The Gilden Cage Page 8

  After a while I had forgotten everything Chris had told me about Jack. He was just a nice guy who was easy to talk to. Henrik had bought another round of beers.

  “As thanks for letting us sit here,” he said, pushing two glasses toward us.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off Chris. In return, she didn’t deign to bestow so much as a single glance on him.

  The bartender yelled that there was half an hour until they closed, and that it was last orders. Chris started to shuffle about in her seat.

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” she said apologetically.

  Henrik got up and stood to attention as she squeezed past him. Jack turned towards me.

  “What are your plans for the rest of the evening?”

  I hesitated. Glanced at my mobile, which still hadn’t shown any sign of life from Viktor.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Chris wanted to go out somewhere, so I’ll probably tag along with her for a while. How about you two?”

  Jack was so intensely present that it was making me feel slightly uncomfortable. He was having a definite effect on me, somehow managing to get under my skin. I wasn’t sure what I thought about that.

  Henrik remained standing, looking around the bar.

  “We’ll probably carry on the party back at Henrik’s. You’re both welcome to join us if you like.”

  “Maybe. I’ll have to check with Chris first.”

  “Sure,” Jack said, his blue eyes never leaving mine. “What line of work do you do? Or are you a student?”

  His dark, thick eyelashes framed his eyes, making their blue color seem even more intense. Beneath the table our thighs bumped against each other’s.

  “I’m studying at the School of Economics,” I said nonchalantly, and took a sip of beer.

  I always had trouble hiding my pride at my own achievements. The fact that I had risen above everything that had happened, getting the necessary grades, doing what plenty of people dreamed about without the advantages of many of the other students at the Stockholm School of Economics.

  “Really? Me too. First year?”

  “Yes.”

  I slowly turned my beer glass. Wondered where Chris had gone.

  “What do you think of it? Are you enjoying it?”

  He was giving me his full attention, and that made me squirm. I preferred to hide in the shadows. Viktor never looked at me like that. That was one of the reasons I felt so comfortable being with him. He was happy to let my secrets stay secret. But Jack appeared to see straight through me.

  “I like it,” I said slowly. “Though I’ve only been there a week. So it’s hard to say, really.”

  Chris came back to the table and sat back down with an air of confidence. She looked at us inquisitively.

  “He . . . erm, it’s Jack, isn’t it?” I said uncertainly and he nodded. “Jack was wondering if we wanted to go back to . . . Henrik’s? But we were going out, weren’t we?”

  I was having trouble concealing what I wanted to do.

  Chris’s eyes revealed how impressed she was by my industry. But to my surprise she just shrugged.

  “Maybe. We’ll have to see,” she said. “I want to go dancing first.”

  “We could go to Sturecompagniet,” Henrik suggested.

  “I can’t be bothered to stand in a line,” Chris said with a sigh and a toss of her red hair.

  “No problem. Jack can get us in,” Henrik said. “Can’t you, Jack?”

  “Sure,” he said, without taking his eyes off me. “No worries.”

  He got to his feet and held his hand out to me. I glanced at my mobile. No messages. Viktor suddenly didn’t feel all that important. I dropped my mobile in my bag and took Jack’s hand.

  —

  As Jack had promised, we were waved past the line by the bouncers. On the way to the VIP section he was stopped repeatedly by guys wanting to chat and girls making fools of themselves batting their eyelashes and pouting. I tried to tell myself that I was immune to Jack’s charms, and that it was merely entertaining to see how everyone, men and women alike, seemed to be so enchanted by him.

  He took a lap in the VIP area, shaking hands as if he were a president on a state visit. Chris, Henrik, and I waited by the bar as Jack worked his way around the room. Henrik ordered cocktails and shots for us all. The level of drunkenness had already hit the roof inside the club. People were yelling into one another’s ears, spraying saliva. The women were dressed in minuscule dresses or tiny tops and short skirts. The men in thin, pastel-colored shirts and jeans or chinos. I was holding my end up pretty well in my borrowed dress, I could feel people’s eyes roaming over my body. I was being evaluated, judged, but was enjoying the attention. I could see the way it affected Jack when he slipped into my field of vision from time to time.

  “Does he always disappear like this?” Chris yelled over the noise at Henrik, who was moving awkwardly in time to the music.

  “Yes. He knows everyone.” He sighed then he lit up. “It’s great that you both came along, so I don’t have to stand here alone!”

  I leaned closer to him to hear better.

  “Does everyone else know him, then?” I said.

  “No. Sometimes I ask myself if I even know him. And we’ve been friends for ages, we’re going to set up a business together.” Henrik leaned over the bar and took a few sips of his cocktail. “No one ever manages to get much of an idea of him, which is why everyone’s so fascinated by him. That’s my theory, anyway. Then there’s the whole aristocracy thing combined with his decadent background. Throw in a bit of juicy—and very public—family conflict and tragedy, and hey presto . . .”

  He was slurring now, and sucked some more of his cocktail through its pink straw. Then he straightened up and adjusted his glasses.

  Jack had stopped in front of a group of girls at the other end of the bar. They laughed when he made a few jokey dance moves. When he left them they stared hungrily after him.

  Jack made his way toward us and put his arms around my and Chris’s waists. I felt the warmth of his hand against my skin. He was moving his thumb up and down. A tingle ran through my body.

  “Didn’t you want to dance?” he asked brightly before turning toward Henrik. “Why haven’t you shown them to the dance floor? Do I have to do everything myself?”

  Henrik threw his arms out. “You know I’m not a dancer.”

  “Yes, I’m painfully aware of that. Along with the owner of every nightclub in the city.”

  Henrik blushed but seemed happy to go along with it. There was no animosity in their relationship.

  Jack winked at him. “One last shot, then a dance?”

  Henrik was starting to look tired, but nodded. “Sure.”

  Jack beckoned to the bartender, who leaned forward and shook his hand as they exchanged a few words. Suddenly four shot glasses appeared in front of us.

  “On the house,” the bartender yelled, and patted Jack on the shoulder before turning to deal with the next customer.

  We raised the glasses in a toast, tipped our heads back, swallowed, and grimaced. When Jack had set his glass down he put his arm around my waist and let his hand slip to my stomach. I glanced nervously at Chris. She didn’t appear to have noticed anything, and was busy talking to Henrik. They seemed to be getting on well. I found myself with yet another cocktail in my hand, and the alcohol numbed any remaining inhibitions. The only thing that mattered was that Jack’s hand, right there, right then, felt warm and comfortable against my stomach.

  I still found myself thinking of Viktor. And how inappropriate it was to be standing there like that with a guy I’d only known a few hours. Because I was in love with Viktor, I was sure I was.

  And I didn’t want to spoil my budding friendship with Chris with meaningless flirting. I worshipped her. Chris was a force of nature. And Jack seemed to be more of inte
rest to her than to me.

  But at the same time there was something about Jack that made me feel giddy. His hand had come to a halt with his fingers resting gently on my hip bone. And I wanted him to keep moving down my body. Suddenly I realized that I was going to have to put a stop to this. Before it had even started. I pulled free and noticed that Jack was surprised, though he did his best to hide it.

  “I have to go now,” I said, putting my half-drunk cocktail back on the bar.

  “So soon? But we were going to go back to Henrik’s to carry on partying.”

  “I have to go home,” I said firmly. “To my boyfriend.”

  “Ah, you’ve got one of those,” Jack said with amusement, but I thought I detected a hint of disappointment in him—which could easily have been wishful thinking on my part.

  “Yes.”

  “I think I’ll come with you anyway.”

  “What? Why?”

  He pointed to something behind me, and I turned around. Chris and Henrik were locked together, their tongues in each other’s mouth. Chris had one hand on the back of his head, pulling him toward her.

  I turned back toward Jack.

  “I’m going now. See you.”

  Jack took hold of my arm.

  “Hang on. Let me see you home. Where do you live?”

  “Gärdet. Well, my boyfriend lives there, and that’s where I’m sleeping. Why do you want to come with me? You can have any one of those girls you were talking to earlier. I can’t imagine any of them turning you down.”

  I nodded toward the girls on the dance floor, writhing to the Sugababes’ latest hit.

  “But that’s not what I want. I want to go home with you. You’re interesting. And beautiful. You’re different.”

  “Am I?”

  I felt a knot in my stomach as I remembered all the times I had been told I was different. In a different way from now. A completely different way.

  “Yes,” Jack said. “And I like your name. It suits you.”

  He looked into my eyes, pleading like a little boy. I sighed.

  “Okay. But we’re going back to my place, then. Villagatan. But you’re only coming as far as the door.”

  Jack brightened up.

  It was a warm night. We pushed our way through the semicircle of people crowding outside the club and set off along Sturegatan. Jack lit a cigarette and passed it to me before putting another one in his mouth and lighting it. We hadn’t spoken a word to each other since we came outside. Even so, the silence felt comfortable.

  A taxi drove past. I glanced at Jack, who smiled back at me. We turned into Humlegården.

  “What sort of company are the two of you working on?”

  “Nothing so far. We’re trying to come up with a good enough idea. But when we do we’re going to go for broke, put together a professional business plan, find investors, become millionaires.”

  “Investors?”

  “Yes, we want to manage on our own. My parents aren’t an option. My dad . . . I don’t have any contact with my dad. And Mom lives in Switzerland with her new husband and sends Christmas cards, but that’s all. And we need capital. For offices, staff, marketing, and PR.”

  A small, almost imperceptible change in tone. I wondered what it meant. Jack’s eyes followed a man on the other side of the street. Took a deep drag on his cigarette. It was his third already on our relatively short walk.

  “Henrik and I have promised each other that we’re going to be independently wealthy by the time we’re thirty.”

  He blew a smoke ring.

  “Have you got a name yet? For your nonexistent company . . . ?”

  I grinned to show that I was joking.

  He responded to my lighthearted question seriously.

  “We’ve had a few ideas, but none of them have really grabbed us. I want the name to indicate that our company is best, that there’s no competition.”

  Jack blew another smoke ring.

  “How about Compare?” I said after thinking for a while. “It’s a confident name, suggesting that the business isn’t afraid of being compared to others?”

  Jack stopped and looked at me.

  “I like it,” he said slowly. “It’s got a good feel to it.”

  “You can thank me if you decide to use it,” I said, smiling at him.

  We had reached Karlavägen and I was shivering. The evening had grown cooler now and I wasn’t wearing any outdoor clothing.

  Music was coming from an open window a few feet ahead, and suddenly a door opened in the same building. A man and a woman stumbled out. Jack took a few quick steps and caught the door with his foot before it closed, then held it open and bowed theatrically.

  “What are you doing?” I said, wrapping my arms around my chest.

  “After-party!”

  “Do you know the people who live here?” I said in surprise as I followed him through the door.

  “I will soon. So will you. Come on.” Jack took my hand and led me up the wide stone staircase. “We’ll have a few drinks and then leave.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I giggled as I let him pull me along. “You’re just going to walk up and ring the bell?”

  “Yep.”

  Jack half-ran up the stairs, pulling me behind him.

  “You’re crazy.”

  I laughed.

  Jack turned round and kissed me quickly, and the light touch was electric.

  I had to stop for a moment before following him up to the flat where the music was coming from.

  The sign on the door said LINDQVIST. We rang the bell and the door was opened by a woman in her thirties, her cheeks flushed with alcohol. Behind her: music, talking, the clink of glasses, laughter. Jack smiled his best smile as I shrank behind him in embarrassment.

  “Hi there!” he said breezily. “We couldn’t help hearing that you’re having a party and it all sounded so nice! Would it be okay if my girlfriend and I came in to warm up?”

  I started when he called me his girlfriend, but managed to keep a straight face. Something shifted in my stomach when he said the word. The woman burst out laughing. She nodded and stepped aside.

  “Come in. I’m Charlotte.”

  We introduced ourselves. All the other guests appeared to have kept their shoes on, so we did the same. Charlotte walked ahead of us into a large room where around forty people in smart clothes were spread out beneath the glow of an immense chandelier. Charlotte stopped right under it and raised her glass.

  “Listen up! This is Jack and Faye. They thought we seemed to be having fun and decided to come up and check us out!”

  Scattered laughter. Someone called out “Welcome!,” someone else “Get them a drink!” Before I knew it, I was standing talking to a Japanese lawyer with a lisp, Julia, around ten years older than me.

  They were all happy, open, pleasant, urbane. I soon forgot my shyness—Matilda would have felt completely lost there. Faye loved the people around her, the conversation, the atmosphere, the waves of sound rising and falling beneath the huge chandelier. Faye fit in.

  I was also conscious that Jack was nearby. I was safe with him. While I spoke to Julia I was constantly aware of where he was. The room seemed to tilt in his direction. He dazzled them all, went round, laughing, joking, filling empty glasses like it was his party. There was a confidence to everything he did that was bewitching. I had never been near anyone as radiant as Jack Adelheim.

  Our eyes met. He winked, smiled, and raised his glass in my direction. The bubbles in the champagne sparkled in the light from the chandelier.

  Someone put their hand on his shoulder and Jack turned away. And suddenly I felt I missed him. His glance, our brief moment of understanding, his smile. I turned to listen to what Julia was saying about her impossible working conditions in one of the biggest law firms in Stockhol
m. The room felt cold behind me now that Jack wasn’t looking at me. Someone put a glass of champagne in my hand.

  —

  An hour later the guests began to drift away. It was starting to get lighter outside the windows. We were among the last to leave. Jack pulled out a half-full bottle of wine and put it to his lips.

  “One for the road.” He grinned.

  “Stolen property,” I retorted.

  “Pah!”

  He took a couple more swigs, then passed the bottle to me. I thought of his lips around the neck of the bottle, and imagined I could taste him, mixed with the tepid white wine.

  We didn’t stop talking as we strolled through the silent city. I was laughing so much I hardly had time to breathe. Jack related conversations, imitating the party guests with precise mannerisms. I told him about Chris and the guy on the bus.

  All too soon we were standing outside my door. Silent at last. All of a sudden it felt unreal and unnatural that I should tap in the code, open the door, and go inside without him.

  “Well, then,” Jack said, now seeming almost bashful. “See you around.”

  “Okay.”

  “So long, Faye,” he said, like a line from a cheap Hollywood film, and turned on his heel.

  “Wait!”

  He stopped midstride, turned, ran his hand through his hair, and looked at me curiously.

  “Yes?”

  “Oh . . . it was nothing . . .”

  He turned around again. Started to walk. Raised the bottle.

  I didn’t move. Waiting for him to turn. To take one last look at me. Wave. Come rushing back. Kiss me again, properly this time. I could still remember how his lips had felt.

  But he just lit a cigarette as he ambled nonchalantly toward Karlavägen. There he turned left. And disappeared.

  Faye was holding Julienne with one hand and pushing an empty shopping trolley with the other as they walked through the aisles of the ICA supermarket at Karlaplan. The housekeeper had been ill for two days and she was thinking of surprising Jack with a home-cooked meal. Her famous spaghetti bolognese. The secret ingredient was celery. And three different types of onion. And it had to simmer for a very long time.