Thewoman with the long legs screamed with laughter. Ole did, too. But Katrine felticy tremors run up her spine because a foot was stroking hers under the table.It couldn't be Ole's. She didn't dare to look up. Don't let it be Bjørn's,she thought. Bjørn could not be so revolting. There was no one else itcould be, though. It had to be Bjørn Gerhardsen. She shivered andflushed; she was sweating. The foot caressed her leg higher up. Up and down, upand down, slowly.
Katrineclosed her eyes and kicked the foot away. And then there he was. The moment sheopened her eyes he was there, Bjørn Gerhardsen, with a gentle,provocative smile.
Shefelt someone's gaze burning on her cheek and twisted her head. It was Annabeth.There was no mistaking where Annabeth was looking. For some reason Annabethmust have guessed something. The knot Katrine felt in her stomach went icecold. Annabeth knows, she thought. The bloody bitch. She knows. And Bjørnknows she knows. So he must have told her. She turned her head and focused onAnnabeth's husband again. He smiled; he had been following her eyes and now hewinked at her without the slightest attempt at concealment. Who noticedanything? Annabeth, of course, and Goggen. The fat homosexual scented themagnetism in the air like a deer scents watchful eyes in the gloaming. Georgstudied her with renewed interest. And Gerhardsen kept smiling. She lowered hereyes and, at the same time, despised herself for having lost the battle. Shestared down at the table cloth and felt the perspiration trickling down herneck.
'It'sso smoky in here,' she exclaimed. 'I could do with a bit of air.' So saying,she got up and stumbled towards the veranda. A woman's hand opened the door forher. As she staggered on to the terrace she heard the company at the tablebreaking up. Annabeth's voice boomed: 'Coffee with liqueurs in the lounge!Please help yourselves! I have just put it out, and I don't have the energy toserve you… self-service!' The voice cracked on the last word.
Katrinebreathed in the fresh air. It was a grey June evening and she leaned againstthe terrace railing. She looked down at an illuminated swimming pool. Youcould dive in from here, she thought. The blue, luminous water formed thecentrepiece of what looked like a tiled courtyard. And beyond the tiles grew afew fruit trees.
Shecould make out a lit street lamp between the trees; it cast an orange light onthe pavement outside the fence. She let her eyes wander further afield andnoticed that the view of Oslo was blocked by a large canopy of trees in thedistance.
Sheknew he was there before he spoke. Knowing he was standing behind her causedperspiration to break out again.
'Isthis where you are?' the smooth voice whispered.
Thesound of his heels on the slate tiles was repugnant. She didn't turn. Shedidn't answer.
Hisreflection appeared in the pool below. 'Cognac?' he asked, putting a glass downon the broad balustrade. A square reflection of the light yellow veranda doorformed on the glass containing the brown liquid. His fingers were rough, theskin around his wedding ring seemed swollen. His wristwatch was a bluish watchface inside a thick metal chain; it was naff, something that would not look outof place in a James Bond film.
'No,thank you,' she said. 'Have you seen Ole?'
'Doyou like our garden?' Gerhardsen asked as though he had not heard the question.She observed her own reflection in the blue water beneath her. And she observedGerhardsen's. Naff man in naff clothes beside a blonde wearing make-up. Shit,it was just like a James Bond film. 'Big garden,' she said politely. 'Must needa lot of work.'
Hewas leaning back against the balustrade sipping from his glass. 'Couldn't youcome and help us from time to time?' he said with a smile. 'You're so good withyour hands, aren't you?'
Shestiffened. His smile was macho, self-assured.
Butthat didn't matter. These looks, these blatant advances were familiar territoryto her. I can overcome this, she thought; she concentrated, looked him in theeye without any emotion and felt her nerves relax.
'Youhave a good memory,' she said, regretting the words at once, they could havebeen easily misunderstood. It was like giving him rope which, of course, hegrabbed greedily.
'You,too,' he said.
Thesilence was transfixing. The sound of laughter and the usual drunken revelrycarried from inside the house.
'Ifyou want, I can show you round the garden now,' he said with a crooked smile.
Herface was numb. She could feel her mouth distorting into an artificial,transparent smile as she tried to stare him down. 'You are one big arsehole,'she said slowly and clearly so that he caught every single syllable. But itdidn't help. She saw that. This was his arena. His home. She was here at theirinvitation. She was a part of the decoration for the evening, something exoticAnnabeth and Bjørn could show off: Would you like to see the house -the African vase, the carved masks on the wall, the Italian table and the poordrug addict Annabeth managed to get back on an even keel. Which one is she, doyou think? Yes, her over there, the blonde, and she's so good- looking, isn'tshe?
Atthat moment she felt his hand stroking her backside. 'Don't touch me,' shehissed as tears welled up, forming a humiliating, misty film across her vision.
Hecleared his throat. His hand slid between her thighs.
'I'llscream,' she said, despising herself even more for these stupid words. Had itbeen anywhere else, in the street, on the staircase in a block of flats, anyother place except for here, she would have kicked him in the balls and spat athim into the bargain. But she was a stranger here, and paralyzed.
Heremoved his hand. 'Just wait before you scream,' he said in a cool voice.
Sheturned and saw Annabeth through the glass door searching for her husband.
'Yourwife's looking for you,' she said.
'No,'he said with a sardonic smile. 'She's looking for us.' He raised his glass andsought her eyes. Katrine stared into space and heard herself say from a long wayoff:
'Youare nothing, nothing to me.' And sick of this game, sick of playing the role ofan idiot, she stormed towards the door and into the smoke-filled room.
Asshe made her way between the people she could feel their gazes burning into herbody. From the corner of her eye she saw heads huddled together. She lumberedacross the floor feeling like an orangutan on a stage set for a ballet. She wascompletely numb. At the other end of the room she saw Ole bending over thewoman with the long legs. He was whispering something in her ear. She wasgiggling and tossing back her hair. Apart from them, she recognized only thefaces of Sigrid from the rehab centre and Bjørn Gerhardsen.
Sheappeared at Ole's side and he immediately lost his composure. He coughed andmumbled a forced 'Hi'. The stork woman fumbled for a cigarette. Katrine stoodher ground. The stork woman was professional, turned away and moved on.
Oletook her arm. 'Shall we mingle?' They entered the room with a piano whereGeorg, alias Goggen, was sitting. Ole held her back. 'Not that man,' hewhispered into her ear. 'He's a poof.' She sent Ole a weary smile and feltalienated, even by him. She said: 'Shout for me if he tries anything on you.'
Theytook their place in the circle around Goggen, who was talking about himself andan ex-lover – a waiter – and some fun they had had with a female TV celebrity.According to Goggen, the woman had thought it exciting to have been left alonewith two gay men. They had been drinking hard all night, all three of them. Inthe daylight hours they had become very intimate, and during a guided tourthrough her flat all three of them fell on to her large four-poster bed and'did it'. 'We had her, both of us,' Goggen wheezed. 'And I mean at the sametime.' He winked at Katrine and said to Ole: 'You know, he parked himself wherepricks prefer… (pause for effect, audience cheering) while I found a spot alittle further back.' (More cheering.)