Mari Jungstedt: Dark Angel

Algård exchanged a few words with the waiters, making sure that everything would continue to run smoothly. After that, it was time for him to take a well-deserved break. He tried to catch a glimpse of his lover in the crowd, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. He would have liked to share a private moment with her. Provided they could do so without drawing attention, that is. But she’d probably been invited to dance by the man seated next to her at the table. Viktor glanced at his watch. Eleven forty-five. The dinner had lasted longer than expected, which was actually a good sign. Everyone at the banquet tables had seemed in high spirits right from the beginning, with plenty to talk about. The surprise event of the evening was scheduled for midnight, so he might as well wait until the show began. He took a sip of his mineral water, allowing his thoughts to drift. His wife’s face popped up in his mind. She wore an accusatory expression, as if she knew. Not that it would really be a surprise. Their marriage had lost its spark long ago. They continued to live side by side, but their paths seldom crossed any more. They lived in a large, isolated manor house out in the country near Hamra in Sudret, the southern part of the island. Elisabeth spent all her time at her loom out in the barn, which had been turned into a weaving studio. It was as if she didn’t really need him any more. He in turn devoted himself to his job and his extensive social network. He’d acquired many friends over the years, but Elisabeth didn’t like most of them. She was a loner who detested events such as this. The migraine that she’d developed in the afternoon was probably just a pretext to get out of attending the dedication celebration. It was an effective way of avoiding anything she didn’t want to deal with, although no one could question her motives when she lay in bed in a darkened room with a towel over her face. To be honest, he was actually grateful for her absence. It meant that he could slip away with his mistress after the event and stay overnight at his flat in town.

When he’d fallen in love with such shattering effect, the deficiencies of his marriage had been brought into even sharper focus. This dream woman had come whirling into his life and turned his whole world upside down. He was completely infatuated with her. Only now did he realize the full extent of what he’d been missing. Passion. Lust. Interest. The sheer pleasure of being in another person’s company. Companionship. Togetherness.

The children had left home long ago to settle on the mainland. They had their own lives now. He was longing to be free. And not have to sneak around any more.

His thoughts kept getting interrupted by people who wanted to talk to him, thank him for such a splendid party, or simply shake his hand. He smiled at everyone, happy to see that they were having a good time.

Then the music stopped, to be replaced by a drum roll. The lights were dimmed and a spotlight lit up the stage. Everyone turned their attention in that direction. It was time for the evening’s surprise.

Wild applause broke out when Afro-Dite, the popular vocal group, appeared on stage. The three beautiful and glamorous women, Kayo Shekoni, Gladys del Pilar and Blossom Tainton, sang like soul goddesses, but they were also full of warmth, humour and charm that enchanted their fans. There aren’t many artists in Sweden with such star quality, thought Viktor, pleased that he’d managed to book them for the evening. He’d made the choice based on the fact that five years earlier the group had captured the hearts of the Swedish people when they won the Eurovision Song Contest. Suddenly he felt someone taking him by the arm.

‘Hi. How’s it going?’

She looked happy and glowing, her face a bit shiny. Her eyes were sparkling.

‘Good. I was hoping you’d turn up. I was thinking of taking a break, but wanted to wait until the show started. Want to come with me?’

‘I’m sorry to bother you, but-’ The bartender abruptly appeared at their side, holding out a drink. ‘For the lady – with greetings from an admirer.’

Viktor felt his face cloud over.

‘What on earth…’ She laughed, gazing around in confusion. ‘Well, this is certainly flattering.’ She looked at the colourful drink. ‘Who’s it from?’

The bartender pointed towards the other side of the bar.

‘Oh, looks like he’s left.’

She turned back to Viktor.

‘Honey, I need to go to the loo. Where should we meet?’

He pointed to the stairs beyond the bar.

‘Go downstairs to the lounge. That section is closed for the evening, so we can sit there in peace.’

‘I’ll make it fast. Could you take my glass?’

‘Sure.’

Viktor Algård told the bartender that he was taking a short break and then slipped away before yet another talkative guest claimed his attention. Most likely no one would notice his absence, since everyone was watching what was taking place on stage.

Downstairs was a lounge area with a small bar and several groups of sofas. A door led to a paved terrace and a deserted side street. He opened the door and stepped out, lighting a cigarette as he gazed at the sea. He savoured the quiet. Standing there in the dark, all he could hear were the waves rolling on to the shore.

He took several deep drags on his cigarette.

The temperature had dropped significantly and he shivered. The chill air forced him to put out his smoke and go back inside. He sat down on a sofa, shoved a couple of pillows behind him, and then leaned back, closing his eyes. All at once he could feel how tired he was.

A sudden sound very close made him sit up with a start. A faint rattling over by the employee lift. He couldn’t see the lift from where he was sitting on the sofa, but he knew that it was over there in the corner, near the exit to the terrace. He froze. It was too soon for his mistress to be returning from the ladies’ room.

He listened tensely. The last thing he wanted at the moment was someone’s uninvited company.

The music and noise from the floor above were clearly audible, although somewhat muted at this distance. He glanced at the bar, but it was closed and deserted. He looked out at the street, but it was just as dark and empty as before. Had someone slipped inside while he was having a smoke? He had, in fact, stepped away from the door with his back turned to the room. His thoughts vacillated nervously. But now it was quiet again. Nothing moved.

He shook his head; he must have imagined it. Or maybe a couple had come down here from the party, looking for an out-of-the-way corner. That sort of thing happened at every festive gathering. But then they must have noticed him sitting on the sofa. He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes had passed. She should be here any moment.

The drink she’d handed him looked enticing, and he was thirsty. He reached for the glass.

He had barely taken a gulp before a burning flame shot up his throat. Surprised, he held up the glass to look at the contents. The drink had a bitter taste that reminded him of something, but he couldn’t think what it might be. Now he also noticed a pungent odour.

At that instant he was overcome by dizziness. He could barely breathe, and powerful convulsions surged through his body. With an effort, he stood up and staggered forward a few steps, his lips trying to shape the words to call for help. Not a sound came out. The room blurred.

Viktor Algård lost his balance and collapsed.

THE KRONHOLM GOLF course was beautifully situated on a promontory surrounded on three sides by the sea. Unfortunately, the idyllic setting was not having a positive effect on the prevailing mood. Anders Knutas shook his head at his son Nils, who for the third time in an hour was throwing a fit because he’d failed to sink a putt. Inspired by the conversation with his dinner companion on the previous evening, and by the advent of such glorious weather, Knutas had brought the twins out to Kronholm for a few hours of pleasant camaraderie. He’d quickly realized that he should have known better. Both of his children were in the midst of an explosive puberty and the slightest thing could set them off. The past six months had been almost unbearable. A simple question, such as whether Petra might like to have some juice at breakfast, could prompt her to sputter: God, why do you have to keep nagging at me, Pappa! Nils thought Knutas was interfering too much if he dared to ask his son how football practice had gone. Two sixteen-year-olds undergoing the same hormonal chaos was nothing to joke about.