Gunnarstrandakept walking and rounded the corner just in time to see Bjørn Gerhardsensneaking in through the chapel door.
Chapter Twenty-One
FrankFrølich found a gap for his car in Torggata between a kebab house andone of the greengrocers with a better selection of exotic vegetables. Heremembered he should have gone shopping, but resisted the temptation, crossedthe street and continued down the opposite pavement. A young man wearingcolourful shorts and a helmet on his head was slalom-cycling betweenpedestrians. Frølich wormed his way through a group of Africans inexpensive leather jackets embroiled in a heated discussion. A parked van wasblocking the traffic. It was a clapped-out Toyota Hiace with large rusty holesin the sides. The rear door was open wide and the back of the van was crammedfull with slaughtered animals. Arab-looking boys lifted the meat up on to theirshoulders and ran a shuttle service between the van and one of the shops.Smuggled meat from Sweden, Frølich reckoned, and stood watching theunloading for a few seconds. In the end he tore himself away and walked upBernt Ankers gate to the specialist publishing house where Merethe Fossumworked. He came to a general office with a central switchboard on the groundfloor. The man in the office wore a uniform and belonged to a security service witha handcuff as a logo. He grabbed a telephone and asked Frølich if he wasexpected. Frølich took a risk. 'Yes,' he said. The man in the uniformrang through and passed the receiver to Frølich who put it to his earand heard a phone ring twice. Merethe Fossum's voice was deep and a littlehusky. Sexy, thought Frølich, and asked if he could go up. She said itwas time for lunch anyway and suggested he found himself a seat in the canteen.
Hewas shown to the basement by the guard. The company canteen was of theself-service variety with a long counter where you could help yourself toslices of bread and dry, dense rolls with traditional Norwegian pеlegg:dark mutton sausage, liver paste and curved cuts of cheese garnished with redpepper. With your coffee you could have chocolate cookies in a plastic wrapper.A fat matronly type wearing a white apron asked for five kroner for a cup ofcoffee which looked as black and impenetrable as used oil from an old tractor. Frølichpeeped into the milk jug beside the cash desk. It was empty. He coughed. Fattyknew what was required without turning. She took a red carton of milk from thebench behind the counter and placed it in front of him. He poured in asubstantial quantity of milk but did not discern a hint of greyer tones in theblack liquid.
Itwas clearly a kind of lunch break. A steady flow of people came down the stairsand the canteen began to fill up. Frølich found an unoccupied table bythe entrance so that Merethe Fossum would not have any problems identifyinghim. As soon as she appeared he knew it was her. The woman cast tentativeglances around the room until they found eye contact. She was delicate, slimand spry, not over one-sixty in height and dressed smartly in a black skirtwith matching jacket. She put a pack of open sandwiches on the counter andpoured herself a cup of coffee. He got up and cleared his throat. She spunround and her hair whirled around her head like in a commercial.
Hersmile was inquisitive, almost quizzical. Then she sat down, slunk on to thechair and lazily arranged her elegant legs, revealing a generous strip of fleshabove the knee. Her long fingers with red nails opened the sophisticatedwrapping around the sandwich. She had fine, narrow hands with white, plump skinaround the wrists She studied the sandwiches beneath lowered eyelids, insecret. A lock of hair fell from over her ear and in front of her sensitiveface.
FrankFrølich was in raptures. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Such pureand sensual features. Her face was oval, her eyes almond-shaped and ice-blue,her nose straight, her mouth broad and formed like Cupid's bow. The skin on herneck was more golden than white.
'Youmet Katrine Bratterud at a party in Annabeth s's house, I believe? Frølichstammered, feeling like an overgrown gorilla beside this delicate, feminineapparition. He was sweating because she was sitting so close.
Sheglanced up and gave a quick nod. Hot energy poured out of her. The heat wasabsorbed by his jumper; that was what was making him sweat, he thought.
'AndOle,' she said with some reluctance.
'OleEidesen?'
'Yes,I didn't talk much to her; she left early on. But Ole is fantastic.'
In Frølich’smind her points tally sank from 99 to 89. He pretended to be studying hisnotes, but stole furtive glances as she raised her coffee cup and waved to acolleague.
'Towhat did you owe your invitation?' he asked, clearing his throat again. 'I meanwhy were you invited?'
'Ihad a few hours there, of teaching at the rehab centre. Most of them in thewinter.'
'You'rea teacher?'
'Mymajor was in literary science. That's what I would really like to do.' Sheembraced the room with her glance. 'Began here in March, but I had a few hoursof Norwegian, English and Social Studies at Vinterhagen in the winter.' Shesmiled.
'Didyou teach Katrine?'
'No,she was working, of course, in the last phase. I had only seen her on the oddoccasion before, from a distance. Don't think she knew me.'
Thesilence came between them.
'Nicecanteen,' he said in panic, looking around.
'Idon't like it,' she laughed. 'But I love the coffee.' Frølich tookanother ten points off for her remark about the coffee, but put her up fifteenpoints for beautiful teeth in an enigmatic smile. He loosened his tie, breathedin and braced himself to meet her sparkling blue eyes. She was holding a sliceof bread between her slim fingers. For a few seconds she looked around for hercolleagues who had gone to the back of the room. Then she turned back to thepoliceman and raised the sandwich to her mouth. Frølich looked up thesecond she opened her mouth and crushed the slice of bread into a lump ofdough, and grey mutton sausage and green gherkin oozed to the side. She didn'ttake a bite, she stuffed the whole lot in and chewed it so that saliva andbreadcrumbs seeped out between her lips. This was soon slurped back in, and themoment their eyes met she began to speak with her mouth full of food. Shetalked about Annabeth s and her house, about what wonderful people she andGerhardsen were, and then she began to talk about the weather, the rain and howdreadful it was when your legs were sodden. Frølich’s eyes hung on herbroad mouth. His hands were trembling, but he couldn't quite tear his eyes awayfrom the wet, open mouth. Her right cheek stretched like elastic. She hadanother open sandwich ready; she folded it like the previous one, stuffed it inand kept talking. Something about an umbrella, yes, it must have been somethingto do with an umbrella. Her slim fingers kneaded more bread; she shoved it in,to join the rest of the food creating a bulge in her cheek. She took a drink.Slurped the coffee. And then it was over. She folded up the greaseproof paperand licked her fingers clean. Frølich breathed out, through his nose. Hedidn't quite know what he had been through, he just knew that it was over – andhe did not want to go through it a second time.
'Youleft the party early,' he said quickly.
'Who?'
'Youand some others.'
'Yes,we went to the city centre.'
'Who?'
'Oleand I.'
'Anyothers?'
'Yes,there were five of us in the car. But the two gay men wanted to go to a gayplace, and neither Bjørn nor Ole wanted to go there. I think that'sfine, I do – gay bars and all that sort of thing. All the gay men I know aresuper.'
'Sothere were you, Ole, Bjørn Gerhardsen and two other men?'