Margit Sandemo: The Ice People 34 - The Woman on the Beach

The years passed. Nette was promoted. Then her mother died. That was when Nette discovered that her life was frighteningly empty.

Deep in thought, she took off her big hat with the bunch of artificial cherries on the brim. For the first time in a long while, she looked at herself in the mirror.

She looked shockingly old, with that lorgnette dangling on a string! It would be better if she kept it in a case in her pocket. And her hair ...? She loosened it carefully with both hands. She touched her high, stiff collar and held it a little away from her throat.

Miserable! What she saw in the mirror was a sad, middle-aged, totally charmless woman. She rapidly set about preparing food and dusting the tables and shelves in her small, lonely apartment.

Chapter 2

So far, André was getting nowhere with Petra Olsdatter’s family tree. So instead he needed to look at that of Egil Holmsen, the father of her child.

He had his address.

Unfortunately for André, Egil Holmsen had remarried, so it was his young wife who opened the door. She had two small children hanging on to her and was expecting number three. It was very difficult for André to open an old wound such as the story about Petra. He simply couldn’t. Instead, he said that he was seeking information about a relative, which was why he wanted to speak to her husband. Was he at home?

She looked extremely curious and slightly nervous, but told André that her husband was working at the foundry.

So he still does, thought André. Yes, a job was something you clung to tooth and nail. If you lost it, you might be without one at all.

“Is your husband a foreman there?” he asked, because surely he must have been promoted in the past thirteen years.

The woman gave André a faint smile. “A foreman? Why would he be? No, he watches over the smelting furnaces. He’s always done that!”

No progress for Egil Holmsen then. He hadn’t shown much initiative when Petra was expecting his child. Except to make her pregnant. He had managed that. But afterwards? He had bowed to the will of his parents by labelling Petra a bad girl ...

André didn’t harbour any warm feelings for the unknown Egil. He had better look him up at the foundry. His wife shouldn’t have to suffer for his previous folly or weakness, or whatever you wanted to call it.

André was lucky enough to turn up in the middle of the lunch break, and Egil Holmsen went outside with him.

Behind the soot, sweat and oil that caked Egil’s face André saw a dark-haired man who would undoubtedly be attractive to women, but with a sluggish, off-hand manner. As if there was nothing in this world to be interested in. André had already discovered in Egil’s home that working in a foundry didn’t make one rich. But surely there must be something ...

No, André had no right to judge others. But he definitely didn’t like Egil Holmsen. So his tone may have sounded more aggressive than he intended when he explained somewhat sketchily what he wanted to talk about. “Certain things may indicate that the child Petra Olsdatter gave birth to belongs to my family. That is what I need to find out. So I want to know a bit more about your and Petra’s origins.”

“Why?” Egil asked, indifferently and rather grumpily.

André’s answer was short: “An inheritance.”

Slowly, a glimmer was lit in Egil Holmsen’s eyes. It was the first sign of life that André had seen there.

“What sort of an inheritance?”

“I’m not at liberty to speak about it yet. Right now, I just want to find heirs.” He had discovered that the possibility of inheriting money was the easiest way to get people to talk.

The foundry labourer looked at him with an almost interested glance. “How do you know?”

André understood his cryptic question. “The baby’s body showed certain characteristics that exist only in our family. Is it all right if I ask you some questions about your origins?”

“Yes, certainly,” the man answered, now almost impatiently.

With his notebook in his hand, André asked: “What are the names of your parents and where do they live?”

The answer came unexpectedly swiftly from Egil. The names didn’t ring a bell with André, but he wrote them and their address in his notebook. The father had passed away and only the mother was still alive.

“Could I have the names of your grandparents as well?”

Now Egil was getting a bit irritated. “Oh, hell! I don’t remember! Oh, my grandfather’s name was Guldbrand, come to think of it.”

“Perhaps your mother might remember?”

“That could well be. Are you and I related to one another?”

“I’m not able to answer that question right now. I need to work my way further back in the genealogical table.”

“Is it worth the trouble?”

André sincerely hoped that he wasn’t related to Egil. “Worth the trouble? If it wasn’t I wouldn’t have embarked on this long journey.”

That answer seemed to please Egil. A slow grin began to appear on his sooty face. “Yes, ask my mother! She’s bound to know!”

“Thank you, I’ll do that. Have you any siblings who might know more about your family?”

Egil chuckled. “Siblings? Yes, eleven! But they probably know nothing. Ask my mother!”

Eleven siblings ...? And three of his own at home!

On this early morning in a Trondheim street, with soot and filth everywhere, André knew that Egil was ruled out. Descendants of the Ice People didn’t have twelve children. However, he promised to ask the mother.

“Did Petra mention anything about her family? Her generation or the generation before her?”

Egil stared suspiciously at him. He didn’t want any rivals to the inheritance. “No, I don’t think Petra said anything at all. We never spoke to one another.”

André could imagine that they didn’t. Perhaps Petra had wanted to talk. He didn’t know about that. But this bloke here didn’t strike him as someone who would waste his time on that kind of nonsense.

André was a well-mannered young man. Right now, he wanted to punch the nose of the man facing him, but that was something you just didn’t do.

Immensely relieved, he walked back into town. The obnoxious Egil was ruled out as a member of the Ice People. Now Petra was the only one left.

Who might know more about her?

He felt that his hands were grasping at thin air as he tried to get hold of the thread that could unravel it all.

Who had known Petra?

Her first lover?

Not very likely. He probably wouldn’t have anything to say.

With his mind full of thoughts, André walked into the office he had visited the previous day. The lady at the desk recognized him straightaway. “Well, how are you getting on?” she asked.

“I’m at a standstill,” he admitted, and told the woman what his conclusion was. She looked at him and replied: “Then I see no solution other than the church registers.”

André nodded. “Of course, I’ve had them in mind as well.”

“But the parish office is closed for today and won’t open again until eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. However, I’ve investigated a few things here. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

He gazed at her – he couldn’t quite recognize her from the day before. Something was different. Might it be her hair? Or was it the dress? The lorgnette was gone.

“Have you discovered anything?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ve spoken to someone who knew Ole Knudsen while he was alive.”

“Petra’s father? Excellent!”

“There are several members of the family who might be able to help you with information about Petra.”

A warning signal rang in André’s mind: several – that didn’t sound good.