grinned. She hadn’t commented on the fact that he hadn’t drunk any of the wine.
“I’m not polite, I’m interested,” he said.
“In that case, you’ll have to tell me something personal about you, other than that you’re a policeman.”
Birgitta leaned across the table. Harry told himself not to look down her dress. He sensed her aroma and greedily breathed in the fragrance. He must not let himself be duped. Those cunning bastards at Karl Lagerfeld and Christian Dior knew exactly what was required to trap a poor man.
She smelled wonderful.
“Well,” Harry began, “I have a sister, my mother died, I live in a flat I can’t get rid of in Tøyen, Oslo. I have no lengthy relationships behind me, and only one has left any marks.”
“Really? And there’s no one in your life now?”
“Not really. I have a few uncomplicated, meaningless relationships with women I occasionally ring if they don’t ring me.”
Birgitta frowned.
“Something wrong?”
“I’m not sure if I approve of that kind of man. Or woman. I’m a bit old-fashioned like that.”
“Of course, I’ve put all that stuff behind me,” Harry said, raising the glass of Perrier.
“And I’m not sure I like these glib answers of yours, either,” Birgitta said, raising her glass.
“So what do you look for in a man?”
She rested her chin on her hand and gazed into the air considering the question. “I don’t know. I think I know more about what I don’t like in a man than what I do.”
“What don’t you like? Apart from glib answers.”
“Men who try to check me out.”
“Do you suffer a lot?”
She smiled. “Let me give you a tip, Casanova. If you wantto charm a woman, you have to make her feel unique, make her feel she’s being given special treatment, something no one else gets. Men who try to pick up girls in bars don’t understand that. But I suppose that means nothing to a libertine like you.”
Harry laughed. “By a few I mean two. I said a few because that sounds a bit wilder, it sounds like … three. One, by the way, is on her way back to her ex according to what she told me the last time I saw her. She thanked me because I had been so uncomplicated and the relationship had been so … well, meaningless, I assume. The other is a woman I started a relationship with and who now insists that since it was me who left, it is my duty to ensure that she has a modicum of a sex life until either of us finds someone else. Hang on—why have I gone all defensive here? I’m a normal man who wouldn’t harm a flea. Are you implying that I’m trying to charm someone?”
“Oh yes, you’re trying to charm me. Don’t deny it!”
Harry didn’t deny it. “All right. How am I doing?”
She took a long swig from her wineglass and gave the matter some thought.
“B, I reckon. Moderate anyway. No, I think it will have to be a B … you’re doing quite well.”
“Sounds like B minus.”
“There or thereabouts.”
It was dark down by the harbor, almost deserted, and a fresh wind had sprung up. On the steps to the illuminated Opera House an unusually overweight bride and groom posed for the photographer. He directed them hither and thither, and the newlyweds seemed to be very annoyed at having to move their large bodies. In the end, though, they came to an agreement, and the nocturnal photo session in front of the Opera House ended in smiles, laughter and perhaps a little tear.
“That’s what they must mean by bursting with happiness,” Harry said. “Or perhaps you don’t say that in Swedish?”
“Yes, we do, you could be so happy you burst in Swedish, too.” Birgitta took off her hairband and stood in the wind by the harbor railing, facing the Opera House.
“Yes, you could,” she repeated, as if to herself. She turned her freckled nose to the sea, and the wind blew her red hair back.
She looked like a sea nettle jellyfish. He didn’t know a jellyfish could be so beautiful.
10
A Town Called
“I’m not polite, I’m interested,” he said.
“In that case, you’ll have to tell me something personal about you, other than that you’re a policeman.”
Birgitta leaned across the table. Harry told himself not to look down her dress. He sensed her aroma and greedily breathed in the fragrance. He must not let himself be duped. Those cunning bastards at Karl Lagerfeld and Christian Dior knew exactly what was required to trap a poor man.
She smelled wonderful.
“Well,” Harry began, “I have a sister, my mother died, I live in a flat I can’t get rid of in Tøyen, Oslo. I have no lengthy relationships behind me, and only one has left any marks.”
“Really? And there’s no one in your life now?”
“Not really. I have a few uncomplicated, meaningless relationships with women I occasionally ring if they don’t ring me.”
Birgitta frowned.
“Something wrong?”
“I’m not sure if I approve of that kind of man. Or woman. I’m a bit old-fashioned like that.”
“Of course, I’ve put all that stuff behind me,” Harry said, raising the glass of Perrier.
“And I’m not sure I like these glib answers of yours, either,” Birgitta said, raising her glass.
“So what do you look for in a man?”
She rested her chin on her hand and gazed into the air considering the question. “I don’t know. I think I know more about what I don’t like in a man than what I do.”
“What don’t you like? Apart from glib answers.”
“Men who try to check me out.”
“Do you suffer a lot?”
She smiled. “Let me give you a tip, Casanova. If you wantto charm a woman, you have to make her feel unique, make her feel she’s being given special treatment, something no one else gets. Men who try to pick up girls in bars don’t understand that. But I suppose that means nothing to a libertine like you.”
Harry laughed. “By a few I mean two. I said a few because that sounds a bit wilder, it sounds like … three. One, by the way, is on her way back to her ex according to what she told me the last time I saw her. She thanked me because I had been so uncomplicated and the relationship had been so … well, meaningless, I assume. The other is a woman I started a relationship with and who now insists that since it was me who left, it is my duty to ensure that she has a modicum of a sex life until either of us finds someone else. Hang on—why have I gone all defensive here? I’m a normal man who wouldn’t harm a flea. Are you implying that I’m trying to charm someone?”
“Oh yes, you’re trying to charm me. Don’t deny it!”
Harry didn’t deny it. “All right. How am I doing?”
She took a long swig from her wineglass and gave the matter some thought.
“B, I reckon. Moderate anyway. No, I think it will have to be a B … you’re doing quite well.”
“Sounds like B minus.”
“There or thereabouts.”
It was dark down by the harbor, almost deserted, and a fresh wind had sprung up. On the steps to the illuminated Opera House an unusually overweight bride and groom posed for the photographer. He directed them hither and thither, and the newlyweds seemed to be very annoyed at having to move their large bodies. In the end, though, they came to an agreement, and the nocturnal photo session in front of the Opera House ended in smiles, laughter and perhaps a little tear.
“That’s what they must mean by bursting with happiness,” Harry said. “Or perhaps you don’t say that in Swedish?”
“Yes, we do, you could be so happy you burst in Swedish, too.” Birgitta took off her hairband and stood in the wind by the harbor railing, facing the Opera House.
“Yes, you could,” she repeated, as if to herself. She turned her freckled nose to the sea, and the wind blew her red hair back.
She looked like a sea nettle jellyfish. He didn’t know a jellyfish could be so beautiful.
10
A Town Called
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