Åsa left the car when they got back to Investum, quickly went into her office, and shut the door behind her.
No matter what he did, she still wanted that damn Lebanese.
The next day, after working considerably more than she was actually comfortable with, something struck Åsa. She stood up from her desk chair, walked out into the hallway, and knocked on Peter’s office door. He looked at her blearily. Åsa hadn’t noticed before, but Peter had started going gray at the temples. He was only a couple years older than she and already going gray. And he looked like shit, haggard and drawn. She wondered if he’d been drinking. Not because she judged people for drinking, but despite his Russian lineage, Peter couldn’t hold his liquor very well.
“What?” he snapped at her. He looked like he was losing it. If he didn’t watch out, he was going to make Louise a widow.
“When was the last time you and Natalia talked?” Åsa asked. She didn’t have the energy to feel empathy for Peter and the sad choices he’d made. If people wanted to screw up their lives, that was their business. She was busy with not learning shit from her own mistakes.
Peter just shook his head in irritation. His phone rang, and he waved her away.
Åsa returned to her desk. She put her legs up and stared at the ceiling. Should she worry? She wasn’t very good at worrying. People thought she was a good lawyer because she seemed levelheaded and cool, when really she just didn’t care very much.
She studied her hands and her nails. She wanted a manicure, a massage, and sex, not crisis, chaos, and emotions. She hated emotions. She closed her eyes, but opened them again when her secretary knocked. Åsa raised her eyebrows at her.
“You have a phone call. She called the main number, a woman named Gina.”
“Gina?” Åsa asked. The name didn’t ring any bells. It sounded vaguely foreign, and Åsa didn’t know any foreigners. Aside from Michel, of course. She gave her secretary an irritated look. The whole point of having a secretary was not having to take unimportant calls all the time, right?
“I think you’d better take this call,” her secretary said calmly.
Åsa sighed. “Put it through then.” Her phone rang and she answered. “Yes?”
“Is this Åsa Bjelke?”
“Who is this?”
“My name’s Gina. I’m Natalia De la Grip’s housecleaner.”
The worry was so immediate that it felt as if someone had punched Åsa in the chest. She’d received a phone call like this before, an unexpected call that came out of nowhere, a polite call that degenerated into chaos.
I regret to inform you, everyone is dead.
Is there anyone you can call?
The periphery of her field of vision started to go black, and she wanted to collapse to the floor. If anything’s happened to Nat, I’m going to kill myself. She felt no hysteria. That was simply a statement of fact. Because there was only so much loss one person could take, and Åsa had never had the illusion about herself that she was particularly strong. If Nat died, she would die too. That’s just how it was. She squeezed the phone so hard her hand hurt.
“Hello? Are you still there?”
The calm voice on the phone snapped Åsa out of it. She pushed aside her morbid thoughts. The woman sounded much too calm.
“I’m sorry,” said Åsa, her voice trembling. “I don’t know who you are, but what is this about Natalia?”
A short silence followed. “I’m worried,” Gina said on the other end of the line. “Natalia won’t let me in. She paid me to clean, but I can’t get in.”
Finally Åsa understood. “You’re her cleaning lady?” A fuzzy memory of an earnest-looking foreign woman came to mind.
A short silence followed before the woman calmly repeated, “Her housecleaner, yes.”
Åsa had already picked up her purse and started for the door. “I’m on my way over.” She stopped. And then, not entirely comfortable with gratitude, awkwardly said, “Thank you for calling me.”
But by then the maid—the housecleaner—had already hung up.
Åsa took a taxi and got out in front of Natalia’s building just a few minutes later. She called up from the front door. When there was no answer, she started systematically pressing each of the buttons until someone let her in.
The elevator creaked slowly upward, and that gave Åsa time to continue blaming herself. In the middle of all the chaos, she hadn’t had a chance to think about how Natalia was doing. Fuck, she knew how into David Natalia had been. But her egotism and preoccupation with Michel had made her forget that this whole mess was even more personal for her best friend.
For Natalia to be let down again by a man wasn’t good. Jonas’s betrayal, the way he’d dumped Natalia right when she was grieving the news that she wouldn’t be able to have children—that had been terrible to see. And Åsa—she knew she was a dreadful person because of this—hadn’t known how to handle Natalia when she broke down after Jonas left her.
Poor Natalia, who had always fought for a place in the family, who had struggled against the feeling of never being good enough, who wasn’t really confident in herself as a woman. Nat had loved Jonas, Åsa was sure of that. Her love had been loyal, and Natalia had wanted to have a family. Being unceremoniously dumped, in that way and for that reason, had really hurt her self-confidence as a woman. And then David Hammar had shown up, and Natalia had fallen hard for him.
Not good at all.
Åsa listened to the rattling chains and the creaking of the aging iron elevator. Natalia was strong, but there was also a frailty to her that she probably didn’t think Åsa was really aware of. But Åsa knew that Natalia always held that darned frailty in check with work and rest and the occasional burst of exercise. The question was, what had happened now?
She rang the doorbell. When no one answered, she didn’t stop, just kept ringing and ringing. When there was still no answer, she started knocking on the door. And then she yelled, “Open this fucking door!”
A neighbor peeked out, her security chain still on.
Åsa ignored the neighbor. “Natalia!”
The neighbor’s eyes widened.
And then Åsa heard the lock click.
The door slid open, and Natalia’s face appeared. “What do you want?”
Åsa’s relief gave way to anger. “What the hell, Nat, you scared the shit out of me. Let me in before some idiot calls the police.”
Natalia nodded at her neighbor. “It’s okay,” she said in a hoarse voice. “We know each other.” And then to Åsa, “Come in.” She held the door open, and Åsa stepped inside.
It was dark and smelled stuffy. Mail and newspapers lay untouched beneath the mail slot. Natalia shuffled along ahead of her. She had a blanket around her shoulders; her hair hung loose and unbrushed, and she was wearing a pair of shabby slippers. Even though the sun was out, the apartment was shrouded in darkness, and Åsa noted that the shades and curtains were all drawn. This couldn’t be good. And Natalia’s appearance. She looked like she was having a breakdown.
Åsa fought the wave of panic she felt, fought her desire to flee and the anguish that surrounded Natalia like a formless cloud, oh so contagious. She hadn’t known that before therapy: anguish is contagious.
“Have you talked to J-O?” Åsa asked. Her voice sounded far too loud in the silence.
“I called his assistant and said I was sick. I’m just not up to talking to him.”
They went to the living room, and Åsa sat down on one of the sofas. Natalia sat down in an armchair. With her feet pulled up under her, she looked like a pale teenager. She was hollow-eyed, her skin practically transparent. Åsa tried not to show how shocked she was.
“Have you eaten anything?” she asked.
Natalia put her chin on her knees. She had gray circles under her eyes. “I Googled everything David has ever done,” she said, her voice hollow. She pointed to the printouts that lay in drifts around them. David’s face was visible in the photos. The headlines varied. “All
the people he’s ruined over the years,” she continued. “Women he’s slept with, families he’s destroyed. Did you know he bought a mansion once just to tear it down? A historic building? Here.” She held out a newspaper article. When Åsa didn’t take it, she dropped it and picked up another. “And here. This man was his enemy, so David had sex with his wife. He was behind their divorce.”
“It doesn’t say that, does it?” Åsa said, shocked.
Natalia shrugged. “I checked that social media website, Flashback. David Hammar has quite a reputation there. He’s clearly a dick,” she said in a conversational tone. “They use other words there, too, but they’re all variants on the same theme.” She twisted a lock of hair around her finger over and over again.
“Natalia . . .”
“I see it now,” Natalia interrupted. Her voice was suddenly animated and combative. Her eyes seemed to burn in the closed-in darkness. Åsa felt a cold force creep under her skin.
“I should have realized it before,” Natalia continued. “He was just sleeping with me to punish my family, to get revenge. Don’t you see?” Her voice broke. Åsa saw that her friend’s lips were totally dry. “He’s out for revenge. Who knows who’s on his side?” Her voice rose and she blinked hard, over and over again, her eyes dry. Åsa remembered that exact feeling, remembered the shock when the inconceivable happened, the inability to take in what couldn’t be true, the free-falling sensation, like a nightmare that didn’t end.
She swallowed. She didn’t want to be here, not in the middle of this anguish. Her whole adult life had been about escaping anguish. She had no strategies for this.
“When was the last time you ate something?” she repeated. “Do you have any food here?”
Natalia coughed. And then again. Her body sort of crumpled up in a coughing fit. She wiped her mouth.
“Do you want me to get you some water?”
“It hurts so much,” Natalia whispered.
“I know.” God, do I know.
“It hurts everywhere. I can’t do anything.”
Åsa nodded. She knew how it was, when all systems just shut down.
She got up and went to the kitchen. The fridge was completely empty. And there weren’t any dishes in the sink. Natalia hadn’t eaten. No glasses, no bottles, so clearly she hadn’t been drinking either, but she had never drunk very much alcohol. Åsa filled a glass with water and brought it back to Natalia.
“Shouldn’t you be with the family?” she said helplessly. “Should I call your mom?”
Natalia accepted the water glass and gave her a sarcastic look. It was a glimpse of the old Natalia, the one who hadn’t had her heart crushed, the capable, intelligent Natalia. “No one has contacted me, and I’m grateful for that,” she said. “I’m not up to talking to them.”
She drank a little water and made a face, as if it hurt. “I’m really sick,” she complained hoarsely, curling up in the armchair. “Some kind of flu, I think. I’m nauseated, my stomach hurts, I have a sore throat.” She sniffled and put her hand on her chest. “It hurts here, in my heart.”
Natalia really looked sick. Unless . . . Something had occurred to Åsa, and then, without thinking, she said, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
The hatred that flared up in Natalia’s eyes for a second made Åsa freeze. In all the years they’d known each other, Åsa had never seen her friend so furious. Red splotches flared up on her chalk-white throat.
“We used condoms,” she said hoarsely. “I had my period.” She took a deep breath. “And in case you’d forgotten, I can’t get pregnant!” she screamed, and Åsa had to force herself not to back away.
Natalia was staring at her. The tendons in her neck were working, and she wasn’t blinking, just watching Åsa with her eyes wide. “And I don’t have the strength to pretend I don’t care about it anymore. If you’re my friend, stop being mean. Otherwise you can leave. Just go.”
Natalia’s voice trembled. And then the fury was gone just as quickly as it had come. Replaced by completely excruciating pain. The abrupt mood swings frightened Åsa more than anything else. Because if Natalia lost her composure, then nothing in the world would be stable anymore.
Åsa swallowed. “I’m your friend,” she said quietly. “I know that this is unbearable and that he did this to you . . .” She shook her head and felt something very akin to hatred for David Hammar. “I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling.” She didn’t really dare touch Natalia. They had never been particularly physical with each other, and everything about Natalia signaled that she wanted space. “But I’m your friend, Nat. And you’re my friend, my only real friend. I didn’t mean to say anything hurtful. I’m here, and I’m not going to leave you.”
Natalia’s eyes were dry but shining. She looked feverish. More red splotches appeared on her neck. Maybe she really had the flu? And then she started shaking in the armchair. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably under the blanket. How could a person waste away so much in only two days?
“He won’t take my calls,” she said. “And that hurts so much.” She sniffled and gave Åsa a look that was so full of desperation that Åsa wanted to cry. She would never forgive David Hammar for this.
“It hurts so much I think I’ve had a breakdown,” Natalia whispered.
“I know.”
“I’m not up to being strong.”
“No, I’ll be strong now. I’m here. I’m at your side, just yours.”
“Promise me,” Natalia said, her voice small, like a child’s.
Åsa reached out her hand and placed it unaccustomedly on Natalia’s shoulder. “I promise,” she said.
“Thank you,” Natalia said.
And then she started to cry.
Finally.
37
Friday, July 18
“David?”
David looked up from his computer. He’d been deep in concentration, and it took him a moment to adjust his eyes. Malin Theselius was in the doorway, looking concerned. “Yes?” he said.
“You have a visitor. The receptionist didn’t know what to do.”
David furrowed his brow. His assistant, Jesper, was supposed to deal with any visitors, make sure that no one unauthorized made it in. They’d been besieged by journalists and reporters since Monday, but so far no one had managed to get in unannounced. “Where’s Jesper?” he asked.
Malin gave him an admonishing look. “It’s Friday night,” she said. “Jesper has been working almost around the clock since Monday.”
“So?”
“He fell asleep standing up in the kitchen a while ago.”
“You can fall asleep standing up?” David asked, deeply skeptical.
Malin stretched one shoulder. “At any rate, I sent him home.”
David looked at the time. It was after eight, so he decided he’d be lenient. But he wondered which journalist it was this time. It felt like he’d already talked to all of them. “Who is it?”
But Malin shook her head worriedly. “It’s not a journalist,” she said. “It’s Natalia De la Grip.”
He froze.
Natalia.
She’d stopped texting late Monday evening, and after that he hadn’t heard a peep from her. How many times had he thought of her since then? A hundred?
“Should I ask her to leave?”
“No,” he said quickly. They couldn’t show her the door. They were going to have to see each other sooner or later. He ignored the strange sensation, convinced himself that he didn’t feel anything.
“Where is she?”
“She’s waiting in the small conference room.”
He shut down his computer. “Thanks. And, Malin, you can go home.”
“I can stay if you want.”
But David shook his head. Malin looked completely worn out. “Go home. And don’t come back before Monday morning. That’s an order.”
She smiled tiredly, with big circles under her eyes. “Call if there’s a crisis,” she said and left.
David
stood up and went to the small conference room.
She was standing by the window, and something swept through him—a feeling, a sensation. She stood poised like a ballerina, her hair up in a tight bun. Apart from the glimmering pearls around her neck, she was dressed all in gray, and he happened to think of the term they used for the best of the corporate finance folks: the gray eminences. “Hi,” he said quietly to her back.
She turned around.
Those enormous eyes almost burned in her pale face. She looked serious, bordering on resolute. No smile, no warmth, and no outstretched hand. David hadn’t expected any of these, but still—damn, did it hurt to see her like this.
She stretched. “Hi, David,” she said coolly.
It was like standing in front of a stranger. He noticed that her fingers, which were clutching her purse, were white, but otherwise she looked composed. Impossible to interpret.
“I won’t take up much of your time,” she began, and her voice woke something in him. He watched her earnestly, searching her face for something. “But I need to know: was I part of the plan?”
He blinked. “What?” he asked, even though he had a sense where this was heading. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“I’ve come to realize that you have your own reasons for wanting to take over Investum. No one in my family will tell me anything, but both you and I know that this isn’t just about business.”
“No,” he said. “It’s not just business.”
“But sleeping with me?” Her voice was calm, almost easy; just a little quaver at the end revealed any emotion. “Did I mean anything at all to you? Or was that also part of getting at my family?” She crossed her arms. “Everything was a lie, wasn’t it? A game to cause as much damage as possible.”
David stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets so that she wouldn’t see how they were shaking. He didn’t know what to say, felt completely empty. The last several days must have been awful for Natalia. Every newspaper had scrutinized the De la Grip family in great detail: her parents, her brothers, their business dealings, and Natalia as well. He looked at her, standing there pale and dressed in gray, almost transparent. This private woman with her integrity—everything had been made public, in printer’s ink, on blogs, and in the tabloids to varying degrees of awfulness. Some had blabbed about her infertility. Jonas Jägerhed had been profiled as well. Another one of Natalia’s earlier boyfriends had been interviewed, had made a statement. Everything had been dragged out in the open. And that was partially his, Malin’s, and Hammar Capital’s fault. He felt sick when he thought of the information he had leaked about Peter and Gustaf, information about bonuses, benefits, and secret backroom deals that had reached the mass media through their efforts and damaged the men. It was a game—just a game really, but it had also unavoidably tarnished the rest of the family, hurt Natalia.
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