Satellite People (12 page)

I expressed my understanding. At the same time, I concluded that Magdalon Schelderup had been very sharp and astute in his telephone conversation with me. His closest circle was almost
exclusively made up of people who might have wished him dead. And it was clear that even the deceased’s older sister had burnt with a deep passion.

I stayed in the cafe for some minutes after she had left and pondered the case. Then I got up, more thoughtful than ever, and went to my car, so I could drive up to the reading of the will at
Schelderup Hall. This time I knew the content of the will to be read by Rønning Junior, but I was all the more anxious to see what reactions it caused.

VIII

When Schelderup Hall loomed into view at ten to three, I was the last of those invited to arrive at the reading. Synnøve Jensen arrived just ahead of me; she had rounded
the hill and disappeared in through the gate. The other cars were, as far as I could remember, parked in precisely the same places as last time. And when I came into the dining room, the ten supper
guests were all sitting in their usual places. Magdalon Schelderup’s chair stood empty, but his rule was still evident in the house.

The bourgeois etiquette for receiving guests had been followed to the letter. Coffee, cakes and sherry had been put out on the table, but no one made any move to help themselves and no one said
a word. It seemed to me that the silence was almost as oppressive as when I came into this room for the first time. I went over and stood by the window. It was almost a relief when I saw Edvard
Rønning Junior park his car at four minutes to three, and then walk up towards the front door with his rolling gait, a file tucked under his arm. I had to hold back my laughter when the
dogs’ furious barking made him jump a couple of feet into the air. But he managed nonetheless and quite impressively to keep a tight grip on the file. In the tense and somewhat false
atmosphere that prevailed in the room, the pedantic young lawyer was absolutely himself and someone I could depend on – which could not be said for many of the others present.

Edvard Rønning Junior surprised me, however, in a positive sense, when he made no attempt to sit down in the empty chair, but instead remained standing at the head of the table. As
expected, he started precisely as the cuckoo clock on the wall struck three.

‘On behalf of the late Magdalon Schelderup’s estate, I would first of all like to thank you all for making the effort to come here today as requested, at such short
notice.’

He received no applause for this, and so continued after his first forced pause.

‘It is no doubt known to all those present here that at the time of his death Magdalon Schelderup was married and had three living children, and a fortune amounting to more than 100
million kroner. In this situation he was free to divide his wealth as he wished, with the exception that each of the children should inherit a minimum of 200,000 kroner, as required by
law.’

The lawyer paused again and leafed through his papers to find the will. Ten pairs of eyes were glued to his every move. I personally was having difficulties in deciding which side of the table
to focus on. I eventually decided to watch the person I was most interested in and about whom I had the greatest doubt: in other words, the deceased’s secretary and mistress, Synnøve
Jensen. She was sitting on her chair with impressive calm thus far.

‘The deceased’s will was clearly certified and dated by a lawyer in the presence of witnesses on 6 May 1969.’

Something twinkled in Synnøve Jensen’s eyes. She straightened up, but remained sitting in silence, her face tense. I glanced quickly over at Sandra and Maria Irene Schelderup. The
mother’s mouth twitched when the date was mentioned. The daughter’s face, on the other hand, remained expressionless and looked relaxed. Only her eyes, which were riveted on the lawyer,
revealed just how alert she was.

‘The aforementioned will states as follows: The undersigned, Magdalon Schelderup, born on 17 November 1899, hereby announces his last will regarding the division of his financial wealth
and assets. Firstly, I waive the amount outstanding owed to me by Hans Herlofsen, my manager of many years. The promissory note and other documents relating to the case have been
destroyed.’

Edvard Rønning allowed himself another pause. I promptly switched focus to Hans Herlofsen. He was also keeping his mask impressively under control. The two sentences that had just been
read out saved not only his honour but also his future. All the same, his only reaction was a fleeting smile and a slight loosening of the tie. Then Rønning’s drawling voice picked up
the thread and continued. My eyes swung back towards Sandra Schelderup.

‘My wife Sandra Schelderup shall be paid forthwith the sum of two million kroner to support her for the rest of her life.’

His widow furrowed her brow, and understandably enough her eyes darkened. The sum was undoubtedly less than she had hoped. But she stayed sitting calmly on her chair. The major blow was not to
her, however, but to her daughter, who was sitting beside her, just as composed. My gaze slid over to Synnøve Jensen.

‘I hereby acknowledge that I am the father of my secretary Synnøve Jensen’s unborn child, and request that it be given my surname upon birth. It is my wish that Miss Jensen
shall forthwith be paid the sum of 200,000 kroner from my estate to cover all costs in connection with the pregnancy and birth.’

If Synnøve Jensen had known this beforehand, she was a better actress than I had imagined. In the few seconds before she covered her face with her hands, her expression changed from great
surprise to tremendous relief. The tears in her eyes were visible even from where I was sitting.

Another, more visible twitch passed over Sandra Schelderup’s face. The other faces around the table were, as far as I could see, still tense and expectant when the lawyer once again spoke,
this time to read out the final and longest paragraph of the will. The fact that the secretary was the deceased’s mistress did not seem to have come as a shock to any of them.

‘It is my wish that the remainder of my wealth is divided equally between my four living children as of 6 May 1970. This because my youngest child must first be born and given a name, and
because any immediate dissolution of my companies would give rise to inordinate financial costs. In anticipation of the later dissolution, my companies will continue to be run by a board comprising
my three grown children, my wife Sandra Schelderup, my manager Hans Herlofsen and my secretary Synnøve Jensen.’

Now all the waiting was over. This time the surprise around the table was tangible, even though they all maintained a stiff upper lip and avoided any emotional outbursts. Fredrik Schelderup
smiled broadly and mimed his applause. Ingrid Schelderup also smiled with relief. Her son, on the other hand, chewed ever more furiously on his gum and looked just as serious and pensive as before.
Mrs Wendelboe looked around in confusion and even her husband’s stony face showed signs of surprise. Synnøve Jensen still had her face buried in her hands, but the tears were falling,
round and ready, down her cheeks now. Sandra Schelderup sent both her husband’s sons and his secretary a less-than-loving look, and clenched her hands.

The only person at the table who appeared to be unruffled was, incredibly, the youngest. Maria Irene Schelderup’s face and body were both still completely relaxed. Her charming young
girl’s hands lay open and still on the table.

‘However . . .’

A tense silence fell in the room as soon as the lawyer’s voice was heard. This time, I also stared at him in anticipation. This was not something he had mentioned on the telephone.

‘However, an earlier version of the will exists, which Magdalon Schelderup gave orally and which he wanted to be read out with his current will. It was written on 12 August 1968 and was
then annulled when this new will was formalized on 6 May 1969. The annulled version is far shorter . . .’

He took another short, dramatic pause while he looked for the second sheet, and then apparently checked three times that it was the correct one.

‘The annulled will stated the following: With the exception of two million kroner to be paid to my wife Sandra Schelderup, 200,000 kroner to be paid to my son Fredrik Schelderup and
200,000 kroner to be paid to my son Leonard Schelderup, I hereby leave all my financial wealth and assets to my daughter Maria Irene Schelderup.’

Suddenly all the dammed-up emotions in the room broke loose. Audibly.

Hans Herlofsen heaved a sigh of relief, clutched his throat and loosened his tie further.

Fredrik Schelderup’s smile was even broader this time and he raised his glass with a jovial: ‘Here’s to the new will.’

Leonard Schelderup hid his face in his hands, but judging by the movements in his neck, he was chewing more frantically than ever on his gum.

Sandra Schelderup looked daggers at him a couple of times and then lost all composure. The atmosphere was electric and everyone, including Mr Rønning Junior himself, started when she flew
into a rage, first slamming her fist down on the table and then shaking it threateningly at her two stepsons.

The only person who appeared not to be affected by this outburst was the very person my eyes were trained on.

As the annulled will was being read, I thought I saw the very tip of her tongue in the left-hand corner of her mouth. But afterwards, Maria Irene Schelderup was just as impassive as before.

I had to ask myself how I would have reacted in a similar situation, where a new will drawn up four days previously had cost me roughly 90 million kroner. Even though she was still to inherit 30
million or so, it was almost impossible not to be impressed by the eighteen-year-old’s self-control.

It was in that moment that I realized that I was, if not in love, certainly hugely fascinated by the late Magdalon Schelderup’s young and seriously wealthy daughter.

IX

The gathering soon broke up once the will had been read. Having downed his sherry, Fredrik Schelderup excused himself as he had ‘celebrations to attend’. He left
the room and no one made any attempt to congratulate him.

Herlofsen and the Wendelboes were more polite in their retreat, but almost as fast.

Ingrid Schelderup embraced her son, who was still visibly shaken, and helped him, it would seem, to regain his composure. Schelderup’s former wife showed a new, sharper side when she
thanked her hosts for their hospitality, despite not having touched a thing. It was almost possible to see the sparks in the air between Magdalon Schelderup’s two wives. Maria Irene saved the
situation by clasping Ingrid Schelderup’s hand, quick as a flash, to thank her and wish her a good journey home. Her mother then pulled herself together enough to shake her guest’s hand
and to whisper goodbye in a manner that was not too spiteful.

Leonard Schelderup had apparently still not regained the power of speech, but, he too did his best to smooth over any conflict by giving an apologetic shrug before leaving the room, and then the
house, on light feet in the wake of his mother.

Edvard Rønning Junior the lawyer and I were suddenly left on our own with four women: the deceased’s wife, daughter, sister and mistress.

It was only now that I discovered that Magdalena Schelderup was sitting there with an inscrutable expression on her face and more than ever resembled an old owl. I would have given a lot to know
what she was thinking. It struck me that there was something different about her but, rather annoyingly, I could not put my finger on what.

Synnøve Jensen sat as though frozen on the other side of the table in her plain clothes, with her face in her hands, only now her future and that of her unborn child had been secured.

You could almost touch the ice that chilled the air between the deceased’s wife and mistress. Again it was Maria Irene who suddenly saved the day – and this time without saying a
word. She calmly put her hand on her mother’s shoulder and more or less pulled her from the room. Magdalena Schelderup followed them with her eyes but stayed seated, her face still
thoughtful. She poured herself a cup of coffee. We watched her drink it in almost breathless silence, and waited for a message that never came.

It was Rønning Junior who first stirred to action. He informed Synnøve Jensen in a sombre tone that if she came by his office with her bank book tomorrow or the day after, he would
arrange for her to be paid the 200,000 kroner as soon as possible. He then gave her his business card, and shook hands with those who were still there before leaving the room.

I thought I caught a hint of triumph and irony in the lawyer’s eyes when he shook my hand. But it was fleeting and I saw no reason to further complicate the case by starting an argument
with him. Formally, there was nothing to quibble about. I had only asked him about the content of the current will and he had answered correctly. Strictly speaking, it was my own forgetfulness that
was to blame as I had not asked whether there were any previous wills and, in that case, what they said. And in any case, I now had the answer to my question only a matter of hours later. But I
would have liked Rønning Junior more if he had taken the trouble to tell me earlier about the other will.

The sound of Mr Rønning’s voice and steps appeared to have woken the until now paralysed Synnøve Jensen to life. She lowered her hands from her face, put the business card in
her pocket and left the room with a quiet apology for something or other.

Magdalena Schelderup and I sat and looked at each other for a minute or so. The only thing to break the silence was the outbreak of barking as first Rønning and then Synnøve Jensen
passed the dogs – by which time I was on my feet and looking out of the window. Rønning jumped just as much this time as he had on his way in, whereas Synnøve Jensen was
obviously used to the noise they made. She walked past them unperturbed, and then on down the driveway, alone in the world, but, it would appear from my bird’s-eye view, with courage.

‘And now what do you think?’ I asked Magdalena Schelderup.