She was rambling, clinging to this fantasy with desperate fingers. It was there in her eyes.
Please. Please let me have this.
He heard it as clear as if she’d said it. His heart turned over. There was time. The storm still raged and there wasstilltime, he promised himself. He looked up at her, knowing that he’d never be able to deny her anything.
‘It’s absolutely breathtaking,’ he said. ‘The sun’s rays filter through the trees and in the early morning, as the earth warms, before the rest of the world wakes, it’s like heaven on earth.’
‘I want to see that one day.’
‘Then you shall.’
He placed the meal he’d cobbled together on two large chopping boards on the table. Cool white wine filled large old glasses, the condensation forming against the warmth of the room from the wood burner.
‘Forget what I said about learning to cook. I’m never cooking. Dinner will be on you every night,’ she said, her eyes large and hungry looking at the food and he smiled in spite of himself.
‘So what will you do?’ he asked, hypothetically playing along for the moment.
‘Probably something in the charity sector. It’s what I love doing most.’
‘What are you currently working on?’ he asked, subtly leading her back to her current role. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks pink, this time there was no rambling. Just pure confidence and joy in her work, at what she helped achieve.
‘I’m trying to get Stellan Stormare in front of parliament, but they’re still resistant to it.’
‘The man whose daughter died?’
Freya nodded. ‘Lena Stormare was on a train filled with hundreds of people and not one of them knew sign language, not one of them was able to help her in time.’ Freya’s fury was simmering bright in her eyes but, rather than overwhelming her like it had yesterday, it empowered her, gave her something that few others were capable of. ‘She died from an allergic reaction and couldn’t tell anyone.’ She shook her head, the loss clearly a burden on her heart. ‘I don’t understand why we’re not teaching it in our schools.’
‘You could argue that funding should go where there is the greatest need.’
‘And what greater need is there than to be able to communicate?’
He raised his hands. ‘I’m playing devil’s advocate.’
‘Yes, I know the arguments—there are fewer children with hearing difficulties, there are more worthy or urgent causes. But why do people think that it only benefits the young? What about the elderly with hearing loss? If sign language was learned by the many, used regularly, then Iknowit would be beneficial there too. In this day and age shouldn’t we be doing everything we can to ensure we canallspeak and we canallbe heard?’ Her passion made her fierce—worthy and admirable. He wished she could see what he saw. Someone ready, willing, able and more than capable to fight for those who could not fight for themselves. But why couldn’t she fight forherselfwith that same passion?
‘What about Aleksander? Surely your brother can help?’
‘He’s got enough on his plate at the moment.’
‘It can’t be easy,’ he said truthfully. As Lieutenant Colonel, he knew what it was like to lead hundreds, if not thousands of people. He also knew what it was like to be tied to a course of action he knew in his gut was wrong but was helpless to change. Whether Aleksander’s hands were tied by royal statutes or political gambles, it was hard to make changes when all were against it.
‘Will you be able to help Stellan before you step down?’ he asked, knowing instantly that he’d found a weak spot in her plan. If he was on the attack, if he truly wanted to hit home, this would be the way to do it. It was a low blow, but it was for her. Always for her.
‘I will do everything in my power before then and after if need be.’
Of course—they were both ignoring Aleksander’s stipulation. That in order for Freya to step down, he would need to accept the medal. His gut clenched with the suspicion that Aleksander had done this on purpose. It would have been a win/win for Aleksander; either he expected Kjell to convince her not to step down, or Freya to convince him to take the medal.
The crisp bread dried on his tongue, leaching moisture from his mouth, parching his lips and throat and he reached for his wine. Everything in him roared in denial. The food turned sour in his stomach. How could he accept a medal for the mission that had put Enzo in the ground? No. It wasn’t the mission that had put him in the ground. It had been Kjell.
Freya noticed the change in him almost immediately. It was a stillness. A retreat. He filled her glass and peppered her with questions about what kind of help Stellan’s cause might need in the long-term, but it was as if Kjell wasn’t really there. For a man who had been so truly focused on her since the moment she’d arrived it was a stark absence—and one that she knew was deeply enmeshed with the AAR and the medal.
A medal he would have to accept if she were to actually be allowed to step down.
She hated that her freedom would come at such a cost to him. It silenced the question every time it lay on her tongue. Kjell was the most dedicated, determined man she knew. Time hadn’t changed that—in fact, it seemed to have only made him more so. It was one of the things that she had admired about him, that connected them on a fundamental level: a sense of duty. That he had respected hers, understood it rather than questioning or resenting it had made him even more precious to her. And it was also why she knew that something truly awful must have happened to affect him so. But it was hidden behind a wall of silence, a wall that could damage as well as protect.
Freya looked out of the window. The interior light picked out a few flakes as they twisted and fell across a nightscape dark and forbidding. The wood burner was glowing with heat and she should have felt cosy, but the chill from Kjell was as brutal as the shocking cold water she’d plunged into today.
‘Coffee?’ Kjell’s question interrupted her thoughts. She looked down at her plate and found it empty and nodded as he picked it up and took the rest of the things to the kitchen.