Читать книгу Shadows of Sören - Nicola Stöhr - Страница 12

Fuck, Sören thought. Per Nielson really was becoming something of a major problem and he would deal with him, there was no way around it. The man was disturbing every area of his life.

He hoped he hadn´t completely alienated Clarice now.

That little speech she had given when she had marched in to his dining room? The woman really did have a mouth like a razor blade. She was a rhetorical monster.

Next time he had to give a speech somewhere he´d have her write it for him. But really he had been angry with himself, because it had been stupid to bring Anna home and he had just come to that conclusion himself again, when Clarice had burst in.

Anna was attractive and fairly entertaining, but he would soon get bored with her and then things would become akward, especially since she was a client.

Christ, couldn´t Clarice have sounded just a bit upset that he had had a woman here over night? But no, she had calmly and indifferently delivered her little speech and asked him to repair her shower. He actually liked her moving around the place like she owned it, coming and going at her pleasure. And now she wouldn´t any longer, if she stayed at all. Maybe she was already over there packing up, about to disappear completely from his life. Now that he thought about it, she had also looked a little pale and sort of tired. Then again he would be more than happy to take care of her when she was ailing, if she would only let him. And that thing about Per Nilsson, that really was the tip of the iceberg. He hadn´t known the old man had now turned into a peeping Tom too. The image of Per Nielson watching Clarice do something private like getting dressed in the morning made his blood boil. Per had to go, somehow.

So Clarice had seen him leave the big house that night? That was bad. He could not tell her or anyone for that matter what Per had been doing here. He could never tell anyone.

It was his burden to bear and his alone.

He returned to the dining room where Anna was still seated drinking yet another cup of coffee. She had hardly eaten anything and he suspected that she was one of those women who survived solely on water, coffee and diet coke all day, since she had that starved, skin and bones look about her.

Sleeping with her had been like fucking a freaking skeleton. He was sure he had heard hear bones crack once or twice. No soft curves or fleshy spots anywhere. Were there really men who liked that kind of thing or did women just imagine there were men who liked that kind of thing?

Or did woman just like to compete with each other as in: Let´s see who can slip herself between the wall and the radiator and she who can´t is a fat cow.

Clarice was no skeleton, she was nice and curvy in all the right places. Nice and slim and curvy. Not that it showed so much in those jeans and university sweatshirts she insisted on wearing all the time when she was at home. She did dress up for work though. She favoured dark coloured snug fitting trouser suits. And high heels. Maybe she wanted to set herself apart from the students. She was still so young to be a professor. He wondered how she kept that figure of hers, because she didn´t seem to engage in any athletic activities he had noticed. She rode her bike everywhere in and around Vickleby, but did bicycle riding really do that much for you? She wasn´t exactly putting in Tour de France miles, was she?

He dragged his thoughts away from Clarice and her curves and back to the present. He cleared his throat and started to say something when there was a knock on the door.

Sören gave Anna an apologetic look, “Sorry Anna, it´s a bit of a hectic morning today.”

He left her again and hopefully opened the door only to find that dreadful woman from the local heritage club on his doorstep. What was her name again?

“Lord Hellström, I wish you a very good morning.”

Sören sighed. She was the only person he knew who insisted on calling him by his title, even though he had repeatedly told her not to and had offered his first name to her several times. But to no avail. She was one of those people who felt elated from her own mediocre position in life by coming into contact with someone higher up on the social ladder than herself, no matter how perfunctory that contact was. She was also the least attractice woman he knew and those dreary clothes and wire rimmed glasses she wore all the time didn´t help.

“Good morning Miss Sjöquist” Thankfully he had remembered her name at the last minute.

“I must talk to you about our annual guided tour of Rettinge and we have new members in the svenska-tyska sällskåpet, who are also interested in joining the tour. It is as you very well know in two weeks.”

He knew nothing of the kind, but he did know what she was talking about. Miss Sjöquist was not only the chairman of the local national heritage society but also chairman of the Swedish-German club, whose membership boasted a whole pack of Germans and one Swedish person: Annet Sjöquist herself.

He never really did fathom the point of such clubs. Why would anyone move to another country, only to herd themselves together in a club consisting of fellow citizens from the country they had left? If they were so eager on being with their own kind, so to speak, why on earth didn´t they stay in their home country in the first place?

Nevertheless Miss Sjöquist regularly offered guided tours of Vickleby and any places of interest in its nearest vicinity which included Rettinge. Mostly it was tourists and the odd new person in town who took part in these tours and of course new members of the Swedish-German club.

She continued, “Of course I am particularly interested in not having a repetition of that most embarrassing scene in January, where that awful Mr. Nielson hurled a load of most insulting abuse at my guests. We really must see to it that he is not present during the tour this year. You do know what I´m talking about, Lord Hellström?”

Yes, he knew. How could he forget. Last year Per Nielson had invaded Miss Sjöquist´s little guided tour of Rettinge and shouted “Heil Hitler” greetings accompanied by the appropriate hand gesture at the appalled members of the Swedish-German club. Actually that little scene had been one of the funnier moments in Per Nielson´s illustrious career as Vickleby´s most hated citizen. Sören had found the expressions on the faces of the tour members quite hilarious. A sentiment that was apparently shared by Clarice, who had joined the tour because she was genuinely interested in Rettinge and its history. Sören had felt her shaking with silent laughter beside him. But of course Per Nielson had had to be forcefully removed from the premises and apologies had been made all around. Miss Sjöquist had been beside herself with anger and grief.

The island was teeming with German pensioners who had lived all their life in big cities like Hamburg and Berlin. Tired of city life they had bought huge properties here. They lived a very comfortable life with a little gardening, walking, excursions with the Swedish-German club and swimming in the summer. Most of them kept a small apartment in Germany which they used during the winter. The winters on Öland could be rather nasty, with temperatures sometimes below minus fifteen degrees and cold winds blowing in from the sea. Many islanders did not look too favourably on what they called the “German invasion”, but Sören thought every person willing to move here and spend money was a blessing for Öland. Which was why he put up with the annual guided tour of his premises for the Swedish-German club and even sometimes accompanied and led a part of that tour himself. As he had last year, when Per Nielson had made his little entrance. His house was off-limits though. The day he became so desperate that he let troops of strangers trample through his house in exchange for a minor fee, he would give the whole thing, house and land to the government and let them take care of it. That day was long off though as he was not hurting for money.

Miss Sjöquist had made a very tentative enquiry about his wine cellar last year and its possible inclusion in the tour, but had quickly withdrawn the question after Sören had given her such a sharp riposte, that the poor woman had almost jumped out of her skin.

“What do you suggest we do about him, Miss Sjöquist?” Sören asked. “I assure you we have tried every approach possible to keep him away from this place, but he insists on coming over here again and again. I am open to any ideas you might have on the matter.”

Annet shook her head and said “Well, I really don´t know. He really is the most unpleasant man, isn´t he? Have you tried speaking to the police about him?”

“I have. They can do nothing.”

“Nothing? But that cannot be, he is most vicious and probably dangerous and not to be trusted.”

He is indeed not to be trusted, Sören thought, but you don´t know how little he is to be trusted.

He said, “The thing is, Miss Sjöquist, he has never actually physically harmed anyone here or done any real damage to my property, so the police have nothing they can use against him. Now if he had actually physically attacked one of the members of the club, that would have been a completely different matter and we would be well rid of him by now.” Rettinge might be rid of him, but he Sören would only be rid of Per Nielson when he was dead in the ground, that much he knew.

“Dear God, Lord Hellström, perish the thought that one of my club members would come to harm by this horrid man.” “Well, I was speaking hypothetically of course Miss Sjöquist, I do not wish any harm to come to anyone visiting Rettinge. Especially not your dear old pensioners.”

“Yes well, what are we to do?”

Sören sighed, “Don´t worry, I shall have a serious talk with him and if all fails I shall have to bribe him into keeping the peace.” Shouldn´t be too hard Sören thought. He had enough practice there, didn´t he.

“Leave it to me and now you must excuse me, I have important matters to see to.“

Sören turned to go back into the house but Annet Sjöquist held him back, “Lord Hellström, you are aware that the tour coincides with the Skördefest in two weeks, are you not?” Sören groaned“Oh hell, so it does. The place will be packed.”

“Yes indeed and I had an idea. Why don’t we open the tour to the general public, too? It would be an additional activity at the Skördefest.”

“Sure, go ahead, why not? Now if you have any more questions about the tour or the Skördefest, please feel free to contact my estate manager or Alma. Goodbye Miss Sjöquist.”

“Well yes goodbye Lord Hellström and we will see you during the tour next week, will we not?”

“I can´t promise anything, but I will try to make it happen.”

“Oh, please do”.

“Right, goodbye.”

It was necessary to end a conversation with her that abruptly otherwise one never got rid of the damn woman.

And he had forgotten about the Skördefest the following week. The Skördefest was the annual harvest festival which was spread out all over the island and attracted thousands of visitors. Pumpkins were placed upon the top of bales of hay to signal that harvest goods were available for sale at the location. Every entrepreneurial establishment opened its doors all weekend late into the night and in addition to its normal range of products or gastronomical choices there were also special activities like concerts, art exhibitions, games for the children and special menues to choose from. At the örtagård for example Alma would be offering homemade pumpkin soup and smoked ostrich meat with homebaked bread. And of course Miss Sjöquist would be offering tours of the premises now. They would also have an additional snack van selling doughnuts and candy floss for the kids, since there were always plenty of children around who were probably not too keen on pumpkin soup and ostrich meat. Sören loved doughnuts himself, but rarely indulged himself. But he made an exception at the Skördefest. Even though he had seemed dismissive and vague with Annet Sjöquist, he knew exactly what was going to take place where and when on Rettinge. Anna, Magnus and Sören had meetings about everything concerning the estate on a regular basis, including the Skördefest.

He returned to the dining room a second time that morning to find Anna still there with an expectant look on her face. “Well, well, you are a busy man, aren´t you? You can´t even have breakfast in peace without people bothering you left, right and centre.”

He didn´t tell her that he usually liked to be bothered by one of those people.

But Anna had not finished yet, “And who was that bad tempered little redhead? Is she a close acquaintance of yours? She must be, otherwise she wouldn´t have had the nerve to barge in here like that.”

Oh yes she would, Sören thought. “She´s my tenant, she rents one of the houses on the estate.”

“A tenant?? You let people who rent from you speak to like that? I must say, I´m beginning to become a little disillusioned in you. Are you really that soft? These people will walk all over you, if you let them.”

“Right, thanks for the advice. Listen I think we should get going soon, We need to go over the details of your business plan again.”

They drove to Kalmar and Sören was spared any further private conversation with Anna, as she was constantly busy talking into her mobile phone and checking messages.

Why had he even taken her to Rettinge, he wondered. He had a perfectly nice place in Kalmar too which he usually used when he had long meetings or had to take customers out for a night on the town and knew he was going to be drinking. Or when he just felt like staying in Kalmar, which hadn´t been often since Clarice had moved in.