Between Two Seas (25 page)

‘I want to speak to you. Alone. At once.’ I don’t know where I’m taking the courage from to speak to him so boldly, but it works. He hesitates only a moment before pulling his watch from his waistcoat pocket and consulting it.

‘I can give you five minutes of my time,’ he says, and snaps his watch shut. He then leads the way through the sitting room, where Mikkel and his brother and sisters are sitting. Mikkel has a copy of the Bible open in his hands, but he’s not reading. He sends me a look of pure horror when he sees me. I shake my head at him very slightly as I follow his father through into another room. It has a bed, but is obviously mainly used as an office. There’s a large desk strewn with papers. Christensen sits down stiffly in his chair at the desk. He doesn’t offer me a seat, so I’m forced to stand before him. I see him glance at the letter in my hand and I put my hand out of sight behind my back.

‘Well?’ he asks.

I can feel hatred and anger churning inside me. I make an effort to master it, to speak calmly, but I don’t succeed. I’ve been rehearsing what to say to him all afternoon, but now the words desert me. After a moment’s painful silence, I end up blurting out: ‘Why do you hate me so?’

Even in my own ears it sounds childish and petulant.

Christensen observes me narrowly before replying. ‘You are mistaken,’ he says heavily. ‘I don’t know you.’ His voice hardens as he continues: ‘But it is quite natural that I should object to a Frenchman’s whore as company for my son.’

‘That’s a lie,’ I cry passionately.

Christensen looks at me almost triumphantly, and I sense that I won’t get anywhere with anger and indignation. I need to be as cool as he is. I clench my trembling hands into fists and try to bring my temper under control.

‘Do you believe all the gossip you hear?’ I ask with a creditable attempt at calm. I force myself to look at him. ‘No. In fact, I expect you helped make those stories up.’

‘Nonsense,’ he snaps dismissively, but I can see a slight flush under his tan, and I wonder if I’ve hit home. He gets up and walks to the window and back. Then he leans on his desk watching me.

We both stand in silence for a moment, and I try to find the words to say what I really came to say. And I pray that I’m doing the right thing. In the end I come straight out with it: ‘I think we both know the truth about my parentage,’ I say.

Christensen sits down abruptly in his chair. He’s gone as white as a sheet.

‘You know who I am, don’t you?’ I ask. ‘You don’t dislike me because of any connection I had with Perroy. It started long before that. As soon as I arrived in Skagen. You were shocked at the very sight of me. I suppose your brother must have … ’

‘My brother?’ Christensen gasps. He clutches the edge of the desk and leans forward, a look of painful intensity on his face. ‘What do you know of my brother?’

‘That he was my father,’ I say, and I’m surprised how calmly I’m managing to speak. This feels unreal, like a dream. The truth is out. There’s no going back. ‘Which makes me your niece, doesn’t it? Why would you hate your niece, Hr Christensen? Hate her so much that you would pay someone as unreliable as Perroy to take her off to Paris?’

‘That’s a lie,’ Christensen gasps. ‘You can’t prove it.’ His eyes dart about unsteadily.

I shrug. I can’t prove it, but I don’t need to. We both know.

‘I can prove I’m who I say I am,’ I tell him. I produce my mother’s letter from behind my back and lay it on the desk in front of him. ‘This is a letter my mother wrote to your brother before she died,’ I explain. ‘I don’t know what it says. You’ll see it’s still sealed.’

Christensen stares at the letter without touching it. He looks almost afraid of it. I see a muscle below his right eye twitch. I still don’t know how much he knows.

‘Did my father write to you?’ I ask. ‘Did he tell you about my mother?’ There’s a long pause.

‘Yes,’ Christensen croaks at last. ‘That’s right. He wrote me a letter before he … died.’

I nod, but I’m not satisfied. ‘But you seemed to recognize me, that day on the west coast.’

‘No. How could I have done?’ His voice is stronger now. ‘I did not know you existed. But I deduced from your name who you might be.’

‘Then why did you not speak to me about it?’

‘Why did you not come to me?’ Christensen counters. I stare at him perplexed, trying to fathom his behaviour. None of it quite adds up.

‘Perhaps I should have come sooner,’ I admit. ‘But I had seen you, and heard a little about you, and I was afraid.’

‘Afraid?’ Christensen looks shocked, but he can’t possibly be surprised.

‘Yes, afraid. You looked so stern. And the Anchers told me, you see, about your strict views. My childhood in England was … difficult. Because of my birth. I didn’t want the same thing to happen here.’ I’m aware my voice sounds constricted. I’m finding this subject really difficult to talk about. Especially to this man whom I dislike so intensely.

Christensen makes a strangled sound in his throat and gets to his feet. Instinctively I take a step back, but he merely begins to pace the room, his face working soundlessly.

‘So why are you here now?’ he demands abruptly. ‘What is it that you want from me? Money?’

‘No!’ I cry indignantly. ‘I came because Mikkel is unhappy. You are being cruel to him. Because you’re angry that Perroy let you down.’ There are so many thoughts in my head and I struggle to put them into words. ‘You can’t punish me, so you punish him. It’s not fair.’

Christensen turns on me: ‘Don’t tell me how to raise my son,’ he shouts furiously. ‘Don’t tell me … ’ his voice trails off unexpectedly. My heart is hammering with fright.

I’m shaking now. My whole body is trembling. The man who is my uncle merely sits down heavily at the desk again, and stares into space. I don’t know what I expected from him. I certainly didn’t expect him to welcome me into his family with open arms. But this silence is dreadful.

‘Was my father anything like you?’ I ask. ‘Because if he was, I’m glad I never met him.’

Exhausted, I turn towards the door. I’ve taken far more than five minutes of his time, but I’m not sure I’ve achieved anything. Then I hear his voice, ‘Marianne, wait … ’ Christensen is standing bowed over, one hand stretched out. He looks different all of a sudden. Older, more vulnerable. I pause. It’s the first time he’s used my name. But then he draws himself up again.

‘Nothing. Go. Just go,’ he mutters.

I push the door open and leave, walking past Mikkel and his family who are sitting quietly together in the parlour. I send Mikkel an apologetic look as I pass. I let myself out. I’ve gained nothing except possibly to get Mikkel deeper into trouble.

Instead of walking back to the hotel, I turn my steps towards the beach. The air is like soup, thick and heavy. My clothes and hair stick damply to me, and I feel as though I might suffocate any minute.

I
glance behind me as I walk down to the beach. A huge storm cloud is gathering in the west. Out to sea it still looks like a warm summer’s day, the sun sparkling on the water. But as I turn and begin to walk south along the coast, I can see the cloud piling up, drawing closer. It’s inky black, tinged with yellow. Jagged bolts of lightning flash across it. The air is heavy and still.

Only a part of my mind is interested in the storm. The rest is busy puzzling over Christensen’s behaviour. I feel there’s something that’s eluding me, like a piece of the jigsaw that’s gone missing. If I had it, if I could see the whole picture, I’d be able to make sense of it. As it is, I don’t understand. I’m also bitterly disappointed. I suppose despite everything, I hoped for a warmer reception from the only family I have.

A small voice to my right disturbs my thoughts.

‘Marianne?’ A small, grubby child emerges from behind an upturned boat. She stands sucking her thumb, watching me. Her dress is a dirty rag, her hair a tangled mass.

‘Lise?’ I can hardly believe my eyes. Three months ago, I left her clean and tidy, with a ribbon in her hair. I can hardly see it’s the same child.

‘Lise, look at you, what’s the matter?’

She shakes her head and doesn’t move. I can hear the first rumbles of thunder in the distance.

‘I miss you, Marianne. You promised to come and see me, but you never did.’

A feeling of guilt creeps over me. She’s right, I haven’t been back once. I’ve been too busy, too selfish.

‘Come here, Lise. You’ve found me now.’ Taking her grubby hand, I lead her down to the water’s edge. The water is silted and sluggish today. I scoop some up and wash her hands and face. Close to, I can see her hair is crawling again, but there’s nothing I can do about that.

‘You’re not wearing your ribbon.’ I don’t know what else to say.

‘Mother took it away. A long time ago.’ Lise says this simply, accepting it. My own problems recede as I look at the lost little girl before me and grieve for her happy chatter and bright looks. They are gone now as though they had never been. I resolve not to neglect her again, but I don’t say it aloud this time. She might not believe me.

‘And how are your brothers and sisters?’ I ask her. She doesn’t understand the question, so I ask: ‘Do Jakob and Morten go fishing?’

‘Jakob does, he brings food home for us most days,’ she nods. ‘But Morten gets drunk, and gets mad at us all.’ She says this quite artlessly, but also sorrowfully.

There’s a crack of thunder, and the heavy, hot air stirs languidly. I feel my hair move. The storm cloud reaches the sun and covers it, like a lamp being blown out. We both shiver.

‘Lise, there’s a storm coming. You should get home now.’

Lise shakes her head. ‘No, I want to stay with you.’

I don’t have the energy to argue. My limbs feel weighed down and my head hurts. I walk on along the beach and she follows me, slipping her hand in mine. Not surprisingly, the beach is almost deserted. A few children have been bathing, but are leaving now, with anxious glances at the storm clouds inland. One boy keeps looking out to sea as well, as though searching for something. I follow his gaze, but can’t see anything. No boats or ships.

Further down, some men have been hauling their boats high up onto the beach, in case the storm stirs up the sea. They too are leaving. Only one man remains. He has his back to us, working on his boat. It’s unusual to see anyone breaking the Sabbath. As we come closer we can see he’s scraping at the upturned hull with a tool of some sort.

A stronger gust of wind blows across the beach, and this time the air is colder. It also brings a few heavy drops of rain with it. I look up. The cloud is almost upon us. The day has darkened as though it were evening. The weather suits my mood. I’d like to stay on the beach throughout the storm, but I know I should take Lise home.

We’re almost level with the man working on the boat. My stomach drops sickeningly as he turns and I see it’s Peter. It’s too late to turn away now, he’s seen us. A huge flash of lightning flickers, reflecting on his face.

‘
Dav
, Marianne,’ he says coldly. No doubt he thinks I’ve thrown myself in his way on purpose. I’m mortified. Peter turns away from me, but then hesitates and turns back. He looks at me more closely, and his face is no longer hostile.

‘So, you didn’t … you didn’t go away with them after all. The French people.’

He seems to be struggling to find the words, but I’m delighted that he’s speaking to me at all.

‘No. I never had any intention of leaving with them. They invited me, but I preferred to stay in Skagen. Besides,’ I give a shaky laugh, ‘they don’t pay very well. Not at all in fact.’

Peter nods gravely. ‘So I heard,’ he says, and I’m not surprised he already knows. Skagen is a small place.

Another bright flash of lightning is followed by a loud crack of thunder right overhead. It makes us all jump. The rain begins to fall in earnest, and a squall of wind makes my skirts flap and whips some strands of my hair out of its bun. I feel Lise shiver again. Peter looks up at the sky.

‘You should both go home,’ he says. ‘It’s going to be a bad storm.’

‘You’re right.’ I tug on Lise’s hand. ‘Come on, Lise, I’ll take you.’ But she’s looking out to sea.

‘Why’s that boy still swimming?’ she asks, pointing.

Peter and I both look out to sea, sure she must be mistaken. ‘No one’s swimming now, Lise,’ I tell her. ‘They’ve all gone home.’ But the words are scarcely out of my mouth before I spot a white arm flash some distance out. I screw up my eyes and can just make out a head. It looks like a child.

‘The fool!’ exclaims Peter. He glances up at the sky again. ‘What the devil is he doing right out there?’ He hesitates only a moment and then throws his tools aside and turns his boat back over. Throwing its small anchor and both oars in, he begins to drag it down to the water.

‘Let me go with you,’ I beg at once.

‘Of course not,’ Peter says firmly. ‘Get that child home. I’ll fetch the lad in.’

But I help him push the boat down to the water, and then out some distance until she floats. Waves are rushing onto the beach. He grasps my hand briefly. ‘Thank you, Marianne. Now go.’

I don’t answer him. I just stand there, knee deep in the water, watching him as he takes the oars and begins to row out.

‘Marianne?’ calls Lise from the beach. ‘I’m getting all wet.’ It’s raining hard now; the drops are landing on my head, running down my face and neck. My skirts are swirling unheeded about my ankles in the sea. I wade back to Lise and kneel down, putting my hand on her shoulder.

‘I’m going to stay here, to make sure Peter’s safe. But you must go home now.’

Lise pouts. ‘I’m not going home, everyone’s cross there. I like being with you.’ Another crack of thunder, like an explosion, makes her shriek and throw her arms around me.

I disengage myself, and stand up, my eyes seeking Peter’s boat. I can’t see the boy any longer. It’s raining in great sheets. The wind is buffeting us. Lines of waves are tearing inland, marking each of the sandbars. Water is streaming down me. My hair has come down but I don’t care. I feel a fierce exaltation in being out in the elements like this.