The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7)

crocheted coverlet, a small night table, and a chiffonier. It was not a large room, but it was charming and bright. The window was open, facing the flower garden.
    ‘For God’s sake, the bathroom is just next door. Remember, this is a bed and breakfast, not some fancy hotel,’ said Sam in annoyance as he sank on to the bed. ‘We’re way out in the country on this little island. What did you expect? A fucking Sheraton?’
    Andrea stared at him in surprise.
    ‘What’s wrong with you?’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, the sharpness gone from his voice. ‘It’s just that you sounded so whiny. Everything can’t be perfect all the time.’
    ‘I know that,’ she said, offended. Her cheeks were flushed with indignation. ‘Excuse me, but I was just wondering where the toilet was. I thought we were going to have a good time now that you’re finally free. And you’re the one who wanted to come here. Not me. You should be happy that everybody agreed to do what you wanted.’ Disappointment made her voice husky. With one blow he had ruined her joy. How could he? Tears filled her eyes.
    ‘OK. I know.’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry. Come here.’
    He reached out his arms towards her, and she sank into his embrace. Sam stroked her back. She wrapped her arms around him. The warmthfrom his body consoled her, and it didn’t take long before her mood was restored. She began kissing him on the neck, more and more eagerly, searching for his lips. She wanted to feel close in order to forget about the tiresome exchange they’d just had. They lay down on the bed, and she pressed herself against him, put one leg over his. Gently he pushed her away.
    ‘Now, now, take it easy. We have to meet the others in half an hour. We’re going to have a drink before the ceremonies.’
    ‘Oh, is it that late already? I need to fix my hair.’
    They gathered in the garden among the apple trees where a table was set with champagne glasses and platters of French cheeses, biscuits and nuts.
    ‘Oh, how marvellous!’ exclaimed Beata, beaming at their French hostess, who gave a quick smile and then disappeared after placing two dewy bottles of champagne on the table.
    ‘Time to celebrate!’ cried Sam, popping the cork from the first bottle. ‘We finished shooting the film yesterday.’
    ‘That’s great. Congratulations!’ said Håkan. ‘It must feel bloody wonderful!’
    ‘You’re so clever,’ cooed Beata, standing behind Sam. She put her hands on his shoulders and rubbed her curvaceous body against his. ‘Simply amazing. You should be proud of your husband, Andrea.’
    Andrea managed a strained smile. Sometimes Beata really went overboard.
    Stina raised the glass that Sam handed her.
    ‘Cheers, Sam. We’ll keep our fingers crossed that the film is a big hit. You deserve it. Right?’
    ‘You better believe it. It’s been pure hell. The most difficult and spoiled movie stars that I’ve ever worked with, not to mention the diva herself: Julia Berger. Good God!’
    He rolled his eyes and went on pouring the champagne. When everyone had a glass, Sam cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and put on a solemn expression.
    ‘Welcome, dear friends, to our annual holiday together. I’ve really beenlooking forward to this trip in particular. You all know why. Bergman was the greatest director and will always remain so. The rest of us mortals try our best, and I’m so happy that today I can also celebrate finally finishing the film
The Last Commandment
. Thank God it’s over.
Skål
, everyone!’
    They all raised their glasses as they exchanged glances, glad to be in the company of friends.
    The dry champagne tasted perfect.

THE CHURCH GREEN was crowded with people dressed in their summer best in honour of the evening. The weather was appropriate for the occasion, considering it was Bergman they were celebrating. Dark clouds raced across the sky, forming fantastical shapes at the same time as rays of sunlight sporadically burst through the darkness, creating their own dramatic effect. Light and darkness, which was precisely the speciality of the acclaimed director.
    Johan Berg had a few anxious moments as his camerawoman, Pia Lilja, adroitly manoeuvred the TV van through the throng in the car park near the Fårö church. He hadn’t been back here since his wedding day.
    Two years ago he had stood in this very place on the church green, sweating, with a packed church, a puzzled pastor and a missing bride. It was a real