Читать книгу Shadows of Sören - Nicola Stöhr - Страница 5

Clarice entered his peripheral vision from the left. She must have come from the ostrich enclosure behind the house. She loved the ostriches and often spent her time just standing and looking at them.

Sören was standing at his bedroom window overlooking the front of Rettinge Gård and watched Clarice enter her house. The little house which she rented from him. It was one of the two former servant quarters situated a couple of metres in front of the main house, to the left and right of it. Between them ran a long alley leading away from the big house to the main road.

This was the basic setup for what classified a typical Herrgård in Sweden. A Herrgård was the original name for a big country house inhabited by an aristocrat. That would be him, Sören Hellström. Except that in any other country, the country house would have been a little grander and bigger than this one. But this was Sweden after all. The land of modesty, equal opportunities and good fortunes for everyone. Even the Royal family´s summer residence in Borgholm on Öland was only a third of Balmoral or Windsor Castle, or wherever it was the English Royals spent their holidays. His gård was at home on Öland, the little island which was situated just of the east coast of Sweden. Sören had grown up there in the village of Vickleby. Vickleby was an old, picturesque village which stood right at the edge of the Stora Alvaret, that limestone barren plain on the south of the island. The plain distinguished itself through a sparse vegetation of low shrubs interfused with limestone rocks.

Basically Vickleby consisted of one long, well kept street which ran through the middle of the village and was in itself a sight for those looking for genuinely old, idyllic structures. Although in many ways it resembled an old English country village. The houses were often hidden behind rough stonewalls and overgrown with ivy or wild wine. Almost every house had a row of stockroses planted in a straight, narrow line in front of it, in pink or red or dark blue. It was an almost uniform look which nearly every household seemed to conform to. The houses without the stockroses looked almost forlorn and naked. The village regularly won the vote as Öland´s most beautiful village.

Rettinge Gård, like all gårds, stood a little apart from the village and was well set back from the main road. The local council had however some time ago set up a huge sign by the main road pointing the way to Rettinge as one of the local sights of interest. Sören had at the time not really fathomed the point of this sign, since it lead every Tom, Dick and Harriet to his house, touring his grounds like the gård was some kind of amusement park.

The sign had also led Clarice to Rettinge and to his doorstep. She had shown up out of the blue one day, knocked on Sören´s door and asked about the house which was for rent. She had probably read the ad his estate manager had placed in the local paper. Sören had been too stunned by the sheer look of her to give her a straight answer or even form a coherent sentence. Her hair looked like it was on fire. He had really never seen such a shade of red before and she had the greenest eyes.

Strangers didn´t usually approach him directly about anything. For reasons Sören could not really fathom, a lot of people were intimidated by him. Clarice had not been intimidated nor particularly impressed by any of those attributes. Their conversation had been unusually personal and somewhat acrimonious for two people who had never met before. He recalled every word of it, as it was basically the pattern for almost every conversation they had had since then. Without any preamble or any sort of introduction she had immediately entered into question mode.

“Are you the landlord and the owner of that little house over there?”

It had taken him a while to gather his wits and she had just stood there with an expectant and somewhat impatient look on her face. “I am”, he had finally answered.

“And is it for rent?” she had enquired.

“It is.”

“Well can I rent it?”

“It´s not a summer house you know. I´m looking for a long term tenant.”

“Good, perfect.” She had nodded and had looked pleased.

Sören had been a little irked. “Really? Well we´ll see. Who are you, where are you from and why do you want to live in Vickleby of all places?” he had asked and felt some of his self-confidence return.

“What do you mean Vickleby of all places? You live here, don´t you?”

“I was born here, I grew up here.”

“Well that doesn´t mean you have to stay here, if you don´t like it.”

“It doesn´t mean I have to rent a house to you either and I didn´t say I didn´t like it here.”

“Then why shouldn´t I like it?”, Clarice had asked obstinately.

“I don´t know why you shouldn´t like it here, because I don´t know you from Adam. I´ve never met you before and I don´t know who you are, because you have as yet failed to introduce yourself to me!” At that point Sören had taken a deep breath.

“So when you said “Vickleby of all places” that was just a manner of speech? Well how should I know that, I don´t know you either. You know you should really restrain yourself from using idiosyncratic speech patterns like that when addressing perfect strangers.”

Sören had been completely flummoxed. Was he really having this conversation with a woman he had never met before on his doorstep? Or had he maybe had one Single Malt too many the night before? But a small childish part of him was actually enjoying the dialogue, plus the young woman was really stunning to look at. But stunning or not an introduction was definetely called for here.

“Your name, please, if I may?”, Sören had asked rather sternly.

She had conceded, “My name is Clarice Carter. I am a theoretical physicist and currently employed by the university of Kalmar.”

He had noticed that she hadn´t mentioned where she was from and something had kept him from asking again. And what the hell was a theoretical physicist? After almost nine months he still didn´t know where she was born, but she had an American accent, maybe Canadian, he couldn´t tell the difference. So his best guess was that she had been born somewhere in North America.

“Currently employed?” he had enquired. “This is a limited contract? I told you I want a long term tenant.”

“That was just a manner of speech! I meant employed full stop.”

“Okay, look”, Sören had said judiciously, “I actually have an estate manager who deals with rent and tenants and all that and as far as I know he already has a couple of prospective tenants who are coming to look at the place on Saturday. You may feel free to join them.”

“Ok, now you look, I don´t have time till Saturday, it´s too long. I need something right now.”

Sören had stopped short. “Why? Don´t tell me you´re living on the street. Are you homeless or something?”

Clarice had smiled in spite of his harsh tone of voice, “I almost wish. No, I am right now living in a student dormitory, since the university has failed to provide more adequate living arrangements for me and these Swedish students are driving me nuts. They disturb my sleep, they disturb my work and if there were another important aspect to my life, I´m sure they would be disturbing that too. I have to get out of there and soon. I need peace and tranquility. I have no time to waste. So can I rent the place or not?”

“Don´t you want to look at it first?” Sören had asked.

“I´m not fussy and it looks fine from here.”

“So you´re a bit of a strange one, aren´t you?”

“I´m actually the most boring person in the world. I have no husband, boyfriend, kids or social life to mention. All I do is eat, sleep and work. If that´s strange, then yes, I´m strange, but not serial killer strange, just boring strange.”

Sören had considered her answer.

“If you work in Kalmar, wouldn´t you want to live closer to the university? Like in Kalmar for example?”he had asked sarcastically.

“No.”

“What´s wrong with Kalmar?”

“Nothing, I just don´t want to live there. I like the idea of living on an island.”

Sören could relate to that. “I´ll need a proof of salary and a downpayment of two months rent in advance.”

“Fine, no problem”.

“Fine. After that feel free to move in whenever you want.”

And that had been that. She had moved in two days later with a suitcase and a laptop. No boxes and not a single item of furniture. The house was furnished anyway, but most people usually brought a few personal items like pictures, commodes, side tables or books. Clarice brought nothing but herself, a laptop, a scuffed, beige coloured suitcase and her dark red New Beetle convertible. He had not learned any more about her past. Not for lack of asking on his part but for lack of forthcoming information from her. He had stopped asking, because he understood that she really, really didn´t want to talk about her past. Instead he tried to find out more about her by watching her and listening astutely to everything she said. He was mentally compiling a “things I know about Clarice” list. After almost nine months it was still pretty empty. She knew about wine. He had once opened a bottle of one of his better wines from his cellar, a 2003 Sancerre which was only compatible with a vintage white burgundy or the quality Blanc Fumés of the world. She had expressed her surprise and commented favourably on it, showing an impressive knowledge about aroma, taste, regions and vintages. He mentally added “Clarice knows about wine” to his list. His estate manager Magnus had not been happy about being sidelined by Sören on the matter of finding a new tenant for the house. He had indeed already made arrangements for a viewing of the premises with several people, which he had then be forced to cancel at rather short notice. But it was nothing that a good bottle of wine from Sören´s graciously stocked wine cellar could not quickly mend. A bottle of booze could do wonders in Sweden. Sören had often wondered himself why he had so quickly agreed to letting the house to Clarice. Even though he was Swedish, he could be impulsive and drawn to making spontaneous decisions if his mood called for it, but renting a house to a person he had only known for a few minutes had been more than impulsive and spontaneuous. Clarice had simply overwhelmed him and he remained overwhelmed. Did Clarice entering his life indicate a turning point in his comfortable and stable existence?