LONDON
There were two things that Eden Lundell had found particularly difficult during her years in London: the ingrained conservatism, and the terrible weather. Instinctively she felt that the latter would be easier to come to terms with than the former.
The sleet had turned into a classic autumn rain, lashing her face as she left the hotel, on her way to the man she had come here to see. The man who would tell her what she needed to know in order to get rid of her problem. To crush Efraim.
Her thoughts were constantly with Mikael and the children she had left behind. The anxiety she couldn’t shake off had grown into a monster that was threatening to drive her insane. She had to end this, and soon. She didn’t know why, she just knew that time was short.
The rain hammered against her waterproof jacket, the drops turning to transparent beads that almost looked like pearls. Eden had always hated pearls, mainly because her mother thought they were the last word in elegance. Eden wondered if she still felt the same. It was a long time since they had seen one another. Israel wasn’t all that far away, but after the affair with Efraim, Eden had been unable to bring herself to go there. She didn’t think she would get through passport control anyway – not without being taken to one side and questioned.
The water on the pavement softened the sound of her heels. There was hardly anyone else around, which wasn’t surprising; it was Sunday, and it was pouring down. Why would anyone be out and about? She had chosen a hotel less than five blocks from where he lived. The most unexpected plan was often the best strategy. Her visit would lead to discussions, and might also have certain practical consequences in the long term. She was under no illusion that he would be pleased to see her; those days were gone forever.
But that’s irrelevant; this is a matter of life and death, and that takes precedence over all the crap that’s behind us.
She had arrived.
She stood outside the house she had visited more times than she could count. The house where Fred and Angela Banks lived. They had been her and Mikael’s best friends when they lived in London. The most treacherous friends she had ever had.
At least as far as Fred was concerned.
He had been her colleague as well as her friend. And the first person her boss had chosen to involve in the investigation into her affair with Efraim.
A natural choice. He was closest to Eden, and would easily be able to keep himself informed about her private life without arousing any suspicions.
The memories flooded her mind.
Memories of the holidays she and Mikael had spent with Fred and Angela. Dinner parties and celebrations. Fred with a cigar in the corner of his mouth (‘I only smoke when I’m drunk, you know’), and Angela with a décolletage so deep you could practically see her navel (‘Without these boobs I would never have been such a successful broker!’). On the surface they didn’t seem to have anything whatsoever in common with Eden and Mikael, but in reality they had shared everything.
Interests.
Values.
Humour.
And sorrow.
Because Fred and Angela were unable to have children, which led to a painful friction that Eden and Mikael not only witnessed, but helped to heal.
Eden swallowed hard. She went up the steps, her finger trembling as she was about to ring the bell. Because they hadn’t made any friends in Stockholm who were as close as Fred and Angela had been.
We don’t let anyone get close any more.
Eventually she had to do what she had come for. Prick a hole in the bubble in which she had been floating around ever since she left England. Not every aspect of her relationship with Fred had been false. They had established a friendship in her very first week with MI5, years before she met Efraim.
The sound of the doorbell was so loud that Eden thought the entire neighbourhood had probably heard it.
She rang it again, hoping to hear some movement on the other side of the door. However, she had to press the bell several times before she heard footsteps approaching. Then came the usual silence as someone peered through the peep hole. Which was normally followed by the sound of the latch being turned, the door opening.
But not this time.
After a while she realised that the person who had looked out had recognised her, and crept away. Left her to her fate.
I refuse to be let down yet again by anyone at this fucking address.
She banged on the door with all her might, ringing the bell over and over again.
The footsteps returned, heavier and quicker this time.
Angry.
The door flew open so fast it almost hit her in the face.
Fred Banks, who had once been her very best friend, filled the entire doorway with his furious bulk. In spite of the fact that she had promised herself she wouldn’t react when they met for the first time in several years, she couldn’t help taking a deep breath when she saw him. And Fred, who had no doubt intended to start by bawling at her for daring to darken his door, froze in mid-movement and stood there with his mouth open.
When he eventually broke the silence, he was brief and to the point:
‘I have no interest in speaking to you, Eden. Go away, please.’
She had hated him when she left London, because he had done what his boss told him to do – spied on her. Because he had turned his back on her, betrayed her. Because through his involvement he had complicated the break-up, making her lie to her husband even more; Mikael had never understood why Fred and Angela suddenly went from being friends to enemies. Mikael had been told about the affair with Efraim, but not about her secret lover’s background and the difficulties that created.
The years had moderated her anger more than she had realised. When she saw Fred she felt nothing but a bottomless sorrow.
‘I’m going nowhere,’ she said. ‘Either let me in, or come with me to a place nearby where we can talk.’
‘No chance. I’ve nothing to say to someone like you.’
‘On the contrary. You have a great deal to say to me.’
He was still staring at her, clearly shocked at her unexpected reappearance in his life. Who knew what stories they had told about her to make her seem like a worse person than she actually was.
Fred shook his head slowly.
‘If you think I’m going to help you in any way, you’re wrong. I want nothing whatsoever to do with your sort.’
‘My sort?’
‘You betrayed everything we worked for! Every fucking ideal I thought we shared!’
He was shouting now, his cheeks red, the veins in his neck standing out. As they always used to do when he got really angry.
Her face wet with icy rain and something that might be tears, Eden said firmly:
‘You’re right, there was a betrayal. But not of you, and not of our organisation. The only person I ever betrayed was Mikael, and that’s between him and me.’
She moved a step closer, making it impossible for him to close the door without squashing her.
‘You don’t know the whole story,’ she went on. ‘You think you do, but you’re wrong. And you have to listen to me now, because I’m afraid I’ve ended up in a very dangerous situation. And I don’t know anyone else who can help me.’
She could feel the fear spreading from her chest and through her entire body as she spoke. Because she knew she was telling the truth. She was afraid. Afraid of the motives and powers that she didn’t understand, but which had brought Efraim to Stockholm. Afraid of Alex Recht’s hints that Efraim might have something to do with his murder inquiry. But most of all she was afraid that everything that was happening hung together in a way she couldn’t yet see, which meant she was unable to protect herself.
Fred hesitated. Eden knew why; it was because she was asking for help. Eden, who had made a point of needing no one’s help.