guilt when she thinks of what Aunt Märta would say, but decides to ignore the feeling. Music has been part of her life since she was a little girl: her mother’s piano playing and singing, her own piano lessons, the concerts and opera performances her parents used to take her to, especially the outdoor concerts in the Prater Park on summer evenings. There can’t be anything wrong with that.
“What are you so deep in thought about?” Sven asks her.
“Nothing.”
“Come on, then.”
They find their seats at the back of the hall and settle in. The conductor raises his baton. The beautiful tones wash over her.
It’s Mozart’s Piano Concerto in D Minor. She remembershaving heard it with Mamma and Papa ages back. That’s the last thought she has before being completely swallowed up by the music.
The final notes echo and fade. Slowly Stephie comes back to the concert hall, to the applause from the audience, to Sven at her side. But she still feels completely at peace, and she has no desire to disrupt those feelings by talking.
“You’re so quiet,” Sven finally says when they’re out on the square again. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes, of course,” Stephie replies. “Thank you for taking me.”
“Good,” says Sven. “Now to the pastry shop.”
They walk along the avenue and into one of the pastry shops, a lovely place with red plush seats and gold-framed mirrors.
“Have whatever you want,” Sven tells her. “My treat.”
Stephie picks a mille-feuille with shiny pink icing. Sven chooses the same and orders cocoa with whipped cream for her and coffee for himself.
They sit at a little round table. Stephie hasn’t tasted anything this good in a very long time. She sips her cocoa slowly, trying to make the whipped cream last as long as possible.
“Sven,” she says, “do you think it’s wrong of me to enjoy myself like this when my parents don’t even have enough to eat?”
“No,” Sven replies. “You mustn’t think like that. You’re here because they want you to be well. They’d be pleased toknow you were sitting here having a pastry. You mustn’t let things that aren’t your fault give you a guilty conscience. Do you understand?”
Stephie nods. When Sven says it, it seems perfectly clear that he is right.
went to a concert on Saturday,” Stephie tells Harriet and Lilian. “Afterward he took me to a pastry shop.”
Although her words are true, she feels as if she’s lying. Her big lie about Sven rubs off on everything she says about him. She feels uncomfortable about it. At the same time, it gives her a tingle of excitement.
Sometimes it almost feels as if the things she’s telling them are true.
How they walk hand in hand when they’re out with Putte. What he whispers in her ear when they’re alone. How careful they have to be about keeping it all secret.
“His parents mustn’t suspect anything,” Stephie says. “And certainly not my foster parents. You know, my foster mother’s Pentecostal. And terribly strict.”
Harriet sighs. “You poor thing.”
“You lucky thing,” Lilian counters. “A secret love. It’s so romantic.”
“Has he kissed you?” Harriet asks. “For real, I mean, on the lips?”
Her question makes a warm wave wash over Stephie. She’s been taken off guard.
“Not yet,” she replies.
“Promise you’ll tell when he does?” Lilian insists.
The whole next class, which is biology, Stephie imagines Sven kissing her. She shuts her eyes and fantasizes about his face coming closer and closer to hers until their lips touch. And then? She doesn’t know. Her cheeks are hot and she feels almost sick to her stomach.
“Stephanie?” she hears Hedvig Björk say. “What’s wrong? Are you unwell?”
Stephie opens her eyes at once.
“Yes … well, no.” She hesitates.
“Do you need to go out for a breath of air?” Hedvig Björk asks solicitously.
“Thank you,” says Stephie. “I’m all right, though, really.”
She takes a deep
“What are you so deep in thought about?” Sven asks her.
“Nothing.”
“Come on, then.”
They find their seats at the back of the hall and settle in. The conductor raises his baton. The beautiful tones wash over her.
It’s Mozart’s Piano Concerto in D Minor. She remembershaving heard it with Mamma and Papa ages back. That’s the last thought she has before being completely swallowed up by the music.
The final notes echo and fade. Slowly Stephie comes back to the concert hall, to the applause from the audience, to Sven at her side. But she still feels completely at peace, and she has no desire to disrupt those feelings by talking.
“You’re so quiet,” Sven finally says when they’re out on the square again. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes, of course,” Stephie replies. “Thank you for taking me.”
“Good,” says Sven. “Now to the pastry shop.”
They walk along the avenue and into one of the pastry shops, a lovely place with red plush seats and gold-framed mirrors.
“Have whatever you want,” Sven tells her. “My treat.”
Stephie picks a mille-feuille with shiny pink icing. Sven chooses the same and orders cocoa with whipped cream for her and coffee for himself.
They sit at a little round table. Stephie hasn’t tasted anything this good in a very long time. She sips her cocoa slowly, trying to make the whipped cream last as long as possible.
“Sven,” she says, “do you think it’s wrong of me to enjoy myself like this when my parents don’t even have enough to eat?”
“No,” Sven replies. “You mustn’t think like that. You’re here because they want you to be well. They’d be pleased toknow you were sitting here having a pastry. You mustn’t let things that aren’t your fault give you a guilty conscience. Do you understand?”
Stephie nods. When Sven says it, it seems perfectly clear that he is right.
went to a concert on Saturday,” Stephie tells Harriet and Lilian. “Afterward he took me to a pastry shop.”
Although her words are true, she feels as if she’s lying. Her big lie about Sven rubs off on everything she says about him. She feels uncomfortable about it. At the same time, it gives her a tingle of excitement.
Sometimes it almost feels as if the things she’s telling them are true.
How they walk hand in hand when they’re out with Putte. What he whispers in her ear when they’re alone. How careful they have to be about keeping it all secret.
“His parents mustn’t suspect anything,” Stephie says. “And certainly not my foster parents. You know, my foster mother’s Pentecostal. And terribly strict.”
Harriet sighs. “You poor thing.”
“You lucky thing,” Lilian counters. “A secret love. It’s so romantic.”
“Has he kissed you?” Harriet asks. “For real, I mean, on the lips?”
Her question makes a warm wave wash over Stephie. She’s been taken off guard.
“Not yet,” she replies.
“Promise you’ll tell when he does?” Lilian insists.
The whole next class, which is biology, Stephie imagines Sven kissing her. She shuts her eyes and fantasizes about his face coming closer and closer to hers until their lips touch. And then? She doesn’t know. Her cheeks are hot and she feels almost sick to her stomach.
“Stephanie?” she hears Hedvig Björk say. “What’s wrong? Are you unwell?”
Stephie opens her eyes at once.
“Yes … well, no.” She hesitates.
“Do you need to go out for a breath of air?” Hedvig Björk asks solicitously.
“Thank you,” says Stephie. “I’m all right, though, really.”
She takes a deep
Similar Books
