Hans Lahlum - Chameleon People

The clock on the wall in the hall had stopped at half past eleven, and had not been rewound since, which seemed rather symbolic to me. Time had stopped for the moment for both the flat and the woman who lived in it.

I had some critical questions to ask her and not very much time. But sitting here beside the candle and photograph of Per Johan Fredriksen, I found it hard to get straight to the point.

So I delayed by asking how she was.

‘Not good at all, but better than on the evening he died,’ she said.

I had to ask her something else, so I asked what her thoughts were about the flat and her future.

‘Thank you for asking. I have not been able to face moving the furniture or even a picture yet. It gets harder each day and will no doubt be very painful on Saturday. I just have so many memories of Per Johan here and am constantly finding myself expecting to see him coming round the corner whenever I look out of the window. So I’ve decided I’m going to go and stay with my mother’s family in France for a few months. If I am going to carry on without being weighed down by the past, I have to get away, both from this flat and from Oslo. My current dilemma is whether I should try to sneak into the back of the church for the funeral. It should be possible, as no one in the family has met me.’

I did not want to share my thoughts on whether Fredriksen’s mistress should attend the funeral or not. So instead I took the chance to ask her if she had ever been in touch with Vera Fredriksen. She shook her head.

‘No. He showed me pictures of his children when I asked, and talked about them a good deal – and particularly about Vera. His paternal urge to care and protect was strongest for her. Probably something to do with the fact that she was the youngest, but also, she had suffered more than the other two. I was not in the slightest bit jealous – in fact, I started to care for them because they meant so much to him. It was obvious that I could not meet them before his wife was either dead or they were divorced. So, sadly, I never saw his daughter except in a photograph, and I never heard her voice.’

I was happy with this answer. It was hard to imagine that Vera Fredriksen would ring her father’s mistress, no matter what she thought might have happened in 1932. Furthermore, it was even harder to imagine that his mistress would have gone to Haraldsen’s Hotel to murder her late lover’s daughter.

I had thought a little about who Per Johan Fredriksen would talk to if he wanted to discuss his Soviet contacts or his future political plans with someone. And I had come to the conclusion that the two most likely people would be his youngest daughter or his mistress. And what his mistress had to say would be even more interesting now that his daughter was dead.

So I asked if she had been aware of any ups and downs in her lover’s political life and if he had said anything about his future plans.

To my surprise, she replied without hesitation. ‘Yes, of course. I should have mentioned it last time you were here, but it seemed so unlikely that his death had anything to do with that. It was something he had been thinking about for a long time and soon he had to make a decision. He was increasingly unconvinced of his party’s scepticism towards membership of the EEC. To begin with, he only said that he could see that there were some advantages to be had with membership, but then through the course of the winter he started to think that there were, in fact, more advantages than disadvantages to joining. He believed that the EEC would grow with or without Norway, and that the terms and conditions would be less favourable if we waited to join. By the new year it was more a question of when, rather than if, he would make it public.’

I thanked her for this interesting piece of information and said that he must have been prepared for strong reactions from his own party. She immediately confirmed that that was the case.

‘But of course. He was preparing for death threats and comparisons with the devil. He initially thought about changing party, but then decided that it would be better to just let his new views on the EEC be known. The consequences would probably be that he was squeezed out of the party and into a new party, but he decided that that was a better way to leave.’

It sounded like Per Johan Fredriksen had had a reasonable plan, and some very bad news for his party and the no campaign in general. Something that could indeed be the cause of a politically motivated attack. The question was who else might have known about it.

I asked Harriet Henriksen what she thought about this, and if she had mentioned it to anyone else. She shook her head firmly at the suggestion.

‘I knew no one in his party and never discussed what he told me with others. I was happy about it. After all, I am half French and the rest of my family live within the EEC and have always believed in cooperation inside the Western Bloc. So I was pro and liked to think that I had some influence on him there. And in addition, I thought that if he was going to change his stance on the EEC and his party, then perhaps there was a chance that he would change his mind about his wife as well.’

She said this with an almost coy smile.

She was beautiful when she smiled, and despite the fact that I disagreed on the EEC question, I could perfectly well understand that Per Johan Fredriksen had been charmed by her.

The smile disappeared when I asked if there were other aspects of his political life that he had discussed with her. She shook her head and said that he had only talked about the EEC issue and changing party. It seemed reasonable that he had discussed the EEC matter and plans for next year’s general election with his mistress, but apparently he had not mentioned his contact with the Soviet Embassy even to her.

It was now half past five and I had run out of my easier questions. So I had no choice but to put the handwritten letter from Per Johan Fredriksen down on the table between us and say that unfortunately I had to ask her to read it.

Harriet Henriksen was a woman whose emotions changed swiftly and easily. Three minutes ago she had been smiling and almost happy at the thought that she may have influenced her lover. Now she was shedding tears as she saw whose handwriting the letter was penned in. Then she flinched as she read what was written. Afterwards, she sat trembling. I hoped that there might be another emotional outburst. But there was not. She just sat there with tears streaming down her cheeks, her fists balling tighter and tighter.

When I realized that she was not going to say anything without help, I asked if she had been given this letter by her lover during his last visit.

She slowly shook her head. Her voice was strained, but still coherent when she started to speak. She began slowly, but then the words just came tumbling out.

‘No, I have never seen this letter before. But he did say as much to me as we sat at the table here eating supper on Saturday. It came as quite a blow, but not a shock as such. He had been fretting about it for a long time, that I should find a younger man and have children before it was too late. And he brought it up again then. I said that there wasn’t a younger man in the whole wide world I would want more than him, and that I would rather be childless all my life than have children with anyone else. The whole time I was scared that he would simply get up and leave. He was visibly touched by what I said then he turned to me and he said that I was the only person in the world who loved him for who he was and not his money. As usual, we went to bed after the meal. And afterwards any doubt I ever had in him was forgotten. He kissed me before he left and said that we should meet again soon and talk some more. So even though I had had a shock and still had to live with the uncertainty, I continued to be optimistic.’