She would now have to begin some preparations of her own. But there was still
plenty of time.
Hilde spent the remainder of the afternoon and the evening with her mother.
They ended up driving to Kris-tiansand and going to the movies. They felt they had
some catching up to do since they had not done anything special the day before. As
they drove past the exit to Kjevik airport, a few more pieces of the big jigsaw puzzle
Hilde was constructing fell into place.
It was late before she went to bed that night, but she took the ring binder and
read on.
When Sophie slipped out of the den through the hedge it was almost
eight o’clock. Her mother was weeding the flowerbeds by the front door when
Sophie appeared.
“Where did you spring from?”
“I came through the hedge.”
“Through the hedge?”
“Didn’t you know there was a path on the other side?”
“But where have you been, Sophie? This is the second time you’ve just
disappeared without leaving any message.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. It was such a lovely day, I went for a long walk.”
Her mother rose from the pile of weeds and gave her a severe look.
“You haven’t been with that philosopher again?”
“As a matter of fact, I have. I told you he likes going for long walks.”
“But he is coming to the garden party, isn’t he?”
“Oh yes, he’s looking forward to it.”
“Me too. I’m counting the days.”
Was there a touch of sharpness in her voice? To be on the safe side,
Sophie said:
“I’m glad I invited Joanna’s parents too. Otherwise it might be a bit
embarrassing.”
“I don’t know ... but whatever happens, I am going to have a talk with
this Alberto as one adult to another.”
“You can borrow my room if you like. I’m sure you’ll like him.”
“And another thing. There’s a letter for you.”
“There is?”
“It’s stamped UN Battalion.”
“It must be from Alberto’s brother.”
“It’s got to stop, Sophie!”
Sophie’s brain worked overtime. But in a flash she hit on a plausible
answer It was as though she was getting inspiration from some guiding spirit.
“I told Alberto I collect rare postmarks. And brothers also have their
uses.”
Her mother seemed to be reassured.
“Dinner’s in the fridge,” she said in a slightly more amicable tone.
“Where’s the letter?”
“On top of the fridge.”
Sophie rushed inside. The envelope was stamped June 15, 1990. She
opened it and took out a little note:
What matters our creative endless toil,
When at a snatch, oblivion ends the coil?