Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 28 - Ice and Fire

No, it wasn’t easy to satisfy everyone’s wishes, even though she tried to both think and talk like Signe. For what was Belinda to do when Signe’s very own husband, whom she had most probably been extremely fond of, started to do things like embracing her? In that instance she couldn’t think and talk like Signe, for Signe would have let him do those things and if Belinda did the same that would have upset Signe.

Belinda couldn’t make head or tail of it.

It wasn’t easy dealing with Mrs Tilda, either. It was completely impossible for Belinda to satisfy her. Belinda did everything wrong, and Tilda called her a useless good-for-nothing. Those words were painful to hear, for when one does one’s best and works hard at something and it still isn’t good enough, one feels completely helpless.

There was a knock on the door, and Belinda gave a start.

How fortunate that she hadn’t yet started to undress!

“Come in,” she said with a trembling voice. She almost couldn’t take any more reprimands now.

When she saw who was there she was shocked.

“Mr Abrahamsen, it isn’t proper for you to come in here. One must never receive gentlemen visitors in one’s room. Mother says so herself!”

He gave her a smooth smile. “Don’t worry, Belinda, this is not a ‘visit from a gentleman’. I’m here to discuss Lovise’s future care. And then I would like to talk about my beloved Signe with someone who really knew her.”

Yes, Herbert had indeed figured out how to launch his attack! Belinda’s weak spot was her sister.

And sure enough, Belinda melted at once. Her eyes filled with tears and she didn’t react at all when Herbert sat down next to her on the bed.

“Oh, how I miss her!” she cried.

“So do I, so do I,” he murmured, as Belinda’s tears began to trickle down her face. “She was an outstanding wife. And you, little Belinda, you remind me so much of her.”

That wasn’t true at all – Signe and Belinda were as different as chalk and cheese.

“So I simply have to talk with you,” he said unctuously. “Because having you here is exactly like having Signe here again.”

“Really?” Belinda exclaimed. She couldn’t really follow him. Did he really think she resembled Signe? Signe, who had been so pretty, sparkling and witty?

She couldn’t understand it.

“But Signe was so good at everything,” she objected.

“She certainly was,” Herbert conceded. “She was the finest human being I ever met. She is the one who embroidered this monogram on your bed sheet, did you know that?”

Belinda’s eyes were once again filled with tears. “No! How beautiful!”

Herbert bent over to show it to her and as he did so he placed his arm at her back. And let it remain there so carefully that Belinda didn’t have the heart to push it away.

He chatted eagerly about Signe, and Belinda got caught up in all the memories of her. It was so nice of him to venerate his deceased wife in this way!

Suddenly she noticed that his hand was resting on her bodice. She had been so absorbed in their conversation that she hadn’t registered it until now.

She instinctively pulled back a little.

“Forgive me,” Herbert said immediately. “You see, talking to you feels just like talking to Signe, and I miss her so terribly. As a woman too. I have been so lonely – and I simply forgot that she was not the one sitting here next to me. You resemble her so much. You are both equally attractive ...”

He removed his hand. But his other hand remained on her thigh, as though begging for forgiveness. Now he also emitted a sharp odour – sweat, and something else that Belinda couldn’t define but which made her think of a billy goat!

Unfathomable.

His face, the skin glossy and olive-coloured, was now close to her, and she could clearly see his stubble. Herbert was the kind of man who probably had to shave at least twice a day. His breathing was strained, she thought, and he was eyeing her with a glassy stare.

Belinda felt ill at ease. She had no idea what to do now, and wondering what Signe might have done didn’t help in the least.

But Herbert had great experience with women. Fortunately, he realized that it probably wasn’t wise to go any further this time. He stood up and thanked her for the uplifting conversation, thinking to himself that he was now leaving the girl in a proper state of erotic excitement. She was bound to be disappointed that he was leaving and would therefore be more cooperative next time. The next time his mother was out. Which she often was. She was very fond of coffee parties.

Belinda gave a sigh of relief when he left. His touch hadn’t made her feel anything in particular, but she could still instinctively sense a connection between it and the daydreams that normally excited her during her lonely hours. Never would she dream of entertaining such feelings in the presence of Herbert Abrahamsen. For by doing so she would have gravely betrayed her sister.

But feelings of doubt nagged her. What if Signe were sitting up there in heaven growing sad because of Belinda’s dismissive behaviour towards Herbert’s friendly advances?

She fell on her knees next to her bed and asked the good St George for his help and guidance so that she would do the right thing. For Belinda thought constantly of Signe’s posthumous reputation.

In the following days Belinda worked as hard as a mule to satisfy Mrs Tilda and also to avoid Herbert, while lavishing all the necessary attention and care on little Lovise.

And Belinda was quite capable. Any outsider would have seen that right away. The small staff of servants was actually quite impressed by the way in which the clumsy girl devoted herself to her work. Mrs Tilda, on the other hand, was less impressed. She hid behind doors and in closets and kept an eye on Belinda, and if she discovered that something was wrong she would immediately pounce on it. Belinda had learned to fear the sound of Tilda’s cold voice, her tall, stiff figure dressed in mourning, her pallid complexion and the tinge of grey in her dark hair. Like her son, Mrs Tilda had knitted eyebrows and the same profile, with a bent nose and receding chin, but her eyes were different from his. Where Herbert’s eyes were languishing, hers were expressionless. It was only when her gaze turned towards her beloved son that her eyes took on a warm, almost sentimental glow. Her scrawny hands were always clasped together, resting just over her midriff, and her back was straight.

Belinda had accidentally overheard Tilda make a comment to Herbert, a remark that was clearly loaded with suspicion: “I notice that you’re always in the nursery these days. Watch out that you don’t put any ideas into her head!”

“Who, Lovise?”

“Don’t be stupid! That little cow might think you’re actually interested in her.”

“But of course not, dear Mother, how could you think such a thing?”

Belinda hadn’t intended to listen to their conversation, but Herbert’s response had actually pleased her. Reassured her.

But he was difficult to deal with. He would often come in to chat with her as she was changing the baby, and while he did so his fingers would graze her shoulder blades and move down to her thighs and she would be forced to pretend that she had to go and fetch something in order to escape him.

Now that she realized that he would find an excuse to come into her room when she had finished tending to the baby – to “talk” about Lovise or Signe – she usually went out to escape his visits. She would walk up to the church and return when she believed he had gone to his own chamber.

Once she had seen a shadow ride by in the semi-darkness, which had made her think of St George and the strange night when she and Signe had seen the apparition on the hill.