Camilla Lackberg Crime Thrillers 1 and 2: The Ice Princess, The Preacher

She heard someone clear his throat behind her. Jan Lorentz was standing in the doorway, his eyebrows raised quizzically. She wondered how long he’d been standing there.

‘Erica Falck, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, that’s right. And you must be Nelly’s son Jan?’

‘Also correct. Pleased to meet you. You’re a bit of a topic of conversation here in town, you should know.’

He gave her a big smile and came towards her with outstretched hand. She took it reluctantly. Something about him made the small hairs on her arms stand up. He held her hand a bit too long. She resisted the impulse to pull it back.

He looked as though he’d come directly from a business meeting, wearing a well-pressed suit and with a briefcase in his hand. Erica knew that he was the one who ran the family business. And very successfully.

He wore his hair slicked back, with a touch too much gel. His lips were a little too full and fleshy for a man, and his eyes were lovely with long dark lashes. If it hadn’t been for a square, powerful jaw with a deep cleft in his chin, he probably would have looked rather feminine. As it was, the mixture of angularity and luxuriance gave him a slightly odd appearance; it was impossible to say whether he was attractive or not. Personally, Erica found him repellent, but she based that opinion more on a feeling she got in the pit of her stomach.

‘So, Mother has finally managed to entice you here. You’ve been high on the wish list ever since you published your first book, I must tell you.’

‘I see. Well, I understand it’s been received as the event of the century here. Your mother has invited me before, but the time didn’t seem right until now.’

‘I heard about your parents. Very tragic. I really must express my sincere condolences.’

He managed a sympathetic smile, but the emotion never reached his eyes.

Nelly came back into the room. Jan bent over to kiss his mother on the cheek. She let him do it with an indifferent expression.

‘How nice for you, Mother, that Erica could finally come to visit. You’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.’

‘Yes, it’s very nice indeed.’

She sat down on the sofa. A grimace of pain swept across her face and she grabbed her right arm.

‘Mother, what is it? Are you in pain? Shall I fetch your pills?’

Jan leaned forward and placed his hands on her shoulders, but Nelly brusquely shook them off.

‘No, there’s nothing wrong with me. Just the aches and pains of age, that’s all. Nothing to worry about. Shouldn’t you be at the factory, by the way?’

‘Yes, I just dashed home to pick up some papers. Well, I suppose I should leave you ladies alone. Don’t over-exert yourself, Mother, remember what the doctor said …’

Nelly merely snorted in reply. Jan’s face showed a concern and sympathy that seemed genuine. But Erica could swear that she saw a tiny smile at the corners of his mouth when he left the room and turned to look at them for a second.

‘Don’t ever get old. With each year that passes, the old Viking idea of jumping off a cliff to one’s death looks better and better. The only thing to hope for is that you get so senile that you think you’re twenty years old again. That would be fun to relive.’ Nelly gave a bitter smile.

It didn’t seem like a particularly amusing topic of conversation. Erica muttered something in reply and then changed the subject.

‘In any case it must be a comfort to have a son who can carry on the family business. From what I understand, Jan and his wife live here with you.’

‘A comfort. Yes, perhaps it is.’

Nelly glanced quickly at the photographs on the mantle-piece. She said nothing more, and Erica didn’t dare ask any questions.

‘Enough about me and my family. Are you working on a new book? I must say that I loved your last one about Karin Boye. You make the people come so alive somehow. Why is it that you only write about women?’

‘At first it was more of an accident, I think. I wrote my dissertation at the university about great female Swedish authors and became so fascinated by them that I wanted to find out more about who they were as individuals. I began, as you probably know, with Anna Maria Lenngren, since I knew the least about her. Things have just snowballed from there. Right now I’m writing about Selma Lagerlöf, and I’m coming up with a lot of interesting angles.’

‘Haven’t you ever thought about writing something, what should I say … non-biographical? You have such a flair for language and it would be so interesting to read something fictional by you.’

‘Of course I’ve had some thoughts in that direction.’ Erica tried not to look guilty. ‘But at the moment I’m swamped with the Lagerlöf project. After that we’ll see what happens.’

She glanced at the clock. ‘Speaking of my writing … unfortunately I really have to get going. Even though there’s no time-clock in my profession, it’s important to maintain discipline. I must go home and write my daily quota. Thank you so much for tea – and the delicious canapés.’

‘Think nothing of it. It was delightful to have you here.’

Nelly rose graciously from the sofa. Now there was no sign of her aches and pains.

‘I’ll see you out. In the old days our maid Vera would have done that, but times change. Maids aren’t fashionable anymore, and besides hardly anyone can afford one. I would have liked to have kept her on, since we can afford it, but Jan refused. He doesn’t want strangers in the house, he says. Although it’s all right for her to come and clean once a week. Well, it’s not always easy to make sense of you young people.’

Evidently they had now reached a new level of familiarity, because when Erica offered her hand in farewell, Nelly ignored it and kissed her lightly on both cheeks instead. Erica now knew instinctively which side to begin on. She was starting to feel quite sophisticated and almost at home in the more refined drawing rooms.

Erica hurried home. She hadn’t wanted to tell Nelly the real reason for her departure. She looked at her watch. Twenty to two. At two o’clock the estate agent was coming to look at the house prior to putting it up for sale. Erica gnashed her teeth at the thought that somebody was going to walk around poking and prodding at the house, but there was nothing for it but to let events take their course.

She had left the car at home, and she picked up her pace to get there in time. Although he could just as well wait, she thought, slowing down. Why should she rush?

Happier thoughts crept into her mind. Dinner on Saturday at Patrik’s place had far exceeded her expectations. For Erica he had always seemed like a nice but slightly annoying younger brother, even though they were the same age. She had still expected Patrik to be the same irritating boy. Instead she had found a mature, warm and humorous man. He didn’t look half bad, she had to admit. She wondered how soon she could decently ask him over to dinner – just returning the invitation, that is.

The last hill up to the Sälvik campground looked deceptively level; it was a long, slow incline. She was panting heavily when she turned off to the right and went up the last small slope to the house. When she reached the top she stopped short. A big Mercedes was parked in front of the house, and she knew exactly who the registered owner was. She’d thought that the day’s activity couldn’t be any more trying than it already was. She was wrong.

‘Hello, Erica.’ Lucas was leaning against the front door with his arms crossed.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Is that any way to welcome your brother-in-law?’ His Swedish had an accent but was grammatically perfect.

Lucas mockingly spread out his arms as if to give her a hug. Erica ignored the gesture. She could see that that was precisely what he’d expected. She’d never made the mistake of underestimating Lucas. That’s why she always observed a great deal of caution when she was in his presence. She wanted more than anything to walk right up to him and slap his grinning face, but she knew that could start something that she might regret.

‘Answer my question. What are you doing here?’

‘If I’m not mistaken … hmmm … let’s see, exactly one quarter of all this is mine.’

He gestured towards the house, but he might as well have been pointing at the whole world, his self-assurance was so vast.

‘Half is mine and half is Anna’s. You have nothing to do with this house.’

‘You may not be very well versed in the community property code, seeing as you haven’t succeeded in finding anyone stupid enough to get hitched with you, I mean. But according to that law, a married couple shares everything equally. Even ownership in a house by the sea.’

Erica was well aware that this was the case. For a brief moment she cursed her parents who had not been far-sighted enough to guarantee that the house was solely owned by their daughters. They had known what sort of man Lucas was, but they probably hadn’t reckoned that they had so little time left. No one likes to be reminded of his own mortality, and like so many other people they had postponed that sort of decision.

She chose not to take the bait and object to his pejorative comment about her marital status. She would rather be an old maid for the rest of her life than make the mistake of marrying someone like Lucas.

He went on, ‘I wanted to be here when the estate agent arrived. It never hurts to check up on one’s net worth. We want everything to go smoothly, now don’t we?’