‘You used to be an academic.’
‘I no longer enjoy that luxury.’
‘But what if that whole story about Irma and Mira was just some old case, of no relevance today, which simply happened to crop up again. And what if the EU’s new member, Poland, realised that this case might come in very handy as a means of saving itself from landing in the soup. That’s what I’m thinking, Konstantin. You haven’t been there long enough yet to get rid of all the bad apples you’ve inherited. And the last thing anyone wants is for Poland’s loyalties to be called into question, not now, with the EU negotiations and the country’s integration into NATO coming up. No one needs that, do they?’
‘I have a plane to catch. There is no Serbian spy. Read the papers. It’s official, straight from Washington.’
‘And naturally we both believe that.’
‘Forget the whole business, Per. The war is won, the past is dead, what matters is the future. We’re talking about a new Europe. A different and better Europe. A Europe for all of us.’
Toftlund’s hold on Gelbert’s arm tightened slightly:
‘Is he actually a Pole, this guy who passed information to the Serbs? Is he, Konstantin? He doesn’t have a damn thing to do with all that other business I was looking into, does he? My case was just a blind, to draw attention away from the real issue. It just struck me, that’s all. That you might have had more control over the final stages than it appears on the surface.’
Gelbert pulled his arm away, climbed demonstratively into the back of the car and grasped the handle. But he held the door open:
‘The excellent Commissioner Vuldom hinted at something similar. She asked me to say hello. Hoped you were enjoying your holiday.’
‘Thanks. And what conclusions did you two reach?’
‘That we both wish for a continued, productive collaboration. That we both appreciate the fact that we live in difficult times, in which the important thing is to consolidate the bonus of peace which we have miraculously gained. And we are agreed that peace created by human beings can easily be destroyed by human beings.’
‘Well, that all sounds very simple,’ Toftlund said.
‘Do you play chess, Per?’
‘Not very well.’
‘I’m a good chess-player. It’s a game for those who are always thinking several moves ahead. If you do that you know that sometimes it’s necessary to sacrifice a pawn or two, and possibly even a knight.’
‘You play for Poland.’
‘I told you in Warsaw that we had been given a window of opportunity. My job is not to close it, but to make sure it remains open.’
He pulled at the door. Toftlund hung onto it, but Gelbert said:
‘We’ll meet again, Per. And when we do we can discuss what’s possible, what’s unattainable and what’s realisable; we can talk about our dreams, about the corruptness of power and the philosophical and practical necessity of discussing at one’s leisure the great questions in life and the need for a moral conscience in the service of power. But right now I have a plane to catch.’
‘What a load of bullshit, Konstantin. What will you do to him? If you know who he is?’
‘Oh, we know alright. Now we do.’
‘And?’
‘And the case is closed. He’ll disappear.’
‘I see, and how do you feel about that?’
‘What a childish question. I am not me. I am the interests of Poland. All else is between my and my garden which I rarely have time to tend these days. But right now you do. So, my friend, tend your little garden.’
Toftlund let go of the door and Gelbert closed it with a costly little bang. Toftlund followed the car with his eyes as it drove down the narrow road, through the roundabout and disappeared over the low hill. He walked back to Lise who was standing rocking the baby.
‘What a great guy,’ Lise said.
‘Yeah. A great guy.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she asked.
‘Nothing. That he’s a great guy. What did you talk about while I was on my run?’
‘Oh, different things. He’s a very well-informed man, Konstantin, and very charming.’
‘No, tell me, what did you talk about?’
‘About the war being over. About books a little. And about you, of course.’
‘And?’
‘We agreed that you’re a good man, Per, but that you need to be taken in hand, given a bit of polish. That you’re the soul of honesty, but maybe not all that sophisticated. That you’re actually a clever guy, you just don’t realise it yourself. That you understand a lot of things, but aren’t capable of formulating them. It was so good. For the past month I’ve done nothing but babble baby-talk to Freya, discuss breast-feeding and burping with Pernille and my mum, and sleeping and weight curves with my husband. Which is fine, but it gets a bit boring talking about nothing but baby’s bowel movements.’
Toftlund could not help smiling. He stroked first Freya’s, then Lise’s cheek. He loved touching them both.
‘He was really easy to talk to,’ Lise said and shook her hair, as if the hairband was pinching slightly.
Freya began to whimper. Her dummy had fallen out and her whimpers quickly turned to howls.
‘I think she’s hungry. Running does that to her,’ he said and picked up the dummy. He stood with it in his hand, very close to Lise.
With the baby in her arms, she went up on tiptoe and kissed Toftlund on the lips. Lightly at first, but then he felt her tongue, and her breasts pressing against him. Then she pulled away:
‘You’re just fine, Per. In fact you’re wonderful and we love you, but sometimes you talk the most awful bullshit.’
‘He’s not as simple as he looks. Konstantin, I mean.’
‘Not many people are.’
She hugged the baby to her, pressed against him and kissed him again before saying:
‘I don’t want to hear any more about that case. Now you’re going to go in and have a shower while I feed this little glutton and then you’re going to come to bed with me.’
He looked at her:
‘Is it okay?’
‘Per, you great dope. I’m not sick. I was pregnant, I had the baby. I’m all healed. I’m a woman. I miss my husband. I’m still your wife and I want you. To put it bluntly, I’m horny as hell.’
She cradled the baby in one arm and with her free left hand she cupped his balls and hefted them, making him jump, so surprised was he by her words and her fondling hand, which he had not felt in such a long time.
‘If you’re up to it,’ she said, eyeing him and giving his lips a little peck.
‘Oh, I’m up to it,’ he assured her.
‘Hm, it certainly feels like it. So how about showing me?’
‘Right now?’
‘After she’s fed. She’ll sleep for at least a couple of hours if we’re lucky. I can’t wait to find out how much you’ve missed me.’
‘Oh, I’ve missed you a lot.’
‘Then show me, Per. Show me, my love.’
Thanks
I FIRST HAD THE IDEA for Teddy and his pictures back in the winter of 1998–1999, but I would like to thank the former Danish Foreign Minister, Uffe Ellemann-Jensen, who drew my attention to the monument at Narva and, by asking who could have erected it, put me on the trail of this story. Thanks also to the workers with the Danish Refugee Council and the Danish Emergency Management Agency in Albania who, in the spring of 1999, gave me some insight into the difficult job they do in that tormented land. Nor would this story have got very far without the clear, simple introduction to the Storebælt Bridge security systems provided by the obliging and efficient staff at the Operations Centre at Halskov. My thanks also to everyone else who has assisted me, not least to Jørgen Anton, who helped me more than he may imagine, and to Jan Stage for the story about Hoxha. To Otto Lindhardt for reading the manuscript and offering his advice. To Hans Henrik Schwab for being such an excellent editor. And as always to Ulla for he
r invaluable help and support. The final responsibility rests, of course, with me and to claim that this novel is not based on actual events would be absurd. It is, nonetheless, a work of fiction in which my freely invented characters inhabit a setting which could be real, but is, in fact, of my own creation.
Leif Davidsen, Copenhagen, 2001
About the Author
LEIF DAVIDSEN is a Danish journalist and the author of a number of bestselling suspense novels. He has worked for many years for Danish radio and television as a foreign correspondant and editor of foreign news, specialising in Russian, East and Central European affairs. He is the author of The Serbian Dane (Arcadia).
BARBARA J. HAVELAND was born in Scotland and now lives in Denmark with her Norwegian husband and teenage son. She has translated works by several leading Danish and Norwegian authors including Peter Høeg, Linn Ullmann and Jan Kjærstad.
Copyright
First published in the United Kingdom in 2009
by Arcadia Books, 15-16 Nassau Street, London, W1W 7AB
This ebook edition first published in 2011
Originally published in Danish by Lindhardt & Ringhof in 2001 Translation from the Danish © Barbara Haveland
All rights reserved
© Leif Davidsen, 2001
The right of Leif Davidsen to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
ISBN 978–1–908129–66–6
The Woman from Bratislava Page 45
