The House by the Fjord (12 page)

She finished her unpacking, placing the contents of her suitcase into drawers where Johan's clothes had once been folded away. Before leaving the room, she went to the window again and studied the view. As she stood there, she did not know how to bear the anguish of being in Johan's home without him. He had had such plans as to where he would take her and what she should see in all the places that had meant so much to him. Then she left the room and went downstairs.

In the hall Anna looked carefully at the Magnus Harvik paintings in turn. The use of colour was also intensely dramatic in each one of them and she was full of admiration for the work. One of them showed a young woman laughing as she turned her head sharply towards the artist, mischief in her eyes, and her rich golden hair was a swirling swathe in the air. She was not beautiful in a conventional sense, but she had a hauntingly sensual presence. This was not a woman who would be easily forgotten by anyone; even her likeness in a painting seemed destined to linger in the mind.

Turning away from the paintings, Anna went into a room that was not the one in which she had had coffee, but she could see Steffan waiting for her in what was probably his favourite chair. It was more library than living room, comfortably furnished and with two walls filled with books from floor to ceiling.

‘Come and sit down, Anna,' he said, indicating a chair by the fire of crackling birch logs that gave a cosy atmosphere. She had noticed immediately that there were two more paintings here, not by Magnus Harvik, but by another accomplished artist. Both were portraits and dominated the room. One was another of Steffan's wife when she was older, the other of Johan painted when he was about sixteen years old, with all the signs of the good-looking man he was to become. Steffan followed her gaze and then turned to her again as she sat down, still unable to take her eyes from Johan's portrait and cherishing this glimpse of his earlier years.

‘It was difficult to get Johan to give up his leisure time to sit for the artist,' Steffan said. ‘He would have preferred every time to be on skis or climbing a mountain somewhere, but his mother wanted a portrait of him and for her sake he suffered the boredom of sitting.' He shifted slightly in his chair as he settled himself to discuss other matters with her. ‘Now, there is so much that I want to ask you.'

She expected to be questioned about Johan's time in England and how they had met and so forth, but he avoided all mention of his son whenever possible. Anna deduced that it tore at him to consider his loss at any time, an attitude of mind that she fully understood.

It was the first of several conversations that she was to have with Steffan during the days left before Christmas. His stern expression, which was normal to him, did not encourage light chatter, but he was keenly interested in hearing how the United Kingdom was struggling back to normality after the terrible war years and how she herself had survived the bombing raids. British politics also had his interest and he was full of praise for Winston Churchill. He had strong opinions about his own country's parliament, which he aired forcefully and with displeasure. Once, she asked him about the portrait in the hall of the woman with the golden hair.

‘That was Ingrid Harvik, the artist's wife. You shall know more about her another day. Now there are other topics I wish to discuss with you.'

Although he seemed to like talking to her, his frosty attitude did not ease. It was almost as if a veil of hostility hung between them, and Anna was puzzled and chilled by it. Was she such a disappointment in being an English daughter-in-law instead of a Norwegian one?

Alex called to see Anna several times during this time. At the weekend he introduced her to his friends and generally made her feel welcome, in contrast to her father-in-law's chilly attitude. The local cinema had yet to be rebuilt, but a hall that had escaped the fire offered seating on hard chairs, where one night she and Alex viewed a very funny pre-war Norsk comedy, which was worth the discomfort. Anna enjoyed Alex's company, which enabled her to relax whenever she was with him.

Eight

The next few days passed quickly. Anna spoke on the telephone to Molly a couple of times and said that, contrary to her fears, she had been welcomed by her father-in-law, albeit not all that warmly. People came to the house to meet Johan's widow and to invite Anna to coffee or some social event they were holding during the festive season, and she had the chance to go to two different New Year's Eve parties other than Alex's; however, she had accepted his invitation after mentioning it to Steffan. He had encouraged her to go since he never stayed up for New Year's Eve and neither did Gudrun, who preferred to go to bed and listen to the festivities broadcast on the radio.

Anna received another invitation that took her by surprise. The doorbell had rung and, being nearby, she opened it. A tall, thin man, well-dressed in a thick winter coat with a fur collar and hat, his eyes very alert behind horn-rimmed spectacles, greeted her immediately.

‘Mrs Vartdal, I believe,' he said in English. ‘My name is Daniel Andersen. I am the headmaster of a school situated a little way out from Molde. I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes of your time? I expect you can guess the reason for my visit.'

‘Perhaps I can,' she said, his mention of his school having alerted her. ‘Please come in.'

He thanked her and entered, removing his fur hat. She took him into the library where they sat down.

‘I have heard that you are a qualified teacher,' he said, coming straight to the point of his visit, ‘and I have come to offer you a teaching post in my school. English is already spoken all over the world and I believe the time is coming when not to speak such a universal language will be a great disadvantage. That is why I want my pupils to have the very best tuition and to have full command of it. So what could be better for them than an English teacher qualified to teach it well? During the five years of the occupation we were only permitted to teach German and many of the older children fell far behind in their English studies.' He paused, regarding her hopefully. ‘Have I said enough to convince you how gladly we would welcome you into our school?'

Anna inclined her head. ‘Indeed you have,' she said at once, ‘but I have no plans to live in Norway. I am here visiting my father-in-law and hope to make such visits in the future, but those will be from England.'

His disappointment was obvious. ‘I know these are hard times in Norway, but we shall recover.'

‘I'm certain of that too, but at the moment I cannot foresee a future here for myself.'

He saw that her mind was made up and he shook his head regretfully. ‘If ever you should reconsider, I would always be glad to discuss this matter with you again.'

He departed soon afterwards. She did not tell either Steffan or Gudrun about his visit, not wanting it used as further persuasion towards making her consider staying permanently in Norway.

Anna had soon realized that Gudrun was making sure she was not overwhelmed by local invitations. At the same time she guessed that Steffan was pleased that she was being absorbed into the community.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, Steffan's nephew, Harry Holmsen, called in, having returned from a business trip into Sweden. Anna had been told about him in preparation for his frequent visits to the house. He was the only son of Steffan's late sister, of whom he had been very fond. Harry had trained as an architect, but had become interested in the restoration of old buildings, particularly those of historic interest. Presently he had a project in Sweden, which was taking him there from time to time.

Anna had looked forward to meeting him, being sure that he would be an interesting man, but now that he was here she felt an instinctive dislike of him. He bade her welcome to Norway as everybody did, but she did not feel that he was sincere in his greeting.

‘Now,' he continued in his rather lordly manner, ‘how are you settling down here, Anna? Everything must be very different for you.' He was in his late twenties, broad-framed and straight-backed, with a chiselled face and sleekly controlled brown hair. ‘I had begun to think you would be going home to England without ever coming to see us.'

‘It would have been foolish never to have seen this lovely part of Norway,' she replied, not liking his patronizing air, ‘quite apart from not meeting Johan's father.'

‘How are you getting on with the old devil?' he asked bluntly.

She resented his attitude. ‘He has been very kind and hospitable towards me,' she said truthfully. She did not intend to mention the coolness that still lingered in Steffan's attitude towards her.

‘Wait until you cross him and then you'll see a different side to his character. I know from my own experience.' He turned towards Gudrun as she returned from placing the gifts that Harry had brought under the tree.

‘I see you have included a box of Swedish chocolates for us too, Harry. That's very kind. Have you time to stay for a little while?'

He shook his head. ‘I've a lot to do. I only arrived home yesterday afternoon.'

‘But you have time to put the sheaf of corn up for us?' she persisted.

He frowned, glancing at his watch. ‘I'd forgotten about that. Yes, I'll do it.'

Anna followed them outside, where Harry set up a stepladder by the corner of the house. As he mounted the first steps, Gudrun held up what she had told Anna was a traditional sheaf of corn purchased at the end of a local harvest. Harry took it from her and fastened it on a hook that had probably been there for years and was specifically used for this custom of feeding the wild birds in winter. Some of the neighbouring houses already had their sheaves in place and little birds were fluttering around them, the tits among them adding their colours of blue and green to the festive sight they presented. This Christmas feast would be there to last them throughout the hardest months of the year.

As soon as his task was done, Harry left again, his Christmas gifts from Steffan and Gudrun tucked under his arm, and leaving the stepladder for Gudrun to remove. Anna helped her carry it back to the old
stabbur
, where it was stored with a lawnmower and various other items. The
stabbur
was like a little house, built of logs with a turf-covered roof and standing on rat-proof stone supports. It was much older than Steffan's residence by two hundred years or more and had a lower and an upper floor. Anna remarked that it looked as if it had come out of a fairy tale. She had seen them on old farms as well as in Oslo's open-air museum, and she thought that every one of them looked as if it had been plucked from a magical time.

‘I love these old buildings,' she said appreciatively.

‘Steffan saved this one from being destroyed,' Gudrun said. ‘Some farmers are careless about casting out or demolishing old things, but he cherishes them. Harry is just like him in that way. In the old days these
stabburs
would have been guests' quarters and all the best tapestries, bed linen and draperies would be on the upper floor for them, and the lower floor would used to store corn and other such crops, hence the rat-proof supports and the gap between the steps and the building.' Gudrun nodded wisely. ‘The housewives of the old days weren't silly – they knew how to keep guests from being under their feet all the time.' Then she added hastily, ‘Not anyone like you, of course.'

‘I'm reassured,' Anna said teasingly in amusement as they turned for the kitchen entrance of the house. Then, before they reached it, Anna felt something soft and cold alight on her cheek and she looked up in delight. Large white flakes were falling without a breath of wind to disturb their descent.

‘It's Christmas snow!' she exclaimed joyfully.

Gudrun looked surprised at her delight. ‘But you've seen plenty of snow at Gardermoen.'

‘Not like this, without the bitter cold. This snow is going to transform Molde into the most beautiful Christmas card ever seen!'

‘What a romantic you are!' Gudrun declared kindly with a smiling shake of her head. She thought to herself how much Johan must have loved this girl with her wide-eyed appreciation of all that was beautiful. Again, Gudrun personally mourned him anew for his father's sake and for her own private loss in no longer having his friendship. He must have known that she and his father became lovers after his very sick mother died, but he was never judgemental.

She remembered so well the night he was planning his escape to England. So many young men were going, little groups of them taking fishing boats under the cover of darkness to cross the North Sea to the Shetlands while the boat owners deliberately looked the other way. Quite a number went with the escapees, but others had too many domestic commitments to risk the danger of being shot for trying to escape, or being drowned in the North Sea when their vessels were attacked by patrolling German ships or by the ever watchful Luftwaffe from the air.

It was four o'clock on the dark, snow-clad February morning of Johan's departure in 1941 when she went downstairs in her dressing robe to find him putting the last items that he was taking with him into his rucksack. They exchanged a long look with each other, but she spoke as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

‘I'll make you breakfast,' she said, fetching the coffee kettle. She had managed to get three eggs from the grocer the day before and she fried all three for him. Then she wrapped two loaves, which would have been the mainstay of her and Steffan's diet for the week, and added a last hoarded tin of meat-cakes.

‘I can't take this food—' he began when he had finished breakfast and saw what she had made ready, but she silenced him with a gesture.

‘You may be glad to have it,' she said. ‘That's all that matters.'