“Can you pass me the chart?” the man said to his wife. “We should be pretty close to Revengegrundet.”
His wife put down her tea and passed the chart to her husband, who switched on his flashlight and studied the chart for a minute or so before handing it back.
“Just as I thought. We’re exactly where we should be.” He pointed without losing concentration or letting go of the tiller. “If you look over there, you can see the old lighthouse on Grönskär. It was built in the eighteenth century . . . or was it the nineteenth?” He frowned as he pondered.
“You mean the one that’s known as the Queen of the Baltic?”
“That’s it.”
His wife turned her head and looked at the imposing lighthouse, stretching her neck to get a better view. “There’s a very bright light. I thought it wasn’t used anymore.”
“It isn’t. I think it was decommissioned in the sixties.”
The woman left her comfortable seat and pushed back the cabin hatch. She stuck her head in and grabbed a pair of binoculars hanging from a hook just to the left of the steps. She sat down again and took them out of their case. “Actually, it looks like there’s a fire in the lighthouse.”
Her husband laughed. “What? You’re seeing things!”
“You have a look, then!”
She handed over the binoculars. Her husband took them with one hand, keeping the other on the tiller. He brought them up to his eyes and let out a whistle.
“Holy shit, you’re right. It’s on fire!”
“That’s what I said! You never believe anything I say.”
“We need to inform the coast guard,” the man said, looking through the binoculars again just to make sure.
“Can’t we just call the usual emergency number?”
The man gave his wife a haughty look. “We’re at sea, darling. When you’re at sea, you contact the coast guard.”
His wife glared at him but didn’t say anything.
He waved her over. “You need to hold the tiller while I radio through.”
They changed places, and the man quickly went downstairs. He switched on the VHF radio and found the correct channel. The rushing sound of radio waves immediately filled the boat. The man unhooked the microphone and held it close to his mouth.
“Stockholm Radio, Stockholm Radio, Stockholm Radio, this is S/Y Svanen calling.”
He repeated the call a couple of times, then there was a crackling sound, and he suddenly heard a woman’s voice.
“S/Y Svanen, S/Y Svanen, S/Y Svanen, this is Stockholm Radio responding to your call.”
“We are just off Grönskär northeast of Sandhamn. I want to report a fire. It looks as if there’s a fire in the lighthouse, up in the tower.”
“S/Y Svanen, please repeat. I can’t hear you clearly.”
“I said there’s a fire in Grönskär lighthouse. I repeat, there’s a fire in Grönskär lighthouse.”
He made an effort to speak clearly.
“S/Y Svanen, are you sure?” The woman sounded perplexed, as if she didn’t quite know what to do with the information.
“Yes, I’m sure. We’ve looked through binoculars, and I can see flames up in the tower.”
“Did you see any people?”
“No. The place looks deserted. The only thing I could see was the flames.”
The voice on the other end fell silent for a couple of seconds as the rushing sound grew louder. Then she came over the ether once more: “S/Y Svanen, thank you for the information. We will investigate immediately. Thank you for your help.”
The man smiled, satisfied that he had done his civic duty. “S/Y Svanen over and out.”
He switched off the radio and replaced the microphone. He climbed back into the cockpit and looked over toward Grönskär again. The flames looked smaller now, but perhaps it was his imagination. They had sailed some distance while he was reporting the fire, and Grönskär now lay behind them.
He shrugged. There wasn’t much he could do under the circumstances. Either the fire would die out, or the lighthouse would burn down. But it had stood there for almost three hundred years, so it must be pretty resilient.
CHAPTER 77
Henrik was sick with worry. As a doctor he knew exactly what would happen if Nora had taken her insulin and not eaten. He tried to convince himself that she must have eaten enough to be safe, wherever she was. But why wasn’t she at home? And why was the food on the table untouched?
He reproached himself for the arguments of the past few days. Twenty-four hours at sea hadn’t changed his opinion—he had still been angry when he came ashore—but he had decided to ignore the issue. He had already made his feelings clear, end of story. He just didn’t understand why women needed to talk things through all the time. Much better to get to the point as quickly as possible, make a decision, then stick to it.
Now he bitterly regretted his uncompromising attitude.
He pictured Nora’s face on the day Adam was born. She had been so proud. Completely exhausted, of course, but indescribably happy. Her hair had been plastered to her forehead with sweat, as if she’d run a marathon. Which of course she had, in a way. She held her newborn son close, beaming with joy and triumph. “Isn’t he wonderful?” she had said. “Isn’t he amazing? Our son.”
There was a strange taste in Henrik’s mouth, a mixture of acidity and something metallic. At first he couldn’t identify it, but then he realized what it was. He had experienced exactly the same thing when Mats, his best friend at school, fell off his bike. Mats had been unconscious for several minutes, and during that time Henrik had been more scared than he had ever been in his twelve-year-old life.
It was the taste of deep anxiety. Pure fear.
He had been to see Signe and had concluded that there was nothing he could do for her; they were waiting for the air ambulance to take her to the hospital.
Now he was with Nora’s parents. Thomas had also returned. Henrik shook his head in despair. “No one’s seen Nora. It’s as if she’s gone up in smoke.”
The shrill ringtone of Thomas’s phone made them both jump. Thomas’s voice was barely recognizable as he answered with a roar. “Hello!”
“It’s Carina.”
“What’s happened?”
“I’ve spoken to the coast guard and Stockholm Radio. Neither of them had anything in particular to report, apart from the usual weekend drunks. But Stockholm Radio did say that a sailor called in and said there was a fire in the old lighthouse on Grönskär. They’ve tried to contact the curator for confirmation, but he was on another island. He’s on his way over to see if anything’s happened. I don’t know if it’s important, but you did say I should call about the least thing, and Grönskär isn’t far from Sandhamn.”
Thomas looked at Henrik. “There’s a fire in Grönskär lighthouse. Could she be there?” He called out to Nora’s parents, “There’s a fire in Grönskär lighthouse. Could it have anything to do with Nora?”
Her father looked horrified. “We were there today, on an excursion with the Friends of Sandhamn.”