The Exception: A Novel Part 32

Finally Ole speaks. I see. Well, thats good news. He leaves it at that.

There is a short pause in the conversation, and suddenly everyone who knows Ole realizes that he had no idea about Pauls offer to Gunnar. Ole doesnt confront Paul, allowing him to retain some dignity. Instead he says that he must hurry off. Maybe Gunnar guesses the truth as well. The joy is wiped from his face, but Paul keeps his cool. That was good. Now youve had a chance to say h.e.l.lo to our chairman as well. This office is always busy lots of unpredictable traffic. He leads the way back to his office. But you will find that out soon enough, once you get to know us all.

The men leave. Silence falls in the Winter Garden. Anne-Lise desperately wants to phone Henrik but the open door makes it impossible. Sometimes she wishes she could simply close the d.a.m.ned thing again, so that she could be herself for a few moments. No doubt theyd all complain if she did.

She cant concentrate on the Afghanistan reports. Instead she opens newly arrived boxes from the International Criminal Tribunal at The Hague and starts sorting the doc.u.ments. She listens to the talk outside.

Iben is speaking: Gunnar wont have anything to do with the DCIG now. He wont want to be mixed up in Pauls games.

Malene doesnt seem to agree. I think h.e.l.l say yes to the board membership.

After a brief pause, she adds an explanation: I mean, they must be discussing it right now.

He wont do it!

For once maybe for the first time Anne-Lise hears Iben becoming more and more shrill. Her voice has risen to a near scream.

You cant think that about him!

Malene sounds different, controlled and rather patronizing. Iben, I dont know how long hes been waiting for a chance like this. You know he needs to get back in the running.

But not at the expense of someone else, and in such an underhanded way. Hes not like that!

You have to take into account that Gunnar has lived in Africa, where corruption is the order of the day.

So what? Ive lived in Africa too.

At this point they fall silent. This is their first open disagreement. It seems to have materialized out of nowhere. Maybe an outsider wouldnt see how furious they are with each other, but for Anne-Lise their fight is a revelation. Shes gratified to see them finally direct their meanness at each other.

Somewhere in pa.s.sing Malene manages to stick in a reference to her illness. Iben does not respond.

A little later, Malenes inquiry is almost gentle. You know so much about him? Must be magic. I mean, you only spoke to him once, right? At Sophies?

Iben has regained control and now sounds self-a.s.sured. We did have a very good talk that evening. Absolutely. Like Rasmus says, some of the best conversations are with people you meet only once.

Malene deflates a little. I see. Now you have to drag Rasmus into this.

Why, shouldnt I?

After a few more minutes of this Iben decamps to the kitchen to cool down.

Anne-Lise stacks magazines on a shelf. She has a view of the Winter Garden from where she is standing.

Iben is back at her desk when at last the door to Pauls office opens. Gunnar steps out, and he isnt smiling. He walks quickly toward the front door and, as he opens it, turns around to face them all and politely says, Goodbye.

Had it not been for Anne-Lises feeling of exhaustion, his angry frown would have made her utterly delighted.

chapter 33.

Soon after the front door slams behind Gunnar, Paul comes out of his office.

Iben asks him at once: How did it go?

Oh, not so good. Such f.u.c.king bad luck that Ole turned up just then. Paul looks irritated. Well, anyway, lets see how it pans out. Christ, all were trying to do is save this Center. Thats all.

He backs into his office and is about to close the door behind him. I need to phone Ole.

They all exchange looks. So apparently Paul isnt feeling bad about anything or worried about how Ole will react. What does that mean in terms of the Centers future?

Anne-Lise looks around the Winter Garden, taking in every familiar and tedious detail: the decorous orderliness of the Post-it notes on Camillas desk, the little plastic troll perched on Malenes desk, the broken spring on Ibens lamp.

In a few months everything might be different.

Ole cant have answered his phone, because Paul joins them again a minute later. Hes holding a croissant, presumably left over from Gunnars visit, and settles into the spare chair next to Malenes desk.

Well, anyway, the show must go on. Listen to this. Yesterday I had lunch with a friend of mine. Hes friendly with someone on the Conservative Partys foreign policy working committee. Thats how I know that in two months time everyone whos anyone in Brussels will be debating the EUs relationship with Turkey, especially in the light of Turkeys repudiation of the Armenian genocide.

Does Paul intend to make them work as if nothing has happened?

Anne-Lise looks around. Arent the others finding Pauls manner hard to take as well? She sees that everyone is pretending that its all quite normal.

It follows that the Armenians will be on the agenda of the Danish Parliament. Both our own media and the EUs will be falling over each other to run the story. That is why we must be the source for all the most vital and up-to-date information on the subject. In print and on the Internet. In English as well as Danish.

He turns to Iben. This should be our top priority. Drop Chechnya for now. An issue packed with information on Turkey should be ready to go to the printers in a months time. We must present the best data, the best background briefings and interviews in Europe! When Paul is fired up about something, his enthusiasm is impressive.

Our Web site must offer the best set of links. When you get to work, keep thinking: Whats hidden in this region that no one else has thought of? Think history! We need to be ten times smarter than the press.

He relaxes for a moment. Over to you, Anne-Lise. Any books we should know about in order to write this up? Any magazines that have already featured the subject?

This is new. Neither Paul nor any of the others has ever turned to her in this way, she thinks. This is it. Ive waited a whole year and now its happened. At last theyre letting me in.

She starts to speak. Theres definitely Then she dries up.

Im sure She cant think of anything else to say.

The others glance knowingly at one another. Its totally infuriating. But its her own fault. She is the one who isnt behaving professionally.

Paul turns to Iben. Iben, do you have any ideas?

Of course she has. Iben smiles. There is no hint in her manner that only fifteen minutes ago Ole proved Paul to be deceitful.

If we approach the foreign freelance journalists, the guys on the spot, well get information well beyond our usual range. And there is no problem about compiling an overview of the responses from each of the larger EU states to genocides in Turkey and elsewhere.

Anne-Lise doesnt take in the rest of what she says, because she is preoccupied by the image of Iben running into the library, holding an empty bottle of rum and hiding it in the cupboard. It is beyond Anne-Lises understanding how this cool-headed, persuasive academic is the same as that manipulative, childish person.

Iben is reaching the end of her suggestions: would give our clients a better chance of informing themselves not only about the subject itself, but also about the basis for joint European decision making.

Paul swallows the last of his croissant as he listens to Iben. Great! Well done, Iben! Anne-Lise, we need you to be in on this too.

Somewhere inside Anne-Lise a fuse has blown. The fantasy of Iben feeling the war criminals knife against her throat in the harsh light of the stairway plays over and over. It is only through a haze that Anne-Lise sees Paul wiping crumbs off his mouth. His lips keep moving, talking to her.

Its important that you dont just trace lots of articles and review papers but that you also work with Iben to select the most useful ones. You two will have to work as a team. What do you think?

Ibens clawed hand grips the war criminals leather jacket. She tugs violently at it. He doesnt react at all. His movements are so a.s.sured, so experienced. The big man has done this many times before.

Anne-Lise shakes herself. Is this what Yngve warned me against? she wonders. Am I burned out? Is that why I cant concentrate?

She looks quickly around the circle of her colleagues. Paul has seen it. Now he has to admit that the others were right all along. Im incompetent. Ill be fired and they will have succeeded.

Her head clears enough to tune back in as Paul is finishing his speech.

The themed issue of Genocide News will also serve to legitimize our existence in the eyes of the politicians. The thing is to be on the offensive. If we can produce the best printed and Web site info on this subject, it will be harder to close us down. So Iben, Anne-Lise next month youre working for the Centers survival as well.

Anne-Lises head is spinning. Has he asked me to do something else? Yes, he must have. Ive no idea what it is. Is it true that Im impossible to work with? Yes, of course its true.

After the meeting, Anne-Lise has a headache.

She stops in the library doorway and puts on her winter coat and scarf. The painkillers seem to have had no effect. Her eyes narrow in the Winter Gardens bright fluorescent light. Staring down at the floor, she speaks quietly. I need to go home. Im not feeling well. Thats why I couldnt concentrate earlier on.

Paul is there too. Camilla smiles at Anne-Lise and makes sure that he sees it. She says in a loud voice that she had no idea that Anne-Lise wasnt focused, she seemed as attentive as ever.

Outside the December weather is cold and gray. Anne-Lise manages to drive along the motorway toward Holte without any problems, but after turning onto Vase Road she almost misses seeing a cyclist in the dim light. She slams on the brakes seconds before hitting his rear mudguard. Without looking around, she swerves the car until it comes to a halt perpendicular to the road. The car behind her does a grinding emergency stop. Theres a small shudder as it hits her own car.

The driver leaps out. Together with the cyclist, they shout at her and bang their hands on her car. The driver says that his front b.u.mper is dented and demands her telephone number and insurance details. Anne-Lise obliges.

She manages to park off the road. She and the driver exchange phone numbers. He asks her if shes in a bad way, implying that shes either drunk or high. She tells him that she has a headache. Once he has gone, she sits for a while in her car with her head in her hands.

Eventually she decides that driving is too risky. Its barely half a mile to her house, so she can leave the car where it is and walk the rest of the way.

Anne-Lise walks along a road lined with villas, close to a hedge with long bare branches that form a p.r.i.c.kly canopy over her head. The pain is so bad that she cant bear looking up.

A womans voice calls out. Brigitte!

After hearing the name called a couple more times, Anne-Lise glances around. Theres only a woman she doesnt recognize, so Anne-Lise starts to walk again, but the woman catches up with her.

I knew it was you! Camillas friend! So nice to see you! Do you live near here?

Anne-Lise cannot think what she is talking about. The woman notices her blank stare. You dont remember me, do you? The choir. The Copenhagen Postal Choir.

Oh!

Anne-Lise feels dizzy. Her headache makes it hard to think. Even so, she knows that if this woman discovers that Brigitte is in fact Anne-Lise, Camilla will find out. And then her colleagues will not hesitate to stick the mentally ill label on her for good.

The woman is dressed expensively in a blue woolen coat that is almost full-length. The shade of her lipstick is far too bright for her age. Anne-Lise cant help but feel that this woman seems confused and a little disturbed.

Brigitte, do you live around here too? We do need a choir here instead of in town.

Anne-Lise is only a hundred yards or so from her home. Im afraid I dont. Im just visiting an old friend of mine.

Not Camilla? Or has she moved out here? The woman obviously doesnt remember how Anne-Lises evening at choir practice had ended up.

No. Not Camilla. Anne-Lise moves out from under the hedge. She knows that she doesnt have the stamina to continue the lies for much longer.

The woman repeats herself. I live nearby. And we do need a choir here.

Anne-Lise has no idea what shes thinking. Yes, we do.

Perhaps you live in the Holte area?

No. No, I dont.

The woman wipes her mouth, as if something were stuck there. I was Camillas friend once.

Yes?

I was. I stopped seeing her when she started that relationship with him you know, that ghastly man.

Yes, I know. What was his name again?

Dragan.

Thats it. Dragan.

This woman wont stop talking. Odd name. But he was a refugee. From Serbia, wasnt he?

Yes, thats right. Serbia. Anne-Lise forces herself to look at the woman. It was Dragan ? Dragan ?

Dragan Jelisic, wasnt it?

Thats it. Yes, Dragan Jelisic. Yes, yes. I thought he was really hard to get on with.

Anne-Lise excuses herself abruptly and hurries home.

The next best thing to being able to speak to Henrik would be to talk to no one for the rest of the day. She walks up the driveway, unlocks the door, and goes to lie down on the black sofa, with little hope of the migraine going away soon.

She thinks about Camilla and what it might mean that she once went out with a Serbian refugee and has kept it secret. But the pain in her head makes it impossible to think.

Only the revenge fantasies about Malene and Iben are alive in her mind, as if the images lead a life of their own. A young man in a red tracksuit hauls Malenes body into the undergrowth. The cracking sounds as branches break when her body is pushed down onto the woodland floor. Ibens pale neck, the echoing acoustics of the stairway, the veins that become visible in her neck and under the thin skin beneath her eyes. And in the shadow of the trees, the terror in Malenes eyes when she understands that she is being punished for having ruined another human beings life.

Anne-Lise is determined to think about something that makes her feel like a good person, one who is normal and healthy.

The blood is flowing from Malenes body and soaks into the ground.