the kitchen. Without make-up, her face looked transparent and her features indistinct.
“My goodness,” Carl-Christian said, taking stock of her. “What has become of you?”
Her hand was shaking as she raised her coffee cup to her lips.
“When did you get home?”
“A couple of hours ago. I didn’t want to wake you. Caught some sleep in the guest bedroom. She’ll survive.”
Mabelle did not react.
“Did you hear me?” he said, irritated. “She’ll survive.”
“Good for her. We do have other things to worry about, you know.”
Carl-Christian sat down opposite her at the kitchen table, holding his face in his hands.
“She was a hairsbreadth from destruction, Mabelle. If I hadn’t called round, things would have gone badly.”
His wife continued to sit expressionless with the cup at her mouth. Steam clung to her pale face. Only now did he see that her eyes were bloodshot and realized that she had not slept. Stretching across the table, he tried to catch hold of her hand.
“What’s going to happen?” she whispered. “I’m so scared.”
Now he grabbed her cup and put it down with a thump. Brown liquid sloshed over the table. He seized her chin and forced her to make eye contact. The gaze that met his was apathetic, and for a moment he wondered whether Mabelle too had taken something. Then she broke into a sudden joyless smile.
“I’m pleased that Hermine will pull through, CC. Honestly. It was a godsend that you went there in time.”
A chill draft gusted through a half-open window, and he stood up to close it. The gray midwinter morning light had begun to creep into the room through the massive panes of east-facing glass, but it seemed not quite able to reach all the way inside. The gloom in the corners made him nervous, and he switched on all the lights.
“When are they coming?” she asked.
“I don’t really know. I think they’ll wait until after the funeral. After all, I expect we are important witnesses. Since we’re the only surviving family members. Hermine and I. And you, too, in a way. Jennifer and the children are there as well, of course, but they … They don’t exactly benefit from what has happened. The police will very likely give us a hard time. After the funeral.”
“They’ll have us under surveillance.”
“Definitely. That’s why I can’t go there.”
“You must.”
“Not yet.”
“You must!”
She shouted. Her arms gestured aimlessly, wildly. The coffee cup fell off the glass table and crashed to the floor. Mabelle burst into hysterical tears, and refused to be quiet until Carl-Christian had clapped his hand over her mouth and pressed hard. He wrested her arms down to her sides, by seizing her forcefully from behind.
“I’ll let go once you calm down,” he whispered in her ear. “Take it easy, sweetheart. Sh-sh-sh … Relax.”
In the end, detecting that the convulsive spasms in her body had abated, he loosened his grip with extreme caution. Mabelle was still crying, but more hushed now. Eventually she turned to face him and let him put his arms around her. They sat like that for a long time, she with her face in the crook of her husband’s neck.
“The most important thing now is that we both tell the same story,” he said softly. “And that each of us knows what the other is saying.”
“The most important thing now is that we don’t talk at all,” she said, with her mouth buried in his sweater.
“We must. It will only seem suspicious if we refuse to give an account of ourselves. But we must take some time over it, darling. We have to sit down and come to an agreement.”
“But why can’t you go there and check? And put things straight.”
“If there’s anything we don’t need right now, it’s for the police to discover that place. Of course they will, sooner or later. But preferably later. For all I know, they’re watching us at this very moment. I’ll get … I’ll sort this all out, Mabelle. I promise.”
He twined his
“My goodness,” Carl-Christian said, taking stock of her. “What has become of you?”
Her hand was shaking as she raised her coffee cup to her lips.
“When did you get home?”
“A couple of hours ago. I didn’t want to wake you. Caught some sleep in the guest bedroom. She’ll survive.”
Mabelle did not react.
“Did you hear me?” he said, irritated. “She’ll survive.”
“Good for her. We do have other things to worry about, you know.”
Carl-Christian sat down opposite her at the kitchen table, holding his face in his hands.
“She was a hairsbreadth from destruction, Mabelle. If I hadn’t called round, things would have gone badly.”
His wife continued to sit expressionless with the cup at her mouth. Steam clung to her pale face. Only now did he see that her eyes were bloodshot and realized that she had not slept. Stretching across the table, he tried to catch hold of her hand.
“What’s going to happen?” she whispered. “I’m so scared.”
Now he grabbed her cup and put it down with a thump. Brown liquid sloshed over the table. He seized her chin and forced her to make eye contact. The gaze that met his was apathetic, and for a moment he wondered whether Mabelle too had taken something. Then she broke into a sudden joyless smile.
“I’m pleased that Hermine will pull through, CC. Honestly. It was a godsend that you went there in time.”
A chill draft gusted through a half-open window, and he stood up to close it. The gray midwinter morning light had begun to creep into the room through the massive panes of east-facing glass, but it seemed not quite able to reach all the way inside. The gloom in the corners made him nervous, and he switched on all the lights.
“When are they coming?” she asked.
“I don’t really know. I think they’ll wait until after the funeral. After all, I expect we are important witnesses. Since we’re the only surviving family members. Hermine and I. And you, too, in a way. Jennifer and the children are there as well, of course, but they … They don’t exactly benefit from what has happened. The police will very likely give us a hard time. After the funeral.”
“They’ll have us under surveillance.”
“Definitely. That’s why I can’t go there.”
“You must.”
“Not yet.”
“You must!”
She shouted. Her arms gestured aimlessly, wildly. The coffee cup fell off the glass table and crashed to the floor. Mabelle burst into hysterical tears, and refused to be quiet until Carl-Christian had clapped his hand over her mouth and pressed hard. He wrested her arms down to her sides, by seizing her forcefully from behind.
“I’ll let go once you calm down,” he whispered in her ear. “Take it easy, sweetheart. Sh-sh-sh … Relax.”
In the end, detecting that the convulsive spasms in her body had abated, he loosened his grip with extreme caution. Mabelle was still crying, but more hushed now. Eventually she turned to face him and let him put his arms around her. They sat like that for a long time, she with her face in the crook of her husband’s neck.
“The most important thing now is that we both tell the same story,” he said softly. “And that each of us knows what the other is saying.”
“The most important thing now is that we don’t talk at all,” she said, with her mouth buried in his sweater.
“We must. It will only seem suspicious if we refuse to give an account of ourselves. But we must take some time over it, darling. We have to sit down and come to an agreement.”
“But why can’t you go there and check? And put things straight.”
“If there’s anything we don’t need right now, it’s for the police to discover that place. Of course they will, sooner or later. But preferably later. For all I know, they’re watching us at this very moment. I’ll get … I’ll sort this all out, Mabelle. I promise.”
He twined his
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