Mrs. Nadja Kram — Johanne’s mother — received him in the hallway. She was slim, dark-haired, and refined, and her green eyes inspected him for a long while. However, his slanted, melancholy smile appeared to convince her of his pure intentions.
A few glances at the huge living rooms spoke of prosperity and wealth beyond his wildest imagination. They sat down to a set table, and Mrs. Kram rang a silver bell. A young, attractive maid appeared.
“Britt, will you serve the coffee now, please. And bring out the best cognac for Kristian.”
The girl disappeared, and Nadja Kram offered him a cigarette from a silver case. Then she took one herself, inserted it into an ivory holder, and smoked with lazy deliberation, while asking him the questions a mother asks on behalf of her daughter in such circumstances. He was well-prepared, and his modest, emotional answers appeared to deeply move her.
Later on, a delightful evening meal was served. He had rarely felt so comfortable, and confirmation that everything was going according to plan came when Nadja drew him aside and said:
“Dear Kristian, I can see that you are an honorable fellow. I am so happy for Johanne. You have no idea what she has been through. But now she is over the moon. Poor little Johanne, things haven’t always been easy for her. She is — well, I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so — so hopelessly naive. Stupid, some might say. I believe it comes from her grandfather on her father’s side. He studied for the priesthood. But she has a heart of gold, and she will always love you. I trust you feel the same way?”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes fixed on a shimmering candlestick. “I love Johanne just the way she is.”
Nadja Kram smiled and patted his hand.
“Do you like the candlestick, Kristian? Pick it up, feel its weight.”
He did as she said.
“Is it... gold?”
She smiled even wider.
“Yes, gold. Old family inheritance. I would like to present it to you as a wedding present. Well, in addition to certain other things, of course.”
A week later, he and Johanne once again visited Nadja Kram. She seemed efficient and determined, and asked to speak with him privately.
“I have been in touch with my husband concerning the plans for the wedding and for your and Johanne’s future. He was very happy, and sends his regards. He would like a simple ceremony, but we agreed to give you Strandheim as a wedding gift.”
“Strandheim?”
“Our former property in Sandby, Johanne’s beloved childhood home. We made the mistake of selling it when she married José Barca and moved abroad. But now she wants to live there with you. My husband can arrange for a job at his factory in Sandby, if you are interested. Don’t worry about being overtaxed. The most important thing for us is that you take care of Johanne. She desperately wants a new child, you know.”
His heart was thumping in his chest. This exceeded all his expectations. First a few months, perhaps a year of marital bliss, then a small “accident,” a fall from a cliff or the cabin cruiser. Then everything would be his.
“But perhaps you would prefer to live in the city, Kristian?”
“My primary concern is to ensure Johanne’s happiness.”
She caressed his hand. Her eyes were glassy.
“Thank you, Kristian. Thank you so much.”
She returned to her normal, businesslike self.
“The valuation of Strandheim is one and a quarter million. I have spoken with our business lawyer today. It’s slightly difficult to arrange immediately, due to my husband being in Rio. I only have just over a million in my account, and the sellers want the money immediately. I’m not quite sure how to handle the situation. Excuse me for inquiring, but could you possibly manage the small remainder, one hundred and fifty thousand? Then we can complete the deal today.”
He smiled casually.
“I’ll take care of it immediately, dear Nadja.”
He was back an hour later with the money. It had cleared out his account, everything he had worked and struggled for was there. But so what? He would receive tenfold in return.
Nadja Kram retreated into her office. She smiled contentedly at him and Johanne when she returned.
“Everything’s in order, dear, it’s all sorted out. But I would like you to drive down to Sandby immediately to look over the house. The former owner would like to show you around and sort out certain formalities.”
“Oh,” said Johanne, putting her hand to her stomach, “...I’m so dreadfully nauseous. Do we have to go straightaway?”
“Yes dear, it’s very important. Kristian, could you go alone? I’ll let them know that you’re on your way.”
“Of course, Nadja. I’ll take care of it.”
“Fine. I’m happy you sold your car, by the way. It wouldn’t look right turning up in that ancient thing. Take mine, won’t you?”
Nothing could have suited him better. He got into the luxurious car and drove the one hundred miles to Sandby in record time. He had finally achieved what he had always wanted.
In Sandby he had no trouble finding Strandheim. Friendly souls gave him directions, they had obviously heard of the place since childhood. And it didn’t surprise him, as the huge white villa was beautifully located by the sea, surrounded by acres of costly real estate. He almost broke into a triumphant laugh. This was to be his. He had reached his goal.
A feisty and wizened old man opened when he rang the bell.
“What is it? If you’re selling something, I would recommend you to leave immediately. Business is not carried out at the door around here.”
“I’m Kristian Grossman, the new owner. Mr. Ladvik is expecting me.”
The wizened one raised his eyebrows and stood like that for some time, as if perplexed by the news.
“The new owner. I see, I understand. One moment, please.”
He disappeared, and returned awhile later, accompanied by a sturdy, severe man in his sixties. It was Ludvig Ladvik, the country’s most feared public prosecutor. Kristian Grossman recognized him from newspaper pictures and television interviews, and pangs of anxiety swept through his body.
“Listen here,” said Ladvik, with the voice that had caused so many defendants to give up their last hopes, “...what is this cock-and-bull story I’m hearing? I own this place, and I intend to do so until the day I die. Who are you, anyway? Some kind of crook? A con artist? I don’t like the look of you. Remove yourself immediately. You are disturbing me in my writing on harsher sentences for tax evasion. Get lost! Now!”
Kristian Grossman attempted some feeble protestations, but they died out before he could utter them. A terrible suspicion struck him, and he got into the car and drove back to the capital at a speed a rally driver would have envied. “I’ll wring that swindling Nadja Kram’s neck,” he thought to himself, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.
He was soon face-to-face with Nadja Kram. But he didn’t attack her, he just stood there gasping. The Nadja Kram he was staring at now wasn’t dark, slim, and elegant. She was blond, somewhat overweight, and had a sharp, piercing voice:
“A different Nadja Kram? What on earth are you on about? I am Nadja Kram! I, and no one else! My husband and I returned from holiday a few hours ago. We don’t have a daughter named Johanne. We have a son, and I’ll let you meet him. Per, come here for a moment!”
A young, blond giant appeared. He looked agitated.
“Mother, someone has been in the house while you were gone. Some things have disappeared, remember that golden candlestick you inherited from Auntie Malla?”
The red-faced woman let out a high-pitched scream and rolled her eyes. Then she pointed to Kristian Grossman with a trembling finger.