He spent two days in Stockholm with Inger. She’d suggested at first that he stay at her place, but for some reason, he’d checked into a hotel not far away instead, not wanting to crowd her. He needn’t have worried because he spent the whole time in her apartment anyway.
Two days, most of it seemingly spent in bed. When they went out it wasn’t far, to the café where he’d met her that day a few weeks before, or to local stores, the streets clear but cold and the day punctuated with snow flurries.
And for all the time he was with her he was dreaming what this life might be like, imagining himself taking an apartment nearby, or forgetting caution and moving in with her right away. That was the kind of life he dreamed about, where being cautious only applied to not taking things too fast in a relationship.
They flew up to Lule? on the third day, and within twenty minutes of take-off, the landscape below them was already snow-covered, as if bedding down for winter. The last time he’d taken this flight, he’d been warned that the north would be a lot colder but had found it remarkably benign—only now, looking down, did he believe that it could be so different.
Inger had talked about arranging a car, but she’d spoken to Per and he’d been insistent, so he was there to meet them at the airport and talked animatedly about the weather for much of the onward drive north. The deep snow visible all around them was apparently unusual even for them at this time of year.
He drove them directly to Siri’s house; a big wooden place, bigger than the one Redford had lived in, but closer to the quiet road, with a few other houses within view. Dan looked at those other houses as they pulled up—they all looked blank and lifeless and he wondered if people lived in them all year round, wondered, too, if any of the kids who’d died in the crash had lived there.
Siri’s grandparents came out onto the porch even as Per pulled up. They were grey but trim and upright, reminding him in some way of Mr. Eklund, the same rugged healthiness. Like Mr. Eklund, too, they waved as the three of them got out of the car, though they were not many feet away.
They stepped through the gate and as they walked up the path, the man said, “Welcome Mr. Hendricks, Miss Bengtsson. Hello, Per.”
Inger spoke back in Swedish, and Dan said, “Thank you for agreeing to see us Mr. Nystr?m.”
Per said quietly, “Doctor Nystr?m.”
Nystr?m laughed and said, “Yes, I’m still the local doctor, though I should retire soon.”
His wife made some dismissive but good-humored response in Swedish to that suggestion, then said, “I hope we’ll be able to help with your inquiries.”
“I’m hoping we’ll be able to help you.”
They showed them into a warm and welcoming kitchen where they sat around a heavy table and Mrs. Nystr?m served them coffee and some sort of home-made cookies. They’d only been sitting a few minutes when Siri walked in.
Dan stood, and then realized the formality of it made her uncomfortable so he sat again and she sat down opposite him.
She looked shyly at Inger, then at Dan, and said, “Hello.”
She was in black again, but this time wearing a shapeless black sweater. Her skin was a little clearer than when they’d seen her a few weeks ago, and it reminded him once more that she would undoubtedly be a beautiful woman. Looking at her grandmother, he could see the same bone structure, the same lively eyes.
Dan took out the two letters he’d found in Redford’s safe-deposit box, which had disappointed him at first, until he’d actually looked at them, at what they said. One had also proved Eliot Carter right and Tom wrong, though that hardly mattered now.
He smiled then, and said, “Siri, the man who saved you was an American. His name wasn’t Jacques Fillon, it was Jack Redford. He did top-secret work, mainly for the US government.”
She smiled, the shyness falling away as she said, “So I was right, about him being a spy.”
Inger nodded and said, “We didn’t know for sure when we met you—we found out later.”
Dan continued, saying, “About fourteen years ago, something went wrong, his life was put in danger and he chose a new identity and disappeared. Two years or so later, he turned up here.”
Dr. Nystr?m said, “Is this connected with what we saw on the news, the congressman and the murder in Paris?”
His wife gestured to her husband and Siri, and said, “They both thought the same thing.”
“Because of the dates, that’s all,” said Doctor Nystr?m.
Siri nodded in agreement with her grandfather. It was interesting to see the dynamic between them, that they’d discussed this and somehow come to the right conclusion.