“Yes, but this way I don’t lose my job until next year. No one is hiring now. I need to wait until the middle of January when new jobs are being advertised and I can apply for interviews and stuff. If I’m fired now, there is zero chance of me getting a job between now and then.” Amber took a hefty swig of wine.
Caroline regarded her for a moment. “Well, being out of the country for a week should save you from being fired, but you either need to come back with a signed contract or hope that Bronwyn will believe you if you lie about it to survive Christmas and New Year. Of course, this is all theoretical, as Recluse Lady may kill you in your sleep.”
Amber shivered. She wasn’t one hundred percent comfortable with the idea of living in Emilia’s guesthouse as it was. She didn’t know the woman at all. She’d seemed okay during their short meeting, but that didn’t mean Amber wanted to go and stay with her for any period of time. What I do for my career, she thought solemnly.
“I just need to convince Emilia that I’m the right person to work with. That I’ll take care of her grandmother’s books and legacy. If I can do that, she will sign the contract and everything will be fine.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” Caroline asked.
“No idea. She seems to like walks, the countryside, not talking to people, books, and her house.” Amber listed the woman’s hobbies on her fingers.
“Well, you like books,” Caroline said, “but the others… yeah, you’re total opposites.”
“I’m screwed, aren’t I?”
“Possibly. Unless you somehow manage to convince her that business isn’t evil and you’re the right person to work with. Which, considering what you just said, is unlikely. If I were you, I’d just enjoy a week in Sweden. Think of it as a holiday. Maybe work on your LinkedIn profile while you’re there. You know, by candlelight. With a quill.”
Amber made a face at her. “She’s a recluse, but I’m pretty sure she has electricity.”
“Do you know that?” Caroline asked.
Amber opened her mouth and then closed it again. She didn’t know that, but she hoped it was the case.
“Did you ask if she has running water?” Caroline giggled.
“She must do, she offered to cook dinner tomorrow when I arrive. You need water to cook a meal,” Amber said.
“Unless she’s foraged for nuts and berries.” Caroline smirked as she took another sip of wine.
“I don’t know why I talk to you.” Amber shook her head.
“You like me,” Caroline said assuredly. “And I like you. Which is a shame, I’ll miss you when you’ve been murdered. Can I sing at your funeral?”
Amber couldn’t help but laugh.
“Sure, why not?”
12
Welcome to the Farm
Amber drove onto the narrow, bumpy track and hoped that the inbuilt satellite navigation system was accurate. It was starting to get dark, and the shadows of the trees in the setting sun and the absence of any street lighting weren’t helping her anxiety levels.
She’d spent the entire flight wondering if she was doing the right thing. Caroline’s words from the night before had stayed with her. Maybe Emilia was a murderer. Maybe she was driving to her doom.
Then again, she knew staying in the office would have presented a different kind of doom. A short and shouty kind of doom.
The car bounced wildly no matter how slowly she drove down the unfinished road. She could see some lights up ahead through the cover of trees. She hoped it was Emilia’s home and not someone else’s.
So far, everyone she had met in Sweden spoke good English, but she didn’t want to test that theory by driving up to a stranger’s house.
As she edged closer, she could make out a small, two-story building covered in wooden slats painted in the traditional red she had seen elsewhere in Sweden. She noticed white framed windows with warm, yellow lights shaped like stars twinkling in each one. Christmas decorations, she assumed.
The track wrapped around the building and into a courtyard. The first building she had seen from the track was to her left. A front door and a wooden porch decorated in popcorn lights led her to believe that it was the main house. In front of her was a single-story building also painted in the deep red. It looked like a barn that hadn’t been used for many years.
To her right was a much smaller building. It was of a similar design to the main house, but the porch light was a normal glass shade hanging from the ceiling. There were no festive lights in the windows.
When Emilia walked out of the cheery-looking main house, Amber let out a sigh of relief. She got out of the car and smiled with a confidence she didn’t yet feel.
“Hi!”
“Hello,” Emilia greeted warmly. “How was the trip?”
“It was good, it’s a short flight.”
Emilia was looking at the car with a frown. “You… drove here?”
“Yes, I hired a car. I didn’t know what we would be doing, so I thought I better get a car just in case. It means I don’t have to bother you if I want to go out somewhere.”
“I don’t drive,” Emilia admitted. “I usually take my bike. Unless there is ice or snow, then I walk.”
Amber didn’t want to mention that she already knew that from the short conversation they’d had in the bakery.
“I don’t drive often. I usually just grab an Uber,” Amber said.
Emilia frowned. “Uber?”
Amber felt a smile curl at her lips. Emilia really did live in another world. Even people who didn’t have the car-sharing service in their locality often knew what it was.
“Like a taxi,” Amber explained.
She rubbed her hands together. Now that the sun had set, it was getting bitterly cold. She’d not worn all of her winter clothes in the car, but now she was feeling the chill in the air.
“Let me show you to your room.” Emilia pointed to the smaller building.
“Thank you.” Amber pushed the key fob, and the boot of the hire car swung open automatically. She grabbed her case and followed Emilia into the guesthouse.
“It’s small but should suit you for a few days,” Emilia said.
Amber closed the front door behind her and lowered her suitcase to the floor. The guesthouse was simply adorable. A small kitchen, dining area, and a living room with a fireplace filled the open-plan ground floor.
A small staircase led upstairs. Emilia stood at the bottom and pointed up.
“The bedroom and the bathroom are upstairs. There are towels on the bed.”
“Thank you, this is beautiful,” Amber looked around the small space. “So cosy.”
Emilia looked proud at the approval. “My grandmother had this building converted from part of the old grain store. All of this was a working farm many years ago. Grandmother wanted somewhere for people to be able to stay. I like it here, but not many people come to visit.”
“Then they’re missing out,” Amber said.
She suspected that people didn’t come to stay because they were never invited. She couldn’t imagine someone as private as Emilia freely inviting people over, which led her to believe that Emilia must be seriously considering going into business with Walker Clay.
“So, this is your space and you’re free to come and go as you please.” Emilia crossed the kitchen and pointed to a key on a hook. “I’ll be over in the main house. You’re more than welcome to spend your time there. Or here. Wherever you’re more comfortable, really.” Emilia paused nervously by the door and wrung her hands. “Are you tired, or would you like to see the main house?”
“I’d love to see it,” Amber admitted. She was intensely curious about Emilia’s home. Concerns about her status as a murderer may well be confirmed or denied by the state of the main house.
They exited the guesthouse and walked around the car in the courtyard to the other building. On the porch was a small wooden bench with a Father Christmas made from straw.
“Cute.” Amber gestured to the decoration.<
br />
“My mother made it,” Emilia said succinctly. It was obviously not a topic for conversation.
They entered the house, and a hallway complete with a large shoe rack and multiple coat hangers indicated that this was a house where outdoor shoes were not worn. It made sense, considering the frequent inclement weather.
Emilia toed off her winter boots and threw her scarf onto a hanger. Amber quickly undid the laces on her own boots and placed them on the shoe rack. The room had white wood panelling along the walls and light grey floorboards. The monochromatic look was completed by pictures in black frames. Despite the stark colours, the room looked homey and stylish. Not at all what Amber had been expecting.
Emilia gestured for Amber to follow her around the corner and into the main part of the house.
The downstairs was large and on an open plan, like the guesthouse on a grander scale. A spacious kitchen area led to a casual dining table, and beyond that was a seating area. Everything was decorated in soft whites and light greys, with the occasional streak of black for balance.
It was spotlessly clean.
Caroline had warned Amber to look out for anything untoward, initially claiming that hoarding was a habit of the murdering kind. However, after the second glass of wine, she had changed her mind to include compulsively clean.
So now Amber was on the lookout for a very messy or a very clean house. She found the latter, but she didn’t know if it was truly relevant or not. If Emilia didn’t go out much, then surely she had plenty of time to clean.
“You have a beautiful home,” Amber said.
“Thank you. It used to be part of the farm my great-grandfather owned. My grandmother and grandfather turned it into a home, and my mother renovated it again years ago. I had very little to do with it.”
“You live here. And clean it. Very well, actually. My place is not as tidy as this,” Amber confessed.
Emilia chuckled. “My bedroom is a mess, that’s why the upstairs is off-limits.”
Caroline’s words echoed in Amber’s mind. And there’s always a secret room they don’t want you to go in. A basement or an attic. That’s where the last victim was murdered.
Amber shook her head. She needed to get Caroline’s morbid thoughts out of her brain.
“Would you like to take a seat?” Emilia gestured towards the sitting area. “I could make us some tea before we eat dinner.”
“That sounds lovely, can I help?” Amber offered.
“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll bring it over. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Amber strolled over to one of the grey sofas and sat down. She stared at the flames of the fire. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen an open log fire in someone’s house. She looked around, noting the sparse decoration and furnishings. It was as if everything had an exact purpose. Nothing was frivolous or unnecessary.
She realised something seemed missing and looked around the room in confusion.
“No television?” she called out to Emilia.
“No,” Emilia replied. “I’ve not had one for years.”
Amber balked at the very idea. The television was her constant companion. Every morning she listened to the morning shows telling her brief snippets of news, weather, and travel. Every evening she watched something either from the terrestrial channels or through one of her multiple streaming services. She loved to binge on box sets. The only way the ironing got done in her house was if she had numerous episodes of something to watch as she undertook the task.
Emilia entered the living area with a tray filled with cups and saucers and a selection of teabags.
“How do you know what’s going on in the world without a TV?” Amber asked.
Emilia placed the tray on the large coffee table in between the sofas. She reached underneath and pulled out a newspaper.
“This tells me everything I need to know.” She handed the paper to Amber.
Amber took the paper and flipped through it. She couldn’t read a word of it, but it was undeniably a local newspaper for just the south of Sweden, if the weather report was anything to go by.
She was pretty sure that Emilia had no idea who the prime minster was. Nor the president of the United States. Probably for the best.
She decided not to say anything. If she wanted to get Emilia to like her, and sign the contract, she needed to be polite and understanding. Even if she did think Emilia was clinically insane to live off the grid without any television or Internet.
She took her phone out of her pocket and placed it on the coffee table, glancing at the screen as she did.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. No signal. She was so far out in the sticks that she had no connectivity. She hoped that maybe the guesthouse would be able to pick something up. Maybe if she hung out of the upstairs window she would be able to get one bar of sweet, sweet signal.
“I didn’t ask if you are hungry. I was thinking of making dinner at six, is that too late? I can cook now?” Emilia offered. She stood by the other sofa, looking tense and nervous.
“I’m fine, thank you. I had a big lunch at the airport,” Amber explained. She edged forward towards the tea tray. “Should I pour?”
Emilia nodded and took a step to sit on the opposite sofa. Amber made tea for the both of them, congratulating Emilia on her variety of teas as she did. She wondered if Emilia was a big tea drinker or if she had purposefully bought a large selection because she knew she’d be having guests. Well, guest.
Judging from Emilia’s obvious discomfort, and the fact she had seemed generally ill at ease when speaking at the bakery, Amber suspected that not many guests came to the house.
“I said it before, but you really do have a lovely home,” she repeated, struggling for conversation now that Emilia was being stiff and awkward.
“Thank you. I like it very much.” Emilia sipped her tea and looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time.
“Well, it’s the nicest Swedish house I’ve ever been in,” Amber joked.
Emilia smiled. “And the only one?”
“Well, we don’t need to admit that.” Amber winked. She sat back on the sofa and crossed her legs, placing her cup and saucer in her lap. “I’m so impressed by your English skills. I tried to learn a few Swedish phrases before coming here, but I won’t insult you with my pronunciation.”
“It’s very common for us to speak English,” Emilia said. “We learn it in school, and a lot of our media is in English. Television, movies, music. I watched a lot of television when I grew up, and I read a lot of English books. My grandmother was very keen that I become good at English.”
“Well, you definitely succeeded.”
“Do you learn other languages at school in Britain?”
Amber chuckled. “Sort of. We’re very bad at other languages in Britain, no incentive to learn I suppose. We know that so many people speak English that we don’t really need to worry about it. Many schools allow you to choose French or German, but we generally start those languages so late that most people struggle with them.”
“I see. Yes, I suppose if half of the world spoke Swedish then we wouldn’t bother learning other languages either,” Emilia agreed. “I read a lot of English books. Many good books don’t get translated into Swedish as there are so few of us and many of us can read English.”
“I find that fascinating,” Amber confessed. “I’d love to be able to speak another language, but I’m terrible at it. I made my French teacher cry with frustration when I was at school.”
“I think the key is to learn young and be surrounded by it,” Emilia said. “I remember my mother and father only speaking in English to me for hours at a time. If I wanted to talk to them then I had to do the same. And books, if I wanted to read some of my books then I had to read them in English.”
“It’s very impressive.”
Emilia quickly shook her head. “No, no. It’s just… life.”
Amber smiled. Emilia seemed to struggle with compl
iments, something she needed to remember if she was going to gain her trust.
“What did you eat for lunch at the airport?” Emilia suddenly blurted.
Amber replied, explaining her love for sushi and how she couldn’t resist eating at the sushi bar she saw opposite the baggage claim area. It was an odd question, and another indication that Emilia didn’t socialise very often.
While it may have made some people uncomfortable, Amber thought it was adorable. For better or for worse, Emilia wasn’t like many other people. She lived her own life and was in her own world most of the time. And it was a world that Amber was keen to learn more about.
13
Can’t Cook, Shouldn’t Cook
Emilia couldn’t help but smile. Everything was going perfectly, better than she’d ever imagined. She couldn’t believe that she had a friend over to stay. That hadn’t happened since she was five years old.
Amber was so nice and kind, immediately starting conversations and answering Emilia’s questions no matter how odd they might be. Emilia knew that she had a habit of saying things that were a little out of place when she was nervous, which usually led to people giving her an odd look, making her more nervous. It was a vicious circle and one that prevented her from wanting to socialise with others.
But with Amber, things were different. She happily answered any of Emilia’s questions and didn’t make her feel strange in the slightest. In fact, she was as comfortable talking and laughing with Amber as she was with Hugo, which was something she never expected. Amber had a gift for making her feel comfortable. She didn’t know if Amber knew how much that gift was appreciated.
“I feel guilty,” Amber announced as she arrived in the kitchen. “I simply have to help you cook.”
“You’re a guest,” Emilia said. She stood on her tiptoes and pulled one of her grandmother’s moth-eaten recipe books from the shelf.
“Maybe so, but I can’t just sit there and watch you slave over a stove for me.”
“It’s not slaving,” Emilia said. “I love to cook. And there are so many things I can’t cook for one, so it’s good to have company.”
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