By the time she returned to her seat, refusing to react to Erik's tight-pressing knee as she squeezed past him, the red "No Smoking" sign was flashing. The excited young redhead peered eagerly out the window, surprised to see how very different the Danish countryside looked from the New England scenery she had grown up with. Instead of neat rows of white frame houses separated by white picket fences, that were so characteristic of American countryside, the Danish houses were painted in bright shades of gold and blue, and all the roofs seemed to be made of a red tile that gleamed in the bright sunlight.
"Oh, I'm so excited!" she exclaimed.
"Me, too," he agreed. "I'm always glad to come home. Traveling is all right, but I'm happiest here in Copenhagen."
Now they were flying over low red brick apartment houses, and the airplane was steadily falling lower and lower.
"Where are you staying?" Erik asked. "Some friends delivered my car to the airport parking lot, and I'd be glad to give you a lift into town."
"Oh, I don't have anything planned," Jill answered. "I didn't want to waste money on a hotel, so I thought I'd start to look for an apartment of my own right away."
"I'm afraid that's not going to be very easy," the blond man warned her. "It's almost impossible to find flats in the center of town, especially if you don't know anyone. And if you go to an agency for help, you'll pay a lot more than you would have at a cheap hotel. But it's too late to think of that now, I guess. All the hotels are full this time of the year. Why, you'll find kids sleeping in all the parks."
"Oh no!" Jill exclaimed, a worried frown creasing her pretty face. She had just enough money to rent a cheap apartment, to eat, and to buy the necessary books and supplies for her studies. If she had to hand over a lot of money to an agency, she might have to give up eating until next month's check arrived. "Is it really that bad?" she asked in a sober voice.
"I'm afraid so. It's hard enough to find a place to live even during the winter, but in June the city's flooded with tourists." Erik Mortensen enjoyed watching the independent girl's self-composed mask crumble to pieces and delighted in her new found vulnerability. "But maybe I can do something for you…"
"Oh, Mr. Mortensen, I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble," she protested weakly.
"No trouble at all! I was just thinking of the building where I lived when I was a student. The landlady's an old friend of my family's, and if there's anything available I'm sure she'd let you have it if I come around with you. It's nothing fancy, but it's only three hundred kroner a month and ten minutes walk from the university." He paused, then grinned, "And please don't call me 'Mr. Mortensen' – it makes me feel like an old man!"
"Okay, Erik," Jill smiled thankfully. "It sounds just perfect! I'm so grateful to you."
There was a sudden slight bump as the plane landed, causing the young girl's heart to leap in a joyous thrill of anticipation. She was about to set foot for the first time on European soil, about to start a new life!
In a daze of excitement she followed Erik out of the plane and down a confusing maze of corridors to the baggage and customs area. Though she didn't like to admit it to herself, the usually self-reliant girl realized that she would have felt lost without the handsome blond man there to lead the way and carry her heavy book-laden suitcase. As she listened to the voices around her babbling in strange-sounding Danish, she knew that her language records with their slow, well-pronounced phrases had been of very little real use. Jill turned in bewilderment to the helpful English-speaking Dane waiting beside her in the quick-moving customs line.
Just as they were approaching the custom booth, the line came to a standstill.
"A couple damn Arabs," Erik said, peering toward the head of the line. "Probably carrying dope."
Jill watched curiously as, after a long conversation in Danish and Turkish, two dark-complexioned men were led away by uniformed officials. Though she had, of course, read about the drug problem, the attractive student had never actually encountered anything except a little marijuana smoking in her quiet New England college, and the thought of smuggling narcotics all seemed fascinatingly wicked to the innocent young girl.
"Anything to declare?" the man behind the booth asked Erik, startling Jill out of her reverie. The custom official's eyes focused with obvious interest on her long slender legs, and she was annoyed to feel herself blushing.
"One bottle of whiskey and one carton of cigarettes," the well-built blond man answered smoothly.
Turning quickly to Jill, the official looked at the one-year student visa stamped in her brand new passport and smiled. "Have a good stay in Denmark!" he said, waving them on.
And then, after another tangle of corridors, they found themselves standing in the warm sunshine, climbing into Erik's little car, and driving down the highway toward Copenhagen.
"Got away with three bottles of whiskey and four cartons of cigarettes!" Erik boasted.
"But that's against the law!" Jill gasped.
"Well, here in Denmark there's a 100% tax on alcohol and cigarettes, so we don't quite take that law quite so seriously," he said.
The auburn-haired law student supposed that she ought to be shocked; after all, telling a lie to a custom's official was a crime. But the handsome Dane was grinning at her with such infectious glee that she had to smile back.
"Wow! If I'd known that, I'd have bought some duty-free cigarettes at Kennedy International. I guess I'll have to give up smoking."
"Take one of my cartons," he offered. "And one of the bottles of whiskey too."
"Oh, I couldn't do that!"
"Please. I'm going to Munich in two weeks, so I'll be able to get some more. Besides, I owe you a favor. That customs official might have opened my bags if he hadn't been so busy staring at your legs."
Although this was just the sort of remark that Jill resented, and in spite of her reservations about accepting smuggled goods, she didn't quite know how to refuse his offer. He was being so very kind to her, and she didn't want to seem rude.
"Thank you," she murmured at last, thinking to herself as she spoke: Just this once – this will be the first and last time I ever break a law.
It seemed no time at all before they reached the center of Copenhagen with its copper-spired townhall and crowded square. A few blocks farther on, past a little park with a small lake filled with ducks and swans, Erik turned onto a winding cobblestone side street.
"Here we are," he said. "It's good to be back in Copenhagen after New York's traffic. Let's go meet Fru Larsen and see if she's got a flat for you."
Fru Larsen, a plump, gray-haired woman with a cheerful smile, did indeed have an empty apartment in the old five-story building. "The couple that lived there went on a holiday to the country last week," she explained, "and just two days ago they wrote me a letter and said that they had decided to stay there. Isn't that lucky for you!"
The three of them made their way up a dark narrow flight of wooden steps to the top floor where the landlady fitted a key into one of the three doors in the hallway. The flat was tiny and sparsely furnished, but it was scrupulously clean. Sunshine streamed in through the large windows of the single room, making it seem cheerful in spite of the threadbare carpet and shabby bedspread. Beyond this room there was a miniature kitchen and a tiny room containing the toilet.
"A toilet, that's great!" Erik exclaimed. "There weren't any toilets when I lived here."
"We put them in two years ago. And I'm afraid the rent went up, too, it's four hundred kroner a month now," the landlady apologized.
"This is just perfect!" Jill said happily. She was so grateful to find a place to live without any trouble that another hundred kroner didn't bother her at all. Quickly figuring in her head, she realized that the rent was only about $75, which she could easily manage. "Can I move in right away?"