It was late afternoon by the time they emerged from the gloomy interior. Elnaz was in a hurry to get back to the hotel and jumped in a cab, while Bente and Didrik decided they felt like a walk. They returned their bikes to the nearest docking station and set off. They stopped at a small market on the way and bought peaches to eat as they strolled along.
They cut through the Jardin du Luxembourg, passing the boules courts. Didrik watched the men playing. “I’ve always dreamed of becoming one of those old men. Wearing a beret and playing boules in the evenings.”
“I’ve never played boules in Paris. Orpétanque, as it’s called here.”
“Never?”
Bente shook her head. “I’ve only played at home, at the odd staff party. And with friends a couple of times in Rålis skate park.”
“Then we need to try it.” Didrik headed for the court.
Bente shrugged. “Sure, why not?” They were in no rush to get back.
“It’s more fun if you play for something,” he said, picking up a boule.
She laughed. “Okay—what shall we play for?”
“The loser has to reveal a secret.”
“That’s not fair—I’m not exactly an expert when it comes to boules.”
“And I am?” He grinned.
“Well, I don’t know, do I? You might already be halfway to becoming one of those old men. You might have picked it up secretly, perhaps meeting up with your little gang of old men in the suburbs every evening?”
“Maybe—you’ll never know.”
“So are you thinking along the lines of ... truth or dare? Like we all played in high school?” She winked.
“Exactly.” There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes behind those round glasses.
Had she gone too far? Was he embarrassed?
“Cool, let’s do this,” she said quickly before he could change his mind. Actually, she didn’t know if this was going to be cool at all; revealing secrets wasn’t her strong suit, but there was something about Didrik’s playful spontaneity that drew her in.
Didrik threw the smallest ball, the jack, then the first large one, which landed in the sand with a thud.
“Your turn,” he said, looking up at her.
The court was framed by trees in blossom, white flowers like little tufts of clouds against the sky. The shimmering pink glow of the setting sun made his brown eyes sparkle.
Her ball landed only inches from the jack. “Yes!” she shouted.
It was an even and enjoyable game, but no matter how hard Didrik tried, Bente was always the closest, and won in the end.
She was taken by surprise when he gave her a big hug. “Congratulations!”
He held her in his arms for a fraction too long, and she rested her head on his shoulder. His coat was rough against her cheek and smelled of him.
“Sorry!” He let go and took a step away from her. Smiled. That smile. The one that had possibly been written about even more than the Mona Lisa’s smile, at least in Swedish magazines. She thought about a song whose lyrics said the singer wanted to drink a particular woman’s smile. Slightly macabre, in Bente’s opinion—but now she understood the sentiment. She wanted todrinkthat smile. She immediately began to wonder what it would taste like. As sweet as honey, a little salty. Maybe with a hint of peach.
“So,” she said, clearing her throat and attempting to pull herself together. “Tell me a big secret.”
“No problem.” He thought for a moment. “I steal plastic folders from TV24’s photocopying room.”
She laughed. “I don’t think that’s much of a secret.”
“Okay. In that case I’ve got something else.” His eyes twinkled, as if he had something really juicy up his sleeve. Something naughty? She hoped he wasn’t going to reveal something about Lovisa, about how the two of them had had a wild sex life. That would be embarrassing, and she would prefer not to know. She was pretty sure Didrik wasn’t the kind of guy who would kiss and tell, though. Or was he?
