Читать книгу Integrity - Anna Borgeryd - Страница 26

19

The first project meeting for Future Wealth and Welfare was held in a classroom in the rectangular, functional Social Science building, with its white-painted interior. Only Vera was absent. Peter was surprised and disappointed. He also noticed that Cissi was stressed that Vera had not come, which was not a good sign. When Sturesson asked about her, Cissi tried to smile as she said, in an affected tone, that Vera ‘was at home in bed with a 100-degree fever’.

Peter drew two quick conclusions: it wasn’t true and Cissi was a terrible liar. He saw how Cissi’s fair-skinned face clouded over with worry as Sturesson went through the main components of the project. Their chapters were to be published in a book with a ‘popular science’ touch, and it was to be presented at a crowd-pleasing, public press conference. After that, Sturesson explained, more in-depth research would be conducted in stage two of the project, which would be published in international journals as it was completed. Sturesson then devoted himself to wishful name-dropping, and Peter didn’t have the energy to listen to the details. But that the speaker’s dream was to use the project to establish a ‘pre-eminent research center’ in Umeå was impossible to miss.

After the short break, Sturesson and Sparre began to assign the tasks for the project: ‘everything from globalization, tax policy and Europe’s aging population’ could be problematized. Peter recognized the approach: impeccably systematic and with long, verbose texts. And mind-numbingly dull.

When Cissi turned on her cellphone after the meeting she had a text message. It was from Vera. She had written that she was quitting the project. A small, digital ‘sorry’ ended the message.

Cissi was so angry that Peter quickly suggested that they go to her office and discuss things. On the way up in the elevator, thoughts raced around in Peter’s head. Cissi growled something inaudible though clenched teeth, and when they had closed the door to her office she raised her voice.

‘Why the hell is she doing this? Putting me in hot water with my boss just because she’s suddenly got it in her head to do something else?’

Peter’s thoughts led him to an uncomfortable suspicion. There was only one explanation that fitted with everything he knew. The more he thought about it the more sure he was. But he could not bring himself to say it. Instead, he said:

‘No, I don’t think she suddenly lost interest. Quite the opposite. I’ve seen her working really hard; my guess is that she’ll have a full draft of her chapter soon. I think it’s called “Redeeming reproduction”.’

‘Yes, I know! We’ve spent hours talking about it!’ exclaimed Cissi. ‘But then what the hell is she up to now?’

Peter had never heard Cissi swear before. But he could quite understand. She had put a lot of money on one horse. And that horse was called Vera Lundberg.

Peter felt a strong desire to make everything right. ‘I’m going to try to talk to her.’

Cissi stared at him in surprise, ‘Why?’ Then her face clouded over again beneath her red hair. ‘What do you think you can say to her that will make her a reliable person?’

If there was anything Peter thought about Vera, it was that she was reliable.

When Peter learned from Matt that Vera was at Solbacka, he looked up the address and went directly there. This game would demand an entirely new tactic. He would have to coax her, a bit like he used to do with his mother when she was upset. With sweaty palms, he practised different ways of saying it.

He asked around at the retirement home, and a woman told him that Vera had probably just finished her shift for the day, but that she sometimes stopped by to visit Solveig Marklund in Wing D. Peter looked around, unaccustomed to the institutional environment. A slowly shuffling man with Scottish plaid slippers and a wheeled walking frame helped him find Solveig’s door.

He whispered a thank you and knocked.

A frail woman’s voice answered from inside, ‘Yes? Come in!’ she called in surprise.

Peter took a nervous breath and turned the door handle. He stepped into a strange, female world filled with crocheting, yellowing black-and-white photographs and a scent of… those old-fashioned flowers that his grandmother used to have on the veranda! He smiled a little at the memory. Grandma’s house had been full of strong plant fragrances. Out of reach of her grandchildren she had a whole cabinet filled with small, dark bottles with various herb extracts that she determinedly claimed were useful against every imaginable kind of affliction. One extract was good for treating chicken pox; another for coughs. ‘In the olden days, they would have called me a witch!’ she used to say, extremely pleased with herself, conscientiously caring for everyone around her who was in need.

He felt them looking at him from the small kitchen: a curly, white-haired old woman in a wheelchair and Vera were both staring in surprise. And he could understand why. In his expensive designer clothes, he was like that black Porsche that someone sometimes tried to park among the hand-painted bicycles on Stipend Street. Impossible to melt into the surroundings. But it couldn’t be helped. Force majeure.

Warmed by the memory of his grandmother’s house, Peter pointed carefully at the red clusters of flowers on the kitchen windowsill behind them – ‘geraniums?’

‘Yes, my Mårbacka geraniums. And who might the gentleman be, if I may ask?’ The old woman rolled towards him in her wheelchair, an expression of kind curiosity on her face.

‘Oh, sorry. My name is Peter, Peter Stavenius. I’m looking for Vera.’

‘Yes, she is here, as you can see. By all means, come in.’

He did what he could. He took off his handmade Italian shoes and the wool Armani coat. He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled up his sleeves before pattering over to the table.

‘Would you like a little tea, Peter?’ Solveig looked questioningly at him from beside the kitchen counter.

‘No, thank you, I’m fine.’

She rolled herself back to the table again. He felt how the white-haired woman studied him, curious but friendly. He felt Vera’s gaze and met it nervously.

‘I’ve come directly from the project meeting. We missed you.’

Vera stared down into her rose-patterned teacup and Peter continued, ‘I saw the text you sent to Cissi. But you can’t quit now. In the first place… Cissi recruited you because she thinks you have your own, interesting perspective, and she thinks there is a lot to it. Also, you’ve got pretty far with it already, isn’t that right?’

Vera held her cup in both hands and looked at him tentatively, ‘Mmmm,’ she said finally and took a sip from the cup.

He took a deep breath and continued:

‘Then there’s the fact that… well, you know Cissi. She’s furious.’

Vera blinked, surprised. After a second she shuddered and answered quietly, ‘Oh, I didn’t think of that.’

‘What’s happened?’ asked Solveig kindly.

Stressed, Vera wiped her hand across her forehead and said: ‘You know, the project I was selected for. I just felt like…’ She glanced self-consciously at Peter and went quiet.

Peter looked at her and continued: ‘You felt maybe that you wouldn’t be allowed to do it the way you wanted to?’

Which was code for his gnawing suspicion, and Peter turned red in humiliation. Vera also turned red and nodded.

Solveig looked from one to the other. Vera broke the silence: ‘Yes, and anyway, I slept really badly last night because I was in so much pain. And I felt like I just couldn’t keep at it when it felt… meaningless.’

The word pierced Peter as if she had said it about him.

Vera wiped her nose with a rose-patterned napkin. She sighed and, turning toward Solveig, continued.

‘So I quit. It’s just that it’s affected my advisor, who has really helped me a lot.’

She looked so sad that Peter forgot himself. ‘It wasn’t that bad. And you don’t have to have much to do with me. I mean, to get your chapter accepted. Talk to her. Explain the situation. I am sure it can be resolved.’

Vera looked at him with worried eyes. She finally nodded with her lips clamped shut. She looked at the wall clock and got up, taking her cup and saucer with her.

‘I’m sorry, but I have to go now. Solveig, thank you for the tea.’

Peter also got up. ‘It’s lovely in here!’ He nodded towards the hand-embroidered lace tablecloth and the elegant porcelain. ‘Perhaps I inadvertently barged in while you were celebrating something?’

‘Sadly, no,’ said Solveig with a little quiver in her voice. ‘It is rather the opposite. Vera might have to stop coming to work here.’ The old woman followed Vera into the hall in her wheelchair.

‘Why is that?’ She’s thinking about quitting the project and quitting here too? What is she planning on doing?

‘My body just aches so much.’ Vera took her jacket off the hanger and sighed. ‘I probably have to take sick leave because of the pain in my lower back.’

‘Well, I can understand if you are in pain.’ Peter squatted gracefully and tied his shoes.

Vera and Solveig looked at him. He stood up and rolled down his shirtsleeves. ‘You’ve been limping for – how long now? Six months?’

Vera nodded. Peter put his hand on his hip: ‘I think you have knots in your… gluteal muscles from walking crooked. That makes your back ache. I have a friend who hurt his foot in a bad kick when he and another guy were practicing jujutsu. Before he was operated on, he got a bunch of problems in other parts of his body, and that was after only a few weeks. Because, you know, he walked crookedly and his whole body was tense.’

Peter reached for his black coat and felt pleased – maybe everything could be put right? – and when he heard Solveig suggest that Vera get a massage, he didn’t stop to think. ‘Yes, massage is a good way to get rid of knots in your muscles, to get the circulation going again. I’ve been training jujutsu a while, so I know a little bit. I can massage you if you want.’