96
Rex is standing in his hotel room looking at the hunting gear he’s laid out on top of the bed. He opens the wooden box and takes out the broad-bladed hunting knife, then uses it to cut the labels off his new clothes.
That morning they took off from H?gern?sviken in a twin-engined Cessna sea plane. Even though the cabin was pressurised, it was too noisy to speak. The landscape below them changed: cultivated land and built-up areas turned to black-green pine forest, then marshes and tundra.
The plane landed at the harbour in Kurravaara, where a driver was waiting to take them to the hunting lodge.
As they passed the tourism centre at Abisko, they could just make out the half-moon-shaped gap between the twin peaks of Tjuonatj?kka in the distance.
At the resort at Bj?rkliden the car turned off the main road onto a winding gravel road leading to Tornehamn.
The hotel is a relatively modern building on the site of the old base camp for the workers who built the iron-ore railway, Malmbanan, more than a hundred years ago.
They’re completely alone up here, two hundred kilometres north of the Arctic Circle.
DJ unlocked the door and switched the alarm off, then showed Rex and Sammy around the deserted hotel.
They walked through the huge dining room and into the large restaurant kitchen, and looked inside the freezers at all the vacuum-packed meat, hundreds of pizzas, thirty boxes of hamburgers, bread and rolls, turbot, Arctic char and vendace roe.
They walked down long hallways lined with thick carpet, then went down the curved staircase to the spa centre, past an empty exercise pool.
The floor was being torn up in the waiting area, and a mountain of furniture blocked the entry and part of the hallway.
Rex is still standing in front of his bed gazing out through the window: beyond the junction in the road and Pakktaj?kaluobbalah he can see mountains and valleys, and countless small mountain lakes, like drops of molten lead.
He starts to get dressed for the hunt.
DJ has picked his clothes personally, selecting the right sizes and tracking down exclusive outfits with scent-barriers to stop animals from detecting humans. The material muffles sound and repels water and wind.
Rex turns towards the door. He has the uncomfortable feeling that the room has suddenly got darker.
He puts the rest of his clothes on, tucks the binoculars, water bottle and knife in his bag, then reaches for the door-handle. Once again a sense of unease hits him.
He stops in front of room 23 and knocks. All the electronic locks have been disconnected, but the doors can still be locked from inside.
‘It’s open,’ a subdued voice calls out.
Rex steps into the short hallway, stepping over the shoes towards the spacious bedroom. Sammy has changed clothes, and is sitting on the bed watching television. His all-terrain jacket is open and he’s wearing mascara and gold-tinted eyeshadow.
‘It’s great that you’re coming,’ Rex says.
‘It’s not like I can stay here on my own,’ his son replies.
‘Why not?’
‘I already have the urge to ride a tricycle down the hallway and start talking to my finger.’
Rex laughs and explains that DJ thinks it’s important that he participate in the hunt.
‘I’m just saying it would be nicer to stay here and make food,’ Sammy says, switching the television off.
‘I agree,’ Rex nods.
‘Should we go and see what sort of rich old men DJ has managed to lure up here?’ Sammy says with a sigh, picking up his bag.
They walk in silence along the cold hallway, and can hear raucous laughter and the clink of glasses. DJ is sitting in front of the roaring fire in the lobby with three men dressed in hunting gear, drinking whisky.
‘And here’s Rex,’ DJ announces loudly.
The men break off their conversation and turn around, smiling. Rex falters. It’s like falling into a hole. One of the men is James Gyllenborg. Rex hasn’t seen him since the assault thirty years ago. James was in the stable and hit him with a two by four, then kicked him in the crotch when he was on the ground, before spitting on him.
Rex leans on one of the leather armchairs for support and realises that he’s dropped his bag on the floor and the hunting knife has slid out onto the carpet.
‘Dad, what is it?’
‘I dropped …’
Rex picks the bag and knife up, forces the nausea down and walks over to the men to say hello. He recognises the other two men from Ludviksberg as well, but can’t remember their names.
‘This is my son, Sammy,’ Rex says, and swallows hard.
‘Cheers, Sammy,’ James says.
They shake hands with Rex without getting to their feet, and introduce themselves as James, Kent and Lawrence.
They’ve all aged.
There’s something grey about James Gyllenborg’s very being, as if the years have washed both the life and colour out of him. Rex remembers him as a vibrant blond youth, with thin lips and nervous blue eyes.
Kent Wrangel is heavily built and has a rather flushed face. He’s wearing glasses and a gold necklace. Lawrence von Thurn is also big, with a full grey beard and bloodshot eyes.
‘We’re delighted that you gentlemen have such faith in this project,’ DJ says. ‘Because this is going to be so damn good. And of course you already know that Rex has just been presented with the prestigious Chef of Chefs award!’
‘Quite undeserved, it has to be said,’ Rex smiles.
‘Let’s drink to that!’ James says, and takes a gulp.
The other two clap their hands happily. Rex tries unsuccessfully to catch DJ’s eye.
‘I want you to know that the reason I’ve confiscated all our phones, including my own, is that this deal is going to hit this industry like a bomb,’ DJ says, topping up the men’s glasses with whisky. ‘And once it’s detonated, everything will get much harder, and much more expensive. So this is something of a game changer … regardless of whether you decide to sign up or walk away, the condition is that no information leaks out, so that those of us left are free to negotiate with the most important suppliers before word gets out.’
‘This is going to be huge,’ Kent says, stretching his legs.
‘DJ, can I have a word?’ Rex says quietly, and leads him away.
‘Exciting, isn’t it?’ DJ says in a low voice as they walk into the dining room.
‘What is this? What the hell are you playing at?’ Rex says. ‘I’m not going to do business with a bunch of bastards from my old school.’
‘I thought … well, you all know each other, so it couldn’t be any better, could it? And who cares if they were bastards back then, as long as they have money now?’
Rex shakes his head and struggles to appear more composed than he feels.
‘You should have let me know.’
‘Look, in all seriousness, it’s practically impossible to put together any kind of deal in Sweden without running into people who went to Ludviksberg,’ DJ says as he sees Kent coming towards them with two glasses of whisky.
DJ goes to meet him, takes one glass and leads him back to the others.
Rex remains standing in the dining room and watches them go. His head is roaring, but he tells himself that he needs to stick it out, if only for one night. He’ll put up with it for a few more hours, then come up with an excuse so he and Sammy can go home first thing tomorrow morning.
He tries to convince himself that he’s doing this because it’s important. It’s a way for him to secure his financial future in case Sylvia ever gets so sick of him that she lets him go.
Like everyone at Ludviksberg, he must have treated plenty of people badly in his time. That was part and parcel of being privileged, but Rex could never accept the beating. He walked out of the school before breakfast the next day and he never went back.
‘OK, listen,’ DJ says, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. ‘The reindeer here are far more elusive than wild ones.’