Icehotel: Episode 73

She cradled her cup, deep in thought. “You’ve been keeping a lot from us, you know”

Liz’s eyes were wide. “No! Really? You slept with him?” It was lunchtime and we were flying home. The tiny plane, still climbing, banked suddenly towards Kiruna. I craned my head and peered out of the window, catching a last glimpse of the Icehotel.

We’d said our goodbyes at the airport. Robyn and Jim were flying with us. Jane was travelling on a later plane, intending to stay in Stockholm to do some research for her article. We exchanged contact details and I made her promise to send me a copy of her travel feature.

Jonas and Erik were with her, Erik holding her bag. I lifted my gaze to Jonas’s and smiled nervously. He smiled back, an expression of understanding in his eyes.

Leo was the last to say goodbye. “Keep in touch, Maggie.” He ruffled his hair. “Let me know how you’re doing.”

“You too. Another group coming today?”

“The last of the season. Life goes on.” He grinned. “And so do tours to the Icehotel.”

And now we were flying south, on a great circle to Stockholm. Mike was in the window seat, snoring like a warthog, sleeping off the after-effects of a posttheatre drinking bout with the Danes.

“Come on, then,” Liz was saying across the aisle. “This isn’t the time to daydream. Tell me about Hallengren.”

I kept my voice low, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “We spent the night at his apartment. He drove me back to the hotel this morning.”

“Well? Oh, don’t keep me in suspense, Mags. What was he like?”

“What can I say? He was wonderful.”

It was true.

On edge

He’d driven me to an apartment block on the other side of Kiruna. Neither of us spoke as we took the lift to the top floor.

The front door to his apartment opened directly on to a spacious open-plan room. The light was still on. Cream-coloured leather armchairs were arranged in front of a low glass-topped table covered with newspapers and skiing magazines.

At the far end of the room, half a dozen chairs stood untidily round a dining table. The remains of a meal lay abandoned on the striped tablecloth.

I was on edge, conscious I’d drunk too much brandy. Hallengren watched me in silence. He took my hand and led me into the bedroom, switching on the light and immediately pressing a button that dimmed it.

When we finally slept, exhausted, he buried his face in my hair.

In the early morning, he drove me to the hotel. The wind had dropped.

A feeble sun was rising, its rays filtering through the trees, stippling yesterday’s snow.

He stopped the car in front of the Excelsior. “Will we see you here again, Miss Stewart?” he murmured. He drew back my hood and pushed his fingers through my hair.

I turned away, unable to look into his eyes. We both knew the answer.

Old-fashioned

Liz’s words dragged me back to the present. “You can call me old-fashioned, Mags, but I thought it wasn’t the done thing for police to sleep with their suspects,” she said, resentment in her voice.

“I didn’t sleep with him until afterwards. And I wasn’t a suspect.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. He could lose his job, you know, plying you with drink like that.”

“He didn’t ply me.” I shifted in the seat. “You can be so holier-than-thou sometimes, Liz.”

“And after he got you drunk, he seduced you. But then, I suppose you did say you only wanted one-night stands from now on.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I said, remembering the touch of his hand on my cheek.

“You know, I still can’t get over what you just told me about Marcellus and Aaron. It really is all rather amazing.” She grew thoughtful. “You were right about Marcellus being the killer, though.”

“You think that gives me any satisfaction?” “I suspected something had happened when Leo returned our passports. There wasn’t a lot he could tell us. I expect it’ll be in today’s papers.”

The stewardess was bringing coffee round. “And that hell you went through in the tower, Mags. On top of everything else. If I hadn’t been called away, it would never have happened.

“You’ve no idea how that makes me feel.” “Hasn’t it occurred to you we might both be dead?” She looked into the cup. “You really can’t make me feel any worse than I do now.”

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t meant to come out that way.” I hesitated.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. How is Lucy?”

Liz sipped slowly, grimacing, and moved the cup away. “It was a false alarm. Too much ice cream. That’s Lucy.”

Mike shifted in his sleep and the snoring stopped. But Liz couldn’t leave it. “What I still can’t get over, Mags, is that you returned to the Icehotel that night. We thought you’d gone to see the aurora.”

She cradled her cup, deep in thought. “You’ve been keeping a lot from us, you know.”

I said nothing. She was right. I hadn’t taken her into my confidence. Or Mike.

“You do realise you could have died,” she went on. I leant back. None of it mattered now. “It’s over, Liz.”

“Yes, you can give that brain of yours a rest,” she said gently. “It’s time to move on.”

I remembered Hallengren’s words about grief turning to guilt. “Harry’s dead, Liz. That’s not something I can forget.”

“Nor I.” She looked straight ahead. “But he would want us to get on with our lives, wouldn’t he?”

We hit turbulence. My cup flew off the table and on to Mike’s lap.

He sat up. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

“Good sleep, Mike?” I said into his ear.

Dismay

His fingers flew to his temples. “For the love o’ God, will you turn down the volume?” He stared in dismay at the wetness spreading across his crotch. “What in the name of –?”

“You missed the show,” Liz said. She raised her voice so the whole plane could hear.

“While you were snoring, Mags was telling us about her night of passion with that sexy Swedish detective.”

The Ellises, sitting in front of Liz, turned in my direction. Robyn glared. Jim, sitting so Robyn couldn’t see his face, smirked and gave a slow wink.

The captain’s voice crackled through, announcing our descent into Stockholm. I fastened my seatbelt, thinking of the last time we’d been there.

Had it really only been a week?

Liz was right: it was time to move on. Harry would want us to get on with our lives. So why, then, did I have a feeling that there was unfinished business?

More tomorrow.

Icehotel, available on Amazon Kindle, is Hania Allen’s debut novel. Her second book, The Polish Detective (Constable, £8.99), is the first in her new series featuring DS Dania Gorska and is set in Dundee.