In my mind’s eye I saw Viktor lying in bed as the sheets caught light.
“It’s over,” I said curtly.
Jack had never met him, didn’t know any details. And I didn’t feel like giving him any.
The flame of the candle was reflected in Jack’s eyes.
The waiter brought us a plate of air-dried ham and thin, triangular slices of cheese. I picked up a piece of ham, it felt greasy on my fingers but melted in my mouth.
“I like being here. I’ve never been to Spain before.”
“Where have you been, then?”
“Denmark. And Fjällbacka.”
“That’s where you’re from?”
“Yes. Fjällbacka. Not Denmark.”
I thought back to that trip to Denmark. Legoland. Which, predictably, had ended in disaster.
“What’s it like?”
“The opposite of this,” I said, gesturing toward the square. “Empty streets. One single place to go if you want to go out. Everyone knows everything about everyone else.”
“Your parents still live there? Brothers and sisters?”
Jack reached for a piece of ham but didn’t take his eyes off me.
Sebastian’s face appeared in my mind. Badly beaten, that terrible night.
I swallowed a few times.
“My parents are dead. I’m an only child.”
The waiter appeared with more food. Potato wedges, garlic prawns in oil, olives, meatballs in tomato sauce.
I raised the cocktail to my mouth. The rum burned my throat. It was a strong mojito. Not like the expensive but miserly ones you got at Stureplan. I realized I probably looked depressed. Made an effort to regain control of my features, but all the alcohol we’d consumed since leaving Stockholm wasn’t making it easy. I lit a cigarette to gain some time.
“I’d like to go there with you one day.”
Jack didn’t ask any more about what I’d said. I loved him even more for that.
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“Yes, I would. Of course I would. I like seeing new places. I can’t get enough of new places.”
And women, I thought. But said nothing.
“I’ve got friends who used to spend the summer in Fjällbacka. It’s supposed to be lovely,” he said, soaking up the oil from the garlic prawns with a piece of white bread.
“So what’s your secret, Jack?” I said, changing the subject.
I drank some more of the mojito as the stars in the night sky above us came closer.
“My dad’s an alcoholic and compulsive gambler,” he said quickly. He tore off a bit more bread and dipped it in the oil. “He’s a fucking loser who’s drunk away a large chunk of his inheritance. The black sheep of the family. But he’s never been able to take my surname away from me. And, yes, it opens a lot of doors. But not because of him. I’ve got the rest of the family and my ancestors to thank for that.”
“I had no idea.”
“No, it’s not the sort of thing you put on your business card. There aren’t many people who know. When people ask, I usually say he lives abroad. It’s easier that way. But it’s no secret in the finer social circles in Stockholm. Everyone knows about my old man.”
“What about your mother?”
“Remarried. Her new husband’s a bastard as well, but at least he’s a sober bastard. She’s not great when it comes to picking men. Maybe that’s what happens when you pick them according to how much money they’ve got. They live in Switzerland. I left home when I was sixteen. My uncle Carl got me an apartment and gives me a monthly allowance for rent and food, in exchange for me going to college.”
“Brothers and sisters?”
“No. An only child, like you.”
Jack ran his hand through his hair but his bangs fell back across his forehead at once. A man was going from table to table selling roses. As he approached Jack shook his head and the man moved on.
“You’re very easy to talk to,” Jack said. “I’m telling you things I don’t usually talk about.”
“Funny. I was thinking the same. I wonder why that is?”
It was a lie. There were plenty of things I hadn’t told Jack.
“Maybe we’re pretty similar.” Jack lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “Other people probably don’t realize how lonely you and I are.”
I was fascinated by the fact that he saw himself as lonely. I’d only ever seen Jack surrounded by people.
“What are we like?” I asked curiously.
The fact that he thought we were similar was dizzying.
“We like other people, to a certain extent. We know their game. Play along. Pretend to be like them, pretend to be happy. But the truth is, we’re . . .” He fell silent and looked at me intently. “Faye, you’re a romantic. You don’t think anyone can tell. You pretend to be nonchalant, indifferent. But you want the world to be richer, more beautiful. You’re not going to make do with an average, humdrum existence. You want to get to the top, to own the world. You’ve got ambitions. That’s why you didn’t stay in Fjällbacka, why you moved to Stockholm. And that’s why we’re drawn to each other. We’re the same. Hungry. But you’ve got one disadvantage if you want to go up in the world. You’re a woman. And this is a man’s world.”
I wanted to protest, tell him he was wrong. But deep down I agreed with what he said. So I swallowed. Nodded. Opened my mouth to reply but was interrupted by the waiter bringing us more dishes. Our table was soon covered with food. Calamari, fried mushrooms, paella, lamb sausages and aioli. My empty glass was replaced by a large glass of red wine, and Jack got another beer. We threw ourselves at the delicacies, and I realized I hadn’t looked at the time since I left my apartment.
We sat there for an hour or so after we’d finished eating. We came nowhere close to finishing it all. We drank wine and beer and talked. I fell deeper in love with each passing moment. My head was spinning, from the wine and all these new impressions. My stomach felt heavy with food and satisfaction. I had never been so happy as I was there and then. The stars had moved into my chest.
I took a drag on my cigarette. Let the smoke rise up toward the night sky.
“Tomorrow we’ll go to the beach,” Jack said. “Unless you’d rather swim in the pool on the roof of the hotel?”
“Let’s take it as it comes.”
I couldn’t choose. I wanted it all.
“You’re right. We’ll take it as it comes.”
He paid, then led the way back to the hotel. There were fewer people in the narrow alleyways now. I stumbled intentionally on the cobbles to give me an excuse to lean on him.
When we got up to the suite I realized I hadn’t yet seen the bedroom. I opened the door and turned the dimmer switch. As in the sitting room, the wall onto the terrace had been replaced by panoramic windows. Modern art on the walls. Two leather armchairs. And an enormous bed. In front of the glass wall was an old-fashioned bathtub on gilded lion’s paws.
“Jack! There’s a bath in our bedroom!” I called. “Look!”
He appeared behind me.
“I know. One day I’m going to have one just like it.”
“Me too,” I said.
“Good. Then we’re agreed.”
“Agreed on what?”
“On how we’re going to arrange our home.”
I pretended I hadn’t heard him. I didn’t know him well enough to recognize his games. I didn’t know when he was being serious and when he was joking. And I wasn’t one of those naïve, privileged upper-class girls who had lived their lives behind tall gates and were used to their horse-riding circle always being neatly raked. I knew that life wasn’t a fairytale with a happy ending. But right now, life was a fairytale. And that went a long way for someone like me.
I went over to the bath, turned the tap on, and felt the water.
“L
et’s try it!”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
I turned away from him, pulled my top over my head, and let my skirt fall. I was still wearing my heels. I felt his eyes burning into my back and enjoyed having him in my power. Slowly I unfastened my bra and took my panties off. Then I kicked off my shoes, leaving me completely naked. In the reflection of the glass I could see him standing there, frozen to the spot. Now I was the one in control.
He sat down on the bed. Started to take off his shoes and trousers. His eyes on me the whole time. I liked having him to myself. In my power.
“Are you coming or do you need help?”
“I probably need help,” he said.
I turned around slowly. Felt the wine go to my head. I walked over to him and pulled off his T-shirt and trousers. He had an amazing body. Muscular and tanned. The muscles in his arms and chest rippled under his skin. I stood in front of him. Got down on my knees and looked him in the eye. He leaned down and tried to kiss me, but I moved my head away and took hold of his underpants. He raised his backside so I could pull them off. His cock was standing straight up. I bent over and took him in my mouth. One second. Two. Three. I didn’t take my eyes off his. Then I pulled back.
“Now, time for a bath,” I said, teasing him and walking back to the bathtub.
He stood up and followed me. The bath was half-full, the water warm, a faint smell of chlorine. Then I felt his hand on the top of my arm. His grip was hard, almost aggressive. He pulled me across the room, back to the bed. He stood me at the foot of the bed and gave me a shove, making me fall forward on my stomach. I wiggled my backside to show that I was as eager as him, that I was the one controlling him. When he pushed into me I gasped. Half a second of pain. But he was careful, and waited for me. I got up on all fours and he slowly began to thrust into me. The terrace door was open and from outside came the sound of music mixed with laughter and talking. A car horn. I had only a vague perception of the sounds, distantly through the roaring in my ears. I felt his hands around my waist as he pushed into me. Dear God, I loved getting fucked by him.
“Harder,” I groaned. “Harder!”
He put one hand on the back of my neck and pushed my head down into the pillow and did as I asked. I shuddered as the orgasm spread through my whole body. A moment later Jack came with a loud groan. He threw himself forward, lying on me with his full weight. We lay like that for a while. Silent, absorbed in the intensity of what we had just experienced.
Then we moved across to the bathtub. Jack got the lump of hash and rolled a joint that we kept passing between us.
“You’re very, very sexy,” Jack said.
“You’re okay,” I said. “In an emergency.”
He splashed water at me and I let out a squeal, but it soon turned to bubbling laughter.
Afterward we slid under the covers naked. He put his arm round me, pulling me closer to him. Let his fingers slide across my body, but avoiding my breasts, backside, and crotch. Whenever he seemed to be heading that way he changed direction. It was frustrating. My breathing was getting heavier. I was no longer in control. My head started to spin when I realized that I had let him take charge. It frightened and excited me at the same time.
“Good night, future wife,” he whispered.
A few minutes later I heard him snoring gently.
I was still horny. I put my hand on his cock and felt it swell, crept under the covers, and took it in my mouth. He woke up and threw the covers back. Without saying a word I sat astride him, put my hands on his chest, and leaned back. He folded his hands behind his head and looked at me greedily, but said nothing.
I came again. Let him come inside me.
Then I rolled onto my side.
“That’s how we say good night to each other from now on,” I said.
Henrik and Alice Bergendahl’s home was situated in Gåshaga on Lidingö, and had its own jetty and beach. It would almost have looked more at home in Los Angeles. The seven-thousand square-foot house contained everything from a private cinema, a gym and indoor pool to a wine cellar, billiard room, table-tennis room, and no fewer than five bathrooms. The ceiling in the vast “living room”—you could easily have parked several tractor trailers in there—was thirty feet high.
While Faye, Henrik, Jack, and Alice were eating dinner by candlelight with a view across the water of Höggarnsfjärden, their children were playing with the au pair in a different part of the house. The children’s rooms had been placed as far away as possible from the rooms where Alice and Henrik spent most of their time.
A cold wind was blowing outside. Waves were rolling against the beach, fighting their way toward them before giving up and rolling back again.
Alice had ordered the food to be delivered, and a Lebanese buffet had been laid out on the enormous dining table. Faye glanced at Alice. She was wearing a tight red dress, open at the sides, so everyone could see her ribs sticking out like a bicycle rack. She was ignoring the buffet and chewing on a lettuce leaf. It probably wouldn’t be long before she switched to merely licking those wretched leaves instead.
Faye was helping herself to the mezze. Drinking the strong Amarone. The child in her stomach was going to end its short life in a metal bucket anyway. Later that night she would be taking the pill she had picked up from the pharmacist. The first of two.
“Is it good?” Alice asked with a smile.
She had been watching every mouthful Faye had eaten. Probably counting the calories in her head. And chalking them up happily against her own minus total.
“Very good,” Faye said. “Lebanese was a great choice.”
Jack let out a laugh.
“Lebanese or not, you eat everything that’s put in front of you,” he said. “You just shovel it all in.”
Faye looked down at her plate. Was that the image her husband had of her? Someone who gorged herself on anything she could find?
Henrik leaned toward her.
“How are you doing these days?” he said. “You never come up and visit us anymore.”
“No, I think it’s best to leave you in peace at work. You have so much to do.”
“Yes, there is a lot going on. But there’s always time for you.”
“Thanks, Henrik, but it’s best if I leave the two of you to look after yourselves.”
Why did they sound like strangers? Like polite acquaintances who were filling a gap with small talk? She, Jack, and Henrik used to have fun together. Talk about proper subjects. She used to be treated as an equal, occasionally their better when she rapped their knuckles about business structure and financial tools. In the end she was actually the person who came up with the business model that Jack and Henrik based Compare on. Now she felt like a child who was being allowed to sit at the grown-ups’ table.
“Are you ready, Henrik? The taxi will be here any minute.”
Jack stood up, wiping his mouth. He and Henrik were going out to meet some old friends in the city center. They were going to drop her and Julienne off at home on the way. Faye heard her running down the stairs.
“I don’t want to go home,” Julienne said, looking beseechingly at Jack. “I want to stay here.”
“Okay, you can stay here with Mommy, then. You don’t mind, do you, Alice?”
Faye bit her lip. She had been looking forward to getting home and curling up on the sofa in some comfortable clothes with a bottle of wine. Drinking away all her worries about the following day.
“Of course, the kids would love that,” Alice said.
As usual she lit up when she looked at him. More than when she looked at her husband.
“Great,” Jack said, and Julienne rushed back upstairs.
Faye and Alice walked to the door with their husbands.
“Have fun, boys,” Alice said, kissing Henrik on the lips.
“The babysitter’s comin
g at nine o’clock tomorrow,” Faye said.
“Right. Okay, see you,” Jack said, and disappeared.
They loaded the dishwasher and put the leftover food in the fridge.
“Leave the rest,” Alice said. “The housekeeper can deal with it tomorrow.”
She took out another bottle of wine and they settled down on the sofa in front of the big picture window.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Alice asked.
“I’ve got a doctor’s appointment, that’s all.”
“Nothing serious?”
“No, nothing serious.”
“It’s sweet of Jack to go with you anyway.”
Faye just murmured in reply.
Alice, with those big Bambi eyes and perfect skin. Was she happy with her life? Was there anything she felt passionate about? Faye couldn’t be bothered to play any more games. They were both trapped in golden cages. Like a couple of peacocks. Even if Faye felt more like one of the scabby pigeons at Hötorget these days. Rats with wings, as Chris usually called them with distaste.
Faye didn’t want to talk to a bird in a cage. She wanted to talk to a real person. They drank another couple of glasses.
Alice was telling a fantastically boring story about what her son, Carl, had been getting up to at preschool. Did Alice have anything else in her life apart from Henrik and the children? And the status accorded by their lifestyle? Was there a real person behind all that? Real feelings? Real dreams? Or was there something wrong with Faye, who seemed unable to be content with all this? Most people dreamed of a life like hers. Being able to buy whatever she wanted, not having to work, being successful, having beautiful children, getting invited to the opening of a new Louis Vuitton boutique and being in a position to spend more on a handbag than the average Swede earned in a month.
“What would you have done if you didn’t have Henrik?” she asked.
“How do you mean?”
“What sort of job would you have done?”
Alice thought about the question for a long time. As if it was something she had never thought about before. Eventually she shrugged.
The Gilden Cage Page 11
