When she was ready, she straightened her back and tucked her hair under the cap. The hem of the uniform was a bit soiled, but otherwise it looked presentable. With luck the hospital was big enough that the nurses wouldn’t notice that a stranger had suddenly appeared among them.
Dagmar opened the door and peeked inside what appeared to be a changing room for employees. It was empty, and she hurried along the corridor, constantly scanning for a clue to Hermann’s whereabouts. She walked close to the wall, passing a long row of closed doors. There were no nameplates, and she began to realize that she might never find him. Despair rose up inside her, and she put a hand to her mouth to prevent a whimper escaping. She wasn’t ready to give up yet.
Two young nurses came walking towards her. They were talking in low voices, but as they drew closer, Dagmar pricked up her ears. Did they just say the name Göring? She walked slower, trying to eavesdrop. One of the nurses carried a tray, and it sounded as if she was complaining to her colleague.
‘The last time he threw the food at me,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘That’s why matron said that from now on there must be two of us when we go to Göring’s room,’ said the other nurse. She too sounded a bit scared.
They stopped outside a door, both of them hesitating. Realizing that she needed to seize this opportunity, Dagmar cleared her throat and put on an authoritative voice.
‘I’ve been ordered to see to Göring, so you girls won’t have to do it,’ she said, reaching for the tray.
‘You have?’ said the nurse. She sounded surprised, but the relief on her face was obvious.
‘I know how to handle patients like Göring. All right then, off you go, both of you. Leave me to take care of this. But first open the door for me.’
‘Thank you,’ said the girls, curtseying. One of them took out a big key ring and inserted one of the keys in the lock. She pulled open the door, and as soon as Dagmar stepped inside, the two nurses hurried off, happy to have been relieved of such an unpleasant task.
Dagmar felt her heart pounding. There he lay, her Hermann, curled up on a cot with his back to her.
‘Everything’s going to be fine, Hermann,’ she said, setting the tray on the floor. ‘I’m here now.’
He didn’t move. She studied his back, shivering with pleasure at being so close to him at last.
‘Hermann,’ she said, laying her hand on his shoulder.
He shrugged it off, and in one swift movement he turned over and sat up on the edge of the bed. ‘What do you want?’ he bellowed.
Dagmar recoiled. Was this Hermann? The dapper pilot who had made her whole body tremble? That straight-backed, broad-shouldered man whose hair had gleamed like gold in the sun? This couldn’t possibly be him.
‘Give me my medicine, you fucking bitch. I need it! Don’t you know who I am? I’m Hermann Göring, and I need my medicine.’ He spoke Swedish with a strong German accent, and he paused between each word, as if translating in his head.
Her throat seemed to close up. This man who was hollering like a madman was fat and his skin had a sickly pallor. His thin hair was plastered to his scalp. Sweat ran down his face.
Dagmar took a deep breath and forced herself to speak. ‘Hermann. It’s me. Dagmar.’ She kept her distance, afraid that at any moment he might lunge at her.
The blood vessels in his forehead bulged, and his pale skin took on a bright red flush that spread from his neck upwards.
‘Dagmar? I don’t give a shit what you whores are called. I want my medicine. It’s the Jews who have locked me up in here, and I have to get out. Hitler needs me. Where’s my medicine?’
He was so agitated that spittle sprayed Dagmar’s face. Terrified, she tried again.
‘Don’t you remember me? We met at a party given by Doctor Sjölin. In Fjällbacka.’
He abruptly stopped shouting and frowned as he stared at her in astonishment.
‘In Fjällbacka?’
‘Yes, at Doctor Sjölin’s party,’ she repeated. ‘We spent the night together.’
His eyes lit up, and she realized that he did remember her. At last. Now everything was going to be fine. She would work it all out and Hermann would again become her handsome captain.
‘You’re the waitress,’ he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
‘My name is Dagmar,’ she said, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach. Why hadn’t he jumped up and taken her in his arms, the way she’d always pictured it in her dreams?
Then he began to laugh, making his fat paunch jiggle.
‘Dagmar. Exactly.’ He laughed again, and Dagmar clenched her hands into fists.
‘We have a daughter. Laura.’
‘A daughter?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re not the first to try that one! It can never be proved. Especially with a waitress.’
He uttered the last words with such contempt that Dagmar again felt her fury rise. In this sterile white room, where not even a sliver of daylight could penetrate the window, all her dreams and hopes had finally been shattered. Everything she thought she’d known about her life had turned out to be a lie – the years she’d spent longing and pining and putting up with a screaming child, his daughter, who constantly made demands – it had all been in vain.
Determined to hurt him as much as he had hurt her, she threw herself at him, her fingers curled into claws. Guttural sounds came from her throat as her fingers dug in, scratching at his face. As if from far away, she heard him screaming in German. The door opened, and she felt them pulling at her, dragging her off the man she had loved for so long.
Then everything went black.
Chapter Fourteen
It was his father who had taught him how to negotiate a good business deal. Lars-Åke ‘Lovart’ Månsson was a legend, and while he was growing up, Sebastian had worshipped him. His father’s nickname, which meant ‘windward’ in Swedish, had been given to him because he invariably managed to pull through, even in the most impossible straits. It was said that Lars-Åke led such a charmed existence he could spit into the wind and not a drop of saliva would land on his face.
Lovart had discovered that it was actually quite simple to get people to do what he wanted. The basic principle was the same as in boxing: identify your opponent’s weak spot and then attack it over and over until it was time to raise your arms in victory. Or, as in his own case, bring home the loot. His way of doing business won him neither popularity nor respect, but as he often said: ‘Respect never fed a hungry man.’
That had become Sebastian’s motto too. He was aware that he was despised by many and feared by most, but as he sat next to the pool with a cold beer in his hand, he knew that none of that really mattered. He wasn’t interested in making friends. Having friends would mean compromise and surrendering some of his power.
‘Pappa? The guys and I are thinking of going over to Strömstad, but I haven’t got any money.’ Wearing swimming trunks and a pleading expression, Jon came sauntering over to his father.