work tomorrow.’
‘Hmm,’ said Mikael with a smile. ‘Come to think of it, I think there’s some asparagus in the pie. I read somewhere that asparagus is the only food that it’s
impossible to match with a suitable wine.’
‘Excellent,’ said Moreno. ‘Long live asparagus.’
They fell asleep quite soon, having only indulged in a little sexual play, nothing serious. But after only a couple of hours she woke up, and couldn’t get to sleep again.
She lay there in the king-size double bed, watching the shadows fluttering around over the walls and the well-honed body lying by her side. It didn’t really seem real. Not real at all, to be
honest: the moon aimed a shaft of light through the open window and the thin curtains, and it felt very much as if both she and her lover (boyfriend? partner? bloke?) were floating around in some
kind of surrealistic film developing tank, waiting to be developed.
Developed to make what?
I am a free woman, she thought. I belong to the first generation of free women in the history of the world. My life is in my own hands.
Nobody to be responsible for. No pressing social considerations. No obligations.
I’m a woman who can do whatever she wants.
Right now. Here. Today and tomorrow.
They had talked about this as well. This very thing. Both this evening, and earlier as well. How had he put it?
If you love your freedom too much, you’ll end up hugging a cold stone for the rest of your life. Tighter and tighter, colder and colder.
She thought about that for a while.
Bullshit, she concluded. He’s read that on the label of a video film, or on a carton of milk. Too many words. Tomorrow it’s time for that scumbag Lampe-Leermann.
But she knew – before the sun had risen to greet a new day, and before she’d managed to fall asleep again for the second time that night – she knew that she would have to make
up her mind.
Presumably she had four weeks in which to think things over. Two together with him. Two on her own. She didn’t think he was prepared to give her any longer than that.
She stroked her hand gently over his handsome back, and wondered if she knew the answer already.
Then she fell asleep.
9
The youth hostel was completely full. After some desperate negotiations, however, she was allowed to share a room with two young Danish Inter-railing girls and a middle-aged
nurse who had been unable to find a double room to share with her husband.
She met the nurse – thoroughly roasted after a long day on the beach – in the shower; the Danish girls were lying on their beds, writing picture postcards. They were both listening
to music on their Walkman cassette players, and both nodded to her without removing their earphones.
She suppressed an urge to burst into tears. Packed her belongings into the locker, made up the rickety extra bed, and went to the canteen for something to eat. When she had eaten three
sandwiches, drunk a large Coca-Cola and munched an apple, she felt a bit better. She took out her little blue notebook and read through what she had written. She thought for a while about where it
would be best to begin, and having made up her mind went to reception to ask for a little help. It was only a quarter to six, and she thought that with a bit of luck she might be able to make one
of her intended visits that same evening.
Things went even better than she had hoped. The two girls behind the counter spent quite a lot of time helping her, and when she got to the bus stop she found that the bus had just arrived, and
was waiting for her.
She flopped down on the seat immediately behind the driver and continued to think over how best to approach the meeting. She took out her notebook, then put it away again once she had memorized
the main points. The bus set off, and she started to think back over her walk through the care-home grounds instead. And the letters she had been given by her father, and read with ever-increasing
surprise. The feeling of
‘Hmm,’ said Mikael with a smile. ‘Come to think of it, I think there’s some asparagus in the pie. I read somewhere that asparagus is the only food that it’s
impossible to match with a suitable wine.’
‘Excellent,’ said Moreno. ‘Long live asparagus.’
They fell asleep quite soon, having only indulged in a little sexual play, nothing serious. But after only a couple of hours she woke up, and couldn’t get to sleep again.
She lay there in the king-size double bed, watching the shadows fluttering around over the walls and the well-honed body lying by her side. It didn’t really seem real. Not real at all, to be
honest: the moon aimed a shaft of light through the open window and the thin curtains, and it felt very much as if both she and her lover (boyfriend? partner? bloke?) were floating around in some
kind of surrealistic film developing tank, waiting to be developed.
Developed to make what?
I am a free woman, she thought. I belong to the first generation of free women in the history of the world. My life is in my own hands.
Nobody to be responsible for. No pressing social considerations. No obligations.
I’m a woman who can do whatever she wants.
Right now. Here. Today and tomorrow.
They had talked about this as well. This very thing. Both this evening, and earlier as well. How had he put it?
If you love your freedom too much, you’ll end up hugging a cold stone for the rest of your life. Tighter and tighter, colder and colder.
She thought about that for a while.
Bullshit, she concluded. He’s read that on the label of a video film, or on a carton of milk. Too many words. Tomorrow it’s time for that scumbag Lampe-Leermann.
But she knew – before the sun had risen to greet a new day, and before she’d managed to fall asleep again for the second time that night – she knew that she would have to make
up her mind.
Presumably she had four weeks in which to think things over. Two together with him. Two on her own. She didn’t think he was prepared to give her any longer than that.
She stroked her hand gently over his handsome back, and wondered if she knew the answer already.
Then she fell asleep.
9
The youth hostel was completely full. After some desperate negotiations, however, she was allowed to share a room with two young Danish Inter-railing girls and a middle-aged
nurse who had been unable to find a double room to share with her husband.
She met the nurse – thoroughly roasted after a long day on the beach – in the shower; the Danish girls were lying on their beds, writing picture postcards. They were both listening
to music on their Walkman cassette players, and both nodded to her without removing their earphones.
She suppressed an urge to burst into tears. Packed her belongings into the locker, made up the rickety extra bed, and went to the canteen for something to eat. When she had eaten three
sandwiches, drunk a large Coca-Cola and munched an apple, she felt a bit better. She took out her little blue notebook and read through what she had written. She thought for a while about where it
would be best to begin, and having made up her mind went to reception to ask for a little help. It was only a quarter to six, and she thought that with a bit of luck she might be able to make one
of her intended visits that same evening.
Things went even better than she had hoped. The two girls behind the counter spent quite a lot of time helping her, and when she got to the bus stop she found that the bus had just arrived, and
was waiting for her.
She flopped down on the seat immediately behind the driver and continued to think over how best to approach the meeting. She took out her notebook, then put it away again once she had memorized
the main points. The bus set off, and she started to think back over her walk through the care-home grounds instead. And the letters she had been given by her father, and read with ever-increasing
surprise. The feeling of
Similar Books
