could feel her stomach rumbling with hunger.
‘No, I don’t think so.’
He lifted the silver lid and a gorgeous smell of garlic and rosemary wound its way into her nostrils. She could feel saliva filling her mouth.
‘Come on, of course you must have something to eat.’
He wasn’t looking at her now. Instead he was focusing his attention on the delicate operation of cutting pieces off the fillet of lamb.
‘You must eat to keep up your strength,’ he said, moving a laden forkful towards his mouth. ‘Didn’t you learn that at your mother’s knee?’
As likely as not, her mother had said so and much else besides. That alone was a good reason for declining. But by now she was really very hungry and the bowl of fruit in her room did not seem so tempting any more.
While he was chewing, he called the waiter who came immediately, but was kept standing by until Grundberg had finished his mouthful of food.
‘Another one of these for the lady. Charge it to room 407.’
He smiled at her and waved his key-card in front of the waiter.
‘Room 407.’ The man went away.
‘I hope you don’t mind?’
‘I’m perfectly able to pay for my own food, you know.’
‘Of course you are. I just thought I’d better pay to make up for being so pushy.’
With pleasure, to be sure.
She drank some more wine. The guy was almost too good to be true. Ran on autopilot. There he sat, chomping away at his lamb fillets, totally absorbed by the food as far as she could see. In fact, for the moment he seemed to have forgotten that he had company at the table.
She observed him. About fifty years old, she guessed. His suit was expensive and since he’d just ordered two meals, without a second thought, even though it was the Grand’s French dining-room, his bank balance must be more than favourable.
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 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 Jörgen Grundberg’s example and go all out for the food. She cut off a small piece of fillet 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 conceal it 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 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 it was lost on Grundberg, who merely 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
