Cursed

by Thomas Enger

  ‘What about Jens and Torill Holmboe? Do you know who they are?’

  He squinted up to the left.

  ‘They live in Brages vei 18,’ she told him. ‘Here in Tønsberg.’

  Again, he seemed to think long and hard.

  ‘I’ve known pretty much all the flats and houses that we’ve sold over the years,’ he said. ‘But that doesn’t ring any bells. Why do you ask?’

  Nora crossed her legs. ‘I know that shortly before she disappeared, Hedda seemed to be interested in both Schyman and that address; she did internet searches for them. But I haven’t managed to find any reasonable explanation as to why. I thought perhaps you might know.’

  He shook his head.

  They sat in silence for a few seconds. Then William looked at his watch.

  ‘I really must go now,’ he said. ‘Was there anything else?’ He stood up.

  ‘No,’ Nora replied.

  She looked at the coat of arms on the wall behind him. An idea struck her and she couldn’t fathom why she hadn’t thought of it before.

  ‘Not right now, no.’

  Out on the street, she found her mobile phone and rang Hugo Refsdal.

  ‘Hi, it’s Nora,’ she said. ‘Have you heard what’s happened?’

  A heavy sigh at the other end. ‘I don’t know if I should be happy or sad that it wasn’t Hedda they found,’ he admitted.

  ‘I can understand that,’ Nora said, trying to be comforting, and walking as she spoke. It felt colder now than it had done only half an hour ago. ‘But there was something else I wondered about. Oscar’s will?’ The way she said it was both a question and a suggestion.

  ‘Yes, what about it?’

  ‘You said you didn’t know how much Hedda had inherited from her father,’ she said. ‘But did the family ever discuss the settlement of the will?’

  Refsdal chewed something he had in his mouth. It sounded like a carrot.

  ‘There was a lot of discussion the day they went through the will,’ he said, and swallowed. ‘But I wasn’t part of it. Unni took the family and the lawyer with her into the library after dinner.’

  Nora stepped on to a zebra crossing just as a car turned into the road.

  ‘The children, in other words?’ Nora asked, as the driver slammed on the brakes. She sent him an angry look.

  ‘Yes,’ Refsdal replied. ‘And Georg.’

  Nora stopped in her tracks. ‘Georg?’

  ‘Yes, he was asked to come in, too, but later.’

  Nora got the car keys out of her bag, and pressed unlock. ‘So he inherited something, too?’

  ‘I assume so, seeing as the lawyer wanted him to come in.’

  Nora opened the car door, threw her bag down onto the passenger seat and got in. ‘But you don’t know what?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Didn’t you ask Hedda about it?’

  ‘Yes, of course I did. But Hedda made it quite clear that it was none of my business.’

  Nora processed this.

  ‘And you didn’t think that was strange?’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t want to push it – not straightaway, at least. It wasn’t long after her father had died and I thought she would just tell me in her own time, when she had more of a perspective on things.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Nora muttered. It struck her as rather peculiar that Hedda didn’t want to share this kind of information with her husband. But then there was a lot about Hedda’s behaviour at the time that didn’t quite add up.

  Nora thanked Hugo for his help and hung up. She knew there was something staring her in the face, but she just couldn’t see it. She sat and pondered for a few minutes. Hedda’s brother, Patrik, had been the hardest to get hold of since Nora had been in Tønsberg; he was the person in the family that Nora felt she knew least about. But she also remembered the snort Patrik gave when Georg’s name was mentioned.

  Keep Georg out of this.

  Nora decided to pay him a visit at home.

  37

  Patrik Hellberg and his wife lived out on Jarlsø, a small island about ten minutes’ drive from Tønsberg – a place where you could have a terrace and sea view without having to cut the lawn and stain the fence. Most of the inhabitants were from Vestfold, but more recently, some people from Oslo had also moved to the island, and other people had their summer cabins there.

  When Nora rang the Hellbergs’ bell, a woman answered the intercom.

  ‘Patrik’s not here,’ she said.

  Nora frowned. ‘How long will it be before he’s back?’

  ‘I don’t actually know.’

  ‘You don’t know how long it will take from wherever he is, or you don’t know when he’s coming back?’

  ‘Both, in fact,’ she said. ‘Patrik’s very busy at work at the moment.’

  Nora waited a moment before she continued. ‘Could I maybe have a few words with you instead?’

  This was initially met with silence.

  ‘What about?’

  Nora could hear the scepticism in the woman’s voice.

  ‘About everything that’s happened in the Hellberg family recently,’ she said, well aware that it was vague and potentially alarming.

  ‘I don’t want to be interviewed,’ the woman replied.

  Nora sighed inwardly; she hated having to coax people into talking.

  ‘I’m not sure if you know who I am,’ Nora started. ‘But I studied with Hedda in the nineties. Journalism,’ she added, pre-empting the question. ‘We haven’t had much contact since then, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t still consider her a good friend. And I would very much like to find out what’s happened to her. I just have a few questions, so I can understand the family better.’

  The woman didn’t answer.

  ‘Just a couple of minutes?’ Nora pressed a little more. ‘And I promise, I won’t write anything about you in the paper. I’m only trying to find out what’s happened.’

  There was no reply. Not for a long time.

  ‘Oh, OK,’ the voice said, eventually. ‘Two minutes.’

  ‘Thank you so much.’

  The door buzzed.

  ‘We’re on the third floor, left-hand side. Facing the sea.’

  ‘OK,’ Nora said. ‘Thank you.’

  Nora went into the hall and took the lift up to the third floor. The woman, who Nora presumed was Patrik’s wife, met her in the doorway. She was wearing baggy, black tracksuit bottoms, and a white top under an open, grey cardigan.

  ‘Hi,’ Nora said, and held out her hand. ‘Nora Klemetsen.’

  ‘Olivia Svendsen.’

  Olivia had a baby-smooth face, bright-red lipstick and carried not a gram of spare fat on her body; in fact, she looked like she could do with an extra kilo or two. Nora, who was on the short side herself, noted that Olivia was not much taller. Her hair was the colour of Mediterranean sand with darker highlights. She looked at Nora with icy-blue, guarded eyes.

  ‘Come in,’ she said, stepping to the side.

  Nora went into the flat, which was lovely and light, with taupe walls and white window frames. A red Persian carpet was on the floor. In the hallway, a glass table stood against the wall, and above it, a square mirror with a glass frame. The reflection from a lamp on either side gave off a warm glow. On the opposite wall was a huge oil painting of a shoreline, with smooth rocks sloping down to the water. An old chest of drawers stood beside it.

  ‘Wow,’ Nora burst out, when she went into the living room. The floor was darker, the lighting dimmer, and a door was open to the terrace that overlooked the fjord. The surface of the water shimmered, stirred by a persistent, cold wind. ‘What an amazing place you have.’

  She made a full turn, taking it all in, and instantly had the urge to open all the doors and look in all the cupboards. Nothing had been abandoned on the floor or left out of place. The sofa cushions were perfectly positioned. None of the surfaces was overflowing with papers, keys, matchboxes or hair bands, as they were at her place. The day’s post lay on a ta
ble beside the phone: a small, neat pile of envelopes, all addressed to Patrik, as far as Nora could see.

  The Hellberg home, Nora thought. Everything just as it should be.

  ‘Thank you, yes, it’s not bad,’ Olivia said, and straightened her back.

  Nora continued to admire the floor, chairs, walls.

  ‘Have you been living here long?’

  ‘We were one of the first to buy,’ Olivia said and wandered further into the room. ‘We knew that it would become a popular area.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ said Nora, following her.

  ‘Would you like a tea or a coffee, or anything else?’

  ‘A cup of tea sounds good. But only if you’re having one,’ Nora added, hastily.

  Olivia didn’t answer, but carried on into the kitchen, where the white goods weren’t white, but brushed steel, the cupboards were white and shiny, and the counter black, with a perfectly integrated hob. One of the Svendsen-Hellberg home’s elegant props was taken out of a corner cupboard, filled with water and popped on the hob. Olivia then got out some tea bags that Nora knew could not be bought at any old supermarket, and took down two mugs from one of the top cupboards and a vanilla-white sugar bowl with a silver spoon in it.

  Nora looked around for wedding photos; there were a couple on the wall in the living room. She went over to them and studied Olivia’s wedding dress, hair, flowers. It made her think of her own big day. Whereas Olivia Svendsen and Patrik Hellberg had no doubt invited hundreds of guests, there were only twenty-eight people at Nora and Henning’s wedding. She had wanted to invite the whole world and celebrate for three days on end, while Henning would have preferred a ceremony at the town hall before going to a café for a beer and some food, and then back to work the next day. They ended up with something in between – a garden party at Nora’s parents’ home, where they danced long into the night.

  The water soon boiled and Olivia poured it into a teapot that she had prepared. She then put everything onto a small tray and took it with her into the living room and set it down on a table by the leather sofa.

  ‘Patrik told me that he’d spoken to you,’ she said.

  Nora wrinkled her nose. ‘Did he?’

  Olivia nodded, her eyes fixed on the glass table in front of her.

  ‘And how did he feel about the press digging all this up?’

  She held back at first.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that he was happy about it. Patrik is a Hellberg, after all, and they generally want to keep everything in the family. But I don’t think he was particularly angry with you.’

  A hint of ginger rose on the steam from the tea and teased her nose. Nora realised she was hungry.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how has Patrik reacted to everything that’s happened in the family recently?’

  Olivia picked up the teapot and gave it a swirl so the tea bags started to swim round.

  ‘Patrik has barely been at home in the past few weeks, so it’s not easy to know. But I think it would be safe to say it’s affected him. He was very fond of his father. And then the whole thing with Hedda as well.’

  She sat back in her seat again.

  ‘Did he have a close relationship with her?’

  Olivia shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Hedda has never been here for coffee and cake, put it that way.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m not really sure, to tell you the truth. We meet once a month at my mother-in-law’s family dinners, and then there’s the various children’s birthdays, as well. But, with Patrik travelling so much for work, there’s not really been time for much more. He barely has time to spend with me.’ Olivia gave a small smile.

  Nora nodded. ‘Where does his work take him?’

  ‘All over the place,’ Olivia said, and rolled her eyes. ‘Poland, Denmark, Sweden.’

  Nora looked over at her. ‘Sweden?’ she repeated.

  ‘Yes. In fact, he’s been there quite a lot recently. I think the truth is, he rather likes it. All the travelling I mean. In summer we spend five solid weeks on our boat, only going ashore when we need to.’ She lifted her eyes, looking a little dreamy. ‘I live for those weeks,’ she concluded.

  Nora waited before asking her next question.

  ‘Have you ever heard of a man called Daniel Schyman?’

  Olivia leaned forwards, and quickly looked in the teapot.

  ‘No,’ she said leaning back. ‘Who is he?’

  Nora didn’t answer and decided to tackle the real reason why she was there.

  ‘Olivia, there are a number of things about Hedda and her family that I don’t really understand.’

  Olivia lifted her chin ever so slightly.

  ‘Like the settlement of Oscar’s will, for example.’

  Olivia’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

  Nora swiftly continued: ‘I’m not going to write about it, but I just don’t see why Georg should inherit anything?’

  She mooted it as a question. Waited for Olivia to respond.

  ‘You perhaps weren’t asked into the library that day, either?’

  ‘No,’ Olivia replied, picking up the teapot and pouring Nora a cup, slowly. ‘But Patrik told me that Georg had got the summer house.’

  Nora’s eyes grew wide. ‘Really?’

  Olivia nodded. ‘You might say it didn’t go down very well.’

  Nora could feel that her mouth was open. Olivia put down the teapot, and leaned back among the cushions.

  ‘But…’ Several thoughts were vying for Nora’s attention. ‘But why?’

  Olivia looked at Nora askance.

  Nora remembered something that Fritz had said: that at one point he’d thought he and Ellen couldn’t have children. But then Georg was born all the same. Nora felt a flame shoot up her spine, and explode behind her forehead.

  ‘Was Oscar in fact Georg’s father?’

  A sheepish smile crept over Olivia’s lips. ‘My father-in-law was a magnet for the ladies,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘He had something very special about him … charismatic.’ She looked away. ‘I know it’s terrible of me to say so, but he was a very stylish man.’

  Nora remembered the looks Oscar had sent her the time he came to Oslo and took her and Hedda out for a meal. He was quick to give compliments – both to her and the waiting staff. And she had to admit, she’d been utterly charmed.

  So if Georg had inherited the summer house, it wasn’t so strange that he had the keys, she thought. She also realised why Patrik had as good as snarled when his name was mentioned. She guessed that the relationship between the cousins was not the best; the interaction between William and Georg at Hellberg Property testified to that.

  At this point the front door opened. Olivia jumped and rushed out into the hall.

  ‘We’ve got a visitor,’ Nora heard her say.

  There was a tinkling of keys as they hit the table.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘It’s a journalist from Aftenposten.’

  ‘Have you…’ Patrik Hellberg’s voice was bright, but firm. ‘Have you let a journalist in here?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re just chatting,’ Olivia tried to reassure him.

  Patrik came into the living room and looked Nora straight in the eye. She stood up.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I hope I’m not intruding.’

  ‘Get out of here. Now.’ Patrik put his arm out emphatically and pointed to the door.

  ‘I apologise if you think it was inappropriate,’ Nora tried. ‘That was never my intention.’

  ‘You and all the other journalist scum should leave me and my family in peace,’ he growled.

  ‘I’m only trying to find your sister,’ Nora said, looking at him, unruffled by his aggression. He was not particularly broad and his arms were thin. His shirt was tight around the midriff and she could see his navel.

  Nora was about to slip past him when she stopped.

  ‘Thank you for the tea,’ she said, and turned to Olivi
a with a smile. ‘It was very kind.’

  Olivia nodded stiffly. Nora went out into the hall and put on her shoes and jacket.

  ‘Should you ever want to talk to me about something, Mr Hellberg, you’ll find my card here,’ she said, and put it down on the table under the mirror. ‘Whether you like it or not, a lot will be written about you and your family in the coming days and weeks. And if you want to have some control over what people are told about you, then I might be a good bet.’

  She opened the door and said with a smile: ‘Not all scum is bad, you know.’

  38

  When Nora was halfway down the stairs, the Bee Gees’ ‘Stayin’ Alive’ started to play in her pocket. She took out her phone, thinking it was probably Merete Stephans or someone from the newspaper. It wasn’t.

  It was Henning.

  Nora stopped.

  She hadn’t spoken to him since she told him she was pregnant. He hadn’t answered her text messages either, and now here he was calling her.

  She put the phone to her ear and answered with a quiet hello, which was clear and deep at the same time.

  ‘Hi, it’s Henning,’ he said. ‘Are you busy?’

  ‘No, not at the moment. How … how are you?’

  ‘Are you in Tønsberg right now?’ he asked.

  Nora was startled by his directness.

  ‘Yes, well almost,’ she replied, and moved down a step.

  ‘Have you spoken to William Hellberg recently?’ he asked.

  Nora accelerated. ‘About an hour ago,’ she said. ‘Why do you ask?’ Her boots made a deafening noise on the stairs.

  ‘Tore Pulli started his career as an enforcer in Vestfold,’ Henning said. ‘And William Hellberg was one of his first clients.’

  Nora stopped by the door on the ground floor. ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘What’s your impression of Hellberg?’ Henning asked.

  Nora pushed open the door and a gust of wind hit her in the face. The telephone whined and crackled.

  ‘Um, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Polite, proper.’

  The wind was stinging her cheeks, so she walked as fast as she could towards the car.

  ‘When was this – that Tore and Hellberg worked together?’ she asked.