The Near & Far Series

by Serena Clarke

  She remembered Vera’s comment that he hadn’t been the same after the accident. Now she understood that it wasn’t just the accident itself, but what happened afterwards.

  Then he sat forward, looking at her. “Why did you go to see Alvar?”

  “I knew there was something wrong about the whole situation. Turns out I was right. And…I thought there might be hope for you two yet.”

  He sat back. “Hmnf. I doubt it.”

  But she could see the idea sinking in.

  “I’m not all bad, you know.”

  Was there a new softness in his eyes, as he looked over at her?

  “I know,” he said.

  “By the way, you kept a secret from me too,” she pointed out. “Why didn’t you tell me Claire was the other person in the accident?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it rumpled. “Because if I did, you might not—”

  “What?” He didn’t reply. “I might not what?”

  He got up and walked over to the fireplace, the wood-burner empty now. “Might not want…” The sentence hung, unfinished, as he looked at the cold ashes.

  Possibility leapt in her heart, and she stood up. Better to put herself on the line now, than go back to England wondering and regretting.

  “I know about wanting,” she said.

  She reached out and laid her fingertips on his back. At that, he turned and grabbed her up, lifting her against him, kissing her as though her touch had released all his simmering, unbearable tension. She put her arms around him and held on, not believing that it would last, but taking everything while she could. He turned them around, pressing her against the smooth stone of the fire surround, and she wrapped her legs around him as he kissed her harder, deeper, making up for all the lost days. There was no fire lit, but between them, the wanting had sparked a blaze of its own.

  Finally, they paused for breath, but their bodies were still burning.

  “Between a rock and a hard place,” she murmured, pressing his hips to hers.

  “Should we stop?” he asked, his face buried in her neck.

  “N…ohhh.” He flicked his tongue against her skin, and with his warm breath on her neck, his roaming lips, his wandering hands…no. She did not want to stop.

  But she’d remembered something else—something she had to check with him.

  “Wait, though,” she said breathlessly. “Did you see the report of the wolf attack, in the translation? It was new.”

  He let her slide down to her feet. “You saw that?”

  She knew what he must have been thinking—that she’d take that information back to London with her. In her darkest moment, she’d almost been tempted to email Alcina. But she didn’t. She couldn’t, and wouldn’t.

  “Yes, I saw it,” she said. “But I didn’t tell them anything.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “Because now I understand. I came here to prove a point to my colleagues and my boss. And then I met you…and the wolves...” She met his gaze, freed by the knowledge that there were no secrets left. “And you were more important.”

  He ran his fingers along the curve of her jaw, his thumb brushing her lips, and the echo of his touch ran through her body. She wanted to grab hold of him and drag him to the bedroom, show him how important she could make him feel. Amongst other things.

  But she had to tell him one other thing.

  “And anyway…I found out just now that the report was false,” she added. “Fredrik posted it.”

  In an instant, his expression changed, and he blew out a hard breath of anger, his fists clenching and unclenching. “I should have killed him after all.”

  She couldn’t help it—she laughed.

  “I can’t believe you let Fredrik think he was going to die. You’re almost as bad as he is.”

  His grin was wry, and a little dangerous. “It’s all the time we spend in the dark. Makes us a bit twisted.”

  “Yeah, I see where that whole Scandinavian noir thing came from now,” she said.

  He took a step closer. “Speaking of time in the dark…”

  She looked at her watch. Eleven minutes to two. Whether she had eleven minutes left, or a week, she knew how she wanted to spend it.

  Then, in one swift movement, he lifted her up and headed for the bedroom. Apparently, he knew it too.

  Epilogue

  Exactly on time, the train pulled smoothly into Lillavik station. Zoe peered out the window. Under a full, pale sky, snowflakes were falling in gentle drifts, occasionally chasing each other here and there in slow whirls and flurries. The park trees, the familiar stone buildings of the village, and the dinky model-railway station were dressed in frosty Christmas white.

  Usually, this snow-globe beauty would have filled her with joy. But in this case, it only meant she’d have to wait longer to see Jakob. She sighed. Still, it would be nice to spend the car trip catching up with Bengt or Greta, whichever one of them made the drive to collect her.

  But as she stepped down from her carriage, she saw a tall, broad-shouldered man coming along the platform. No hat or scarf. Dark hair dusted by the falling snow. A smile.

  “You!” she said.

  Without a word, he scooped her up. Foreheads touching, they looked into each other’s eyes, the chilled puffs of their breath mingling as they laughed. God, she’d missed him. Well, she’d only seen him a few weeks ago in Scotland, but still. When their lips met, she felt like she’d been starving all that time, and his kiss was the only sustenance that would save her.

  “You could have grown a moustache for me,” she said, when he set her back down.

  His eyebrows knit in puzzlement. “What?”

  “Never mind,” she laughed. “Kissing is better without it, anyway.”

  “Are you sure?” he said, leaning closer again. “You might need more data to confirm that.”

  “You’re right.” She tipped her head. “Are you available to cooperate on a full research project? There might be a number of variables to test.”

  He maintained a serious expression. “I’ll do anything for good science.”

  “I like the sound of that,” she said, giving in to laughter.

  “Me too,” he said, and there was a hunger in his voice that made her stop laughing and kiss him again.

  When they finally broke apart, he straightened her woolly hat. “Come on,” he said, picking up her suitcase. “You must be cold.”

  On the outside, she was cold…on the inside, not so much. But she was keen to get back to the lodge and start this urgent project. In fact, it was feeling more urgent by the minute.

  At the top of the station steps, he took her hand and tucked it through his arm.

  “No falling over this time,” he said. “We need you in good shape for our experiment.”

  “Sensible boots,” she said, lifting one foot to show him, and he grinned.

  At the car, he opened the door for her as usual, then put her suitcase in the back. She made no comment about his driving, but he looked at her when he started the engine, and they both knew. She was, just quietly, proud of him.

  They drove to the lodge in the settling dusk, Zoe’s hand on his thigh, his hand on top. For the last year, they’d done the long-distance thing, meeting whenever and wherever they could, and with Jakob based between Scotland and Sweden, and Zoe still in London, they were racking up the miles. She’d left Vertex (cheered on by Denise) and set up as a freelance copywriter, and was building a list of clients she could work with from anywhere in the country, or even the world. She could up and go at a moment’s notice, if she wanted to...or if she had a reason to. Jakob’s invitation to spend a week in Lillavik over Christmas definitely qualified.

  They made it to the lodge without elk or incident, and Jakob parked the car in the garage. “Everyone’s in the guesthouse,” he said.

  “Everyone?” she asked.

  He pulled her suitcase from the car. “Just the most important people.”

  Sh
e knew that Fredrik wouldn’t be there. He’d signed his share of Defrost Digital back over to Alvar, and left for a job in Sydney. Hopefully he was driving Claire and Oscar mad down there. And although Alvar had asked Jakob to work with him, they both knew—as everyone did—that he was happiest following his heart, and his wolves.

  They walked across to the guesthouse, breaking the crisp surface of the snow with each footfall. On the steps, they stopped for a moment before going into the light and warmth, and the hum of voices. She breathed deeply in and out, savouring the clean northern air, drinking in the view—dark forest under a snow-heavy sky, and the big Norway spruce by the pond glowing with enough golden-white lights to rival the Eiffel Tower. He took her hand, and she leaned into him. There was nowhere in the world she’d rather be.

  In the great room, they found Bengt and Greta, Alvar, Stina, and Malin and the girls. While Fredrik had been exiled, Malin had kept up with her counselling and treatment, and was coping much better, even though Anton was still spending long stints away. Lena and Ebba seemed about six inches taller and three times sweeter, and Lena even spoke a little English. Stina was home from California for Christmas, having changed her mind about Australia and found a job soothing the successful-but-stressed residents of Silicon Valley. Alvar and Jakob shook hands and slapped each other on the back, a greeting that would have been impossible a year ago.

  There were no guests over Christmas, so Greta had decided that everyone should stay together in the guesthouse. Zoe received hugs from them all, and when they wished her Merry Christmas, she replied with God Jul, demonstrating just a little of the Swedish she’d been learning. There were murmurs of approval all round, and Greta handed her a mug of potently warming mulled wine, called glögg.

  “Welcome back,” she said. “I said you would be a real Swede.”

  Zoe smiled as they toasted each other. “I’m getting there.”

  That night, they celebrated a real Swedish Christmas Eve, with a smorgasbord of ham and herring, little sausages and meatballs, gravad lax, and of course more glögg. They Skyped with Paul and Sarah, who had amazed everyone with her recovery, and was getting a little stronger every month. Then they exchanged gifts.

  Zoe had struggled to think of something for Jakob, but in the end she’d found a 1906 first edition of Jack London’s White Fang. In a world of wolf-themed TV programmes and movies, he was one of the original fictional wolves. The look on Jakob’s face when he opened it told her that she’d made a good choice.

  “Thank you,” he said, kissing her. “I love it. You have to wait until tomorrow for your present,” he added, leaving her wondering what it could be.

  Later, Alvar mysteriously went missing, just before Santa Claus—otherwise known as Jultomten—knocked on the door bearing presents for the girls. Are there any good children? he asked, in a booming Father Christmas voice, and as Lena and Ebba jumped up and down, Zoe saw him catch Jakob’s eye.

  It was the nicest Christmas Eve she’d ever had.

  And it was even nicer later on, back in his cabin in the clearing, when they gave each other a very grown-up Christmas present indeed.

  * * *

  Neither of them was in any rush to get out of bed the next morning. It was a rare luxury to wake up together…and then wake each other up even more.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said softly, running his fingers down her spine, making her arch towards him.

  “Happy Birthday,” she replied, reaching to find the most awake part of him.

  He had no answer to that, only an appreciative rumble as her hand closed around him. Choosing a Christmas gift might have given her trouble, but she knew exactly what his birthday present should be.

  Afterwards, they ate breakfast in bed, lazy in the shared afterglow.

  “I have someone for you to meet today,” he said, passing her a pastry.

  “Really? Who?”

  He shook his head. “You’ll see. He’s helping me with your present.”

  And that was all he’d say.

  They showered, then walked up to the guesthouse. Everyone was there, drinking coffee and chatting, and there was a heavenly smell of baking coming from the kitchen. After some giggling and joking in Swedish—which had Jakob looking bashful—they switched to English for Zoe.

  “Don’t listen to a word they say,” he told her, as he and Bengt left to shovel snow from the paths.

  The women just laughed, and Malin shuffled over on the sofa, making space. Lena and Ebba were sitting on the floor in front of her, playing with dolls.

  “Come and sit with us, Zoe,” she said, her voice hopeful.

  So she did. What went around came around, and she’d long been forgiven for her own deception. Lena came to lean against her knee, showing her one of the dolls wearing ice skates, and they were back in action.

  A little while later, Bengt came back in. “Would you like to come outside?” he asked Zoe.

  “Oh…okay.”

  She stood up, and everyone else did too, a frisson of excitement suddenly in the air. Something was up. She helped Malin fasten the girls’ coats, then they all trooped outside. The snow was glittery underfoot, and the girls danced around, invigorated in the sparkly cold.

  Bengt cupped his hands at his mouth, and called out across the yard. “Okay!”

  First, they heard the sound of Christmassy bells, as though one of Santa’s reindeer had gone rogue overnight. Then, from the direction of the barn, something wondrous appeared—a stocky little horse with a golden mane and tail, pulling Brigitta’s sleigh, with Jakob in the driver’s seat. The sleigh looked just as she’d imagined it, that day in the boathouse—the new paintwork rich and red, the black runners glossy in the winter sun, and the delicate gold trim retouched.

  They came to a stop in front of her, and Jakob got down and came to stand by the horse’s head.

  “This is Atli,” he said. “Atli, this is Zoe.”

  “No way.” She looked at Jakob, amazed. “This is the most beautiful thing, ever.”

  The little horse shook his head, making the harness bells jingle. The sound rang clear in the pure air, magical and Christmassy and nostalgic all at once. Zoe ruffled his wild flaxen forelock, and he pressed his head against her front, letting out a steamy sigh in the cold air. She laughed and dropped her head to his, inhaling that oh-so-good pony smell.

  “Atli’s grandfather was one of my mother’s Icelandic horses,” Jakob told her.

  Seeing the emotion in his eyes, she touched his arm. “That’s perfect. It’s like you closed the circle.”

  “I know.” Then he smiled and held out a hand. “Shall we?”

  He helped her up onto the newly recovered seat, and covered their knees with a thick blanket. A mini-paparazzi scrum ensued as Malin and Stina took pictures with their phones, and Greta pulled out the camera, while Bengt grinned. As they drove away, the little ones chased after the sleigh, giggling and squealing. Atli shook his head, but kept his stride, unbothered by the fuss.

  “Everyone’s snap-happy today,” she commented, looking back over her shoulder. Greta gave her a wave, and took another photo, and she waved back. It must make a pretty picture, she knew, and Greta did love her Swedish traditions.

  “Snap-happy?” Jakob asked.

  There were so few English terms he didn’t know, she was always secretly pleased to teach him a new one. “Like, going crazy with their cameras.”

  “Oh. Yes.” He just smiled, and gave Atli a tickle-up with the reins.

  He drove them to the lookout point over the lake, where she and Bengt had stopped that day and seen him checking one of the cameras. Since then, the wolf population seemed to have increased in the district, if the reports from volunteers were accurate. Which they probably were, now that Fredrik had left in disgrace. But this winter, Jakob had told her, there hadn’t been any sightings or prints near the lodge, like last year. He thought the two local packs were spending more time around the western side of the lake. She was relieved—even if the
y weren’t on the Nilssons’ turf, it was more remote out there, and safer for them.

  They sat together taking in the view, and she leaned against his shoulder. For Jakob, every inlet and peak was familiar, but she was still learning the lake’s secrets.

  Atli pawed hopefully in the snow, looking for grass to nibble.

  “I’ll just, um, check the harness,” Jakob said, and got out, tucking the blanket around her knees as he went.

  Just then, she heard a bird’s call, and looked up. A bullfinch was soaring above them.

  “Oh, look at that,” she began—and then stopped.

  He was kneeling on the snow by her side of the sleigh.

  Taking a deep breath, he started to speak slowly, as though making sure not to forget a word.

  “Zoe. You might be the one who’s always falling over, but I was on my knees when I met you. Me and the wolves, that was it. Then you came to be a volunteer. Or not.”

  Her heart was pounding. “I thought you would never forgive me after that.”

  “I know.” He paused for a minute, seeming to gather his thoughts. “But your lies uncovered every truth I needed to know. You made everything the way it should be. Almost everything.” He pulled off his gloves and reached into his pocket. “There’s one more thing.”

  Just before he said the words, she saw the flash of a diamond in his hand.

  “Will you marry me?”

  “Oh…” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe both.

  He breathed out. “I wanted to say it perfectly.”

  She’d never seen him so uncertain—and it was very charming. “You did say it perfectly.”

  He shifted slightly on the snow. “Does that mean yes? Because I think my knee is frozen.”

  “Sorry!” Laughing, she jumped out of the sleigh and reached down to pull him up. “It means yes,” she said, watching relief wash over him. “That was perfect.”

  Still serious, he tugged at the tip of her left glove, and she pulled it off. Then he took her hand and slid the ring onto the appropriate finger, as she held her breath. It was stunning—tiny diamonds set in an art deco design on both sides of one big diamond, all sparkling to rival the northern frost. Her right hand went to her mouth.