Karin Alvtegen - Missing

Good. He was perfect.

He looked as if he was used to eating well. His neck wouldn't stay contained inside his collar and had oozed outside it at a point just above the knot on his tie.

Overall, his appearance might have deceived an untrained eye, but she was far too acute: he was obviously an upstart. For one thing, his table manners told even a casual observer that no one had spent much time on teaching him how to eat politely. No one had tapped his elbow when he let it rest on the table and no one had taken the trouble to tell him off for putting the knife in his mouth.

Lucky him.

He was actually using the first-course cutlery for his main course.

He had almost finished by the time her plate arrived. The waiter removed the silver cover and she had to use quite a lot of will power not to follow Jorgen Grundberg's example and go all out for the food. She cut off a small piece of filet and chewed it carefully. Meanwhile he shamelessly used the blade of his knife to scrape up the last dribble of sauce and transfer it to his mouth. She swallowed.

'This is really very good. Many thanks.'

'You're welcome.'

He burped, trying to hide behind his napkin, and pushed his plate away. Then he pulled a blister-pack from a white medical-looking box, squeezing out one capsule. He swallowed it with a gulp of wine.

'Well, now, "Swedish Laval Separator" – that's quite something.'

He put the box back in his pocket, and she carried on eating, but shrugged her shoulders lightly. This bit was always tricky. 'What about you? What do you do?'

She couldn't believe how well this worked, every time. Maybe all men in expensive suits are clones of the same ancient forefather. As soon as a man in a halfway decent career was given a chance to speak about his own successes, he would forget everything that seemed to have interested him maybe just minutes earlier.

'Import trade. Mostly in electronics. I check out new gizmos and if I believe in them, I buy the rights and start up production in Latvia and Lithuania. You'd be surprised, but production costs can be reduced by up to two-thirds if one only..

He was happily rabbiting on about his brilliant business ideas. All she needed to do was look at him and nod at regular intervals. She was enjoying her meal, letting garlic and rosemary absorb her mind fully.

When her plate was empty and she looked up at him again, she realised he had stopped talking. Now he was watching her. High time to start with stage two. She had half a glass of wine waiting, but it couldn't be helped.

'That was wonderful. Thank you so much.'

'You were quite hungry after all, weren't you?'

She put her knife and fork down on the plate. At least someone at this table had been taught how to signal the end of a meal correctly.

He seemed ridiculously pleased with himself, smiling contentedly.

'Working out what a woman really needs is one of my specialities.'

She wondered if that held true for his wife as well. Then she folded her napkin.

'It's a shame, but now it's definitely time for me to say goodnight. Thank you again, both for the pleasant company and the nice meal.'

'I'd like to tempt you to share a little night-cap upstairs.'

His eyes met hers over the edge of the glass.

'I appreciate the offer, but no, I can't. I've got a long day ahead tomorrow.' Before he could stop her she waved to the waiter, who responded instantly.

'My bill, please,' she said.

The waiter bowed politely and began clearing the table. He eyed Grundberg's crossed knife and fork. 'Have you finished, sir?'

The barely audible irony in his voice made her hide a smile in her wine glass, but was lost on Grundberg, who only nodded without spotting the barb.

'Now, you must let me pay for this. That's what we agreed.' He tried to put his hand over hers but she pulled it away in time.

'I must pay for my wine, though.'

The waiter left. She took hold of her handbag, which had been hanging over the back of her chair.

He didn't want to back down.

'No, don't think of it. No arguments now.'

'Thank you – but you can't really stop me, you know.'

He had begun to irritate her and she had sounded more aloof than she intended. Grundberg was smiling at her. This was the wrong time to cool his ardour and so she smiled back at him. She put her handbag on her knees and opened it to find her wallet. It didn't take long to search the two compartments.

'Oh God, no!'

'What's the matter?'

'My wallet's gone.'

She rooted in her handbag again, frantically. Then she hid her face in her left hand and sighed deeply.

'Take it easy now. Are you sure it couldn't be in your briefcase?'

She allowed this suggestion to sink in, giving both of them, especially him, new hope. Then she put the briefcase on her lap. He couldn't see what was inside, which was just as well. He might have been troubled to find that Caroline Fors had nothing in her briefcase except her diary, a pack of frankfurters and a Swiss army knife.

'No, it isn't here either. Oh God! Someone must have stolen it.'

'Now, now. You must take it easy. I'm sure all this can be fixed easily enough.'

The waiter returned with two bills on a small silver tray, and Grundberg hurriedly produced his American Express card.

'Take both off this.'

The waiter looked at her to get permission and she nodded briefly. He turned and left.

'I'll pay you back as soon as I…'

'No problem. Don't worry about a thing.'

She hid her face behind her hand again.

'And I had my hotel voucher in the wallet. Dear God, I haven't even got a room. This is terrible.' She placed a lot of emphasis on the last bit. Abjectly, she shook her head.

'You must let me help. Just you stay here and I'll have a word with the reception people.'

'But I couldn't possibly ask you to…'

'Of course you can. We'll deal with anything that needs settling once you've sorted out the business with your lost wallet. No hurry at all. Now, you just sit back and relax. I'll see to this.'

He got up and went off to the reception desk.

She drank some wine. Cheers!

In the lift, and then all the way to her room, she almost went over the top with gratitude. He had brought two shots of whisky and, outside her door, made one final attempt.

'Sure you haven't regretted saying no to that night-cap?'

This time he even winked at her.

'It's sweet of you, but I must get on the phone at once. I've got to cancel my cards and put a stop on the accounts.'

Even to him, this was an acceptable reason. He gave her one of the glasses of whisky and sighed.

'What a shame.'

'Some other time, perhaps.'

He sniffed a little and produced her keycard. She took it from him.

'Truly I'm so very grateful.'

She wanted to get into that room quickly now and put the card into the slit in the door. He put his hand on top of hers.

'I'm in 407, remember. You know where I am if you change your mind. I'm a light sleeper.'

He didn't give up easily. Gently, using all the self-control she could muster, she pulled his hand away.

'I won't forget.'

The card didn't work. The lock-release click didn't happen. She tried again. He smiled.

'Goodness. You must have got my card. Who knows, maybe it's an omen?'

She turned and looked at him.

He was holding her card between thumb and index finger. She felt an unmistakable wave of bad temper mounting inside her. She took the plastic card from him and put his into his jacket pocket. Her door opened easily this time.

'Good night.'

She stepped into her room and began pulling the door to. He stood there looking at her like a disappointed kid. No sweeties after all. And he had been exceptionally decent to her, it must be said. Maybe he deserved at least a little something to cheer him up. She lowered her voice.