All In (28 page)

She was breathing heavily. She wiped her mouth and looked at Isobel, who sat in her chair watching her.

“Are you sure-sure?”

“Yup.”

Natalia swallowed, closed her eyes, and took a few breaths.

She opened her eyes, looked down into the sink, and vomited again.

It was that kind of a day.

39

 

M
ichel dragged the thin, Lebanese bread across his plate to wipe up the last of the oil and yogurt and stuffed it into his mouth.

“I should eat Lebanese food more often,” David said with his mouth full of hummus and eggplant. Michel's mother had sent Michel home with meze, and he and David were enjoying the food immensely.

Michel reached for his mineral water, drank out of the bottle, and then stretched out his legs on the office terrace. There was a nice breeze off the water up here, and the views of Stockholm were amazing. They had hung their suit jackets over the backs of their chairs and eaten the late lunch in relative solitude.

“My mom's mad at me. And you.”

“Why? I thought your mom loved me,” David said.

“She thinks we're picking fights with people. I'm supposed to stop picking fights and get married and give her grandchildren.”

David shook his head.

Jesper Lidmark, David's assistant, moved among the planters on the terrace. He watered a plant here, plucked off a dry leaf there. He looked over at them and asked, “Should I bring coffee?”

David nodded. “Could you ask Malin to come up, too?”

Jesper nodded eagerly and disappeared.

Michel furrowed his brow and watched Jesper leave. “Is he still . . . ?”

David shrugged. “Maybe a little.” It was impossible to interpret the look in his eyes behind his sunglasses, but he was smiling.

Jesper, who had worked at Hammar Capital for two years, had gotten completely drunk at the last office Christmas party. He had weepily admitted both that he was gay and head over heels in love with David.

In a world as homophobic as the financial sector, it was darn near social suicide to be anything other than one hundred percent, no questions about it, straight. That's why everyone had cute female assistants and participated in manly sports and slapped each other vigorously on the back all the time. Michel had always suspected that David had chosen a young male intern from the School of Economics just to stick it to all the middle-aged white guys. Then when the kid turned out to be gay . . .

Jesper had kept drinking at that notorious Christmas party until he passed out.

The next day he hadn't come to work. No one knew what to do. The office had been abuzz. David called Jesper personally, and ever since that phone call (though it was unclear how word had gotten out) the story had been told and retold as an urban legend at Hammar Capital.

David had informed Jesper that he didn't personally have any problems with anything except people not coming to work when they were supposed to. “I'm straight,” he added. “And I'm your boss, so it's out of the question that there could be anything between us. Plus I'm much too old for you. Now get in here.”

Jesper had been at Hammar Capital one hour later, trembling and hungover, and since then he hadn't missed a single day of work.

When Jesper turned up with bruises after Christmas vacation, not looking anyone in the eye, David had summoned him to his office. David managed to get it out of Jesper that Jesper's own father, a well-known Swedish director, had beaten up his son when he had come out to him.

David had had one of his rare blowups. In a cold rage, he stormed right down to the restaurant where the director was enjoying a three-course business lunch. In front of the man's guests and employees, David had told him exactly what would happen to him if he so much as lifted a pinky against Jesper—one of Hammar Capital's most cherished employees—ever again.

David had returned to the office, still fuming, and said that he was buying a building on Kungsholmen and that if Jesper wanted, there was an apartment there that he could rent effective immediately.

Since then, Jesper had been seeing a prominent reality TV star and moved in with him, but Michel suspected that if Jesper ever had the chance, he would give up his life for David.

“This is a messed-up industry,” David said.

Michel didn't object. “Talking about messed-up people, what about that Russian uncle? Where are we with him?”

“Eugene Tolstoy? He'll come up for the meeting and vote,” David said.

“Is he reliable?”

David shook his head. “Hope so. But he's like a steel ball in one of those labyrinth maze games. Almost impossible to control or interpret.”

“Rumor has it that he's got ties to the Russian mafia,” Michel said.

“Wouldn't surprise me in the least.”

“Why is he going against the family anyway? Gustaf is his brother-in-law, Ebba his own sister. Wonder why he's doing it.”

“Don't know. But I get the sense that he has his reasons.”

“Does that mean we have the votes we need? What do you think?”

There was no way to be certain. A lot could happen in the week that was left before the meeting. Michel kept a running tally, but there were so many variables that he couldn't say anything for sure anymore. This far into a deal, it was as much psychology as money that mattered. And everyone knew that the only thing that was definitely certain in this industry was that no deal was done until it was done.

“It wouldn't hurt to have more,” David said, reaching for an olive.

“Have you talked to Alexander De la Grip?” Michel asked as Jesper came out with the coffee. “Thanks, Jesper,” he said, taking the espresso.

David looked pensive. “Alexander seems to have an agenda all his own. He hates me, I think. It feels almost personal, which is weird, because we haven't had much to do with each other.”

“And you're so popular.”

“How do you think Åsa's going to vote?” David asked.

Michel snorted. “She's totally loyal to Investum. Besides, I'm quite sure Åsa Bjelke's only desire in this life is to cause me and you, but mostly me, as much pain, humiliation, and defeat as she possibly can.”

“Well, you can't blame her too much,” David said. “She looked like she wanted to torture us to death.”

Michel was moderately amused.

The meeting at the Grand Hôtel had put a definite end to his and Åsa's potential new start, that much was clear. “She's going out with other men,” he said even though it hurt just to think about it. “All the time. Different men, every evening. And she's doing it—partly anyway—to bother me.”

“How do you know that?” David asked. “You're not spying on her, are you?” He didn't look like he was kidding.

“No,” Michel said, pulling out his cell phone. “I haven't sunk quite that low yet. She sends me pictures.” He showed David picture after picture of Åsa laughing with different men by her side. A laughing, kissing Åsa. “A new man every evening since Tuesday, when we saw each other last. Seven so far.”

“Harsh,” David said. “Impressive, but harsh.”

“She's really pissed. I shouldn't have started talking to her.” He'd told himself that during the last week, that he should have stayed away. But he wasn't even convincing to himself. He was condemned to this, to pine for a woman who hated him, looked down on him, and was super pissed at him. He'd known it would be like this, that the takeover he and David had orchestrated would render a relationship with Åsa impossible.

“Of course she's mad,” David said, unconcerned. As if Åsa Bjelke wasn't the only woman Michel could imagine being with for the rest of his life. It was like one of those movies where you rooted for a happy ending, but in the end someone died in a bicycle accident.

He sighed. His family wouldn't have been happy if he'd brought Åsa home. He had six sisters, he was the only son, and his family's wishes were clear. Åsa Bjelke wasn't really the daughter-in-law his mother and father envisioned.

Michel shook his head, as that wasn't exactly a looming problem, given that Åsa hated him. Those looks she'd given him at the Grand Hôtel, that meeting. He shuddered.

If he ever somehow succeeded in getting close to her again, managed to break through her rage, then he'd better be prepared for all-out war. It would be a battle, and she would fight hard to make sure he didn't win.

“We really ought to have someone from the old guard on the board,” he said to keep himself from revealing to his boss, his colleague, and his best friend his inability to let go of the idea of Åsa Bjelke. “Someone who knows the company.”

“I know, I've been thinking that too,” David said contemplatively.

There were seven seats on the board of directors. Naturally Michel would take one of them while David took over as chairman of the board. And they had several candidates for the important positions. Then the board's first and most important task would be to kick out the old managing director and appoint a new one. They already had one in mind, but Investum was an enormous company to get acquainted with. Having someone on the board who already knew the company would make it easier.

“Natalia would have been perfect,” Michel pointed out wryly. “If you hadn't gone and duped and double-crossed her, of course.”

“She would have been good,” David agreed, without smiling. Michel knew his joke had been in poor taste, but he wasn't sure about David's feelings for Natalia. In all the years he'd known David, he'd seen him with many different women—smart, attractive, funny women. But he'd never seen his friend fall for anyone. From where he was sitting, it looked like David had fallen for Natalia.

“How's she doing?” Michel asked.

David shrugged. “We talked last Friday,” he said. “But I don't actually know.”

“What did she say?” Michel pushed.

David didn't answer; he just shut down, and Michel felt a chill creep up his spine. David looked really devastated. “Um, hey . . . ,” Michel began, but David interrupted him: “Investum is preparing some kind of countermove,” he said, and his icy stare made it clear that he didn't want to talk about Natalia anymore. “I think they've got me under surveillance. Have you noticed anything?”

“No,” Michel responded. But they both knew that they had to step up their day-by-day vigilance. There was no room for carelessness.

David looked at his watch. “I have to go,” he said. He stood up and took his jacket from the back of his chair.

Michel watched him go, noticing that David hadn't said where he was going. He shook his head. This deal . . .

 

David took the stairs down. He walked out to his car, then turned around. He didn't see anyone watching him, but he would talk to Tom Lexington, he decided, and review their security procedures. He looked at his watch again. Carolina was coming in; he should go pick her up at the airport. Soon he'd be forced to tell Michel about her. Yet another secret that he'd kept to himself for way too long, yet another crucial piece of the puzzle that would affect Michel.

He sat down in the car and started the motor.

But then he closed his eyes behind his sunglasses for a brief moment.

For a man who'd been planning something half his life, he really had an awful lot of loose ends to tie up.

40

 

T
wo days after her doctor's visit, Natalia went out to Djursholm to talk to her parents. She had called in sick to the office after seeing the doctor, not up to working when her whole life had just been turned upside down.

Again.

There'd been a lot of that going on lately.

She had actually managed to make it in to the office for a bit yesterday. She'd worked for a few hours, but then she'd felt so sick she'd had to go home again. Better that than throw up all over her coworkers. This morning she'd given up and called in sick again. And then fallen asleep on the sofa. That was so not her that it was like being in someone else's body.

J-O hadn't called once, and Natalia wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad sign. Maybe he wanted to give her a break.

But now she'd at least made a decision: she would tell her parents. The pregnancy would affect them too, and she was hoping for their support. And no matter how you looked at it, whatever their relationship was like, she was still a young woman pregnant for the first time. She so wanted to share this with the people she loved.

Natalia took the E18 north, trying to imagine her mother and father's reactions. Would they be angry? Disappointed? And yet, it was a child, their first grandchild. Did she dare to hope for a little joy once the worst of the shock had subsided?

She bit her lower lip, because she really had no idea what to expect. Yes, she'd made a mistake, gotten involved with a man who'd tricked her, but she was only human, and once the shock wore off, surely they would understand? She hardly dared consider the possibility that they really wouldn't understand, that they wouldn't support her. They were all she had. They
had
to understand.

 

“I have something to tell you,” Natalia said once they were seated in the living room. The house was totally silent and the air almost stagnant.

Her mother sat stiffly with a delicate wrinkle between her eyebrows. Her father had his arms crossed.

Natalia nervously moistened her lips, wished that she had something to drink. “It's about David Hammar,” she began.

Her mother blinked and put her hand to her chest. “I really hope you're not having anything to do with him,” she said.

Her father's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything, just watched.

Natalia swallowed. “David and I . . . ,” she began, but the words failed her. She really needed something to drink. She was enormously thirsty.

“Natalia,” her mother said. “What did you do?”

“Let her speak,” her father snapped.

Natalia got ready. After all, it wasn't like she'd murdered someone. She stretched her back and said, “A few weeks ago, I had a short relationship with David Hammar, and I . . .”

Her mother leapt out of her chair and bawled, “Are you insane?”

“Quiet,” her father said. He was looking straight at Natalia. “And?” he asked coldly.

Natalia looked down at her lap, saw her fingers twisting around each other, and forced them to lie still. “It's over between us,” she said quietly. “But I'm pregnant.”

Her mother's hand shot up to cover her mouth. “That can't be true!”

“I found out two days ago,” Natalia said. “David doesn't know. I came to you first.” She watched them pleadingly. “You're my parents.”

Her mother started to cry behind her hand.
That must be the shock,
Natalia thought. Her mother could be cold and selfish, but she was still her
mother
. Certainly she must . . .

But a terrible feeling began to spread through her gut. She hadn't really imagined that they would react like this. She tried to make eye contact with her father. Her father was hard, but he loved her, in his way. Surely he understood how this felt to her, surely he understood that the family must stand as one. She only had them, after all. “Papa, I . . .”

“He did this to get to us,” he interrupted her. His voice was steady, almost devoid of emotion.

“No, Dad, it wasn't like that,” she said, trying to sound certain even though she was convinced of the same thing.

Her father sneered at her mockingly. “Maybe you think that Hammar fellow wants you? And your baby?”

“You don't understand what you've done,” her mother said, sounding stifled.

“I knew it,” her father said. He looked out the window, as if he couldn't even bear to look at her anymore. “Bad genes always show through. I've been waiting for this.”

Her mother shook her head. “Gustaf, don't say that.” But her voice lacked conviction.

Her father turned back to Natalia. The look in his eyes was harsh, without even a flicker of warmth or understanding. “I knew the whole time. Any daughter of
mine
would never act like some cheap, low-class hussy.”

“I understand that you're upset,” Natalia said as calmly as she could. “It was a shock for me as well.”

“Gustaf,” her mother pleaded. “Not now.”

Gustaf flashed Ebba a quick glance, and she looked away, retiring back into her position as a submissive aristocrat's housewife.

Her father stood up. “If you think I'm going to tolerate some tramp's brat in my family, then you're wrong,” he said.

“Surely we can discuss this,” Natalia said, more shocked by his coldness and choice of words than she wanted to show. “It's a baby that we're talking about here, your grandchild.”
And we're living in the twenty-first century. And I need you,
she thought.

“You really see how the vulgar heredity comes out now.”

“Papa!”

“You really don't understand,” he hissed. “Listen carefully now. You are not my daughter. You never were. I don't give a fuck about you or your bastard. I am going to stamp out David Hammar like the rat he is.” He pointed to the door. “Get out of my house.”

“But . . .”

“You explain it so she understands,” he ordered his wife. “I don't want to see her again.” He slammed his fist on the coffee table so hard that a vase jumped. “Never again, you hear?”

Then he left, without even deigning to look at Natalia.

Natalia stared after him. “I don't understand,” she said. “What does he mean? I am loyal to the family, surely you see that? Mother? He can't be serious. It's not like I've
done
anything.”

“I didn't want you to find out like this,” her mother said, sniffling into a tissue she pulled from a box on the coffee table. “Actually, I didn't want you to find out at all.”

“Find out what?”

“Are you really pregnant?”

Natalia nodded. “Six weeks.”

“And it's his?” She made a face. “That man's?”

“Yes.”

“You have to get rid of it.”

“That is not your decision.”

Her mother clenched the tissue tightly in her fist. “How could you do this to us?”

“I didn't
do
anything to anyone.” She couldn't even express how hurt she was, how betrayed she felt, how lonely and scared she was right now. She'd come here for comfort, because she thought she'd hit bottom and because she had been counting on her mother and father's support. On this point, she had truly misjudged the situation.

“For all these years, I've tried to get you to think about your behavior,” her mother said, her tone reproachful. “To think about what you say. Tried to make you understand how important it is. To be careful.” She shook her head. “You have so much to be grateful for. And then you do this.” She looked at Natalia with dry eyes. She wasn't crying anymore, and Natalia saw no compassion, just that her mother had decided something.

“I can't do anything about this,” her mother said, crumpling the tissue. “It's out of my hands now.”

“I don't understand any of this,” Natalia said genuinely.

Her mother smoothed her skirt, straightening the fabric until it was flat, and then calmly said, “Gustaf isn't your biological father.”

And then everything changed.

Everything she had believed.

Everything she had known.

Everything.

She wasn't a De la Grip.

An enormous wave of exhaustion overtook Natalia. She was so tired she hardly had the strength to blink. Maybe she was actually at home in bed sleeping and soon she would wake up and realize that this summer had never happened, that she had never met David, that . . .

“This is hard for me too,” her mother continued, and her voice was already stronger, as if it were all over now as far as she was concerned. As if she'd already chosen a side and had no intention of changing her mind. “I've always tried to protect you. But you've gone too far this time. I have to be loyal to your father—to Gustaf. He needs me. And I need him; you know that.”

Natalia blinked. Her heart raced in her chest. Was this really happening? Was her own mother rejecting her?

“I made a mistake,” her mother said. “Peter was so little. I was alone, and I felt so unappreciated. I did something foolish. But your father and I agreed to stay together, to go on as a family. He gave you his name and forgave me for what happened.”

For what happened?
I'm
what happened.

“Then Alexander came along. You children had everything,” her mother continued, as if she were defending the choices she'd once made. “We have lived well, traveled a lot, had nice things.”

“He's always treated me differently,” Natalia said, because suddenly so much made sense. How she'd been kept out of Investum's inner circle. How the mansion and the family jewels had been systematically transferred to the sons. The whole time she'd thought it was because they were boys. But really it was because of their genes. She wasn't Gustaf's biological child, and therefore she had to be kept out. She, who had always detested infidelity, was the result of an illicit affair. The irony was epic.

“Gustaf is a stern man, but you've always meant a lot to him,” her mother said. “He never made any distinction between you children.”

But her mother was lying, and they both knew that. There had been a distinction. And no amount of skill or accomplishment had been able to make up for it.

“Does Peter know? And Alex?”

“No one knows.”

But Natalia had seen the flicker of uncertainty. Her mother was lying. Again. All these lies.

“Uncle Eugene knows, doesn't he?” Natalia said once the final pieces slid into place.

“Yes, Eugene knows. He's never forgiven me. He always thought you should know. This has actually been really hard for me. And for your father.”

I have to get out of here,
Natalia thought, panic-stricken.
I have to get out of here, get away.
She stood up while her mother was in the middle of saying something. Natalia walked out of the living room without saying good-bye. Out of the house, her eyes vacant, an icy lump in her chest.

She sat down in her car.

Her hands were shaking so hard she could hardly take her phone out of her purse. She called and closed her eyes as the call went through.

 

Åsa was on her way out the door when Natalia called.

“Can I come over?”

She could tell right away that something had happened. She just said, “Come.” She had a dinner date with a young fund manager and had already planned the picture she was going to send to Michel later. Tight red jersey dress, décolletage to die for, and long red fingernails. A little on the vulgar side, certainly, but she knew what men liked. Who would have thought that driving Michel crazy would be so much fun?

Ten minutes later Natalia was standing in her apartment shaking, and Åsa only needed to take one look at her friend to see that this was going to take all night. “Come in,” Åsa said. “I just have to call and back out of a date.”

Åsa called and canceled. Then she told Natalia, “You look like shit. I'm going to order a pizza,” she decided because she was starving. “Do you want some?”

Natalia shook her head, but Åsa ordered a large one anyway so they could share. Natalia looked like she needed some energy, and Åsa had been suppressing all her unfulfilled sexual desires with food lately. “Extra cheese,” she said into the phone while Natalia collapsed flat on the sofa.

Natalia kicked off her shoes, put one arm over her forehead, and said, “More drama. You want to hear about it?”

Åsa sat down on the other sofa. “Spill it.”

After Natalia filled her in, Åsa was quiet. Considering that Natalia had been the one who led the more boring, undramatic life, she was really catching up.

“Did you know?” Natalia asked. “That Gustaf isn't my father?”

Åsa slowly shook her head. “Embarrassingly enough, I never even suspected anything. I'm way too self-absorbed. How are you doing?”

“Oh, I'm doing great,” Natalia said sarcastically.

“Well, who is your biological father then?”

“Can you believe I didn't even ask? I have no idea. And I can't bring myself to call my mom and ask right now. It could be anyone. The pool guy, maybe.”

The doorbell rang, and Åsa went to get the pizza. She returned with the box, set it on the coffee table, and then went to the kitchen to get utensils, plates, and glasses.

“It smells heavenly,” Natalia said when Åsa came back. The box was open, and the aroma of garlic and basil filled the living room.