Rites of Spring, Anders Motte [reading diary .TXT] 📗

gone very badly. What if he’d fallen into the canal?’

She waves towards the kitchen window and the green water outside. Thea nods; the same thought occurred to her. ‘Why do you think he came out here, of all places? He must have cycled five kilometres from the village.’

Kerstin is considering her answer when they hear the sound of a car engine.

‘That must be Ingrid,’ Thea says, getting to her feet.

But the car is not her mother-in-law’s dark grey Mercedes, but a black three-door BMW. The driver’s door opens and a man with a moustache climbs out; he is wearing jeans and a leather jacket. He takes the steps in one bound and opens the door so fast that the cat who has fallen asleep on the kitchen floor shoots away, terrified.

It’s Arne. Ingrid’s younger brother, David’s uncle. He nods a greeting. ‘Ingrid said you needed help.’

They wake Bertil and lead him out to the car. Bertil thanks Kerstin over and over again, keeps calling her ‘dear Kerstin’.

Arne, on the other hand, says very little. He supports his brother-in-law, eases him into the passenger seat carefully, almost tenderly.

‘Thanks for your help, Kerstin,’ Arne mumbles when Bertil is settled.

‘You’re welcome. I hope he soon feels better.’

Arne flips down the driver’s seat so that Thea can get in the back. The car smells of a Little Tree air freshener, coffee and leather clothing.

Within minutes Bertil has gone back to sleep.

‘Where did you say you found him?’ Arne asks.

‘By the stone circle.’

‘Mhm.’ Arne meets her gaze in the rear-view mirror. ‘And what were you doing in the middle of the forest so early in the morning, if I may ask?’

‘I woke up early and took the dog out.’

She knows what the next question will be a millisecond before he asks.

‘So where’s the dog now?’

Emee. Shit! She’s been so focused on helping Bertil that she’s forgotten all about Emee.

‘I expect she ran off home. I had my hands full with Bertil.’

Arne nods, still watching her in the mirror. ‘Did he say anything about why he was there? Was he rambling?’

Thea takes a deep breath, playing for time to give herself a chance to think.

‘He just said “poor girl”.’

‘Poor girl? Is that all?’ Arne sounds as though he doesn’t really believe her.

‘Yes.’ She pauses, considers whether to continue. ‘He meant Elita Svart. The spring sacrifice.’

No answer, just a long stare. They reach the turning for the castle and lose eye contact.

He drops her at the coach house. There is still no sign of David’s car.

Arne holds out his hand. ‘Thank you so much, Thea.’

‘No problem.’

He squeezes her hand a little harder.

‘The thing is, Thea . . .’ He leans forward in a way that she doesn’t really like. ‘It would be best if we kept this . . . incident to ourselves. Within the family, so to speak. There’s already enough gossip in the village.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Good.’

Another squeeze; he stops just before it begins to hurt. He lets go, jumps in the car and drives off. Bertil is still sleeping peacefully in the passenger seat.

31

Thea shouts for Emee as soon as Arne’s car is out of sight. She walks around the little garden surrounding the coach house, but there is no sign of the dog. It’s almost eight o’clock, and Dr Andersson will be here to pick Thea up at any minute.

What if something has happened to Emee? What if she’s found her way out of the forest, run out onto a road, been hit by a car? The thought makes it difficult to breathe.

‘Emee! Emee!’ She blows the dog whistle, but to no avail.

She hears a car approaching and hopes it’s David rather than the doctor, but in fact it’s neither of them. A green Land Rover, one of the older models, pulls up outside the coach house. The sunlight is reflected on the windscreen, and she can’t see the driver until he gets out: a short man aged about fifty, in a scruffy oilskin coat, a flat cap and leather gloves. She recognises him from the night of the storm.

‘Hubert Gordon,’ he says without offering his hand. ‘We’re neighbours.’

Thea notes that he has a slight speech impediment, and seems keen to avoid eye contact.

‘Thea Lind.’

Hubert has already turned his back on her. He goes around the car, opens the boot. Emee jumps out, skips happily around Hubert’s legs then runs to Thea. She is soaking wet, her coat is dirty and full of mud. Thea lets out a long breath.

‘I found her over by the western meadow.’ Hubert points diagonally across the moat. ‘Between the forest and the main road, just by the deer enclosure.’

‘Goodness, she’d gone a long way – I let her off the lead by the bridge.’

‘It might be best if you don’t allow your dog to run loose in the future.’ His tone is brusque, verging on unfriendly. He turns away to get into the car.

‘Thanks for your help,’ Thea says. ‘I really appreciate it. Emee isn’t actually my dog. She belongs to a friend of mine who’s ill . . .’

The words unexpectedly stick in her throat. She coughs, but it comes out like a sob, which is annoying.

Hubert stops, turns back to face her again. His expression softens a little. His eyes are brown, sorrowful. For a few seconds Thea experiences that same mutual understanding she felt on the night of the storm. Hubert seems to feel the same, because although neither of them says anything, the silence between them is not uncomfortable.

The mood is broken by the sound of Dr Andersson’s car approaching.

‘I hope your friend gets better soon,’ Hubert says. He gives her a wry smile of farewell that could be interpreted as friendly.

*

Thea takes Emee indoors, fills up her food and water bowls, then changes out of her muddy boots and trousers. When she gets into the car Dr Andersson glances at the clock, but doesn’t comment on Thea’s lateness.

‘So you’ve met Hubert?’

‘Yes, my dog had run away. He found her over by the deer enclosure.’

‘Oh. As I said, Hubert is