Page 55 of Hidden in Memories
She’s still got it!
They are approaching an abrupt stop where the piste becomes a narrow ravine. The mountainside is exposed in several places where the snow cover is thin. They can’t carry on here; they will have to turn off and move sideways in order to continue.
Gustav stops first with an elegant parallel turn that throws up a cloud of soft snow. He leans on his poles and nods to her.
“Talk about powder cruising!”
Ida grins at him. Her thigh muscles are trembling with exertion; she can feel the lactic acid in her legs. Her heart is pounding with excitement.
She almost feels drunk.
“So. Fucking. Fantastic,” she replies.
Gustav points to the slope farther down to the left. A short section is in shadow, the rest sparkles invitingly in the bright sunshine. It is as untouched as the slope they have just come down.
“Ready for the next one?”
Happily Ida holds up her poles. “Born ready!”
44
Anton feels ill at ease as he walks down the corridor toward the door of the council offices.
The conversation with Bengt Hedin left a nasty taste in his mouth. The man was curt, bordering on unpleasant, and did everything he could to play down his contact with Charlotte Wretlind.
Of course it could be that Hedin is simply afraid of bad publicity, that he doesn’t want to be drawn into the sensationalist stories about the murder, but Anton has a feeling that’s not the whole picture.
Why else would Hedin deny any involvement in the press conference that Charlotte had arranged? It’s a strange thing to lie about. The press release that came out in advance had already publicized his attendance at the event, yet now he is barely prepared to acknowledge his support for the ambitious hotel project.
He had also sweated profusely throughout the conversation. Anton knows that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but he couldn’t avoid noticing the beads of perspiration that gathered on the politician’s forehead.
There was also something about the way he uttered Charlotte’s name, with an undertone of dislike, bordering on loathing.
Experience tells Anton that Hedin is worried about something, and he has no intention of letting it go.
He opens the glass door, lost in his own thoughts, and is about to dig out his car key when someone bumps into him.
Feeling irritated, he looks up.
And there stands . . . Carl.
The shock is so overwhelming that Anton simply stares at him.
Carl recovers first. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been to see Bengt Hedin. So why are you here?”
“This is where I work. I’ve just had lunch.”
Anton’s eyes are darting all over the place. Of course. Carl said he was employed as a development coordinator with the council. Anton just hadn’t registered that this meant he was based at the council offices in Järpen.
Or had he? Was that why he was so quick to offer to come here? He doesn’t know what to do. He tries to compose himself, but without success.
Carl hasn’t changed. So good looking, with the same beautiful face and the same thick fair hair, with a little curl over his forehead.
Right now there is nothing Anton would rather do than to reach out and stroke that rebellious curl with his fingertips. Apologize for his clumsy behavior, tell Carl he wants to start over. Explain that he has longed to get in touch all year, but was afraid of being rejected.
Then take Carl in his arms, let his mouth seek out those soft lips.
