ICEHOTEL

by Hanna Allen

  ‘I’m not talking pence, Maggie.’ He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I see you’re shocked.’

  ‘So how did you get into it?’ I said, after a pause.

  ‘When I was young, we all did it. There are plenty of places in Dublin.’

  ‘And you say this goes on in Edinburgh?’

  ‘It’s not in Yellow Pages. Only the cognoscenti know where to go. I’d offer to take you when we’re back, but somehow I think you’re not a player.’

  I stared at him, aghast.

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ he said.

  ‘Do you ever lose?’

  ‘Mostly I break even, though there are times when I come out with my pockets crammed. Ah, but it’s a grand feeling when that happens.’

  I was seeing him in a new light. Yet I thought he’d been a little too quick in his reply about gambling. There was another dimension to him, a dimension he was being careful not to reveal.

  After a silence, I said, ‘Have you heard of the Bibby Foundation, Mike?’

  His expression changed, and he set down his glass.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ I said.

  ‘It’s impossible not to have heard of them. Wilson Bibby has just unveiled his big new schools’ initiative.’

  ‘You know about that?’ I said, surprised.

  ‘The Swedish papers are full of it. And, I expect, so are the papers everywhere else.’ He rolled the glass between his palms. ‘The Bibbys were in Stockholm last week, meeting members of the Swedish government.’

  ‘And this week they’re at the Icehotel.’

  His eyes flicked up at me. ‘Yes, I knew they’d be coming here.’

  ‘How on earth did you find that out?’ Surely Bibby, a man who travelled incognito, wouldn’t broadcast his holiday location to the world.

  ‘It isn’t widely known they’d be coming to the Icehotel,’ Mike said, ‘but one of the Yanks I was drinking with is working with Bibby. He told me. So, what’s the big interest in the Bibby Foundation?’

  ‘I’ve just been speaking to Marcellus Bibby, and – ’

  ‘You’ve been speaking to him?’ A look of horror crossed Mike’s face. ‘Listen, Maggie, it’s not often I give women advice, but I’m telling you now to steer clear of him. Of both of them.’

  ‘That’s not going to be possible. We’re in the same hotel.’

  He ran a hand through his hair, sighing in irritation.

  ‘Why should I steer clear of them?’ I said defensively.

  A pulse was beating in his temple.

  ‘I’m concerned, Mike, because Harry relies on the Bibby Foundation for his research funding.’

  ‘Holy Mother o’ God. This just gets better and better. He takes money from them?’ His jaw muscles clenched. ‘Sounds like Harry’s moral compass has taken him places it shouldn’t. Take it from me, you need a long spoon to sup with the Bibbys.’

  ‘You’re exaggerating,’ I said, looking away.

  His voice was laced with sarcasm. ‘Is this why you’re all here, then? To see the great grand man? Like flies to shit.’

  ‘We had no idea Wilson Bibby would be at the Icehotel,’ I said hotly.

  But Mike had known. He’d known, and he’d chosen the Icehotel for a last-minute holiday. I wondered then just how last-minute it had been. He’d been drinking with the Americans on Saturday. Had he made a snap decision when he learnt about Bibby’s Icehotel vacation? Perhaps it was Mike who wanted to see the great man. But, given his strong feelings about Bibby, I couldn’t help but wonder why.

  ‘What do you have against Wilson Bibby?’ I said. ‘Come clean, Mike.’

  ‘The man’s a gobshite. A streak of piss.’

  ‘Once again, please. This time with feeling.’

  He shot me a look of venom. ‘Let’s just change the subject.’

  ‘If you like,’ I said, shrugging.

  ‘Tell me to mind my own business,’ he said, after a pause, ‘but is Harry gay?’

  ‘If he were, would you have a problem with that?’

  ‘Of course not, I don’t give a fiddler’s fart one way or the other. My young brother is gay. No, it’s just that I like to know the lie of the land.’ His lips twitched. ‘I love his voice. It’s a male version of Maggie Smith’s in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie.’ He swirled his beer. ‘He strikes me as a pathological optimist.’

  ‘He has to be. He’s an academic.’

  ‘How did you meet him?’

  ‘Liz introduced us a couple of years ago.’ I smiled, remembering. ‘She took me to one of his lectures.’

  ‘Not Nature or Nurture?’

  ‘I have to confess I haven’t read his book but, yes, I think it was. He told us about the international terrorists he’s interviewed.’

  ‘He’s interviewed terrorists?’ There was admiration in Mike’s voice.

  ‘Some were serving prison sentences. He was deliberately vague about the whereabouts of the others. But I must tell you, you’ll laugh at this, he was recounting the story of how he’d lost his passport somewhere in the Middle East, and was being held overnight in this hole of a prison. You know he has this cowlick in his hair? Well, he reached up to push it back, and his glasses went flying into the front row. It was the look on his face. I nearly wet myself. But he just went down into the audience, cool as you like. Some bloke had leapt out of his seat and caught them, and Harry asked him if he wanted to join the university cricket team. Then he carried on with his talk as though nothing had happened.’

  Mike grinned. ‘Got to admit it, he has flair.’

  Right on cue, Harry arrived. His clothes were usually the stuff of television makeovers, but he was dressed more soberly today in a navy suit that was so old, the style was coming back. He was wearing a blue-and-white spotted bow tie, the type my father called a ‘proper bow tie’ and not one of those ‘modern elasticated contraptions’. Expertly knotted, it epitomised everything that Harry stood for.

  ‘Ah, you’re here, children,’ he said. ‘Let me get myself a drink.’ He caught the waiter’s eye.

  I wondered whether I should broach the subject of Bibby and his funding, but this was hardly the time. Better to wait till we were alone.

  ‘Tell me now, Harry, what’s it like being an academic?’ said Mike. ‘Is it really all croquet and cucumber sandwiches?’

  ‘Good Lord, no. But it is wonderful, a life of great variety. There’s teaching, which I love – all those fresh young minds. And then there’s research. I would have to be honest, however, and say it’s research that keeps me in academia.’

  ‘So what’s the attraction?’

  He polished his spectacles. ‘It enables me to travel and meet people, not just academics, but from all walks of life. I’ve met terrorists, and been in a couple of tight spots. Occasionally I’m asked to do a spot of research for the police, and sometimes I have to testify in court. And then there are the book deals.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Unbelievably lucrative.’

  Mike laughed. ‘Haven’t you ever had a proper job, Harry?’

  I closed my eyes, embarrassed at his gaucheness.

  ‘Like what, dear boy?’ Harry said quietly.

  ‘Doing what Maggie does, for example.’

  I threw him a look, annoyed he’d dragged me and my job into the conversation.

  ‘Ah, the money.’ Harry eyed me appreciatively. ‘Never understood it. It’s outwith the orbit of an academic, I’m afraid.’ Harry’s views on how the rest of the world made a living were well-known to Liz and myself, but he never missed an opportunity to articulate them to others. ‘If you want to know what God thinks about money, Mike, look at the sort of people he’s given it to.’

  Mike grinned. ‘Game, set, and match, Harry.’

  I glanced at my watch. ‘Does anyone know where Liz is?’

  ‘She’s in the computer room, talking to the twins,’ said Harry. ‘She said she’d meet us in the restaurant.’

  ‘That’s a long time to be on the pho
ne.’

  ‘She’s speaking via the computer, my dear. Some whizzo Internet trickery that allows her to see the twins as she speaks.’

  ‘I didn’t know they had computers,’ said Mike. ‘There’s just time to check my e-mail before dinner. See you all later.’ He rose hurriedly and left the room.

  I caught Harry’s eye.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, smiling, ‘I suspect the attraction is not the computers, but the lovely Liz.’ The smile faded. ‘But if he breaks her heart, I’ll kill him.’

  I put a hand on his arm. ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about, Harry.’ I hesitated. This was going to be difficult. ‘I’ve been speaking with Marcellus Bibby.’

  He looked startled. ‘Have you indeed?’ he said faintly.

  ‘He and Wilson were in Stockholm last week, promoting some new initiative.’

  ‘I know about that.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘The Bibby Foundation keeps us abreast of new enterprises. They’re good that way. There was a big write-up in the autumn newsletter about this Stockholm event.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘I must admit, I rather dragooned you and Liz into choosing this week for the holiday. You see, I had intended to pop over to Stockholm and arrange a meeting with Wilson Bibby.’

  So that was why he’d cancelled Rome. My breath came out in a rush. ‘A meeting, Harry. But why?’

  ‘I need to persuade him to continue funding my research. I thought that a face-to-face, where I could thrall him with the force of my argument, would clinch it. I was going to give him a signed copy of my book.’ A look of sadness crossed his face. ‘As you saw at the airport, I rather blew it. I was caught on the hop, I simply didn’t expect to see him there. But I had to speak to him because I thought it might be my only chance. He could have been jetting off anywhere.’ He patted my hand. ‘Still, not to worry. I’m sure no irreparable harm was done.’

  ‘Oh Harry,’ I moaned, ‘I don’t know how to tell you this.’

  He smiled kindly. ‘Tell me what, my dear.’

  I scrolled through the phrases I could use, but there was going to be no easy way. ‘Wilson is re-organising the Bibby Foundation. He intends to drop some things the Foundation supports. Research will be one of them. He said that – ’ I stopped, seeing the look on Harry’s face.

  He was leaning forward, his eyes devouring mine. ‘He’s cutting support for research? Are you sure that’s what he said? You couldn’t have misunderstood?’

  ‘Marcellus was quite clear.’ I clutched his arm, alarmed at his despair. ‘But it’s not definite. Wilson still has to get his Board’s approval, and they won’t like it.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. There are leading academics on the governing body, many of whom I know personally. But I wonder why I haven’t heard about this. There was nothing in the newsletter.’

  ‘I had the impression Wilson’s told no-one yet. Marcellus said that, if it happens, it won’t be till next year. It isn’t the end of the world, Harry. It leaves you time to find another source of funding.’

  He was struggling to keep himself under control. ‘I very much doubt it. I try every year, and the Bibby Foundation is the only organisation that gives me a grant.’

  ‘What about applying for government funding? I would have thought, with all the terrorism – ’

  ‘I’ve tried that avenue, but there’s simply too much competition. No, there’s no point applying elsewhere. I’ll have to start a completely new line of research, which won’t be easy at my age. And, whatever my colleagues say, I’m not ready for a pipe-and-slippers life yet,’ he added defiantly.

  ‘Oh no, Harry,’ I murmured.

  He dropped his head. ‘I must admit this is a body-blow I hadn’t expected.’

  I squeezed his hand, anguished, unable to think of anything to say.

  He sat slumped, face slack, mouth half open, probably wondering which sleight of hand could make this disappear, like one of his carnations.

  ‘Come on, Harry.’ I guided him gently to his feet. ‘Time for dinner.’

  The dining room was on the first floor. A large warm room, it was decorated in the same cream and maroon colours as the rest of the Excelsior. The single picture window was framed with silk curtains that pooled the floor in a swirl of cream. Nothing could be seen through the glass, except the Icehotel, visible as a ghostly imprint against the dark sky.

  Our group was seated at the long table that ran the length of the room. We were all present. All except the Bibbys – they had a private table at the window, and were conversing across a couple of bottles of wine. Wilson seemed to be doing all the talking. And all the drinking. He looked relaxed in a brown sweater and tan slacks. Marcellus was wearing designer army camouflage clothes.

  Harry was seated opposite me, with Liz beside him and Mike on her other side.

  He let out another button of his waistcoat. ‘I’d never appreciated the taste of reindeer before, but that casserole was delicious.’

  Good food was guaranteed to lift Harry’s spirits. I was now bitterly regretting having told him about Wilson’s funding decision. It would have been better to have left him in a state of happy delusion, and waited till our return before bursting his bubble. Poor Harry. That he was so dependent on charity for his research explained his ingratiating behaviour at the airport. But what had taken me completely by surprise was his throw-away comment about his plan to visit Wilson. Yet the Icehotel had been Liz’s choice of venue. Had Harry conspired with her to ensure that we chose to come to Sweden? Could he have been so manipulative? No, I was sure Liz would have told me. Harry had just seen an opportunity and taken it. And it had now come to nothing.

  Dessert arrived, a concoction of loganberries and ice cream, served in individual ice dishes.

  ‘You have to eat it quickly,’ said an unfamiliar voice, ‘or the ice will melt.’

  The voice was sitting to my immediate right. It was the fair-haired man I’d seen in the gym with Mike.

  He smiled broadly. ‘My name is Jonas,’ he said, pronouncing it, Yonas. ‘Jonas Madsen,’ he added.

  ‘Maggie Stewart.’

  He held the dish to his chin and shovelled the spoon into his mouth. His hands were as big as plates, the wiry hairs standing on his fingers like bristles. His hair was that shade of red that glints with gold; although long, it was thinning on top, and the pink scalp was showing. From the side, his face was so fleshy that his eyes disappeared into his head, like currants in a lump of pink dough.

  ‘Is this your first time at the Icehotel?’ he said. His words were slightly slurred. Empty beer bottles littered the table in front of him.

  ‘Yes, I’m here with friends.’ I dipped my spoon into the loganberries. ‘But you said, “first time”. Have you slept in the Icehotel before?’

  ‘When you’ve done it once, you want to do it again.’ He turned his head. ‘A bit like sex.’ He smiled directly at me. ‘In fact, a lot like sex.’ He glanced at my breasts. His eyes glazed over and he began to sway. For a second, I thought he was going to fall face down onto the table, but he blinked hard a few times and kept himself upright.

  ‘Jonas,’ I said, when the silence had gone on too long. ‘Is that a Swedish name?’

  He attacked his dessert, scooping up the remains of the berries. ‘I’m Danish.’ He motioned to his friends. ‘We are all from Copenhagen. Do you know it?’

  ‘I’ve never been.’

  ‘You should visit. It’s a beautiful country.’

  ‘What’s it like living there?’

  ‘I don’t live in Copenhagen. My home is in Göteborg now.’

  Geography was never my strong point. I hesitated. ‘In Denmark?’

  ‘Sweden. I work for a Swedish company.’ He set down the ice dish. ‘Göteborg is a wonderful city. It’s a pity my company is always sending me to Stockholm.’

  I was having difficulty keeping up. ‘Why don’t you live in Stockholm, then?’

  ‘I have a woman in Göteborg.’ He glanced at my breas
ts again. ‘Anyway, it’s no skin off my face. The company pays for the hotels. I’ve been to Stockholm so many times I must have stayed in all of them.’

  ‘Don’t you get bored with hotels?’ I said, bringing the napkin to my lips. ‘All that powdered coffee and tiny soap?’

  ‘It depends on the hotel. My favourite was the Maximilian.’ He smiled lazily. ‘It was the best. Not too large, but not small either. And the finest wine cellar in Europe. The company kept a suite there. But the hotel closed down last year because – ’

  There was a sudden shout as the Dane next to Jonas knocked over a bottle. Beer spilt onto the table, spreading in all directions. Jonas jumped up as though touched with a cattle prod. He grabbed his napkin and mopped at his crotch, cursing in Danish as his friends bellowed with laughter and slapped the table. He hissed, wiping himself down, then resumed his seat and called to the waiter for more beer. When the man reappeared, he thanked him politely, took the bottle and drank deeply.

  ‘You must excuse my friends. They have no manners.’ His eyes rested on my face. ‘So, did you go on the tour of the Icehotel?’

  ‘Absolutely. It was simply marvellous.’

  ‘Then you know that the Icehotel is different every year. It’s why I always make time to look around it.’

  ‘I didn’t see you on the tour.’

  ‘Sometimes I take the tour.’ He pulled a face. ‘But not if Marita is the guide.’

  ‘I thought she was excellent,’ I said, leaping to her defense.

  ‘I don’t know how to say it in English, but she’s’ – he stopped and conversed quickly with one of his companions – ‘tight-arsed,’ he said loudly, his face serious. ‘But occasionally, Karin gives the tour. She is much more’ – he paused for a second – ‘loose-arsed.’

  I nodded, making a supreme effort to keep my face straight. Most of the conversation in the room had stopped.

  Jonas’s eyes wandered to the Bibbys. He motioned with the bottle. ‘Who are those two sitting on their own?’

  ‘Wilson Bibby, and his son, Marcellus. Have you heard of the Bibby Foundation?’

  ‘What is it? A type of face-cream?’

  ‘A charity.’

  He spoke slowly, his words distorted. ‘Why don’t they sit with us? Are they tight-arsed too?’