But right now, here in the café, he saw the passionate Bente, eagerly and comfortably chatting with her friend.
That kind of passion was what he had loved about Lovisa. The way she could spend an entire weekend reading some scientific article, studying it in detail, or meticulously scrutinizing a publication she haddiscovered in an antiquarian bookstore, written by one of the philosophers she admired.
Once again Camille was looking at him inquiringly.
“Maybe you know more about that?”
Didrik dragged his attention away from Bente. He was confused—Camille was clearly waiting for an answer.
“Sorry, I didn’t quite understand the question,” he said hesitantly, feeling Bente’s disapproval.
“Mines from the Second World War—can they still turn up today?”
Didrik cleared his throat. “They can, yes. Mines from that period have been safely detonated in recent years. Do you mind if I take a closer look at the box?”
“No problem,” Camille replied.
Didrik picked up the box, turning it this way and that as Bente and Camille continued to discuss the transportation of wine after the war. It was beautifully made. He noticed a tiny gap, no more than a millimeter wide, in one of the panels on the back of the box.
“Look.” He showed them. “I wouldn’t have seen it if the dampness hadn’t made the wood a little darker just here.” He used his finger to trace the area where the wood bellied out a fraction. “It’s odd—could it be some kind of compartment?”
Camille leaned forward. “How exciting! There wouldn’t be room for anything more than documents—could that be it? People were very inventive when it came to smuggling things under the noses of the Nazis.”
Didrik nodded.
“Maybe the bottle was sent with a secret message in the box?” Bente suggested.
Didrik nodded again. “In which case the paper would have perished long ago.”
“Is it okay if we borrow the bottle?” Bente asked.
“Of course. Keep it as long as you need it—it won’t be going to auction until later. It would be great to see it on TV!” Camille said with a smile.
“It would be brilliant to have Camille on the show, talking about the diving expedition,” Didrik said as they walked back to the hotel. A thin layer of gray clouds had moved in over the city, and the sunbeams that managed to break through spread an apricot-colored glow over the streets.
“I agree. I hope we can find out more. The fact that the bottle was shipped after Sven’s death doesn’t make sense—what if it wasn’t him?” Bente said.
Elnaz nodded pensively. “It does seem illogical. We need to know where the bottle was sent from.”
Didrik considered all the information they had gathered so far. Tried to connect all the loose ends. This was what he loved—making connections. He felt as if he were walking on air.
Working on the bottle and being in Paris made the divorce and all his problems associated with it seem very far away.
12
1944
Sven let out a long breath when the German soldier drove into the courtyard of what looked like a vineyard. So this was Château de Chênes. Behind the main building he could just see row upon row of vines, swaying in the gentle breeze. The house was covered in gray plaster, adorned by a double door whose red paint had flaked off badly thanks to wind and weather. The red tiled roof had faded in the sun, and the window shutters were the same dull shade. The plaster had fallen off one gable end, exposing a brick wall.
Next to the house stood an enormous oak. The sight of the huge tree, its crown rustling in the breeze, made Sven’s heart leap.
It reminded him of home.
His long distance from home felt suddenly very real—not only in terms of miles, but in time. He had been in the Foreign Legion for five years, training and fighting, and he had just renewed his contract for another five. With the war in Europe, quitting was not an option for him, although he understood why many chose to leave the Legion when their five years were up. He would never forget the devastation and his encounters with injured civilians after the Battles of Narvik in early 1940. Nor would he forget the dead bodies—those could be too much even for the most hardened soldiers. Together with Norwegian and allied British-French troops, the Foreign Legion had helped defendNarvik against the Germans, forcing the Germans to retreat, though the Allies had eventually lost Norway to Germany. The battles had continued for the Legion and for Sven in North Africa and Italy.
Everything he had been through since leaving home suddenly felt tangible the moment he saw the oak, making him think about the person he had been before he left Småland. He thought about his mother, and how worried she must be right now. He wrote to her every week, and she would be waiting for his next letter. He hoped he would get the chance to write her again soon.
And Father ... Did he ever wonder about Sven? Did he worry? Maybe he didn’t even want to see his son. But if Sven managed to go home on leave, then he would be able to show his parents his medals, tell them what he’d achieved. Surely Father would forgive him then? He would see that Sven had changed.
