Red Wolf_ A Novel - Liza Marklund [81]
Thomas opened his eyes wide, staring at the congress timetable.
He couldn’t escape. Sophia was with him everywhere. Now she was there between the lines of the committee’s proposals for long-term programmes, her heels clicking through the documentation about collaboration and the congressional information sent out to members of the Federation of County Councils.
Thomas leaned back, listening to the director of communication give a long list of directives, and let his eyes roam across the participants.
Sophia in a pin-striped suit and silk blouse with sparkling teeth and apple hair over by the window. Sophia in her lacy bra and parted lips leaning against the flip-chart. Sophia with no underwear on riding the overhead projector.
He cleared his throat and shook his head, forcing his brain back to reality.
At the far end of the table sat the information director, who was also chair of the project group, and one of those responsible for factual content. The pair responsible for organization and administration poured more coffee and picked at the rapidly hardening pastries. The other participants had gathered near the window, where they sat with their jackets pressed hard into the backs of their chairs, trying to look as though they weren’t about to yawn.
His reality. Sophia’s reality.
What was Annika doing right now? What did he know about her reality?
Without him understanding how it happened, or what had been said, the meeting broke up to the scrape of chairs and relieved voices. He pulled himself together, and, without looking up, gathered his documents together.
‘Samuelsson,’ said a voice above him, and he looked up quickly. ‘How’s the collaboration with the Federation of County Councils going?’
Thomas stood up and shook the information director by the hand, feeling his brain solidify and his words dry up. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?
‘Oh,’ he said, gulping audibly, ‘it’s going pretty well.’
‘No real areas of conflict?’
He pulled his hand away to hide the fact that he was breaking into a sweat.
‘As long as we’re working towards the same goal, and have a good number of independent players in the project, it’s working fairly well,’ he said, wondering exactly what he meant by that.
‘That Sophia Grenborg, what’s she like?’
The question forced the last oxygen from his lungs; he opened his mouth but was unable to breathe.
‘Oh, you know, fine,’ he heard himself say. ‘A bit dull. Upper-class, has never had any real setbacks in life . . .’
The information director looked at him in surprise. ‘I meant what’s she like to work with. Is she pressing the Federation’s interests at our expense?’
To his embarrassment, Thomas could feel himself blushing, what a stupid mistake.
‘It’s okay as long as we don’t let our guard down,’ he said. ‘We can’t let them get the upper hand, so there’s a certain amount of positioning going on in advance of the congress, if I can put it like that . . .’
The information director nodded in concentration. ‘I understand. Listen, could you summarize your experiences, partly within your current area of focus, but particularly with regard to the regional issue, as soon as possible?’
‘Of course,’ Thomas said, straightening his tie. ‘Just tell me what you want and I’ll get down to it.’
The information director boxed Thomas lightly on his left shoulder. ‘That’s what I like to hear,’ he said, and glided out of the room.
The room emptied of people, leaving Thomas closing his briefcase. How was the collaboration with the Federation of County Councils going? Sophia Grenborg, what was she really like?
Thomas turned his back on the thought, picked up his briefcase and headed sternly towards the lifts.
The corridor outside his room was silent and gloomy; the structural pattern of the walls emphasized and warped