The Scent of Almonds and Other Stories

‘But you hadn’t yet asked him for the loan?’ Martin now felt considerably less sympathy for the woman as he watched the crocodile tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘No, no,’ she assured him, leaning forward. ‘I was planning to ask him during the weekend.’

‘What about the other family members?’

‘What do you mean? What about them?’

‘Ruben seemed to have strong opinions about them as well. Do you think any of them might have had a more violent response than—’

Miranda cut him off. Her eyes were flashing with anger.

‘Do you seriously imagine I would sit here and accuse a member of my own family of murder? Is that what you think? Is it?’

‘I merely asked whether anyone might have had a more violent response than the rest of the family.’

‘But isn’t that the same thing as asking me who I think killed Grandpa?’ replied Miranda coldly.

Martin had to admit to himself that she was right. He suddenly felt extremely tired. For weeks he’d been dreading coming out here with Lisette, and he could now say that everything had turned out a hundred times worse than he could possibly have imagined. He glanced at his watch. It was gone eleven p.m.

‘I think we’ll stop here,’ he said. ‘It’s getting late. We’ll continue tomorrow.’

A relieved expression appeared on Miranda’s face. But she merely nodded as she got to her feet. Martin followed her into the library to speak to the others. The mood was so oppressive that he almost felt as if he’d walked into a wall.

‘I’m going to stop the interviews for tonight. I know everyone is tired, and I think it would be more productive to continue in the morning, after we’ve all had some rest.’

No one replied, but everyone looked relieved.

‘Would you like a cognac?’ asked Lisette as she came over to Martin and put her hand on his arm. His first instinct was to decline. In a practical sense, he was officially on duty. But exhaustion and the weight of responsibility had taken their toll, and he found himself nodding as he sank into the nearest armchair. Outside, the snow was still coming down hard. A branch could be heard banging against a windowpane at the other end of the building.

‘Is it true that we can’t get over to the mainland?’ Vivi’s voice broke, and her hand shook as she again raised it to her neck where her pearls had been.

‘Didn’t you hear what they said? It’s impossible!’ Gustav’s voice was a bit too shrill, and he went on in a more muted tone: ‘We can’t do it, Vivi. We’ll have to wait until morning. Maybe by then the worst of the storm will be over, and we can make the crossing.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ said Harald. ‘The weather forecast says that the storm is going to last until Sunday. So I suppose we’ll just have to sit tight and wait.’

‘But I can’t stay here for two days. Not with a … corpse!’ cried Vivi. Everyone was now looking at her.

‘So what do you suggest we do? Skate across the ice to Fjällbacka?’ Harald yelled.

Gustav sprang to his feet and put his arm around his wife.

‘I won’t have you speaking to Vivi in that tone of voice. Can’t you see that she’s in shock? We’re all in shock.’

Harald merely snorted. Instead of replying, he poured himself a generous amount of cognac.

A faint voice now piped up from the chair closest to the window.

‘How can all of you keep on arguing like this? Nobody has said a word about the fact that Grandpa is dead. He’s gone! Don’t you understand that? But none of you care. The only thing that matters to you is to keep on with your damn bickering. About such petty things! And about money! Grandpa was ashamed of all of you, and I can understand why.’ Matte held back a sob as he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt.

‘Listen to that,’ sneered Bernard. He was lounging at one end of the sofa, twirling his cognac glass in his hand. ‘Always Grandpa’s favourite. Always ready to sit like a lapdog and listen to the old man’s endless stories. You even pretended to be interested in that drivel about the Sherlock Holmes club. And yet you never hesitated to take his money.’

‘Bernard …’ pleaded Lisette, but her cousin paid no attention.

‘He gave you that flat in the city when you started at the university. What was it worth? Three million? Four?’

‘I never asked for anything!’ retorted Matte, glaring at Bernard. ‘Unlike the rest of you, I wasn’t constantly begging him for money. The flat belonged to Grandpa, and I was allowed to live there while I studied, but as soon as I graduated, I would have to make it on my own. That was the agreement. And I didn’t want it any other way. Grandpa knew that.’

Again he used his shirtsleeve to dry his tears. Then he turned to look out of the window, clearly embarrassed that they’d seen him crying.

‘Matte, we know how close you were to Grandpa. And all of us are sad. We’re just a little … shocked … as Uncle Gustav said.’ Britten perched on the armrest of Matte’s chair and gently stroked his arm. He didn’t push her away, but he kept his gaze fixed on the winter darkness.

‘Well, maybe we should all turn in for the night,’ said Harald, standing up. ‘Before we say anything that we’ll regret tomorrow.’

The others murmured their agreement, and the library quickly emptied. Only Vivi stayed behind.

‘Our room is upstairs,’ said Lisette as she took Martin’s arm. ‘Why don’t you fetch your bag? I’ve already put mine in the room.’

He did as she said and then followed her up the stairs.

Even though the beds were marvellously comfortable, Martin lay awake for a long time, listening to Lisette breathing next to him. Outside, the blizzard raged, worse than ever. He wondered what the morning would bring.

It was a habit she’d had ever since childhood. Whenever she was nervous, she would play with the pearl necklace that had been a gift from her mother. And she’d certainly resorted to that nervous habit many times over the years. ‘Viveca is very highly-strung,’ she’d heard her mother say so often when she was growing up, until in the end it had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. At first she’d thought it was merely something the grown-ups said to explain the normal emotional outbursts of a child, and later a teenager. But gradually the statement had settled over her like a dingy veil. People treated her as if she had delicate nerves, and she found it simpler to live up to their expectations. By now she was afraid of everything. In addition to normal fears – spiders and snakes and the greenhouse effect and the proliferation of nuclear weapons – she was frightened by more subtle and ordinary things: the look someone gave her when they met, hidden meanings in what they said to her, unintentional insults and unanticipated attacks. Eventually, the whole world had become a threatening place, and she caught herself constantly playing with her necklace. But now it was gone. Hundreds of tiny pearls had scattered across the floor in the dining room. Kerstin had tried to console her, saying that she would gather up every one of them and have them restrung for a new necklace. And no doubt she would. But it wouldn’t be the same. Something new could not become something old. Something that had been destroyed could never be whole again.

For a moment Vivi pictured in her mind Ruben’s accusatory eyes. That expression she thought she always saw whenever he looked at her. Reproachful and filled with contempt for her weakness.

Oh, how she wished that she’d had just one-hundredth of the strength that seemed to radiate from him. Not to mention that she wished Gustav had inherited at least a small part of his father’s self-confidence. But together she and Gustav seemed even weaker than they did individually. If they hadn’t joined forces against the threat that Ruben represented, which had held them together like glue all these years, Vivi knew they never would have survived. With a vacant expression she stared at the smouldering fire as she sensed disaster approaching like a speeding train. Old secrets had begun to stir, like a monster lurking below the surface.

The next day the storm was still raging. Börje and Kerstin had made a valiant attempt to clear a path at the front entrance, but the snowfall was so heavy that by now the drifts reached almost to the window ledges on the ground floor. If the storm continued like this for another twenty-four hours, they would soon be completely snowed in.

It was a subdued group that appeared for breakfast. Everyone found it unnerving to sit down at the same table where they’d all gathered the night before. Yet no one had offered any protests when their hosts asked if it would be all right to serve breakfast in the dining room. Once again there was an abundance of food. Boiled eggs, three kinds of cheese, ham, salami, bacon and bread fresh from the oven. But most of the family members hardly touched their food. Only Harald and Bernard ate heartily. Apparently they weren’t going to let a murder ruin their appetite.

‘Did you sleep well?’ Britten asked everyone in an attempt to start a conversation, but aside from a few murmurs no one replied.

‘Such comfortable beds,’ she told Kerstin, who was walking around the table to serve the coffee.

Kerstin nodded and smiled. ‘I hope you weren’t cold. Let me know if you are, and I’ll bring you some extra blankets.’

‘No, it was fine. Perfect.’ Britten looked around to see if anyone else would care to comment, but they were all staring down at their plates.

Martin couldn’t bear the oppressive mood a second longer. He said brusquely, ‘I’d like to continue with the interviews as soon as you’ve finished breakfast. Gustav, could you join me in the office in …’ Martin glanced at his watch. ‘Let’s say ten minutes?’

‘Certainly,’ said Gustav. He and Vivi exchanged a glance that was difficult to interpret. ‘Of course. I’ll be there in ten minutes. So I’m next in line, is that right?’ He uttered a brief laugh that bordered on falsetto. No one else laughed.

‘Thanks. That would be great,’ Martin said as he stood up. In truth there was nothing he had to prepare that required an extra ten minutes, but he wanted to retreat to the peace and quiet of the office to gather his thoughts.

Precisely ten minutes later Gustav Liljecrona entered the room. Once again Martin was struck by how different the two brothers were. Harald was a tall, broad-shouldered, and loud man with a bushy mane of hair. His younger brother was short and wiry with sloping shoulders. And whatever hair he’d once had was now a distant memory.

‘So, here I am,’ Gustav said as he sat down. Martin’s response was to launch into his first question.