Ю Несбё - Macbeth

He rolled over onto his other side, with his back to her. ‘Let’s forget this, darling. The way you’ve forgotten that Malcolm will be chief if anything happens to Duncan.’

She grabbed his shoulder, pulled him back over so that he lay facing her again.

‘I haven’t forgotten anything. I haven’t forgotten that Hecate said you’ll be the chief commissioner, and that means he has a plan. We take care of Duncan and he’ll take care of Malcolm. And I haven’t forgotten the evening you took care of Ernest Collum. Duncan is Collum, my sweet. He’s holding a pistol to the head of our dream. And you have to find the courage you displayed that evening. You have to be the man you were that night, Macbeth. For me. For us.’ She placed a hand on his cheek and softened her voice. ‘Life doesn’t give the likes of us that many opportunities, darling. We have to grasp the few that offer themselves.’

He lay there. Silent. She waited. Listened, but no words drowned out the beating of her heart now. He had ambition, dreams and the will, she knew that, they were what had raised him from the mess he had found himself in — they had turned a youth addicted to drugs into a police cadet and later the head of SWAT. That was the affinity they had: they had both made good, paid the price. Should he stop now, halfway there, before they could enjoy the rewards? Before they could enjoy the respect and admire the view? He was courageous and a ruthless man of action, but he had failings that could prove costly. A lack of evil. The evil that you needed, if only for one decisive second. The second when you have to cope with not having restrictive morality on your side, when you mustn’t lose sight of the bigger picture, mustn’t torment yourself by asking if you’re doing the right thing in this, the smaller one. Macbeth loved what he called justice, and his loyalty to the rules of others was a weakness she could love him for. In times of peace. And despise him for now, when the bells of war were ringing. She ran her hand from his cheek to his neck, slowly over his chest and stomach. And back up. Listened. His breathing was regular, calm. He was asleep.

Macbeth breathed deeply, as though he were sleeping. She took away her hand. Moved to lie down along his back. She was breathing calmly too now. He tried to breathe in time with her. Kill Duncan? Impossible. Of course it was impossible.

So why couldn’t he sleep? Why did her words persist, why did his thoughts whirl around in his head like bats?

Life doesn’t give the likes of us that many opportunities, darling. We have to grasp the few that offer themselves . He thought of the opportunities life had given him. The one that night in the orphanage, which he hadn’t grasped. And the one Banquo had given him, which he had . How the first one had almost killed him and the second had saved him. But isn’t it that you don’t take some opportunities that are offered because they will condemn you to unhappiness anyway, opportunities that will cause regret for the rest of your life whether you take them or not? Oh, the insidious dissatisfaction that will always poison the most perfect happiness. And yet. Had fate opened a door that would soon shut? Was his courage letting him down again, the way it had let him down that night in the orphanage? He visualised the man in the bed that time, asleep, unsuspecting. Defenceless. A man who stood between him and the freedom every human being deserved. Between him and the dignity every human being should crave. Between Macbeth and the power he would gain. And the respect. And the love.

Day had started to break when he woke Lady.

‘If I did this...’ he said, ‘I would be beholden to Hecate.’

She opened her eyes as though she had been awake the whole time. ‘Why do you think like that, darling? Hecate has only prophesied that something will happen, so there is no debt to be paid.’

‘So what has he to gain by my becoming chief commissioner?’

‘You’d better ask him, but it’s obvious — he must have heard that Duncan has sworn he won’t rest until he has arrested Hecate. And he probably knows it’s not inconceivable that you would prioritise action against the drugs gangs who use violence and shoot each other in the streets.’

‘The Norse Riders, whose back has already been broken?’

‘Or against establishments that cheat good people out of their savings.’

‘The Obelisk?’

‘For example.’

‘Hm. You said something about the big things we could do. Were you thinking of something good for the town?’

‘Of course. Remember the chief commissioner decides which politicians need to be investigated and which do not. And anyone who has any knowledge of the town council knows that everyone in a position of power during the last ten years has paid for services in ways that would not bear close scrutiny. And that they in turn have demanded payment. Under Kenneth they didn’t need to bother to camouflage their corruption, the evidence was there for all to see. We know that, they know that, and it means we can control them as we wish, my love.’

She stroked his lips with her forefinger. She had told him the first night they spent together that she loved his lips. They were so soft and thin-skinned she could taste his blood with no more than a little nibble.

‘Make them finally keep their promises to implement initiatives that would save this town,’ he whispered.

‘Exactly.’

‘Get Bertha running again.’

‘Yes.’ She nibbled his lower lip, and he could feel the trembling, hers and his, their hearts racing.

He held her.

‘I love you,’ he whispered.

Macbeth and Lady. Lady and Macbeth. They were breathing in rhythm with each other now.

Lady looked at Macbeth. He was so handsome in a dinner jacket. She turned, checked that the waiter had put on white gloves as she had asked. And that the champagne flutes on the silver tray were the ones with the narrow bowls. She had, mostly for fun, put a small but elegant silver whisk on the tray, even though very few customers had seen one before and even fewer knew what it was for. Macbeth rocked back on his shoes as they sank into the deep carpet in the Inverness, and stared stiffly at the front door. He had seemed nervous all day. Only when they went through the practical details of the plan did he regain concentration and become the professional policeman of a rapid-response unit and forget the target had a name. Duncan.

The guards outside opened the door, and a gust of rain swept in.

The first guests. Lady switched on her happiest, most excited smile and placed her hand under Macbeth’s arm. She felt him instinctively straighten up.

‘Banquo, old friend!’ she exclaimed. ‘And you’ve brought Fleance. He’s become such a good-looking young man — I’m jolly glad I don’t have any daughters!’ Hugs and clinking glasses. ‘Lennox! You and I should have a little chat, but first some champagne. And there’s Caithness! You look ravishing, my dear! Why can’t I find dresses like that? Deputy Chief Commissioner Malcolm! But your title’s simply too long. Is it all right if I just call you Chief? Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I tell Macbeth to call me Director General just to hear how it sounds.’

She had barely said a word to most of them before, yet she still managed to make them feel they had known each other for years. Because she could see inside them, see how they wanted to be seen — it was the blessing of super-sensitivity among all its curses. It meant she could skip the preliminary skirmishes and get straight to the point. Perhaps it was her unpretentious manner that made them trust her. She broke the ice by telling them apparently intimate details of her life, which made them daring, and when they noticed their little secrets were rewarded with an ‘Ah’ and conspiratorial laughter, they ventured on to slightly bigger secrets. It was unlikely any other person in the town knew more about its inhabitants than this evening’s hostess.