The dam burst, and with tears pouring down her cheeks, Elsa said, “I . . . I’m going to have to . . . move!”
For once Maud was completely taken aback. What does she mean? Why would she have to move after fifty-three years in the same apartment? She doesn’t have dementia, she’s still healthy and in good shape, and there’s an elevator if she needs it. All Maud could come up with was: “Why?”
Elsa shook her head as she wept uncontrollably.
“I’ll make some coffee. It’s your birthday, and it would be a shame to waste that cake.” Resolutely, Maud got to her feet and went over to the counter. “Have you had any breakfast?” she asked.
Elsa shook her head again.
“In that case I’ll make you a sandwich.”
She set out bread, butter, and various toppings, then switched on the coffee machine. As the aroma spread through the kitchen, Elsa began to calm down. She fumbled in the pocket of her robe, dug out a handkerchief, and blew her nose loudly. Maud found cups and plates, then made a sandwich with a generous helping of pâté, garnished with sliced pepper and cucumber. Finally she placed the chocolate cake in the center of the table.
“There. Happy birthday!” she said.
Elsa dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief, then whispered, “Thank you . . . Thank you so much, Maud.”
This was no good. It was time Elsa pulled herself together. Maud adopted her firm-but-fair teacher’s voice. “I think you ought to go and get dressed. It is your birthday, after all. You never know who might come calling.”
The drooping figure shook its head yet again. “No one will come . . .” Elsa fell silent, then suddenly she straightened up and got to her feet.
“I’ll tell you what’s happened, Maud. But you’re right: I need to go and smarten myself up. And I’ve got a bottle of something delicious tucked away.”
She headed for the bathroom, and Maud heard the sound of running water, which went on for some time. When the door opened, she saw that Elsa had taken a shower and combed her hair. Elsa then went into her bedroom and reappeared a few minutes later wearing a red jersey dress that Maud had never seen before; it really suited her. She swapped the sheepskin slippers for black pumps and put on a pretty pearl necklace. As she came closer, Maud could smell lavender soap and a light cologne. That was a speedy recovery, she thought with satisfaction.
“Nice dress. It looks lovely,” she said.
“Thank you.”
Elsa was carrying a bottle of port. She took two small crystal glasses out of one of the kitchen cupboards. “We need this,” she said, putting the bottle and glasses on the table.
Maud poured coffee while Elsa filled the glasses. Right to the top. It’s not even twelve o’clock, Maud thought. Things are looking up.
Elsa nibbled at her sandwich, then put it down and helped herself to a slice of cake instead. After a couple of bites she said, “Let’s have a toast—and make it a good one.”
She attempted a smile, but it was more of a grimace.
“Here’s to you. Happy birthday again,” Maud said, taking a decent swig of the port at Elsa’s insistence. It was sweet and strong, the perfect accompaniment to the chocolate cake.
The color began to return to Elsa’s cheeks. As soon as her glass was empty, she refilled it. Now that she looked better, it was time to find out exactly what was going on. Maud was just about to ask when Elsa took a deep breath.
“It’s Johannes.”
No surprise there.
“He . . . he’s got problems.”
You don’t say.
“As you know, he’s the loveliest, kindest person in the world, and he has lots of friends. There’s one in particular—they’ve been close since they met at the university. Totte . . . Torsten von Pansarklinga. He’s from a well-known family, very rich. He’s a nice boy, but he’s had a strong influence over Johannes, who hasn’t always been able to keep up with Totte’s activities. Johannes has tried . . . he really wants to do the same things as his best friend. As you know, he was bullied in school. He’s a little sensitive, with his allergies and his asthma, which meant he couldn’t get involved in any sports. It’s easy for a boy to feel excluded because of that kind of thing, so Totte’s friendship has always been very important to him. He’s had a lot of fun with Totte, even if he couldn’t afford it sometimes. Boys will be boys . . . But he’s in trouble now. Johannes has debts . . .”
The words had come flooding out like a waterfall, but now she fell silent, clutching her glass. She knocked back half the contents in one go. Maud took a small sip. Something told her it would be best to keep a clear head; money and debts were always a major problem, in her experience. Then again, problems can be solved, one way or another. “Boys will be boys . . .” Both Johannes and Totte were fifty-five years old! Pathetic.
Elsa put down her glass with such force that Maud was afraid the stem would snap. It held, but the embroidered cloth was spattered with port. Elsa didn’t seem to notice. She looked Maud straight in the eye.
“Johannes owes . . . someone . . . money. A lot of money . . . that he hasn’t got.”
At that point her hard-won self-control gave way, and the tears began to flow again. Suppressing a sigh, Maud got up and tore off a substantial length of paper towels. She’d forgotten to put out napkins, but this was just as good. Without a word she handed it to Elsa, who mumbled her thanks.
“If I’ve understood you correctly, Johannes has debts that he can’t pay. I don’t see why that means you have to move.”
Elsa blew her nose and gazed at Maud with red-rimmed eyes.
“He has to pay by . . . New Year’s Eve at the latest.”
Less than three weeks. Even if Elsa found a buyer before the end of the year, Maud knew that the sale would take time to go through. In the best-case scenario, she might have the money by the middle of January, but the end of the month seemed more likely.
The idea that she would be able to get her hands on a substantial amount of cash by New Year’s Eve was ridiculous.
“But he’s got his own apartment on Tegnérsgatan,” Maud pointed out. “It’s his debt, so surely he ought to sell his place. I don’t see why you have to get involved.”
Elsa sat in silence for a long time, staring at her empty glass. With a shaking hand she picked up the bottle and poured herself another drink, then knocked it back in one go. It went down the wrong way, as they say, and she started coughing. Maud gave a resigned sigh, stood up and thumped Elsa on the back, then went to fetch more paper towels.
When Elsa had stopped coughing and calmed down, she took a deep breath. Without meeting Maud’s gaze, she gabbled, “Johannes sold his apartment last year, he’s renting a sublet in Krokslätt, on Krokslätts Allé.”
This was news to Maud. She didn’t say anything; she simply digested all the new information she’d been given about Johannes and his exploits. A vague idea was beginning to take shape when Elsa interrupted her thoughts.
“It’s a nice little apartment—only two small rooms, though. Well, one room with the bed in an alcove.”
“Krokslätts Allé is a long avenue. What number does he live at?” Maud asked.
“Sixteen. Second floor. Very quiet.”
So Maud knew his address, which could be useful in the future. This was connected to the idea that had popped into her head; she would examine it more closely later, when she was alone. Back to the conversation about the sale of Johannes’s apartment.
“But surely he must have money, in that case?”
“No. There’s nothing left.”
The silence was suffocating. Elsa wouldn’t look at Maud; her eyes were fixed on her empty glass. Time to ask the key question.
“So what has Johannes done with all the money?”
Another uncomfortable silence, then Elsa whispered, “He . . . he gambles.”
“
On what? Poker? Horses?”
“Everything!”
Elsa’s hands were shaking quite violently as she picked up the bottle, and even more of the deep red liquid ended up on the tablecloth. Maud had barely touched her glass, but Elsa once again gulped down the contents of hers and looked at Maud, her eyes filled with tears.
“He gambles all the time. Online casinos as well as the real thing: Casino Cosmopol, roulette in nightclubs . . . He buys scratch-offs and lottery tickets. Thousands of kronor every week. Sometimes hundreds of thousands. He bets on the horses. Plays poker. He wins occasionally, but he’s had such bad luck over the past few years. He’s taken out loans with sky-high interest rates . . .”
Maud had had no clue about any of this. Elsa had never confided in her over coffee; admittedly they didn’t meet very often, but even so . . . Maud pulled herself up. Why should Elsa have said anything to her; of course, she wanted to protect her son. And to be fair, Maud had plenty of secrets of her own that she had no intention of sharing with anyone.
“How much?” Maud asked.
“How . . . ?” Elsa took a deep breath, then almost spat out the answer. “One million six hundred and fifty thousand kronor!”
It was even worse than Maud had feared. The sale of Elsa’s apartment wouldn’t bring in anywhere near that much. A few years earlier, all the apartments in the building—except for Maud’s, of course—had been changed to tenant ownership. She knew exactly what the price per square meter had been, and quickly worked out that Elsa’s would have cost about one million kronor. Prices in the city center had risen since then, but the current value couldn’t be more than 1.3 million. And there would be deductions from that sum—any outstanding loan payments, capital gains tax, and so on. No, selling the apartment wouldn’t work. However, Elsa didn’t seem to realize this, because what she said next took Maud’s breath away.
“When I’ve sold the apartment, can I rent a room with you? I know you used to have tenants, so I thought . . .”
Maud stared at Elsa. Was the woman serious? It had been ten years since Maud’s last tenant had moved out, and it had felt wonderful! The freedom to do whatever she wanted, without needing to take anyone else into account. There was no way she was ever going to let anyone else take up residence!
“Of course,” she heard herself say.
What the hell is wrong with me? Get a grip, Maud!
However, she knew she had to play for time. She straightened her back and made a huge effort to sound reassuring.
“I’ll try to get in touch with the son of my father’s best friend. He’s a few years younger than me—around seventy, I think—but he still works in banking and finance. I’m sure he’ll be able to help you and Johannes secure a loan on favorable terms.”
Elsa’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh! I didn’t realize you knew a financial hotshot!”
“We haven’t seen each other for many years. He’s been living in Stockholm since the fifties, he’s got family there, and . . . well, you know how it is.”
“Yes, you lose contact.” Elsa looked much happier, but her next question took Maud by surprise.
“What’s his name?”
Shit! What would be a good name? She said the first thing that came into her head.
“Gustaf Adelsiöö.”
“Now that sounds familiar . . .”
Damn.
Maud had been engaged to the young lieutenant for a few months when she was eighteen, so there was a slight risk that Elsa might have heard of the family. The few remaining descendants lived in Gothenburg and Värmland, so it wasn’t impossible.
“The family has major players in the finance industry. You’ve probably read about them in the newspapers,” she said quickly.
“That’s probably it,” Elsa agreed, pouring herself another drink.
After managing to carefully extricate herself without making more promises or getting any port on her dress, Maud closed the door of her apartment and went straight to her combined TV and living room. She sank down in her favorite armchair with a sigh of relief. Time to try and solve this Problem. Gustaf Adelsiöö certainly wouldn’t be coming to Elsa’s rescue; Maud would have to find a different solution.
She sat there motionless as the December twilight settled over the room. At exactly three o’clock, the electric candle bridge came on; the click of the timer brought her back to the present moment. She gave an irritated sniff. Perhaps the answer to the problem was right under her nose. She looked up Krokslätts Allé 16 online and discovered that the building was owned by a division of HSB, the co-operative housing association.
Resolutely she got to her feet and went into the kitchen. Her mother’s cookbooks were still on a small shelf in the corner. Hilda had also left a small notebook containing her favorite recipes. Maud carefully opened the yellowing pages; there was a recipe on each one, in Hilda’s rounded, slightly childish handwriting. Maud had tried several of them over the years; the book was one of the best gifts she’d ever received. Hilda had given it to her on the beautiful day in May when she left Gothenburg forever to return to her childhood village in northern Värmland. She was going to marry the local pastor at midsummer.
Goodness me. That’s over fifty years ago! Time really does go faster the older you get. However, this wasn’t the moment to get lost in memories. Maud needed to act fast. She soon found the recipe she was looking for: Hilda’s Spicy Gingerbread Cookies.
The quantities given would make about 150 cookies—rather too many for what Maud had in mind. Her plan was to mix a small amount of dough; she just wanted to check on the proportions of certain ingredients. One dessertspoon of cloves, one dessertspoon of cinnamon, one and half dessertspoons of ginger to five cups of flour.
She peered at her spice rack, then wrote down “ground ginger” on a piece of paper, along with “one packet of ready-made gingerbread dough” and “ground almonds.”
Haga Västergata sparkled with lights. There were plenty of people strolling around, admiring the Christmas displays in the windows, and the stores were busy. Maud went into Thea’s Tea and Coffee Shop and bought a shiny red bag of dark-roast Christmas Coffee. She also found a small jar of rhubarb jelly and a packet of English cookies. She looked closely at the list of ingredients on the back: no nuts, no trace of nuts. Excellent!
She then made her way to Café Sockerkringlan. There was a long line of customers waiting to be served, because the café was famous for its outstanding gingerbread cookies. Maud had heard that people started ordering them in May, for heaven’s sake! She only wanted a few. She could see several bags on a shelf, so it shouldn’t be a problem.
When her turn came, she asked, “Are there any nuts—well, almonds specifically—in these cookies? Or any trace?”
The lady behind the counter smiled. “No. We bake them in a separate kitchen. We produce so many in the run-up to Christmas that we couldn’t possibly use our normal bakery,” she explained.
Maud nodded and chose a bag made of transparent cellophane, tied with a red cotton ribbon. The label on the front read “Sockerkringlan Gingerbread Cookies” in ornate writing, while the ingredients were listed on the back: sugar, butter, golden syrup, cloves, cinnamon, ginger, flour, and baking soda. She asked the price of a little paper bag with a picture of Santa Claus, but the assistant shook her head.
“Those are free. Help yourself, and Merry Christmas!”
Maud thanked her and pushed her way out through the crowds. She set off for home, pleased with her purchases. She called a health food store on Vasagatan and bought a bag of ground almonds, then in a small supermarket a few hundred meters farther along she picked up a pack of ready-made gingerbread cookie dough, some ice chocolates, and a jar of ground ginger.
That left only one more thing, but it could wait until tomorrow.
She was going to spend the evening preparing a very special cookie dough.
Maud set out everything she needed on the counter. However, she left the flour in the cupboard, replacing it with just under half a cup of ground almonds; that should be enough for her purposes. She followed the recipe meticulously, and after a while she had a small lump of dough that looked authentic. She wrapped it in plastic and put it in the refrigerator, then tidied up the kitchen, made herself a cup of coffee, and settled down to watch the late news.
She was back in the kitchen by seven o’clock the next morning. She set the oven to 350 degrees, then took out the packet of ready-made dough, plus the lump she’d made. Quickly she kneaded the two together, then rolled the resulting dough out very thinly. Using a heart-shaped cutter, she cut out her cookies and placed them on a greased baking tray. After five minutes she took them out of the oven, but they were a little too pale. She put them back in for one more minute, then baked the next batch for six minutes. Perfect! She transferred them to a wire rack and threw the rest of the dough away.
Satisfied with her efforts, she made herself a big cup of coffee and took it into her room with two cookies. She read the morning paper in peace, enjoying the results of her labors. The cookies were delicious—spicy, and with the real flavor of Christmas. She couldn’t taste the almonds at all. At ten o’clock she went to Landala Square and bought two bottles of strong mulled wine from the liquor store—one for herself, and one for someone else. And her shopping was done.
Back at home, she put a red paper napkin in the bottom of the Father Christmas bag, then added the mulled wine, the coffee, the English cookies, and the rhubarb jelly. On the top she placed the ice chocolates and the cellophane packet with “Sockerkringlan Gingerbread Cookies” on it. Finally she tucked a Christmas card down the side, then she stepped back to admire her handiwork. Very festive—and very tempting. With a contented smile on her lips, she peeled off her Latex gloves.
Tiny icy snowflakes blew into her unprotected face, but otherwise Maud was warmly dressed. She had selected a great big fox fur hat that she hadn’t worn for at least twenty years and crammed it onto her head. She’d bought it in a New Year’s sale, and it had been a mistake; she’d never liked it. But it hid most of her face if she pulled it down over her ears and forehead. Her coat was also old, but warm and cozy. She hadn’t worn it recently either; it was important to make sure no one would be able to give a description that matched her. She was carrying a big shopping bag with the Christmas surprise inside.
An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed Page 7
