Читать книгу Shadows of Sören - Nicola Stöhr - Страница 6

What was he doing here standing at his bedroom window reminiscing about Clarice and their very recent past together? He had an important meeting with a new client to attend to that morning. He owned one of the biggest consulting and accounting firms in Sweden, based in Kalmar. His company provided tax and specialist advice to businesses and their owners. And he had a personal meeting with a client who wanted to expand her ecological clothing business to Kalmar. He looked at his watch. It was earlier than he thought and he still had a good hour before he had to leave for the meeting. Then he remembered that Clarice had asked him whether he had a manual for the heat pump which Sören had installed in her house. He had found the manual the day before and then forgot about it. But Clarice was home now and he conveniently had an hour to spare before leaving for the office. So he could go over and give her the manual now. No harm in that was there? She had asked for the instruction booklet, though Sören was unsure as to why she wanted it. Those heat pumps were sensitive pieces of advanced technology and they usually readjusted themselves according to the outside temperature. He hoped she wouldn´t start fiddling around with it and mess up the whole system. Although she semed to have some competence regarding technical equipment. Tilda, the young woman who rented the second of the smaller houses across the driveway from Clarice, had told him that Clarice had connected and installed Tilda´s new television set plus the receiver and the satellite dish two weeks ago, when the TV man had not shown up as promised. And everything worked like a dream. So it would probably be alright.

Sören walked over the twenty metres or so to Clarice´s house holding the instruction manual. He waved it in her face when she opened the door.

“I found the manual which you asked for.”

Clarice seemed happy about that, “Hey that´s great. I´ll read through it tonight.”

“Are you sure your nervous system can take that much excitement? You might have trouble falling asleep tonight.”

She laughed.

“Is there a problem with the heating system?”Sören inquired.

“No, not yet, but I heard that they sometimes don´t adjust too well once the temperature drops to five below. So I´d like to be prepared. Because I hate being cold.”

“Doesn´t everyone?” Sören wondered.

“Yeah, I guess. I´ve just made a pot of coffee. Would you like some?”

“With pleasure.”

“Well then come on in.”

Sören did so promptly. He followed her from the tiny hall to the living room. The “stugan”, really a summer house according to modern standards, had only four rooms and that included the bathroom. The kitchen and living room were open and merged into each other and then there was one bedroom and a tiny laundry room. Sören looked around while Clarice poured his coffee and rooted around in her kitchen cabinets for some biscuits. She hadn´t changed anything about the interior design of the house. Sören had furnished the houses with leftovers from the main house when he had taken it over eight years ago. So most of the furniture was antique. His parents hadn´t much appreciated modern design and furnishings. Sören had a combined mix of both in his house now. The first thing he had thrown out were the horrid pictures depicting hunting scenes, which had adorned the walls of his father´s library. He had hung them in the house which Clarice now occupied. She had even left those hanging. She didn´t seem to care. Strange really, he thought, because she did like pretty trendy clothes and she also drove a spiffy little new beetle convertible in a darker reddish colour with white leather seats. Not exactly the most inconspicuous car he had ever seen. He sensed that there was a story behind this car, but he was reluctant to ask, since she hated being questioned about anything even vaguely connected to her past. Sören did however notice that she had acquired a load of very expensive cooking ware. A mass of stainless steel and copper pots and pans in different shapes and sizes and electrical gadgets in a simple but expensive looking design adorned her kitchen counters and shelves. The shelves in the kitchen were also overflowing with high quality olive oil, vinegars, spices and herbs. Many of the latter obviously bought at Sören´s own herb boutique on the gård.

The hoardes of tourists which flocked to Vickleby and inevitably to his gård in the summer had hugely annoyed Sören in the beginning and then it had occurred to him that he could actually work this influx of summer visitors to his advantage and he had set up a retail establishment, namely the herb boutique, right at the entrance of the gård. It had worked like a dream right from the start. So he had gladly settled his dispute with the members of the village council, of which he was also a member, about the sign leading to Rettinge.

So Clarice liked to cook Sören mentally added to his list. Then why the hell hadn´t she yet invited him over to dinner? The cooking ware and her assortment of oils and other ingredients obviously indicated that she cooked on a somewhat elaborate level. Weren´t those artichokes in that hanging basket? To cook only for yourself was in Sören´s opinion boring and depressing, but that was what she apparently did, since Sören hadn´t noticed any guests coming or going from her house since Clarice had lived there.

He looked at her when she sat down across from him and asked “So how are my ostriches today?”

“Well, I didn´t ask them for a health certificate or anything, but they seem happy enough to me.”

“Oh good. Happy birds make for happy meat.”

Clarice winced and then tried to compose herself quickly before Sören noticed. But he had caught the movement. He smiled at her tenderly, “Clarice”, he said carefully, “You do know that I sell their meat? You didn´t think I kept them as pets, did you?”

“No,” she said quickly, “Of course not. I knew that. I just don´t like to think about it.”

Following her natural curiosity she was going to ask how they were slaughtered, but then changed her mind. She didn´t really want to know. Instead she asked, “What gave you the idea to breed ostriches in the first place?”

“I read an article a couple of years ago in an agricultural magazine. It sounded like a profitable and interesting venture, an investement that didn´t carry a great risk. But if I had known about the strict quaranteen laws I would have reconsidered.”

“But weren´t you working in London as a hedge fund manager a couple of years ago? Or was that much earlier? When did you actually leave Öland ? And you didn´t come back for the sole purpose of breeding ostriches, did you?”

Sören smiled, “So many questions. Let´s see. After I finished school all I wanted to do was get away from Öland. This is not an uncommon phenomenon. Most young people who grow up here on the island want to get away for at least a while. So I chose to study economics and management in Oxford. My mother was still alive and well at that time and my parents were still able to afford an Oxford education for their only child. So I graduated with a master in economics and management and moved to London and worked for one of the biggest banks as a hedge fund manager.”

“Did you like it? London and your job?”

“I loved it. The noise, the people hurrying all the time, the theater, parks, nightclubs, museums, shops. Everything. It was exhilarating. And I loved my stressful job at the bank and the after hour drinks and happy banter with my colleagues.”

“Did the job involve a lot of risk taking?” Clarice asked. She was genuinely interested.

“Yes, of course. Hedge-fund-managing is a high risk, high-return trading game. And it lures plenty of dreamers, believe you me. Everyone is aware of the galling sums of money hedge-fund managers can pull in. Here´s a popular joke about hedge-fund managers: What´s the difference between a hedge-fund manager and a dove? One sits in a hole and shits on people, the other is a bird.”

Clarice could feel that he had inwardly finished with that part of his life.

I was no dreamer, though,” Sören continued “I made money in my sleep and got out while I was still making money.”

“Why? Why did you get and out and move back here? Not that I blame you. This place is beautiful but since you loved London so much and everything?”

Sören squirmed a little in his chair. “I became a little discontent. I hardly noticed in the beginning, but then this feeling persisted. And then one morning I woke up to find myself homesick. Which I had wanted to avoid under all circumstances but I couldn´t ignore it anymore. I just wanted to go home. I missed the tranquility of Öland. I missed the slow stressless feeling of it and the flatness of the landscape and the view over the Kalmarsund. And I missed Vickleby. And I missed my people. The people here who sometimes take whole minutes to finish a sentence and don´t even know how to spell words like “stress” and “hurry”.”

Clarice smiled at him warmly, “And yet they mysteriously manage to get things done in their own unhurried, slow but efficient way. At least that´s what I´ve noticed, since I´ve been living here.”

“Precisely”, he smiled back.

“So how long were you in England then?”

“About eight years.”

“ Really, that long? I wondered why you speak English with a British accent.”

Sören laughed, “Yes, it did rub off on me.”

“I´ve noticed that most Swedish people speak English with an American accent.”

Sören nodded, “That´s because of all those American programmes on television, of course.”

“What did you mean when you said your parents were still able to afford a good education for you then? Did they lose all their money later?”

“More or less, yeah.” .Sören looked down at the table and didn´t say anything for a little while.

Then he continued“My father was a drunk and a gambler. But my mother had always had a firm grip on his drinking and gambling excesses, but then she got sick. She had breast cancer and she got too sick to manage the affairs of the gård. So my father drank and gambled a lot of it away. When I came back eight years ago, I was appalled by the state of neglect and dilapidation Rettinge had fallen into. My mother died soon after and I tried to keep a firm grip on my father. It was hard though. Then he died about a year after my mother.”

“And then you set about getting the place back into shape? And you started your business in Kalmar?”

Sören looked up, “Yes that´s right. I worked myself to the bone, putting in fifteen to sixteen hour workdays. I established the company in Kalmar and got the gård back on track with the ostrich farm, the sawmill, which was already in place but inoperative and the herb shop, the örtagård. And I succeeded, but it was a tough time.”

Clarice nodded. “That´s very impressive. It really is.”

Sören leaned in a little closer to her, “So now you know almost everything about me, Clarice.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt that, Sören , she interrupted him, but he continued unperturbed, “If there´s anything about your past you´d like to share with me, please feel free to do so now or any other time.”

Clarice looked at her watch, “Didn´t you say you have a meeting in Kalmar?”

Sören looked at his own watch and cursed, “Damn, so I have and I´ll be late if I don´t leave right now. Thanks for the coffee and the conversation, Clarice. See you soon, I hope. Hejdo”

“Hejdo”.

Clarice watched him get into his bronze coloured Volvo S60 convertible and speed off, roof down, since the weather permitted it. It was still fairly warm for September in Sweden. Although dark clouds were gathering on the horizon.