He couldn’t stay here for much longer.
It was in the evenings when they were drawing the maps that Mathieu got to know Sven better. Sven would tell stories about his nieces that made Mathieu laugh so loudly that on at least one occasion, his mother ran into the kitchen, thinking that someone was hurt.
In the afternoons Sven always took his break on the stone bench in the shade, sketching away while Mathieu read aloud. Sven listened, and would pause his drawing to discuss the passages. Mathieu loved having someone to talk to like this, because neither of his parents had any interest in literature.
Mathieu always tried to be around when Sven was drawing. He liked to watch him, to see the way the muscles in his wrist moved as he swept his hand across the paper.
In the evenings, as they worked in the candlelight, Mathieu tried to sit close to him. He wanted to feel Sven’s proximity, to inhale the smell of him, yet at the same time he was careful not to make his approach too quickly. He found it difficult to interpret Sven’s intentions, and didn’t want to scare him off.
He didn’t want to destroy their friendship.
And yet he had seen the way Sven looked at him, gazed at him. But then it was as if he always caught himself, turning away or pretending to be busy with something else.
One evening after they had finished a map, Sven continued working on the brass plaque. He completed the trunk of the oak tree and held the plaque up for Mathieu to see.
“What do you think?”
Mathieu took a step nearer. He was only a couple of inches away from Sven. He took his hand and pulled it closer even though he could see perfectly well. Ran his thumb over the plaque to remove the tiny brass shavings, caressed Sven’s finger, saw Sven’s entire body tense at his touch. He seemed to be holding his breath.
Mathieu continued, gently moving his thumb along Sven’s hand, then his forearm, over the tiny blond sun-bleached hairs. Over the fabric of his shirt on his upper arm, along his throat. He could feel Sven’s pulse beating fast beneath the warm skin.Oh God.Mathieu had to fight hard not to throw himself at Sven.
But Sven still stood there, holding out the plaque, as if he had been turned to stone.
Mathieu kept going, stroking Sven’s cheek. Then he placed his other fingers on Sven’s cheek and drew Sven toward him, closing the distance between them. Kissed him cautiously, hesitantly.
Sven didn’t recoil, but neither did he press his body against Mathieu’s. He simply stood there, parted his lips, and allowed Mathieu to insert the tip of his tongue. After a while he responded, meeting Mathieu’s tongue with his own.
It was a slow, tentative kiss.
A second later Sven dropped the plaque on the floor. The thin metal made a loud clang, as if a glass had fallen onto the hard stone. He made an initial attempt to tidy up everything on the table, then left it and hurried toward the door.
“Sven, you don’t have to go!”
But Sven ran up to his room without a word.
Mathieu understood that Sven needed to process what had happened.
He let him go.
24
Over the next two weeks, Bente and Didrik communicated only by email. She always felt a little rush of excitement when she saw his name in her inbox.This is about work, Bente,she had to remind herself, which became more than obvious when the messages contained nothing but dry references to something Didrik had recently read that might help them in their research. Still, she always managed to find an excuse to reach out and ask questions. Like the time she got the list of vineyards from Frederic—the vineyards that had used brass plaques during the first half of the twentieth century. She didn’t recognize any of the names, but forwarded the list to Didrik.
We could visit these vineyards in Bordeaux and do some more research.
Did that sound like an invitation? Yes. But they were working together, so it was a work-related invitation.
Interesting!
That was the response she got, nothing more.
Next she asked about the diary Didrik had ordered from the antiquarian bookstore, and when he told her that it had arrived but he hadn’t had time to read it yet, she suddenly became convinced that theymust read it as soon as possible, because it might contain interesting information.
Can I come and pick it up tomorrow?
Absolutely. I’m not in the office tomorrow, but I’ll leave it outside the door.
He added the address of the office in Gärdet. So he wasn’t going to be there. Okay. She couldn’t say she wasn’t coming now, even if it no longer seemed quite so important to go through the diary immediately. She could easily have waited a few days.
