rocks while other ferns glowed with a dark crimson. But his thoughts about Per poisoned these beautiful impressions. Per had never really been violent towards anyone but his family in the past, but lately he had violent mood swings and Sören had no idea what to do about it. Of course he had begged the man to stay away from Rettinge, the ordered him, then tried to bribe him. Per knew of course that he, Sören, would never go to the police about him, he knew that only too well. Sören had consulted Kent Persson, his old schoolfriend and local police Inspector on the matter, but Kent had been strangely reluctant to discuss Per Nielson and rather vague about possible actions that could be taken to get rid of him. Sören had assumed that Kent had other more important matters to deal with at that time and had let the matter rest. Presumably the police were also helpless in such cases, as long as no damage was done to either property or people. So Per was more or less free to come and go as he pleased. Which he did on a daily basis.
Chapter 4
Sören thought back to the evening before, when he had had his monthly meeting with the old man. As usual Per Nielson had wandered into the house as if he owned it. Maybe he even had illusions of himself as the lord of the manor somewhere in his sick head. Sören always made sure that these meetings took place when Nanna, who was his housekeeper and cook, wasn´t home. Nanna had been his nanny when he had been small and she occupied a little flat at the back of the house. He and Nanna were very close, in fact she was more like a mother to him than his own mother had been. And the two of them often shared a drink or a meal together in the evening, so it was quite feasible that she might just walk in on one of Sören´s unpleasant meeting with Per Nielson, which Sören most definetly wanted to avoid. Per had served himself a gracious splash of Sören´s finest single malt and then brought forward his usual stream of accusations, threats and demands.
“So, young master of Rettinge, I´m glad you remembered to keep our little appointment. But then we both know what would happen if you didn´t, don´t we? Knowing what I know about you, it would not end well, would it?”
Sören handed him an envelope, “Cut the crap Per. Here´s your money and now get out of my house.”
“Well, how´s that for manners? I think your parents taught you better than that. Throwing an old friend of the family out of the house, really,” he feigned outrage, but then a violent coughing attack interrupted his performance. Per took a dark round case out of his pocket and spat a large clump of chewing tobacco into it. An unpleasant, sharp smell immediately fanned out.
“Leave my parents out of this and you know where the door is. Excuse me if I don´t bother to show you out.”
“Why the hurry, young Lord? You wouldn´t have another appointment with someone else would you? Maybe with that little redhead across the driveway?”
“Goodbye Per.” Sören showed him the door, but Per would not budge.
“She´s a pretty litte thing, that girl.” Per shoved a new clump of snus, the Swedish chewing tobacco, under his upper lip which then looked like it had been stung by a giant mosquito. “You know I´ve been thinking,” he continued, “Maybe I should warn her about you and tell her what the mighty young baron is really like. What do you think?”
Sören took a step towards him, “I wouldn´t if I were you.”
“Is that a fact? Somehow, Sören, I don´t think you of all people are in a position to determine what I do or don´t do.” As if to demonstrate his point he took the glass of single malt, emptied its contents on the polished hardwood floor and threw the glass over his shoulder. Then he took a long provocative sip straight from the bottle. Sören clenched his fists in his pockets and tried hard to remain in control.
“If you go near her, I swear you´ll regret it”, he said.
“Oh, serious threats now! You want to fuck her that bad do you?” Per salaciously licked his lips and in the process bared some of his yellowing teeth, which were dark at the edges, from his continous use of snus. “Hm, well she´s probably worth it. She is a hot one. I wonder if she´s a real redhead. Only one way to find that out, isn´t there, Sören?”
Sören´s knuckles went white with the strain of controlling himself. “Get the hell out of my house, Per, before I forget myself.”
“But that would be the end of you, too, wouldn´t it my young master? Don´t forget I have real evidence against you which is sure to be found should something happen to me. And come to think of it, I won´t even have to go near her. I can just drop a hint or slip a note through her letterbox. You can forget about banging her then, can´t you?” Per spat out a portion of snus again, but didn´t bother to take out his little case this time. A muscle moved in Sören´s jaw and he took another step towards Per. Per must have seen something in his eyes because he actually complied to Sören´s wish and left, taking the bottle of single malt with him as he went.
Chapter 5
Sören swiftly navigated his Volvo convertible onto the Öland bridge, which was a magnificent masterpiece of technical engineering.
The Ölandsbron was a road bridge connecting the island to Kalmar and the mainland. It was 6,072 metres long, supported on 156 pillars, and had a characteristic hump at its western end – to provide a vertical clearance for shipping. When Sören´s father had been younger and still interested in amusing his youngster, he would accelerate before approaching the hump and the car would go flying over and Sören´s tummy would tumble while the car descended on the other side of the hump.
It was one of the rare fond memories Sören had of his father. The bridge was the longest in Sweden and one of the longest in all Europe. It had been inaugurated in 1972 and its construction took four and a half years. The bridge project had received a lot of support, but there had also been protests. The main objection was that the bridge would threaten the environment, possibly causing a huge influx of tourists to Öland and its valuable nature. This seemed like a joke to Sören today, because Öland was so dependent on the tourist business nowadays, that it would more or less cease to exist without it. He himself couldn´t completely free himself from this dependence.
Usually Sören was annoyed by the Swedish habit of fastidiously sticking to the given speed limit, not one mile over and no mistake. But it was a gloriously sunny day and the bridge offered a really spectacular view of the open sea to the left and right of him. The modest skyline of Kalmar was dimly looming ahead and the sun was leaving sparkles all over the water, while the swans drifted over the sea like silver ballons. On a day like this he didn´t mind at all that he was stuck behind one of those typically pedantic, rule obeying Swedish drivers.
He was moving along at a speed which would usually cause him to fall asleep or have a temper tantrum. While crossing the bridge Sören wondered what it was with Clarice that she constantly caused his mind to wander? He spent quite a big portion of his day thinking about her.
Well, she was enchantingly pretty, that would be one reason. And she was smart and interesting and mysterious and funny. A lot of reasons, then. So what was keeping him from making a move on her?
He knew why. She was pretty and smart and funny, but she was also aloof, non-committal and incredibly secretive about anything personal. As soon as he turned the conversation to a more personal level she either changed the subject or ended the conversation and walked off.
He was afraid that one day she would disappear just as quickly as she had entered his life and he had no interest in speeding up that process by being too intrusive or showing his romantic interest in her which he most definitely had. Only at one time had she given any indication that a tiny part of her brilliant mind was sometimes occupied with him too. On that occasion she had compared him to a fictional character in a popular movie based on the novels of J.R. Tolkien.
Sören had been busy stacking wooden logs into rows by the side of the house. His living room was located at the back of the house and had a pair of French doors which led out onto a wooden deck. Sören liked to place the firewood close to the deck, so he wouldn´t have far to go