Missing

T he green suit had a classy label and no one who looked her over could have guessed that it cost less than one hundred kronor at Oxfam. The waist button on the skirt had been replaced by a safety-pin, but no one would notice.
    She called the waiter and asked for another glass of white wine.
    One empty table away, tonight’s target was sitting on his own. She hadn’t begun her act and wasn’t yet able to judge how aware he was of her.
    He was just getting on with his starter.
    There was plenty of time.
    She swallowed a mouthful of wine from her refilled glass. The wine was dry, cool to perfection and probably quite expensive. She had no idea of the price. It didn’t matter.
    She looked at her man surreptitiously and felt, rather than saw, that he was staring at her. Over the edge of the wine glass, she let her glance swivel in his direction and meet his, but then, marking mild disinterest, she allowed it to wander across the room.
    The Grand Hotel’s French dining-room was really a magnificent place. She had been there three times before, but tonight had to be the last visit for a while. Pity, because they put out fresh fruit in the bedrooms. The towels were exceptionally thick and laid on in such quantity that it seemed risk-free to let a couple slip into your briefcase.
    Still, it was unwise to challenge fate. It would be a disaster if the staff recognised her.
    He was looking at her again, she could sense it. She quickly pulled out her diary from the briefcase, checking today’s date. How irritating … Impatiently, she tapped on the tabletop with her immaculate red nails. Two different meetings at the same time – how could she have allowed herself to be double-booked? Worse, with two of her largest customers!
    She observed him out of the corner of her eye. He was still watching.
    A waiter walked past her table and she hailed him.
    ‘You wouldn’t have a phone I could borrow, please?’
    ‘Of course, madam.’
    She kept following the waiter with her eyes as he walked over to the bar counter, returning to her table with a cordless phone.
    ‘There you are, madam. Please dial nine to get a line.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    She leafed through her diary to find the right number before dialling.
    ‘Hallo, this is Caroline Fors, my company is Swedish Laval Separator. I’m so sorry but I’ve managed to get myself snarled up tomorrow morning – a double booking. I just wanted you to know that I’ll be with you, but about two hours later than we agreed.’
    ‘ Twenty, twenty-five and thirty. Pip .’
    ‘Good. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Bye for now.’
    She sighed and wrote salamiwurst 14.00 hours on the line just below basement flat and closed her diary.
    By chance their eyes met just at the moment she took another drink from her wine glass. She felt sure of his complete attention by now.
    He smiled at her.
    ‘Got a problem?’
    She too smiled but shrugged her shoulders, a little embarrassed.
    ‘Easily done,’ he said sympathetically, looking her over. He was edging close to her carefully positioned bait now.
    ‘Are you alone or are you waiting for someone?’
    His eyes were fixed on her.
    ‘No, I just liked the idea of a glass of wine or two before going back to my room. It’s been a long day.’
    She picked up her diary and put it into her briefcase. This was it, nearly done. She would hook him soon. When she had replaced her briefcase on the floor, she saw him pushing away his emptied plate and raising his glass to her.
    ‘Would you mind if I joined you?’
    Already – and she had barely begun her fishing trip. With a little smile, she got ready to beach her catch. She mustn’t be too quick, though. Playing hard to get for a while always worked a treat. She hesitated for a couple of seconds before answering his question.
    ‘That would be nice, but I’m really about to call it a day.’
    He rose, picked up his wine glass and sat down opposite her.
    ‘I’m Jörgen Grundberg. Pleased to meet you.’
    He held out his hand to her, she shook it and introduced herself.
    ‘Caroline Fors.’
    ‘That’s a lovely name for a lovely lady. I’d drink to that.’
    On his left hand a thin wedding ring caught the light.
    ‘Cheers.’
    The waiter was bringing Mr Grundberg’s main course, but stopped short when he realised that his guest had gone away. Jörgen Grundberg waved to him.
    ‘Here I am. The view’s better from over here, don’t you agree?’
    Her smile was rather forced, but happily Mr