Lars Kepler - The Hypnotist

Simone hadn’t arrived when I was shown to our table at the K.B. restaurant. I sat down and wondered whether to order a drink while I was waiting. It was ten past seven. I had booked the table myself. It was my birthday and I was feeling happy. We rarely managed to go out in those days; she was busy with her gallery project, I with my research. When we did have a free evening together, we usually chose to spend it on the sofa with Benjamin, watching a film or playing a video game.

At twenty past seven, the waiter brought me a martini glass containing Absolut vodka, a few dashes of Noilly Prat, and a long twist of lime peel. I decided to wait a little while before calling Simone, but when the drink was half gone, I was starting to feel anxious and annoyed. Reluctantly I took out my phone, dialed Simone’s number, and waited.

“Simone Bark.” She sound distracted, her voice echoing in an empty space.

“Sixan, it’s me. Where are you?”

“Erik? I’m at the gallery, what’s…” Her voice died away; then I heard a loud groan. “Oh, no. No! I’m so sorry, Erik, I completely forgot. There’s been so much going on today; we’ve had the plumber here and the electrician and- ”

“You’re at the gallery?” I couldn’t hide the disappointment in my voice.

“Yes, and I’m covered in paint and plaster.”

“We were supposed to be having dinner together,” I said wearily, lowering my voice. I glanced around at the other diners, embarrassed at having been stood up.

“I know, Erik. I’m so sorry. I forgot.”

“At least we have a good table,” I added sarcastically.

She sighed. “There’s no point in waiting for me.” I could hear how upset she was and took some cold comfort in shaming her. “Erik,” she whispered. “Forgive me.”

“It’s OK,” I said. I pressed the button to end the call.

Well, there wasn’t much point in going anywhere else, and I was hungry and I was in a restaurant. I quickly waved the waiter over and ordered herring with beer for an appetizer, crispy fried duck breast with diced bacon and orange sauce for my main course, along with a glass of Bordeaux, and, to finish, a Gruyère Alpage with honey.

“You can take away the other place,” I said to the waiter, adding, in a mournful tone, “I’ll be dining alone, it seems.” He gave me a sympathetic look as he poured my Czech beer and set out the herring and crisp bread.

I wished I had at least brought my notepad so I could have done something useful while I was eating.

My mobile phone suddenly rang in my inside pocket. Ah, I thought. Simone was kidding; she’s on her way.

“Hi, it’s Maja Swartling.”

“Maja, hi.”

“I was going to ask- wow, there’s a lot of noise around you. Is this a bad time?”

“I’m sitting in K.B.,” I said. “It’s my birthday,” I added morosely.

“Oh, congratulations, it sounds like a big party.”

“I’m alone,” I said tersely.

“Oh.” She was silent for a moment. I didn’t expect what she said next. “Erik, I’m sorry I tried to seduce you. I’m so ashamed.” She cleared her throat and tried to adopt a neutral tone as she went on. “I was going to ask if you’d mind reading the transcripts of my first interviews with you. I’ve finished them, and I’m about to hand them in to my advisor, but if you’d like to read them first- ”

“Just leave them in my cubbyhole.”

We said goodbye. I poured the last of the beer into my glass, knocked it back, and the waiter cleared the table. He returned almost immediately with the duck breast and red wine.

I ate with a sense of gloomy emptiness, unnaturally aware of the mechanisms of chewing and swallowing, the muted scrape of my knife and fork against the plate. I drank my third glass of wine and watched the pictures on the wall metamorphose into members of my hypnosis group. The voluptuous woman gathering her dark hair sensually at the back of her neck, causing her swelling breasts to lift, was Sibel. The skinny, anxious man in the suit was Pierre. Jussi was hidden behind a strange grey shape, and Charlotte, elegantly dressed and straight-backed, was sitting at a round table with Marek, who was wearing a childish suit.

I don’t know how long I had been staring at the pictures when I suddenly heard a breathless voice behind me. “Oh, you’re still here! I’m so glad I caught you.” It was Maja Swartling. She was beaming and gave me a big hug, to which I responded awkwardly.

“Happy birthday, Erik.”

Her thick black hair smelled wonderfully clean, and a faint scent of jasmine was hiding somewhere at the nape of her neck. She pointed at the chair opposite me. “May I join you?”

I ought to have sent her away. I had promised myself I wouldn’t see her again, and she should have known better than to come. But I hesitated, because in spite of everything I was glad of the company.

She was standing by the chair, waiting for my answer. “I find it difficult to say no to you,” I said, hearing the ambiguity in my words.

She sat down, summoned the waiter, and ordered a glass of wine. Then she gave me a mischievous look and placed a box beside my plate. “It’s only something small,” she explained, blushing furiously once again.

“A present?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Purely symbolic. I only found out it was your birthday twenty minutes ago.”

I opened the box and discovered to my surprise something that looked like miniature binoculars. My bewilderment must have shown on my face.

“They were called ‘anatomical binoculars,’ ” Maja explained. “My great-grandfather invented them. Actually, I think he won the Nobel Prize- though not for the binoculars. It was in the days when only Swedes and Norwegians used to win,” she added apologetically.

“Anatomical binoculars,” I repeated wonderingly. “Anyway, they’re really quaint- sweet, even- and very old. I know it’s a silly present- ”

“It certainly isn’t, it’s wonderful.” I looked into her eyes and saw how beautiful she was. “It’s very, very kind of you, Maja. Thank you so much.”

I placed the binoculars carefully back in their box and put them in my pocket.

“My glass is empty already,” she said in surprise. “Shall we order a bottle?”

It was late by the time we decided to go on to Riche, which was not far from the national theatre. We almost fell over when we were handing our coats in at the cloakroom; Maja was leaning on me and I misjudged the distance to the wall. When we regained our balance and saw the morose, deadly serious expression on the attendant’s face, Maja burst out laughing and, glancing at him apologetically, I led her away to the bar.

We each ordered a gin and tonic. It was hot and crowded, and we had to stand close together, leaning in to speak directly into each other’s ears in order to talk. Suddenly, we found ourselves kissing passionately. The back of her head thudded against the wall as I pressed myself against her. The music throbbed. She was speaking close to my ear, telling me we should go back to her place.

We rushed outside and into a taxi.

“We’re only going to Roslagsgatan,” she slurred. “Roslagsgatan seven teen.”

The driver nodded and pulled out into traffic. It was something like two o’clock in the morning, and the sky was beginning to lighten. The buildings flashing by were pale grey shadows. Maja leaned against me. I thought she was going to go to sleep when I felt her hand caressing my crotch. I was hard at once, and she laughed quietly, her lips against my neck.

I’m not sure how we got up to her studio. I remember standing in the lift licking her face, aware of the taste of salt and lipstick and powder, catching sight of my own drunken face in the blotchy mirror.