woman shifted a little. She was in her forties and exceptionally good-looking.
‘I am Lena Grundberg.’
Sibylla felt uncomfortable. She had no idea what or who she’d been expecting. Her idea had been to pretend she was a minister on call, or maybe a counsellor from some bereavement support group. The papers often mentioned that sort of thing. People, who simply came along uninvited, wanting to comfort the distressed widow or mother or whoever. Trouble was, this woman was looking just as cool and collected as the marble lady in the pond.
‘What’s the matter?’ Her voice sounded a little cross, impatient. The tone was that of someone interrupted in the middle of watching an exciting film.
Having taken in the woman’s personality, Sibylla made an instant decision to change her approach. Submission seemed the best way to deal with Lena Grundberg.
‘My name is Berit Svensson. I know this is a terrible time to call but … I’ve come to ask you for help.’ She blinked shyly. Looking up she saw Lena Grundberg frowning.
‘I’ve been reading the papers, of course, and I live … round here. You see, I’ve lost my husband too, some six months ago and I still feel … I need to talk to someone who knows what it’s like.’
Lena Grundberg, who was looking rather disapproving, seemed to be weighing the pros and cons. Sibylla decided to pile on the pressure.
‘You must be such an incredibly strong human being. I’d really appreciate if I could just come in and talk to you for a moment.’
The last clause had the fervent ring of real truth and this small shift of nuance may have made the flattery convincing. Lena Grundberg stepped back from the threshold and gestured towards the hall behind her.
‘Come in. We’ll talk in the drawing room.’
Sibylla took one long step forward into the house. Bending down to take off her shoes, she realised that the large rug was very expensive. Next to her stood a wildly ornamental umbrella-stand in dark green metal.
The doorway between the hall and the drawing room had been remodelled into a wide arch. Lena Grundberg walked ahead of Sibylla, who kept looking around. Regretting the makeup she’d put on in the train, she wiped off the lipstick on her hand. Her instinct told her that the more superior the immaculately made-up Lena Grundberg felt, the better it would be.
Sibylla had extensive experience of that kind of woman.
The drawing room was so tasteless that she looked around in desperation for something to praise. She homed in on the one item that wasn’t positively repulsive.
‘What a lovely wood-burning stove!’
‘Thank you. Do have a seat,’ Lena Grundberg said and sat down on an armchair covered with leather in a shade like ox-blood.
Sibylla settled into the huge leather sofa. She was lost in amazement at the glass-topped table in front of the sofa. Its undercarriage was a naked marble woman, lying on her back and balancing the sheet of glass on her raised hands and knees.
‘Jörgen imported marble,’ Lena Grundberg explained, adding ‘among other things.’
Jörgen was clearly part of the past already. Just like that. Lena Grundberg seemed to have read her thoughts.
‘I suppose you’d better know from the start that my marriage wasn’t especially happy. We were about to file for a divorce.’
Sibylla considered this.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It was my initiative.’
‘Oh, right. I see.’
The room fell silent. Sibylla felt a little bemused. What had she imagined she’d gain by coming here? She couldn’t even remember now.
‘How long have you been a widow?’
The question was so sudden she jumped. Pointlessly, she looked at her watch. It had stopped again. She had to say something.
‘Six months and four days.’
‘What did he die from?’
‘Cancer. It was very quick.’
Lena Grundberg nodded.
‘Were you happy?’
Sibylla looked down at her nails. Thank goodness she hadn’t painted them. She spoke very quietly.
‘Yes, very.’ Another moment of silence.
‘It’s so strange, you know,’ Lena Grundberg said. ‘Less than a year ago, Jörgen was dying from a serious kidney problem. He was hospitalised for months. Finally they decided that he could live normally again and all would be well for as long as he took his medicine in good order. On the whole, he was OK.’
She was shaking her head.
‘And then he goes and gets himself murdered. After all that trouble. It may sound very cynical to say so, but frankly, it was absolutely typical of him.’
Sibylla found it hard to hide her surprise.
‘How do you mean?’
Lena Grundberg lifted her eyebrows.
‘He was such a lecherous fool. Taking an unknown female to your room like that, honestly – and so ugly too. One look at that photograph was enough to tell you she must be desperate.’
Stay cool now.
‘You sound bitter.’ Sibylla tried to keep her tone neutral.
‘Not really. It’s just that I think he could’ve picked someone better looking. I might have felt a little happier if …’
Her voice cracked suddenly. She was sobbing, hiding her face in her hands. How about that? At least one of the marble sisters was all emotion, once you got through the layers of foundation.
Considering Lena Grundberg’s outburst, she almost regretted that Jörgen hadn’t been allowed to share her bed. She should’ve let him, from pure human sympathy.
‘You wanted him to choose someone who’d begin to match you?’ Sibylla just about managed to control her voice, to keep the irritation out.
Lena Grundberg recognised the change of tone and tried to pull herself together. Her mouth still hanging open, she wiped the tears away carefully so as not to ruin her mascara.
‘Yes, that’s it, you know. It really would’ve helped.’
Sibylla was looking at the woman opposite her, reflecting that, after all, she’d never met anyone quite like her.
‘Why would it have helped?’ She was actually curious to know. ‘After all, you were the one suing for divorce.’
Now Lena Grundberg was back in charge, leaning back calmly in her vulgar armchair.
