Red Wolf_ A Novel - Liza Marklund [72]
‘That was wonderful, wasn’t it, Thomas?’
He gulped and made himself look at her, slender, slightly fragile in her half-nakedness, defenceless and breathless as a small child. He forced himself to smile at her, she was so sweet.
‘You’re wonderful,’ he said, and she stroked her hand quickly against his cheek.
‘Do you want coffee?’ she asked, closing the front door and unzipping the back of her skirt, letting it fall to the ground along with her bra.
‘Please,’ he said as she walked naked through the apartment. ‘Thanks.’
A moment later she was back, wrapped in an ivory dressing gown, and holding another one, wine-red.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘The shower’s on the left at the end.’
He took the dressing gown and considered the shower for a moment. Even if Annika was asleep when he got home, it wasn’t worth taking the risk.
Sophia had disappeared off to the right somewhere; he thought he could hear the hiss of an espresso machine. Cautiously he stepped into the room in front of him, and found himself in a studio with an eight-metre ceiling and huge windows facing the dull city sky. The walls were brick, the floor the same oiled oak as in the hall.
He couldn’t help being impressed. This was what an apartment should really look like.
‘Sugar?’ Sophia called from the kitchen.
‘Please,’ he said, and hurried towards the bathroom.
He showered quickly and thoroughly, using the most neutrally scented soap he could find, scrubbing his crotch with a sponge. Took care not to get his hair wet.
She was sitting at a table of smoked glass in the designer kitchen when he came in wrapped in his wine-red dressing gown; she was smoking one of her menthol cigarettes.
‘You have to go home?’ she said, framing it as a question.
He nodded and sat down, wondering what he was feeling. Mostly he felt pleased. He smiled at her, touching her hand.
‘Right away?’
He sat for a moment, then nodded. She put the cigarette out, pulled her hands away and put them in her lap.
‘Do you love your wife?’ she asked, staring at the table.
He swallowed. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t actually know whether he did or not.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I think so.’
He let his subconscious conjure up images of Annika, and his response to her.
Once, when he was still living with Eleonor, he had dreamed about her, and in the dream she had had burning hair. Her head had been covered with flames, singing and dancing around her face, and she was quite unconcerned about it. Fire was her natural element, it ran like silk along her back and shoulders.
After that night he had often imagined her like that, as someone who dwelled in fire.
‘She’s boundless, somehow,’ he said. ‘Has none of the barriers normal people have, can put herself through pretty much anything if she’s set her mind to it.’
‘Sounds a bit uncomfortable,’ Sophia said.
He nodded slowly. ‘And fascinating,’ he said. ‘I’ve never met anyone like her.’
Sophia Grenborg smiled at him, a careful, friendly smile. ‘I’m glad you came.’
He smiled back. ‘So am I.’
‘Shall I call a taxi?’
He nodded again, then looked down at his hands, waiting quietly as she went out to the phone.
‘Five minutes,’ she said.
He drank his coffee; it was too strong and too sweet. Then he stood up and put the cup on the draining-board. He went out into the hall and quickly gathered together his clothes, pulling them on with concise, efficient movements.
Once he had pulled on his coat and found his briefcase she slid up behind him, a light shadow of perfume and apple-scent. She wound her arms round his waist, laid her cheek against his back.
‘Thanks for this evening,’ she whispered.
He blinked a few times, turned round and kissed her gently.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered.
She locked the door behind