As for the inheritance, Sandra Schelderup knew little more than what was written about it in the newspapers: that it was possibly worth several hundred million kroner in money, shares and property. She could find the name of the lawyers’ firm that helped her husband in legal matters, but she claimed to know nothing about the content of his will. Her husband had routinely kept his estate separate in all his three marriages. When the matter had been raised on a couple of occasions, he had simply promised his last wife that she would be well looked after for the rest of her life, and would inherit at least two million from him.
The business had dominated Magdalon Schelderup’s life more than anything else, and early on in the marriage he had made it clear that she should not worry herself about it. And so she had done as he advised. She added that it was possible that her daughter might know a little more about it than she did, but otherwise, one would have to ask the business manager.
When at home, Magdalon Schelderup had generally stayed in his combined office and library on the first floor, or in his bedroom, which was next door. His wife added that her husband slept at irregular times, and she had therefore preferred to have her own room, on the floor above. He could come and go as he pleased, as he had for all the years she had known him, she said, with a fleeting smile.
It all seemed to be rather undramatic so far. His wife’s description reinforced the picture of Magdalon Schelderup as a wilful man, but also the idea that he had been worried about a possible threat to his life in recent months. Her tone became sharper, however, when in conclusion I asked if she thought that it might have been one of those present who had killed her husband.
‘Well, that is obvious!’ was her terse reply.
Then she added swiftly, in a more passionate voice: ‘And I can promise you that it was neither me nor my daughter. But as far as the others are concerned, I would not exclude any of them right now.’
When I asked whether that meant that she would not exclude even her two stepsons from the list of possible murderers, she replied promptly: ‘Especially not them!’
A shadow passed over her face when she said this, fuelling my suspicions that the relationship between those closest to the deceased was not the best. I concluded my conversation with the deceased’s widow there for the moment. I was now extremely curious to know what his children thought, both about her and about his death.
VI
Fredrik Schelderup proved from the outset to bear very little resemblance to his dead father, either physically or mentally. He was thirty-eight years old, above average height, with dark hair and a pleasant appearance, as well as a friendly demeanour. The spare tyres around his middle and the redness of his cheeks sparked a suspicion that Schelderup Junior generally enjoyed far livelier gatherings than this one.
The conversation that followed did nothing to detract from this theory, and Fredrik spoke in a light, breezy tone. He opened by saying, without any encouragement, that he was more like his dead mother and had always felt very different from his father. His contact with his father had in recent years been ‘correct and formal’, if ‘rather sporadic and not particularly heartfelt’ on either part. Fredrik Schelderup explained that he had tried to put as much distance as possible between himself and his father and the business, and that was why he perhaps might seem to be unaffected by his father’s death. Which, indeed, was the case.
His death had been totally unexpected for Fredrik Schelderup as well, who had no suspicions as to who might have put the powdered nuts in his father’s food. He had been raised with a complete ban on anything that might resemble a nut, and had once, as a twelve-year-old, had his pocket money suspended for month because he had eaten a peanut on his way up the drive. He had since then respected the ban – to this very day. Fredrik Schelderup had come to the Sunday supper in his newest Mercedes, and had spent the last week either at or near to his home in the exclusive suburb of Bygdøy. He lived alone, but had a new girlfriend who had been with him every day last week. ‘And some nights too,’ he added, with a saucy wink.
Fredrik Schelderup struck me as being very unlike his father. When I asked what else he had done in his life so far, he quipped: ‘As little as possible, while I wait to inherit from my father.’ He went on to say that he had taken his university entrance exam and then studied a bit at the business school and university, but that he infinitely preferred the life of a student at the weekend to that during the week. He had stopped studying without any qualifications and had subsequently never been able to decide what he wanted to do. And fortunately, there was no real need to, either. While waiting for the anticipated substantial inheritance from his father, he had lived well on a more modest inheritance from his mother, and some income from various short-term jobs. Fredrik Schelderup jokingly remarked that he had loved driving ever since he was a boy – fast cars and beautiful women. In an even jollier aside, he added that when a beautiful woman asked him what his star sign was, he normally replied ‘the dollar sign’ – and then set about proving it. Otherwise his daily consumption was generally modest, ‘certainly on weekdays’. He was waiting to fulfil his wish of seeing more of ‘the world and its bars’ until he got his inheritance.
When asked about how much he expected to inherit, Fredrik Schelderup was almost serious for a moment. He replied that he hoped he would get a third of his father’s fortune, and it was reported in the papers that his total wealth was valued at more than 100 million. But he did not dare assume that he would get any more than the 200,000 kroner he had claim to as one of the heirs. He had been looking forward to receiving his inheritance for many years, but was in no way in any kind of financial straits and had not asked his father for money for years – knowing that should he ask, he was unlikely to get anything other than sarcasm in return.
Over the years, Magdalon Schelderup had repeatedly expressed his disappointment in his eldest son’s lack of initiative and business acumen. The son was no longer hurt by this and had, on a couple of occasions, responded by expressing his disappointment in his father’s treatment of his first two wives and their sons. The conversation had usually stopped there.
Fredrik Schelderup was again earnest for a moment when I asked about his dead mother. She had been four years younger than Magdalon Schelderup and had been a great beauty with many admirers, when, at the age of twenty-three, she said yes to his proposal of marriage. More than once in her later years she had told her son that Magdalon Schelderup had married her simply because it was the only way he could get her into bed – which apparently became an obsession from the first time they met. She had won over Magdalon Schelderup, but in doing so had lost herself, she often said with increasing bitterness.
Fredrik was the only child from a deeply unhappy marriage, which ended in a bitter divorce just before the war. Fredrik’s mother was a Christian and had very much enjoyed being ‘the Queen of Gulleråsen’ at Schelderup Hall. She was strongly opposed to divorce, but her husband had found someone else and eventually threw his first wife out of the house, ‘almost physically’. Fredrik had stayed with his father for several years after the divorce, ‘for reasons of pure ease’, but had then suddenly found it ‘more comfortable’ to move into his own flat once he had finished school. His mother did not suffer financially, but she never really recovered from the divorce. Nicotine and alcohol had both contributed to a permanent deterioration in her health, and she died of liver failure at the age of forty-nine.
With regard to his relationship with other members of the family, Fredrik Schelderup now declared that he liked his father’s second wife marginally more than the third, but that he had never had much contact with either of them. In terms of the rest of the family, he tended generally to have the warmest feelings for his eleven-year-younger half-brother. They had grown closer when his brother entered puberty and had himself become the child of divorced parents. But any contact was still sporadic. They were very different, and his brother had ‘been sensible enough to realize that I was not a good role model’ when he was about to come of age. Fredrik Schelderup’s relationship with his twenty-year-younger half-sister had always been distant. However, he did say that for someone her age, she appeared to be a remarkably determined and enterprising young lady.