Читать книгу The Rabbit Hunter - Ларс Кеплер - Страница 23

In the Salvation Army’s offices at 69 Östermalms Street, a private lunch meeting is underway. Twelve people have made one long table out of three smaller ones, and are now sitting so close that they can see the tiredness and sadness in each other’s faces. The daylight shines in on the pale wooden furniture and the tapestry of the apostles fishing.

At one end sits Rex Müller, in his tailored jacket and black leather trousers. He’s fifty-two years old, still good-looking despite his frown and the swollen bags under his eyes.

Everyone looks at him as he puts his coffee cup back down on the saucer and runs a hand through his hair.

‘My name is Rex, and I usually don’t say anything, I just sit and listen,’ he begins, then gives an awkward little smile. ‘I don’t really know what you want me to say.’

‘Tell us why you’re here,’ says a woman with sad wrinkles around her mouth.

‘I’m a pretty good chef,’ he goes on, and clears his throat. ‘And in my line of work you need to know about wine, beer, fortified wine, spirits, liqueurs and so on … I’m not an alcoholic. I maybe drink a little too much. I do stupid things sometimes, even though you shouldn’t believe everything the papers say.’

He pauses and peers at them with a smile, but they just wait for him to go on.

‘I’m here because my employer insisted, otherwise I’ll lose my job … and I like my job.’

Rex had been hoping for laughter, but they’re all looking at him in silence.

‘I have a son. He’s practically grown up now, in his last year at high school … And one of the things I probably ought to regret about my life is not being a good dad. I haven’t been a dad at all. I’ve been there for birthdays and so on, but … I didn’t really want children, I wasn’t mature enough to …’

His voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, and to his surprise he feels tears welling up in his eyes.

‘OK, I’m an idiot, you might have realised that already,’ he says quietly, then takes a deep breath. ‘It’s like this … My ex, she’s wonderful, there aren’t many people who can say that about their ex, but Veronica is great … And now she’s been hand-picked to launch a big project about free healthcare in Sierra Leone, but she’s thinking of turning it down.’

Rex smiles wryly at the others.

‘She’s perfect for the job … so I told her I was trying to stay sober these days, and that Sammy can live with me when she’s away. Since I’ve been coming to these meetings she believes I’ve started to show more responsibility … and now she’s actually going on her first trip to Freetown.’

He runs his fingers through his messy black hair and leans forward.

‘Sammy’s had a pretty tough time. It’s probably my fault, I don’t know, his life is very different to mine … I’m not for a minute thinking I can repair our relationship, but I am actually looking forward to getting to know him a little better.’

‘Thanks for sharing,’ one of the women says quietly.

Rex Müller has spent the past two years as the resident chef on a popular morning programme on TV4. He’s won silver in the Bocuse d’Or contest, has worked with Magnus Nilsson at Fäviken Magasinet, has published three cookbooks, and last autumn he signed a lucrative contract with the Grupp F12 restaurant company, making him head chef at Smak.

After three hours in the new restaurant he hands things over to Eliza, the sous chef, changes into a blue shirt and suit, and heads over to the inauguration of a new hotel at Hötorget. He gets photographed with Avicii, then takes a taxi out to Dalarö to meet his associates.

David Jordan Andersen – or DJ, as everyone calls him – is thirty-three years old, and set up the production and branded content company that bought the rights to Rex’s cooking. In three years he has taken Rex from one of the country’s foremost chefs to genuine celebrity status.

Now Rex sweeps into the restaurant of the Dalarö Strand Hotel, shakes DJ’s hand and sits down across from him.

‘I thought Lyra was thinking of coming?’ Rex says.

‘She’s meeting her art school friends.’

DJ resembles a modern-day Viking with his full blond beard and blue eyes.

‘Did Lyra think I was difficult last time?’ Rex asks with a frown.

‘You were difficult last time,’ DJ replies frankly. ‘You don’t have to give the cook a lecture every time you go to a restaurant.’

‘It was supposed to be a joke.’

The waiter arrives with their appetisers. He lingers a little too long, then blushes as he asks if Rex would mind giving the gang in the kitchen his autograph.

‘That depends on the food,’ Rex replies seriously. ‘I can’t stand it when a lemon emulsion tastes like sweets.’

The waiter stands beside the table, smiling awkwardly, as Rex picks up his knife and fork and cuts a piece of chargrilled asparagus.

‘Take it easy,’ DJ cajoles, rubbing his blond beard.

Rex dips a piece of smoked salmon in the lemon sauce, smells it, then tastes it, chewing with a look of intense concentration. He finally takes out a pen and writes on the back of the menu: My congratulations to the master chefs at Dalarö Strand Hotel. Warm regards, Rex.

The waiter thanks him and hurries back to the kitchen with a look of unfeigned delight on his face.

‘Is it really that good?’ DJ asks quietly.

‘It’s OK,’ Rex replies.

DJ leans across the table, fills Rex’s glass with water, then nudges the bread-basket towards him. Rex takes a sip and looks out at a large yacht heading out to sea from the harbour.

Their plates of fried herring, charred red onion and mashed potatoes arrive.

‘Have you checked to see if you can make it next weekend?’ DJ asks tentatively.

‘Is that when we’re meeting the investors?’ Rex asks.

Rex and his team have spent over a year developing the first items in a set of kitchen equipment with Rex’s name on them.

They’re very good quality, sleek design at a reasonable price, and intended to be for ‘kitchen royalty’. Rex of Kitchen.

‘I thought we could spend some time with them, have a decent meal. It’s really important that they feel special,’ he explains.

Rex nods and cuts a piece of herring, then reaches across the table for DJ’s glass of chilled beer.

‘Rex?’

‘No one needs to know,’ he says with a wink.

‘Don’t do it,’ DJ says calmly.

‘Are you going to start too?’ Rex says, smiling, and puts the glass down. ‘I’m sober, but it’s pretty ridiculous. Everyone’s just decided that I have a problem without asking me.’

They finish their meal, pay, and walk down to the hotel jetty, where DJ’s motorboat, a Sea Ray Sundancer that’s seen better days, is moored.

It’s a warm evening, almost impossibly beautiful. The water is still, the sun is setting slowly, and the clouds are lit with golden light.

They cast off and slowly pull away from the jetty, rocking through the wake of another boat. They head carefully into the main waterway. The hillside on the port side is strewn with ornate wooden houses.

‘How’s your mum these days?’ Rex asks, sitting down beside DJ on the white leather seat.

‘A little better, actually,’ he replies, accelerating slightly. ‘The doctors have switched her medication and she’s not feeling too bad now.’

His voice is drowned out by the roar of the engine when they reach open water. White foam whips up behind them, the bow lifts up and the hull strikes the waves. They keep accelerating, and the boat starts to plane and shoots off across the water.

Rex stands up unsteadily and starts to pull on the water-skis that are tucked behind the seats.

‘Aren’t you going to take your suit off?’ DJ shouts.

‘What?’

‘It’ll get soaked.’

‘I’m not going to fall in!’ Rex shouts back.

He starts unrolling the line, then feels his phone buzz in his inside pocket. It’s Sammy, and Rex gestures at DJ to slow down.

‘Hello?’

He can hear music and voices in the background.

‘Hi, Dad,’ Sammy says, with his phone very close to his mouth. ‘I just thought I’d check what you’re doing tonight.’

‘Where are you?’

‘At a party, but …’

The swell from a large yacht makes Rex sway. He loses his balance and sits down on the white leather cushion.

‘Are you having a good time?’ he asks.

‘What?’

‘I’m out at Dalarö with DJ, but there’s some of last night’s sole in the fridge … You can have it cold, or heat it up in the oven for a few minutes.’

‘I can’t hear you,’ Sammy says.

‘I won’t be late,’ Rex tries to shout.

He can hear loud music over the phone, the thud of a heavy bassline, and a woman shouting something.

‘See you later,’ Rex says, but the line has already gone dead.