Lord and Master Trilogy

by Jagger, Kait

  ‘Ah, Mika,’ she said chidingly, ‘you are grilling meat? I’ve told you Malcolm and I are vegetarian.’

  ‘Have you?’ Mika asked, eyes meeting Luna’s over the grill, expression completely blank. She was getting better at reading the many shades of Mika Salonen blankness, however, and this one was tinged with humour.

  It was hard to tell exactly what lay hidden behind his poker face later as they ate their meal. Malcolm surreptitiously downed both a burger and two non-vegetarian sausages as an increasingly inebriated Liv prattled on to Mika about a prehistoric Norse settlement at the very southern tip of the island. ‘I could take you,’ she offered, before adding slyly, ‘unless poor Luna wants to do it. No Stefan this weekend, Luna?’

  At that, Luna, who was not inebriated, gave Liv a cold-verging-on-Hallviken stare, one that despite Liv’s current state caused her to blanch before saying to Mika, ‘You know Luna’s boyfriend?’

  To which he simply replied, ‘Yes,’ face devoid of expression, though Luna could have sworn seconds earlier that he was studying the stand-off between Liv and her with interest. Would that Malcolm would do the same, but he seemed blissfully unaware of his wife’s downright flirtatious manner. If Liv moved her chair any closer to Mika’s she’d be sitting in his lap.

  Mika, meanwhile, continued to play the quiet host, topping up drinks, refilling plates, and listening as Malcolm described his plans for the wool cooperative. Luna noticed that something about the Finn’s very quietness encouraged people to say more than they would or perhaps should. She knew, of course, how invested Malcolm was in this project, but even she was unprepared for the passion in his voice when he spoke of a ‘united voice for Shetland’s farmers.’

  Dagmar too, was a revelation in Salonen’s presence, laughing and joking, sharing reminiscences from their youth in Stockholm (his family had moved there from Finland when he was nine), speaking with pride of her friend’s accomplishments, which most recently had focused on promoting the work of an up and coming New York documentary maker.

  ‘Mika has been to Sundance, Venice, Cannes…’ Dagmar reported.

  Luna’s ears pricked up at the mention of Cannes, and she found herself asking, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever met a British filmmaker called Rafe Davies?’ She felt foolish the minute the words came out of her mouth. Places like Cannes were doubtless crawling with media industry types; what were the chances of Mika knowing him?

  She was in for a surprise, however. Narrowing his eyes in the way Luna had come to realise was characteristic of him, he replied simply, ‘Yes, I know him.’ Nothing more. Luna could see Dagmar and the others looking at them, waiting for one of them to elaborate. But Mika merely stared at her in his blank way and Luna returned the stare in her own characteristic, cool manner. I am not Malcolm or Dagmar, she silently communicated to him. I will not be lured into confidences by you.

  The moment passed quickly, and the rest of the night went pleasantly enough, Malcolm and Liv leaving, over Liv’s protests, at just after midnight, and the remaining three settling down in front of the fire in the front room. Luna felt pleasantly buzzed, lounging on the settee, sipping from the tumbler of Scottish whiskey Mika had broken out. She gazed out of the window at the still Shetland night, the sky tinged pink as the island headed for the summer solstice. She heard the sound of lambs calling to their mothers in the field. She smelled smoke from the peat fire combined with the elusive scent of spring in the air.

  Luna looked down at Mika and Dagmar, then, lying in front of the fire, both tapping messages into their phones. And laughed. They both looked up at her with identically blank expressions, which only made her laugh harder.

  ‘Here we are in one of the most rugged, beautiful islands in the world,’ she shook her head, ‘on a beautiful night, in good company, stomachs full of good food, and there you two are, glued to your phones.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dagmar replied, ‘I am tweeting what a good night it is.’

  ‘And I am replying to a message from Britta, who is also having a good night,’ Mika said.

  Luna took another sip of her whiskey and lay down flat on the sofa, stretching her arms behind her head. ‘It just seems to me that we ought to savour these moments.’ She gestured outside. ‘Life is going on out there.’ Then gestured to Dagmar’s phone. ‘Not in there.’

  The two of them looked up at her, then at each other. Dagmar opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Mika studied his phone for a moment, and said simply, ‘Deep.’

  Luna snorted, then chuckled. She saw Dagmar’s shoulders moving up and down and realised she, too, was silently laughing. And that did it. The two women collapsed in laughter and Mika, his mission accomplished, laughed too – an endearingly goofy laugh, one which only made the moment funnier.

  She was still rolling around on the sofa, clutching her ribs when she felt her phone vibrate in her jeans pocket and heard its muffled ringtone. Dagmar did a double take and pointed to her accusingly as Luna quickly pulled the phone out of her pocket. It was Stefan. Still laughing, she walked swiftly out of the room and answered, ‘Hi.’

  ‘Luna,’ came Mika’s voice from the living room. ‘Life is happening in here, not on your phone.’ To a shriek of laughter from Dagmar.

  ‘Sounds like you are having a good night,’ Stefan observed as Luna climbed the stairs to her bedroom, phone pressed against her ear.

  ‘Such a good night,’ Luna agreed.

  *

  She woke early the next morning, the sun flooding down onto her coverlet. Standing on top of her bed, Luna opened the skylight and looked out to see a glorious, clear blue sky. Down in the yard, the car was gone; someone else in the house had risen before her.

  Fifteen minutes later, Luna was standing in the kitchen, washing last night’s dishes, earbuds firmly in place.

  ‘Jag har tre systrar,’ came the voice on her Swedish language course.

  ‘Jag har tre systrar,’ repeated Luna, rinsing a wine glass and placing it on the drying rack.

  ‘Hur många bröder har du?’ said the voice.

  ‘Hur många bröder har du?’ Luna said.

  And a voice next to her replied, ‘Jag har fyra bröder.’

  Luna jumped and turned around, only to find Mika leaning against the work surface, watching her. Embarrassed to have been caught out, she quickly pulled her earbuds out. ‘You scared me.’

  To which Mika merely nodded toward the table, where he had placed a brand new red motorcycle helmet. At Luna’s puzzled expression, he said, ‘Take me out on your bike.’

  When he’d seen the sun that morning, it transpired, Mika had decided he wouldn’t do any filming. Paradoxically, most of the images he wanted were all against a backdrop of Shetland’s usual grey, wet weather. So he’d given his crew the day off, and promptly went and bought himself a helmet and some gloves.

  And if Luna was taken aback at his rather whimsical demand, this gave way to amused incredulity when Mika removed his mobile from the pocket of his leather jacket and pointedly placed it on the kitchen table.

  ‘Because life is out there,’ he said, lifting a white blonde eyebrow.

  They consulted briefly about where to go. ‘We could…’ Luna began, trailing off as a small wave of shyness overcame her.

  ‘We could?’ Mika prompted.

  ‘I was just thinking. I’ve heard puffins are nesting down near Sumburgh. We could go see them if you want?’

  ‘Let’s,’ Mika replied in his usual spare manner.

  So they headed out, Mika holding his Logmar in one hand to capture the passing scenery, his other arm curved firmly around Luna’s waist. An hour later, they were lying side by side on a grass verge overlooking the rocky shore, watching a pair of puffins collecting nesting material. Part of her wished that Stefan was there; with their oversized orange bills and stout little black and white bodies, puffins were arguably the world’s cutest birds, and she imagined cooing with him over their industriousness and the way they seemed to gossip to
each other like old fishwives.

  But there was pleasure to be had in Mika’s quiet company as well. In addition to buying a helmet, he’d purchased cheese and bread, which they munched in silence as puffins flew overhead, fishing in the waters below. Eventually he decided to climb further down the rocks with his camera, and Luna stayed where she was, folding up her jacket and placing it under her head, savouring the warm sunshine on her face and arms. The noise of the puffins and the waves below entwined together in her ears, and she drifted.

  When she woke sometime later, Mika was beside her, lying on his back chewing a blade of grass.

  ‘I fell asleep,’ she said, then smiled at the obviousness of that statement. To which Mika gave her a quick sideways look, before returning his gaze to the sky.

  The drive home felt… companionable, like a bridge had been crossed and their relationship was on a new footing. Less like ‘indentured servitude’, as Stefan had put it, and more like a budding friendship.

  They arrived back at the cottage, however, to find Dagmar in a ratty mood. She came out as they sat on the picnic bench, drinking beers in the sunshine, and despite Luna’s attempts to tell her about the puffins seemed to be annoyed with both of them.

  ‘This has been ringing all day,’ she complained as she threw Mika’s mobile at him and promptly stormed back in the house, slamming the door behind her. Luna raised her eyebrows at Mika and he gave her one of his customary blank looks, which she took to equate to, Women! .

  Mika studied his phone for a moment, then placed it on the table top.

  ‘So,’ Luna grinned. ‘How have you felt today, without it?’

  ‘Naked,’ Mika replied. Luna did a double take, then scrutinised his sober façade. His eyes were twinkling, she could see it now. She burst out laughing.

  Whatever ailed Dagmar seemed to pass over dinner that night, and they spent another pleasant evening together. And over the course of the next week, they fell into a comfortable routine that stood in stark contrast to Luna’s first few months in Shetland; she was living with… friends now.

  *

  To Mika’s satisfaction, after their day of puffin watching the weather took an abrupt turn for the worse. So filming resumed. His demands on Luna remained as terse and all-consuming as ever, but now it felt less like he was barking orders and more like he was talking in shorthand. And she was flattered when he occasionally asked her opinion about a particular shot or setting, as if she had anything to teach him about his job, or made a point of coming to take a coffee break with her in the lambing shed, almost empty now save for a few late arrivals.

  And despite her best efforts, she found that Mika’s quiet ways lured her into confidences. Perhaps it was a mutual thing, for on Wednesday night, as a storm began to close in outside, the two of them sat cross-legged in front of the fire, Mika talking about his family. On that subject at least, he could be disarmingly expansive – Mika Salonen clearly loved his parents and brothers very much, and missed seeing them now that they had moved back to Helsinki.

  Echoing Stefan’s description, he noted that the family ethic was ‘work hard, play hard’. Luna got the impression that as the baby of the family Mika was lovingly indulged. ‘Oh, that’s just Mika,’ he quoted his mother as saying every time he discovered a new métier, whereas his brothers were all captains of industry, from the way he described them.

  He also revealed that it was Stefan who gave him the scar on his brow, during a heated skirmish on the ice hockey rink.

  ‘I deserved it,’ Mika admitted, adding with some relish, ‘but that’s not what I told my brothers. They beat the living skit out of Stefan when they caught him.’ Luna gave him a shocked look that immediately dissolved into laughter in the face of Mika’s puckish mischievousness.

  In turn, though she revealed nothing about her childhood or indeed, about her relationship with Stefan, she briefly confided in Mika her fears about her assignment for Sören, and the still unmet challenges that awaited her.

  ‘Getting the wool processing mill built is just the start,’ she explained. ‘Malcolm still hasn’t found potential buyers for the meat, and he’s trying to get backing from the Scottish Tourist Board for the tourism angle. He says the farmers won’t buy into this unless we can offer them a guaranteed income stream.’

  Mika considered this for a moment, then said speculatively, ‘What if we had a little party here on Shetland…’

  ‘I was so, so wrong about him,’ Luna enthused to Stefan later that night. ‘He’s planned out an entire screening event, and he’s already got his staff working on a guest list and invitations. And he just happens to know the CEO of a major UK supermarket chain, who he met on a skiing holiday last year! I completely understand why you and Dagmar like him so much. He’s so clever, but he hides his light under a bushel, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t go quite that far,’ Stefan said grudgingly.

  He, meanwhile, sounded to have had a thoroughly wretched week, beginning with an unpleasant confrontation with Helen, who had to be practically dragged from the stables to the main house for the summit with her mother. From what Stefan said, Augusta hadn’t been quite as forceful as she could have been, and it had been left to him to instruct her daughter to back out of the deal with English Eventing.

  ‘And there was something about some of the phrasing she used, all the talk of the Arborage mystique, and how you couldn’t put a price tag on the “intrinsic value” of the equestrian centre. You’re right, Luna. I see Florian’s hand in this.’

  To Luna’s subsequent slight guilt, the conversation shifted back to her after that, her excitement about the forthcoming screening party, which she and Mika had agreed would take place the following week, bubbling over.

  ‘It’s just so nice, to have someone else helping me, someone I can lean on a little,’ she concluded, adding swiftly, ‘Other than you, of course.’

  Chapter Twelve

  She woke the next morning to the sound of wind wailing and the frame of the cottage creaking in protest. ‘A spring gale,’ Malcolm said heartily when she brought him a cup of tea in the lambing shed, breathless and back into her usual uniform of wool jumper, winter hat and gloves.

  In view of the inclement weather, Mika promptly gave everyone the day off except Luna and his leading male, asking her to swing past the Fisherman’s Rest to pick up Sean and then drive them down to Sumburgh, to the cliff’s edge where they’d visited the nesting puffins. The setting couldn’t have been more different in the current gale force conditions, with the puffins all sheltering out of sight and the sea roiling below. Mika told Luna she could wait in the car, and after he and Sean had clambered out of view, she took the opportunity to text Stefan.

  Weather appalling here. Winds gusting 70 mph. All flights to mainland cancelled. Fingers xd it improves by tomorrow.

  He rang her seconds later.

  ‘I didn’t mean to bother you,’ Luna answered quickly. ‘I’m just sitting in the car waiting for Mika.’

  A brief silence on the phone, followed by, ‘I see.’

  Luna launched into an explanation of what Mika was doing, or what she thought he was doing. ‘Though now I’m starting to worry a little bit,’ she ventured, glancing out the driver’s side window as a sudden gust of wind buffeted the car. ‘They’ve been down there for a while…’ She trailed off, suddenly conscious that she’d been rabbiting on for several minutes with absolutely no response from Stefan. ‘Hello?’ she said. ‘You still there?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know. You tell me. Have you seen my father’s blog?’

  Soren did a weekly blog, mostly to promote new products, plug store openings, that kind of thing. Usually Luna made a point of reading it religiously, but she’d been distracted this week.

  ‘No. Why? Is there something bad in there?’

  She heard a noise in the background. A door opening and what sounded like Stefan’s friend and co
lleague James MacGregor’s voice.

  ‘I have a meeting now. I have to go,’ Stefan said. And ended the call.

  Luna tried to connect to the Lundgren’s site, but couldn’t get Internet out here at the edge of the world. So she had to wait, a ball of foreboding knotting in her stomach. Mika and Sean were another half-hour, returning to the car glassy-eyed from the wind. When Mika suggested returning to the Fisherman’s Rest for lunch, she promptly agreed, firing up her laptop the minute they got in while Mika and Sean went to fetch a round of drinks from the bar.

  Going to the Lundgren’s homepage, Luna found the link to Sören’s blog and clicked it, bringing up the usual photo of him sitting at his desk in Stockholm. Usually Luna tried to at least read some of his posts in the original Swedish, but this time she impatiently clicked the ‘translate’ button.

  Are you ready for the Lundgren coat?

  Anyone who has spent more than five minutes with me in the past few months will have heard of little else, and anyone who’s seen and touched the samples in the design department knows just how special my little magnum opus is!

  Luna scanned down the page, scrolling through CADs, photos of the design team working on the coat, a photo of Dagmar’s bird-themed scarf and other accessories. Really, she thought, what was Stefan’s problem with the blog?

  But then at the bottom:

  Our friend Mika Salonen has been working hard on Shetland to bring the marketing campaign for the Lundgren coat to life, and I hope to be able to share some of his work with you in the coming weeks. In the meantime, have a look at these images he’s captured of the newest member of the Lundgren’s family, Luna Gregory, who has temporarily made Shetland her home to get this project off the ground. As you can see, she’s made a few friends…