Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The - Stieg Larsson [196]
She thought about the lawyer, Bjurman, who was still her guardian and who, at least for the time being, had been neutralised and was doing as he was told.
She felt an implacable hatred and clenched her teeth.
And she thought about Mikael Blomkvist and wondered what he would say when he found out that she was a ward of the court and that her entire life was a fucking rats’ nest.
It came to her that she really was not angry with him. He was just the person on whom she had vented her anger when what she had wanted most of all was to murder somebody, several people. Being angry with him was pointless.
She felt strangely ambivalent towards him.
He stuck his nose in other people’s business and poked around in her life and…but…she had also enjoyed working with him. Even that was an odd feeling—to work with somebody. She wasn’t used to that, but it had been unexpectedly painless. He did not mess with her. He did not try to tell her how to live her life.
She was the one who had seduced him, not vice versa.
And besides, it had been satisfying.
So why did she feel as if she wanted to kick him in the face?
She sighed and unhappily raised her eyes to see an inter-continental roar past on the E4.
Blomkvist was still in the garden at 8:00 when he was roused by the rattle of the motorcycle crossing the bridge and saw Salander riding towards the cottage. She put her bike on its stand and took off her helmet. She came up to the garden table and felt the coffeepot, which was empty and cold. Blomkvist stood up, gazing at her in surprise. She took the coffeepot and went into the kitchen. When she came back out she had taken off her leathers and sat down in jeans and a T-shirt with the slogan I CAN BE A REGULAR BITCH. JUST TRY ME.
“I thought you’d be in Stockholm by now,” he said.
“I turned round in Uppsala.”
“Quite a ride.”
“I’m sore.”
“Why did you turn around?”
No answer. He waited her out while they drank coffee. After ten minutes she said, reluctantly, “I like your company.”
Those were words that had never before passed her lips.
“It was…interesting to work with you on this case.”
“I enjoyed working with you too,” he said.
“Hmm.”
“The fact is, I’ve never worked with such a brilliant researcher. OK, I know you’re a hacker and hang out in suspect circles in which you can set up an illegal wiretap in London in twenty-four hours, but you get results.”
She looked at him for the first time since she had sat at the table. He knew so many of her secrets.
“That’s just how it is. I know computers. I’ve never had a problem with reading a text and absorbing what it said.”
“Your photographic memory,” he said softly.
“I admit it. I just have no idea how it works. It’s not only computers and telephone networks, but the motor in my bike and TV sets and vacuum cleaners and chemical processes and formulae in astrophysics. I’m a nut case, I admit it: a freak.”
Blomkvist frowned. He sat quietly for a long time.
Asperger’s syndrome, he thought. Or something like that. A talent for seeing patterns and understanding abstract reasoning where other people perceive only white noise.
Salander was staring down at the table.
“Most people would give an eye tooth to have such a gift.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We’ll drop it. Are you glad you came back?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was a mistake.”
“Lisbeth, can you define the word friendship for me?”
“It’s when you like somebody.”
“Sure, but what is it that makes you like somebody?”
She shrugged.
“Friendship—my definition—is built on two things,” he said. “Respect and trust. Both elements have to be there. And it has to be mutual. You can have respect for someone, but if you don’t have trust, the friendship will crumble.”
She was still silent.
“I understand that you don’t want to discuss yourself with me, but someday you’re going to have to decide whether you trust me or not. I want us to be friends, but I can’t do it all by myself.”
“I like having sex with you.”
“Sex has nothing to