoining the crowd out there?”

  The man smiled back and shook his head. “Thanks, but no. Everything is all set, but you’re welcome to come back if you need another glass of water.”

  Marianne snatched her champagne flute from the windowsill and walked back into the living room. She noticed another guest returning to the room and thought there was something familiar about him. Not wanting to give up her chair, she hurried back and sank into the cushions with relief. She had no desire to sit on the sofa with the other guests. Marianne was happy to spot an ashtray on the coffee table. A woman was stubbing out her cigarette in order to light a new one. Marianne dug into her purse for her pack of Davidoffs and discreetly pulled out a cigarette. But then she realized she hadn’t brought her lighter.

  “Perhaps I can help you,” a voice said.

  Marianne recognized the voice and looked up. The new guest, who’d looked so familiar, was none other than one of her old college flames—Ralph Nordström.

  “Good Lord, it’s you! Ralph! What are you doing here?”

  Marianne had spent quite some time with Ralph when she was studying at Lund. He had come to Lund from Oxford to get a Swedish law degree along with his British one. Like his father, he was planning to be a career diplomat. Marianne had seen Ralph just once after Lund. It was a brief meeting around Christmas, sometime in the eighties. She’d been outside NK department store with her girls in a twin stroller, looking at the displays for an idea for Hans’s Christmas present. Ralph had been well dressed in a dark suit and narrow coat. She was hot, wore no makeup, and her down coat was worn and spotted with oatmeal stains. She’d done her best to keep the girls from fussing too much. Ralph was home for a quick visit with his parents. He asked which prosecution office she was working for, and she had avoided answering, saying she’d find out when the girls were a little older. They’d said their good-byes with smiles and warm looks, and Marianne had treasured that meeting for years afterward.

  “Lola and I went to grade school together when we were tadpoles. I had no idea you two knew each other.”

  “Lola is one of my very best friends.”

  “But that’s strange. Did you know her when you were at Lund?”

  “Yes, we’d been sent to the same finishing school in Switzerland one summer. We were supposed to learn typing and French, but we spent most of our time balancing books on our heads and writing comprehensive shopping lists for meals. All the time, they’d yell at us to pull our stomachs in.”

  Ralph laughed. “It’s hard for me to imagine the two of you there.”

  “We were there all right. We smoked, sneaked out, and got drunk on sweet liqueurs. Girls were supposed to attend finishing schools back in the day, but now I hear they go to language schools instead. But I’m eternally grateful that I was sent there, because I met Lola. We couldn’t see each other much when she was living in Germany and, as you know, I was studying at Lund. But…what are you doing in Sweden? Are you waiting for a new posting?”

  Ralph shook his head as he lit his own cigarette. “No, just the reverse. I’m getting ready to retire.”

  “You’re not that old, surely. And why would you want to retire in Sweden? You’ve never even lived here except for those years in Lund.”

  “That’s right. Still, I’m tired of traveling from place to place and never settling down. I want a permanent address and a quiet life, where I’m my own boss. My parents have passed away, and for ten years I’ve longed to return to Sweden. And how are you, the most beautiful student Lund has ever seen?”

  “Well, I don’t really know yet. Ask away.”

  “Still married?”

  Marianne flinched, almost dropping her cigarette. She tried to keep her voice steady, “No, I’m a recent widow, actually.”

  “Lola mentioned over lunch that one of her close friends had just lost her husband. So that was you. I am so sorry for your loss, Marianne.”

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  They both took a sip of champagne. When their eyes caught each other, Marianne hastened to take another puff.

  “Where do you live?” she asked.

  “I’ve bought a house in Gamla Stan. On Drakens Gränd, not too far from the Royal Palace. It needs some renovation, but I think it will be fine once that’s done. It was as close to an English townhouse as I could find in Stockholm, and one of the reasons I could leave London. I met my architect today, and he thought it would be finished in a few months. Until then, I’m staying at a hotel on Storgatan near Hedvig Eleonora Church. I have rented the entire top floor. It has a wonderful terrace at my disposal. But that’s enough about me. What about you, where do you live?”

  “I’m still in my apartment on Banérgatan. It’s my childhood home. I think you must have been there once or twice. I had a big party there, you might recall. Pappa still brings it up. We emptied his entire liquor cabinet that night. He was so angry.”

  “Yes, I do remember. I especially remember my hangover the next day. I seem to recall that the apartment was fairly large. Are you living there all by yourself?”

  “For now at least. I haven’t decided what to do, but I like the apartment.”

  Ralph roared with laughter. “I should think so! You could go bowling in the dining room!”

  “Well, these days my son still comes back every year from Australia. He comes home during vacations. It’s comfortable to have enough space so we don’t get in each other’s way.”

  “So you have three children? I remember two girls in a stroller when I ran across you outside NK. You looked tired that day!”

  “Oh, I was,” Marianne said. “I was so exhausted that my whole body ached! Whenever I see pictures from when the children were small, I remember that feeling of never getting enough sleep. All I wanted back then was to sleep through a single night. Now I get all the sleep I need, and then some.”

  “Did you become a prosecutor?”

  Marianne looked down and took another puff. “No, other things got in the way.”

  “Such as?”

  “Three children and a husband.”

  “You could have worked out a way to share responsibilities with him?”

  “Yes, but we didn’t. Although the wonderful seventies had just gone by, we were still children of a more conservative era. When the kids came, we found ourselves taking on traditional roles. I had sworn it would never happen to me, but it did. It was hard for him as well, since he hardly saw the children except for weekends and vacations.”

  Ralph cut in: “Or perhaps he didn’t want to spend time at home. I met your late husband. If I may be honest, he wasn’t one of my favorite people. But then…I was biased. I was so in love with you.”

  “What? Come on, you weren’t in love with me. You were with that Scanian woman! The one from the upper nobility, with the crazy father. Did he really chase you with a rifle?”

  “Yes, though I think he just meant to scare me. Perhaps he knew my real thoughts. I was so in love with you. I thought you must have known somehow.”

  Ralph laughed and blew the smoke sideways from his lips. Marianne raised one eyebrow, pretending to ignore his statement. Ralph nodded hello at the other guests.

  “Do you know many of these people?”

  Marianne shrugged. “I wouldn’t say I know them well, but I’ve met all of them before.”

  “Let me get a chair, and you can tell me who everyone is. I’m new here, so I don’t know a soul.”

  Ralph found a chair that was upholstered in Svenskt Tenn’s popular Tehran pattern. He pulled it close to Marianne’s chair, stubbing out his cigarette and taking Marianne’s flute. “Let me fill your glass so we don’t die of thirst.”

  She smiled. Ralph didn’t look much
older than in their student days. Then, as now, he was elegantly dressed and seemed to have taken care of his health. His former light-brown hair was now gray, but he had the same hairstyle. He had a slight tan, which he’d always had no matter what the season. His eyes were more intense than she’d remembered. Perhaps he’d learned how to really use them. Marianne wondered what he thought of her. He certainly couldn’t see her as well preserved. She’d always had curves, even in the Twiggy era, but her figure now was more “upholstered.” Too many pounds had settled around her stomach—although, for the most part, the weight was distributed throughout her body. A treacherous weight gain. Perhaps she never would get used to it. But what woman would ever be happy weighing so much? Or any man for that matter?

  “Now tell me. Who are these people?”

  Ralph sat back down beside her. He crossed one leg over the other and lit another cigarette, offering his lighter again. Marianne hurried to pull out another Davidoff, refusing one of Ralph’s.

  “You have met Philippe, of course?”

  Ralph said, “Yes—he’s a pleasant chap, but ever since my years in the West Indies I sometimes have difficulties with Frenchmen. He’s nice enough, though.”

  Marianne continued telling him about the other guests, and Ralph listened intently until the young chef discreetly rang a small bell from the kitchen to let them know dinner was served.

  CHAPTER 71

  The cold air nipped their cheeks as they left the impressive house on Friggavägen. Torsten looked back at the lit kitchen before he hunkered into the passenger seat.

  “So what do we say about that encounter?”

  Augustin shook his head. “That guy is a real asshole.”

  Torsten sighed deeply and, as was his habit, rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumbs.

  “How can people be like that? How can they live with themselves? That guy there, he has an extremely beautiful wife, two lovely daughters, and a job that would make most people envious. And what does he do with his time? Heads off to Right Now to find himself, leaving his wife and children at home alone, while he develops his inner child, or—not to mince words about it—fuck around with other peoples’ spouses. What is it with that place? Do they brainwash people, or give them drugs?”