Frozen Music (40 page)

‘I didn't know Enid Blyton was a journalist.' Olivia stood in the kitchen doorway, wiping her large hands on her red apron.

‘Who was a journalist?' Ulla had had a nap and now she joined us ready for battle.

‘Enid Blyton,' Olivia said.

‘Enid Blyton was an author of children's books.' Ulla sniffed. ‘Surely you know that.'

‘I didn't mean that Enid Blyton was…'

‘I cannot understand how anyone can have failed to have heard of Enid Blyton's children's novels,' Ulla nagged. ‘
Famous Five, Secret Seven
…'

I escaped back to the cottage. It was time to get ready for the party anyway. Going through my drawers and the white-painted wardrobe I wished, maybe for the first time in my life, that I were more like my mother. Audrey was a woman who thought travelling light was an equation by Einstein. She would have brought just the right outfit for an evening like tonight, an evening spent in a wooden house on an island in the company of the man you loved and the woman he loved. As it was, I had a pair of black cotton trousers and one grey and one black cardigan. I also had my Posy-type dress, and of course some jeans and shorts. I rooted round the shelves and drawers. Surely I had packed something else. Oh yes, a tweed jacket. Why? I chucked it to one side. Then I picked it up and hung it back in the wardrobe. I was fond of that jacket. And it had been very expensive when I bought it five years ago. I looked at my watch. It was almost six. The shops were open until at least seven. The party started at six thirty so if I hurried, I could make it. I rushed out into the rain, down the hill and on to the promenade. There were several shops selling clothes along the harbour front and, blinded by the rain, I dived inside the first. Summer clothes, sorbet clothes, I touched the sleeve of a tomato-red man's sports jacket. The minutes ticked by as I moved around the shop. There was nothing here for me. The next place was no better, full of hearty shorts and those brightly patterned polo shirts the Swedes seemed so fond
of. At last, in the third shop I found the dress I wanted. Actually it was a frock: white with large cornflower-blue flowers strewn across it, tight-bodiced and wide-skirted. I found the right size and held the dress up in front of me in the mirror, there was no time for trying anything on. It looked as if it would fit and the colours suited me. I paid and hurried from the shop, the bag in my hand. I was pleased with myself. I had bought a frock and in no time at all. I had, in fact, been decisive. I clutched the carrier to my chest. Linus had never seen me in a
pretty
dress.

The guests arrived two by two, up the hill and through the gate as rain kept coming from the sky. ‘It's like the great flood,' Ulla, who was standing at the window, said. She sounded pleased. ‘I expect Olivia intended tonight as a little goodbye party.'

Not many minutes later the rain turned into a light drizzle, then stopped altogether. Ulla turned away from the window with a face like someone who's turned up to see a nice execution only to find there had been a general amnesty.

I went across to the cottage to get a cardigan and on my way back I paused for a moment and looked towards the house. The garden had that new look about it, the leaves of the plants washed clean of dust and grime, the petals of the flowers unfurling. A sparrow appeared cautiously from under a lilac bush and looked around him, before hopping on towards the bird-bath, his head turning rapidly from side to side. From outside, Villa Rosengård looked as if it were ready to split at the joins, there were so many people inside. A back was pressed against the hall window, two or three more against those of the veranda. Then the French doors opened and Olivia led the way out on to the deck, followed by a stream of guests. Blonde, brown-legged women in bright sleeveless dresses bent down and sniffed the waterlogged roses. Bertil and Linus walked around their guests refilling glasses. ‘What a wonderful night it has turned out to be,' someone exclaimed and out of the corner of my eye I noticed Ulla, standing a little apart, glaring up at the sky as if she could not forgive it for brightening up.

Linus was talking to a middle-aged man to whom I had been introduced, but whose name I couldn't for the life of me remember.
Probably something to do with Blom, or Lund, or Berg. Swedes were seen as dour and stolid, but how could they be when they named themselves Björn Blomkvist – Bear Flowerbranch – or Ulf Bergström – Wolf Mountainstream? You could stand in a gathering like this and chuck a brick and be sure it would hit someone with an impossibly poetic name: Smash! straight into Mrs Meadowcopse. Bash! a direct hit on old Mr Lindentree. Linus was holding a bottle of wine, gesticulating with his free hand as he leant against the wooden banister of the terrace.

‘It was the most amazing sight,' I heard him say as I moved closer. ‘This one moment when the setting sun turned the cliff face gold and for a few seconds, no more, the sea was striped in wide bands of yellow and turquoise. It was over in seconds but while it lasted it was heavenly.' ‘
Himmelskt
,' he said. I drew closer, attracted to the warmth and enthusiasm in his voice and the soft, almost feminine choice of words. I had just finished reading a play by a Swedish eighteenth-century writer about a being, neither male nor female, but whatever you wanted him/her to be. A sprite, a spirit, it captivated anyone who dared come close. It just goes to show how far gone – lovegone, lovelorn – I was that I saw Linus as that being. But the arrival of another creature, all pale hair and golden limbs, wrapped in silver and white, interrupted my thoughts. This one was wearing a frock not unlike mine, but on her it looked as if it had been created straight on to her slim body.

‘Linus, I've been looking for you.' Pernilla's voice was thick and a little slurred. Audrey used to sound like that about three hours into a party. I didn't stop to see the delight in Linus's eyes as he looked at her, but turned on my heel and walked straight into an apparition of a different kind. This one was large and elderly, and shrouded in green chiffon, with a huge floppy-brimmed hat in peacock-blue placed low over her forehead, almost obscuring her face. The woman peered at me in the terrace light. She took a step back, still looking, then grabbed me by the elbow and said something in Swedish about a good face. She quickly changed to English. ‘You're Esther Fisher,' she announced as if she was glad to be able to tell me. ‘I said you've got a
good face. I might decide to paint you.' She paused and stared some more. ‘Are you bored by this party?'

‘Bored? No, no, not at all.'

The woman looked a little surprised but said nothing for a while. Then she pointed towards Linus. ‘That one's very pretty,' she said.

‘You mean Pernilla?'

‘Who? No, no. I'm talking about the young Stendal, Linus.'

‘You haven't got a glass, Esther.' Bertil had joined us, a bottle in each hand. He handed them to me and disappeared, returning with a clean glass, swapping it for the bottles. ‘Red or white?' he said to me. ‘You'll have red, Asta, I know.' I said ‘white', before changing my mind and saying, ‘No, red actually. But only if you have enough. I would be just as happy with white.' The evening was warm and the air was humid, pregnant with rain. A white-wine evening. ‘Actually,' I said as Bertil was about to tip the bottle, ‘I'd prefer white.' Bertil gave me a look and poured me some.

‘You should learn to be more decisive,' Asta said.

‘Oh, I am a very decisive person, really,' I assured her. ‘I'm just taking a year out, a kind of gap year where I'm rather indecisive. The year is almost up, though.' Out of the corner of my eye I was watching Linus and Pernilla. Did that girl have
no one
else to talk to? As if in answer to my question, Pernilla laughed and shrugged her bare brown shoulders. I was so busy watching that unintentionally I raised my own in a little shrug and threw my head back in a pretence laugh. Then I noticed Asta's sharp eyes on me and I grinned idiotically.

‘He hasn't suggested it, but who knows, I might throw a few things in my rucksack and go,' I heard Pernilla say. In answer to what? I wanted to know.

‘Just do it,' Asta said. ‘Snap.' For a second I thought she was referring to Pernilla. But love had enhanced my sight and my hearing beyond normal realms. I could see for miles, it seemed, if it were Linus's face in the distance and there were no words too soft or too quiet for me to pick up if they concerned him. Love had made my skin so sensitive that a touch left an imprint that could last for ever. No, Asta had heard nothing of the conversation going on behind her.

‘You should always make up your mind like this.' She raised her free hand and snapped her fingers.

‘I'm working on it,' I said.

Kerstin appeared beside us. For the evening she was wearing a short flower-sprigged skirt and a sweat-shirt with a pattern of tortoises playing netball. ‘What are you working on?' she asked.

I assured her it was nothing and left her with Asta. I liked Asta, but she saw too much.

Linus had his arm round Pernilla's shoulder. ‘That's what I adore about this woman; she's so easygoing, no fuss, nothing's a problem.'

‘What about me?' I wanted to yell. ‘Look at me, I'm easygoing…' That's where the thought stopped. Dour? Yes. Sullen? Maybe. Exact and ponderous? Possibly. But easygoing? Not in a million years. With one last look at the tall, fair couple so unlike me, I turned and wandered off into the house.

‘There you are.' Fru Sparre handed me a jug of iced water. ‘You can pass this round.' She didn't waste time on unnecessary pleasantries, that was for sure. Come to think of it, she didn't seem to waste time on necessary ones either, but like everyone else, I was putty in the woman's hand and I turned and walked meekly back outside with the jug.

Linus was telling some story. All I could hear as I passed through the throng was talk of plastic mouldings, then he laughed, that laugh. It sounded good to me. I asked him if he wanted some water.

He smiled at me, a mocking little smile, fuzzy with alcohol. ‘Water,' he said with pretend indignation. ‘That's what fish pee in.' He began to recite some Swedish limerick concerning two brothers called Montgomery who drank nothing but Pommery. That's where he lost me. I stood there, wanting to say something sparkling, witty… something, anything, but all I could think of was that he'd have a headache the next morning. Pernilla, who had disappeared, mercifully but all too briefly, returned and I melted away with my jug of water. I bet she was saying something sparkling, even as I left.

But were was Ivar? It was almost ten o'clock and most of the guests had left when Linus came rushing out of the house asking, ‘Has anyone seen Ivar? He's not in his room or anywhere in the house.'

We all searched the garden. We looked in the shed and in the cellar under the house, but there was no sign of him. Linus, Bertil and the remaining guests, men and women alike, disappeared out into the still light night, searching.

Gerald came crawling out from under the deck. ‘He and I sometimes look for hedgehogs,' he explained, getting to his feet and brushing down his pale-blue suit.

‘He'll probably come bumbling in any minute,' Olivia said, but her face was strained with the effort of staying calm. ‘I think I'd better wait here for him.'

I had intended to go along with the search, but now I wondered if I'd be more use staying with Olivia. I was about to offer when Pernilla came up to her, putting her arm round her with easy affection. ‘Let me make you a cup of tea, Olivia. You and I'll wait here. There's absolutely no point everyone rushing out.'

I had a sudden vision of our network of canals. ‘I think I know where he might have gone,' I said. ‘If you see Linus, tell him to go to the little side-street above the old burial ground.'

I ran out of the garden and down the hill, past the school, turning left by the vicarage and down Church Street. The streets were well lit but I still took a wrong turn. At last, sweaty and out of breath, I reached the road where Ivar and I had dug his canals, but there was no sign of him. I had been so sure that that was where he had gone,
to check on his work, but the road was deserted. I crouched down by the dam and heard sobbing.

I scrambled to my feet shouting Ivar's name and to my relief he replied, ‘Esther. Esther, I'm stuck.' His voice was weak, but I was sure it was coming from the cliffs. I rushed across the road and peered down towards the sea. Then I saw him, a dark shape on a small ledge. ‘Ivar, is that you? Are you hurt?'

‘I fell and I'm really scared I'll fall more.' Then he said something in Swedish about his leg and the sobbing got worse.

‘It's all right, Ivar,' I called down to him. ‘I'm here now.' But what to do for the best? Should I try to reach him? But the cliff was steep and smooth, and the chances were I'd fall too and then what use would I be? A rope? I looked around. No rope. Go for help? That was it. But whatever I did, I had to make sure that Ivar remained calm. If he panicked he might fall further and this time he might not survive. I was familiar enough by now with the waters around the island to know that under the surface jagged rocks rose like gravestones, unseen from above. Boats went aground and divers died on those rocks.

‘Please, Esther, can you come and get me?'

‘Hang in there, Ivar. I just want to think how best to get you up from there.' What to do? What to do? I didn't dare leave him while I ran for help. ‘Just hang in there,' I said again. ‘I'll get you out of this.' Ivar was crying again. How could I get down to him? And once there, how could I get us both to safety? I needed my thoughts to be orderly, lined up straight, logical and clear. But instead they rushed round my skull, bumping into each other and screaming contradictory instructions like a cinema audience who'd just heard the attendants yell ‘
Fire!
'