Chameleon People - [13]

I had to admit that I actually could not imagine the rest. She sighed with forced exasperation.

‘Well, when Vera turned twenty-three, she met a man with whom she fell in love and is now in a rather disagreeable relationship. He’s a very liberal Dutchman who was studying in Norway, although he did not do as well as her. He has an almost obsessive ambition to start an art gallery in Amsterdam where he can sell his own paintings and those of his bohemian friends. He wants a million or four in start capital, and my father was not, of course, willing to lend it him. The Dutchman is a bit suspect and Vera is terribly inexperienced and naive when it comes to love. It could end very badly. So, it would suit her very well to get some money right now.’

‘And you? What about yourself?’

‘I struggled more with books than Vera, so I stopped studying. I started to work in politics and in a shop when I was twenty-one. But at the moment I can’t work because our society doesn’t offer childcare to single mothers who want to work, and I had to pay my former husband a small fortune to get him out of the house. Father simply refused to pay for his only grandchild to lose one of her parents. He also felt he could not give me any of my inheritance without doing the same for Vera, and he certainly did not want to do that. So my only option was a bank loan which I’m paying interest on. I can get by, but a few million wouldn’t go amiss right now.’

‘And what about Johan’s family situation?’

‘Johan is more of a businessman than a charmer. He has always been well off, but never any good at going out and spending his money. Since he turned thirty, he has made it very obvious that he wants a family, but any attempts to get one have not ended particularly well. Although, we have not heard mention of it for a couple of years now. He is still unmarried and childless, but I think he might have something on the go at the moment. I have always had a good relationship with him – even though we are very different and he is rather boring – and last time we met at our parents’, he told me that he might have a good deal in the offing, as he put it. I realized there was something he did not particularly want to talk about, so now I am waiting with bated breath to hear what the problem is this time. It’s just as interesting every time.’

She stretched unabashed in the chair again – and managed to surprise me once more.

‘So, how little have the unsociable people in my family actually told you? Don’t tell me they said nothing about the murder mystery from Father’s youth?’

At first I thought she might be joking. Then we exchanged looks and immediately became serious again.

I said that no one had mentioned any earlier murder mystery in Per Johan Fredriksen’s life. I hastily added that I should, of course, be told about it now that he himself had been killed.

Ane Line Fredriksen sighed and rolled her eyes, then lay her arms heavily on the desk as she leaned forwards.

She leaned so far over that I could see the top of her unusually large breasts. However, the story that she told was so sensational that it quickly took all of my attention.

VIII

‘When I was eleven and then again when I was sixteen, I noticed a certain tension at home both before and after my parents went out for a mysterious meal. It was just a few weeks after the second meal that I first heard the story about the murder in 1932. It was Father who started to tell me about it, one Saturday when he had had a few too many drinks. The case had always plagued him and he had been thinking about it even more in recent years. He said he would happily give ten million kroner to know what had happened. It was obviously a story that he and Mother both knew very well, but that they had never told us children. My brother and sister had never heard about it either until I told them.’

There was a short, dramatic pause. I waved for her to continue. She flashed me a coquettish smile and then carried on eagerly.

‘Father was the MP for Vestfold. He was born there and was heir to a large estate with half a forest. There were big class differences in Vestfold back then. Our Labour prime minister was born around the same time only a couple of miles away, but grew up in poverty. Anyway, in March 1932, Father and five other friends from Vestfold went to Oslo for the spring break. They all came from very wealthy families at a time when there was widespread poverty and need. They had each booked a room at a hotel out by Ullern, which was one of the most desirable parts of town, and presumed to be a safe area. And yet, something very dramatic happened there. On their second evening at the hotel, the youngest, a twenty-one-year-old woman, called Eva Bjølhaugen, was found dead in her room. She was found lying on the sofa and there was no visible sign of violence. She suffered from epilepsy and it was assumed that she died as a result of a seizure. But there was no autopsy. Father was not convinced that that was what had happened at all. There were several things he felt did not fit.’