“Thank you. Is this from . . . ?”
“From me. Just something small I thought you might like.”
She clumsily unwrapped the gift as if it were made of glass. Inside was a small watercolor. Tall trunks topped by fluffy treetops against a perfect sky, painted in matte pastel shades. Below the trees were the long boules courts where several men and women were playing—the Jardin du Luxembourg.
“I know you were thinking of buying a painting, and I found this one just before we were due to leave.”
“Thank you. It’s ... it’s perfect.” She held it in front of her with both hands.
“I thought about you when I saw it, and—” He broke off.
Bente sensed that someone was watching them, and turned to see her mother standing by the kitchen island with sadness in her eyes.Dad.He’d brought home pictures from every trip. She found a vase and arranged the tulips Elnaz had brought.
Don arrived a couple of minutes later, and Bente took out the chilled bottles of wine and the large Chardonnay glasses—particularly well suited for oaked Chardonnay.
“To go with the appetizer, a Chardonnay from Burgundy.” She served them the buttery wine, perhaps not a common choice to accompany an appetizer, but she loved it. It was a little more robust, a little softer, and ideal for stimulating the appetite.
“I don’t drink Chardonnay, haven’t you got any Chablis?” Agneta asked, as she always did.
Bente rolled her eyes. “For the millionth time, ChablisisChardonnay, it’s made entirely from Chardonnay grapes.”
Didrik gave her a meaningful look and Bente smiled.
“Well, I don’t drink that pretentious Chardonnay then.” Agneta sighed. “That’s because when I was in jail, one of the guards smuggled in wine for New Year’s Eve so we could have some fun. And it was sickly Chardonnay—I haven’t been able to touch it since.”
“You can’t compare this wine with something you were offered decades years ago. It’s excellent.” If they’d been alone, Bente would have pointed out how much it cost.
“You were in jail?” Don’s curiosity had been aroused.
“Yep. Serious tax evasion. Three years.”
“Wow.”
Bente looked wearily at her mother. “There’s Champagne if you prefer. It’s to go with the starter, but I can open it now.”
Uno had been silent so far, but suddenly his face crumpled and he let out a sob. “Mirja loved Champagne.”
Lydia patted his shoulder.
Bente looked apologetically at Don as she passed him a glass of wine. “His partner has just left him.”
“I understand—we’ve all been there,” he replied sympathetically.
“Skåland welcome,” Bente said, raising her glass in a toast.
Don immediately launched into a discussion with Agneta about what could be smuggled into jail. Elnaz went and stood next to Hanna, praising the apartment. Uno sat down by himself on the sofa, and Lydia had laid claim to Didrik. Bente was standing with her mother and Don, but couldn’t find a natural way of bringing up the topic of the production. It would just have to wait—she had all evening, so she went to heatup the hash browns she had already fried. She slid them onto plates, then topped them with roe, chopped red onions, sour cream, dill, and lemon wedges. She carried the plates to the table, took two bottles of Champagne out of the refrigerator, and asked everyone to sit down.
“Once again,skål. I’m so pleased you could come.” She looked at Elnaz and Don, then at Didrik. Her heart rate shot up, and she quickly turned away and looked at the members of her family. “And you too. So pleased.” She couldn’t quite hide the sarcasm.
They all sipped their Champagne and began to chat about the show.
“I thought we could talk over the format one more time and see where we might take it. I know you guys have discussed a slightly more personal angle,” Bente began, hoping Don and Elnaz would join in. “But there’s one thing we haven’t had time to dig into yet, which might lead us to the right vineyard. We now know which vineyards used brass plaques back then, and it would be well worth traveling to Bordeaux to see if we can find more information once we’re there on the ground.” She looked from Elnaz to Don, but Elnaz’s attention seemed to be elsewhere. On Hanna, to be precise.
“Elnaz?”
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“I said that—”
