The dinner was taking place in the large restaurant across the entrance foyer. I could see tables had been laid and candles lit, but only a few guests were here already. The authors would probably be among the last to arrive, too snobbish to arrive early and too greedy to stay away. The other guests would be the interviewers, mostly members of the press, and editors from publishing companies, publishers and other helpers from the book fair. I had never attended before, but it was understood that tonight everyone let off steam, tired after two busy days at the book fair and desperate to recharge for the final day, a very long Sunday.
I, however, had only one thing on my mind: finding Linda Hvilbjerg.
When I reached the restaurant, I nodded to the twenty or so people who were there. I didn’t know any of them so I didn’t have to chat to anyone and I proceeded straight to the bar. The beer kegs were as yet unmanned so I helped myself to a glass of white wine, set out as a welcome drink. I knocked it back in one go, took another glass and sat down near the bar where I could keep an eye on the entrance.
The guests started to arrive. Some would appear from behind the stands and head for the restaurant, others from the entrance where they crossed through the exhibition hall as if taking part in a parade. Soon so many people arrived that I could no longer make out who was there. I got up for a better look and took the opportunity to fetch another glass of wine at the same time.
Quite a few people I knew had arrived by now and I couldn’t get away with nodding, but was forced to have actual conversations. They were people I hadn’t seen for several years so we had very little to say. The exchanges were clumsy and only lasted until one of us could think of an excuse to move on.
I tried to keep moving – it was the best way to avoid small talk – so I only heard snippets of conversations around me, all about books and publications even though the speakers had done nothing all day but talk about the same subject.
‘Frank?’ I suddenly heard behind me. ‘What are you doing here?’ It was Finn. He stared at me in disbelief. ‘You’re the last person I expected to see here tonight.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ I headed for the bar with Finn on my heels. ‘Cheers, Finn,’ I said, having got hold of another glass of white wine.
‘Cheers,’ Finn said, sipping his welcome drink. ‘And here was I thinking you were out hunting criminals.’ He laughed out loud. ‘I tell you, you almost had me there.’
I had given up convincing him so I shrugged. ‘Well, you know me.’
Finn laughed again. ‘Good to see you, Frank. I think you need to get out more. Mingle with colleagues, network, show your face and all that.’
I nodded and swallowed the rest of my white wine.
Finn couldn’t think of anything else to say and pointed over my shoulder.
‘We’re sitting at one of the tables over there at the end. You’re welcome to join us.’
I mumbled a reply that could be taken either way, but Finn appeared satisfied and walked off in the direction he had pointed out.
There was no seating plan so people sat down wherever they wanted to. As a rule, editors would stay with their authors to look after them, but also to prevent other publishers from wooing them. It presented the editors with something of a dilemma because they all wanted to poach new writers as well. I imagine they got very little to eat, busy as they were running around trying to fit in everything they had to do.
In the bar, I finally managed to get a beer. I stayed there and scanned the hall. There had to be more than three hundred people present and I had lost track of things.
The organizer of the book fair, a short balding man with a small moustache and a tight-fitting suit, climbed up on a chair and welcomed us. He gave a speech that was far too long, praised all of us and eulogized literature. I could tell from people’s faces that all they cared about was eating and drinking, not listening to the pretentious rubbish he was spouting, but we had to wait like good little boys and girls, including the uniformed waiters with their hands behind their backs.
To my great surprise, I discovered I was hungry. A quick review of the day so far revealed that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, unless I included alcohol, so when the introduction finally ended I was just as keen as everyone else to get to the buffet. I piled up a large plate of food and tried to spot a vacant chair. I wasn’t tempted by Finn’s offer. I didn’t feel like talking to him or anyone else from ZeitSign.
I sat down among a group of young bookshop assistants who let me eat in peace. They were more interested in getting drunk and telling jokes while I concentrated on clearing my plate. My hunger abated, but I felt I needed to eat more to cancel out the amount of alcohol I had consumed.
Back at the buffet, I picked more substantial foods, such as meat and potatoes, and was so preoccupied with my foraging that I didn’t notice the scent of sweet perfume slowly enveloping me.
‘I hear I might be in your next book?’
It was Linda Hvilbjerg.
30
I SPUN AROUND and came face to face with Linda Hvilbjerg. She was holding a plate and had a small wry smile on her lips. Her slim body was poured into a long, black dress with thin shoulder straps. Her breasts pressed against the fabric as if they were part of the dress. Her dark hair had been curled since the interview and her lips glistened in a vibrant, traffic-light red. Her pupils revealed that she had recently applied her beauty powder.
I forgot all about what I wanted to tell her and simply stared at her.
‘I presume your message refers to your next book?’ She fluttered her eyelashes a couple of times and smiled. ‘Just between us, shouldn’t you try to keep work and reality apart?’ She laughed.
I still couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say.
Linda Hvilbjerg came up very close to me and made a point of looking around the room.
‘But could it be true? Am I really in danger?’ She giggled. ‘And are you the hero who’ll save me from the baddies?’
I decided to play along.
‘This ain’t no joke, ma’am,’ I said with the thickest American detective accent I could manage, possibly inspired by my recent encounter with the police. ‘Your life and honour are at stake and I’m the only man who can save them both.’
‘Oh,’ Linda Hvilbjerg exclaimed. ‘Is that really true, Mr …?’
‘Pinkerton’s the name. Dick Pinkerton, at your service.’ I tried to bow, but stopped just in time to prevent my food from sliding off the plate.
‘Oh, the great Dick Pinkerton. What an honour.’
‘The pleasure is entirely mine, ma’am.’
‘And what precisely is your mission?’
‘I’m afraid I’ll have to keep you under surveillance for the rest of the evening.’
‘Close?’
‘Very close.’
‘It sounds like I’m in very good hands, Mr Pinkerton.’
‘These hands will take good care of you, ma’am.’
Linda Hvilbjerg laughed and I laughed with her.
I don’t know how I was able to laugh or where the words came from, but I sensed I was on the right track. It seemed utterly impossible to explain the situation to her as we stood there, tipsy, by the buffet, and the next best thing was to make sure I was near her. This wasn’t only a gallant motive for protecting her from the killer. I have to admit that when I saw her in the black dress with her red lips, I was horny as hell.
However, it’s still beyond me what turned her on that night. I had been drinking heavily for several days and I think I was still wearing the same clothes as when she interviewed me the day before. All I can think is that she was so high that she overlooked my appearance or perhaps she saw something else, something her body demanded, like a fry-up for a hangover.