Page 106 of Hidden in Memories
Although by now she ought to know better than to allow her prejudices to take over.
She undoes her seatbelt. Wonders whether to send a quick text to Daniel so that someone knows where she is, but it feels over the top. Henry hardly constitutes a threat, even if they have considered the possibility that he might be involved in the murders.
That theory is seeming more and more unlikely. He has an alibi, and it has been established that there were other ways for him to withdraw from the Storlien project if he wanted to. In addition, hiscombined resources are such that the project constitutes only a small part of his portfolio.
He is also Filip’s godfather, and genuinely seems to care about the boy.
She decides to trust him.
Henry opens the door almost as soon as she rings the bell. He is wearing a simple black polo shirt with black jeans; he reminds her a little of Steve Jobs, but with silver-gray hair.
He smiles warmly. “Good to see you—welcome!”
His tone makes it sound as if she has shown up for a date.
Hanna tries to shake off the feeling that there is something more in the air. She is suddenly conscious of her own clothing—scruffy jeans and a thick blue sweater. Her hair is tied back in a messy ponytail.
Doesn’t matter,she tells herself. Her appearance is totally irrelevant in the context.
“How’s Filip?” she asks over her shoulder as she takes off her boots in the hallway. “That article was terrible.”
“It was.” Henry leans against the wall with his arms folded. “I called the editor and demanded that they take it down from the net, but I doubt it will happen.”
Hanna doubts it too—the newspapers know their rights. She notices how Henry’s voice is filled with sympathy when he talks about Filip. He seems a lot nicer this evening than during the interview the other day. She’s glad she messaged him about the article.
“Come on in,” he says, leading the way into the living room, where the main lighting is subdued and lots of candles in different holders are arranged in the corners.
An inviting open fire is crackling away, and blues music is playing softly in the background. Hanna thinks she recognizes Dorothy Moore’s melodic voice. Over the past year she has gone along to listen to Anton’s band in local venues. To her surprise she has discovered thatshe enjoys jazz and blues, even though in the past she was skeptical about those genres.
“I was just about to open a bottle of champagne,” Henry adds, pointing to the coffee table, where an ice bucket is waiting with the neck of the bottle sticking out. “May I offer you a glass?”
Hanna shakes her head. “Not when I’m on duty, I’m afraid.”
“That’s a shame. It’s a particularly fine year.”
He picks up the bottle and shows her the label with its golden lettering. Hanna knows it is one of the best producers in the world.
And one of the most expensive.
“How about this?” Henry proposes. “I’ll pour two glasses; then you can decide what you want to do.”
He sits down on the sofa and fills the tall glasses two-thirds of the way. Hanna can see right away that the vintage wine is perfect. The bubbles are tiny, the color pale yellow and tempting.
She can almost smell the aroma of apples and nougat, bread and a hint of lemon. During her years as a bartender, she developed an interest in wine, and went on several courses. She knows that a bottle of champagne contains forty-nine million bubbles, while a bottle of prosecco has only around five million.
Champagne is in fact her favorite drink, but Henry couldn’t possibly know that.
He picks up his glass, holds it in the air to toast her, then takes a sip. It is clear that he is a connoisseur; he rolls the drink around on his tongue, allowing the flavors to bloom on his palate.
“Are you sure I can’t tempt you?” His tone is teasing.
He is looking at her the way he did toward the end of the interview, when she thought she was on the brink of getting him to reveal something big. They are in desperate need of help to move forward in the investigation, and she really hopes this visit will pay dividends.
His expression is enigmatic. The atmosphere has changed; there is a tension between them. He pushes the second glass toward her. Hanna hesitates; surely a sip or two wouldn’t do any harm? Then she shakes her head again.
“You said you had something to tell me about Charlotte and her business affairs?”
Her tone is demonstratively clear—she doesn’t want Henry to forget that she is here because of work.
