The Voices Beyond: (Oland Quartet Series 4) (8 page)

Jonas had been too tired to stay up. He had gone to bed at about ten, and fallen asleep to distant music, quiet voices and loud laughter.

This morning he pulled on his shorts and a thin T-shirt, opened the glass door and went out into the sunshine. It was only eight o’clock, but it was already hot.

The two plots that made up this part of Villa Kloss extended around him, covered in stones, the odd juniper bush and viper’s bugloss. His father used to own the third plot at the southern end, but that was several years ago, before he got involved in some business that didn’t go too well. His summer cottage had been sold, and Jonas noticed that the new owners had put up a fence to separate the place from Villa Kloss.

He was hungry, and hoped there would be something to eat in Uncle Kent’s kitchen.

A wide, gravelled path led past the pool to the main house. The water looked warm and clear, but hardly anyone ever swam in it. The adults never seemed to have time, and Jonas thought it was more fun to go down to the shore. It was somehow wilder down there, with flat rocks and seaweed and tiny shrimps swimming around your legs.

He went up the steps to the wooden decking at the front of the house. This would be Jonas’s workplace for the next few weeks, along with Veronica’s decking. His job was to sand down all the planks, then oil them. His wages would be thirty-five kronor an hour. That was a lot of money – Jonas had said yes straight away.

Uncle Kent’s house was long and wide, with huge panoramic windows at the front. There was also a sliding glass door; Jonas pushed it to one side and went in. He had always thought that walking into this cool room felt like stepping into the command module in a huge spaceship. Not that he had ever done such a thing, but this was what it ought to look like: a rectangular room with enormous windows and electronic gadgets everywhere. There were rows of tiny lights on the ceiling and an impressive stereo next to an even bigger TV, both connected to black speakers built into the wall.

Kent’s golf bag was on the right, next to a treadmill, and beyond that lay the entrance to the kitchen, which was every bit as shiny and metallic as the living room. Various things were humming and flashing in there.

Uncle Kent had employed a young housekeeper from Russia or Poland this summer; she was standing by the worktop, where she had laid out an array of breakfast food: bread, butter, juice, eggs, fruit and four kinds of cereal.

Jonas stared. He was glad he was alone right now, because back home in Huskvarna he always had to wait until Mats had finished helping himself. Now he could just dive right in. He picked up a blue bowl, filled it with cornflakes and milk and sat down on the biggest of Uncle Kent’s black leather sofas. He had a fantastic view of the coast from here: the stony garden, the coast road, the sea and the burial cairn up on the edge of the cliff.

After about fifteen minutes the sliding door opened and Aunt Veronica came in.

‘Good morning, Jonas. Did you sleep well?’

She was already dressed, in a black business suit and red shoes.

Jonas chewed, swallowed and nodded.

‘Mmm.’

‘Are Kent and Niklas here?’

‘I haven’t seen anyone,’ Jonas replied.

‘I expect they’re out jogging,’ Veronica said with a smile.

In the winter Veronica lived in Stockholm with Urban, who was eighteen, and Casper, who was fifteen, and their father, but in the summer she lived here at Villa Kloss; she was the managing director of the Ölandic Resort. She never took any time off during the period when the complex was open, from the end of May to the beginning of September.

‘So what are you going to do today, Jonas? Do you have any plans for the summer?’

He looked out at the wooden decking and nodded.

‘I’m going to make a start on rubbing down the decking.’

‘Not today. It’s Midsummer’s Day, and almost everyone is off work. You, too, Jonas. You’re on holiday.’

That sounded good.

Holiday, Jonas thought. Not a break from school. He hadn’t even started work yet, but he was already on
holiday
, like a grown-up.

The Ölandic Resort was a couple of kilometres south of Stenvik and was owned by the Kloss family. Lisa was also working at the resort this summer, and she drove down there at lunchtime to get things ready.

At the entrance there was a reception booth and a barrier, and a CCTV camera. She could feel the cold lens staring at her as she wound down the window and gave her name to the security guard, but everything was fine. The barrier was raised and she drove on to a tarmac road, past rows of tents and caravans, down towards the sea and the gleaming white Ölandic Hotel.

It was Midsummer’s Day, the day after the big party. But of course every night was party night at the Ölandic – at least it was in the nightclub in the hotel basement. Two DJs and two cover bands would be working there in shifts right through July, from early evening until late into the night.

This evening was Lady Summertime’s debut, and Lisa wanted to make sure everything went well.

The Ölandic Resort was a custom-built holiday complex with straight roads and huge lawns. The contrast with the little campsite in Stenvik was striking. The Ölandic was a place for thousands of summer visitors to gather in the sun, on the beach, on the golf course, in the hotel and in the nightclub. But as Lisa drove down towards the water she didn’t see many people, and those she did see looked as if they were sleepwalking. People were probably having a lie-in, or sunbathing down on the shore, beyond the dense deciduous forest.

She parked in front of the hotel. It was four storeys high, built on the slope above the beach. The hotel had the best view in the resort, the summer cottages the next best, and the campsite lay furthest away from the sea.

Lisa picked up her CDs and LPs and went inside; the reception area was cool, with goldfish swimming around in a large aquarium on the limestone floor. Two blonde receptionists, both in their twenties and wearing pale-blue blouses, were on duty behind the desk.

The one nearest to Lisa smiled, and Lisa introduced herself.

‘Oh, so you’re Lady Summertime. The club’s downstairs.’

She led the way, but didn’t offer to carry any of Lisa’s records.

A red neon sign above the door read ‘M
AY
L
AI
B
AR
’. The club beyond the cloakroom was large, with tables on the right and a bar made of dark wood running the entire length of the left-hand wall. There wasn’t a soul in sight, but there was a good variety of drinks on the shelves, and green champagne bottles ready and waiting in a glass fridge.

‘The calm before the storm,’ the receptionist said.

‘So does this place get stormy in the evenings?’ Lisa asked.

‘Well, people do like to let rip … It’s full every night in July. Quite a few kids with rich parents come here, with a sports car of their own and Daddy’s credit card.’

Lisa nodded; she knew the type.

The DJ booth was near the door, next to a wide glass door leading out on to the seafront. The dance floor looked freshly mopped, black and shining, but a faint smell of perspiration and alcohol still lingered.

‘Have you got “Summer Is Short”?’ the receptionist asked.

Lisa looked blank.

‘Tomas Ledin,’ the girl said. ‘“Summer Is Short”. Do you play that one?’

‘Sometimes.’

Lisa much preferred Daft Punk’s “Around The World”, but she knew that the old classics brought people in.

The booth was locked, but the receptionist had a bunch of keys. She handed one of them over to Lisa.

‘Just say the word if you need anything.’

‘Thanks.’

Lisa unlocked the door, went inside and checked out the equipment. The turntables were Technics SL 1200; they looked as if they’d been through some tough times, but the Pioneer mixer desk looked brand new. There was an effects panel which would allow her to control a small light show over the dance floor, complete with glitter ball, and even a cordless microphone for shout-outs.

‘We’ve got a smoke machine, too,’ the receptionist said, pointing to a button close to the floor.

‘Excellent,’ Lisa said. She loved special effects.

The booth was raised above the dance floor, a bit like a pulpit, but it was just as cramped as all the others she had worked in. A sheet of Plexiglas at the front protected her from the public and any alcohol that might be splashing around.

‘What about security?’ she asked.

‘We’ve got guards here 24/7 in the summer,’ the receptionist said. ‘In the evenings they move between the hotel and the club. There’s an alarm button over by the bar if things kick off.’

‘Great.’

‘Make yourself at home,’ the receptionist said, and headed back up the stairs.

Lisa placed her records and CDs on the floor behind the Plexiglas, then locked the booth and went over to the glass door to have a look outside.

The door was like a wide fire exit or an escape route – which was good. She slid it open and stepped out into the summer heat. The sea air rushed towards her from the sparkling Sound, carrying with it the faint smell of seaweed.

On the large wooden deck there were more tables and metal chairs arranged around a large barbecue made of metal and stone; there was also a bar decorated with bamboo. There was no one in sight, but many of the tables already had a R
ESERVED
notice on them.

Immediately below the hotel she saw a sandy beach in an inlet extending south. To the north there was a verdant deciduous forest, with a low stone wall in front of it. The wall was topped with tightly stretched barbed wire.

A flight of stone steps led down to the lawn in front of the hotel, where croquet hoops had been set up. Lisa walked down past the croquet lawn, and went over to the forest and the wall.

Fences and walls always made her curious. She could see nothing but a dense wall of low trees and tangled bushes, so why the need for barbed wire?

Cautiously, she grabbed hold of the wire and pulled it up so that she could wriggle underneath. First her legs, then the rest of her body. The wire seemed keen to shred the back of her head, but she managed to squeeze through and jump down on the other side of the wall.

Now she was in the forbidden forest. It looked old, with lichen-covered ash trees and gnarled oaks among younger birch and elder. An enchanted forest waiting for a princess, for Lady Summertime.

She was only intending to go a short distance. There was a narrow track leading away from the wall – possibly made by hares or deer – and Lisa took a few tentative steps along it. Then she stopped and took a deep breath.

It was so quiet here. Dark and peaceful, with the muted sound of birdsong and the hum of various insects. She carried on down the track, and when she looked back she could no longer see the hotel. The wall she had climbed over was barely visible through the foliage. Forests on the island weren’t tall or extensive but dense and thick with undergrowth; they could hide just about anything.

She heard a twig snap up ahead. It was very distinct, definitely not the product of her imagination, but she couldn’t see any movement. Everything around her was green and brown, leaves and branches trembling in the gentle breeze.

The narrow track gradually widened, and after perhaps fifty metres it ended in a glade with tall, overgrown grass. Lisa stepped out into the light and screwed up her eyes as she turned her face up to the sun. It was almost at its zenith now. She could hear splashing and cheerful shouts from the beach to the south.

The Swedish summer. Tomas Ledin was right, it was short, but that made it all the more intense. Lisa was a city girl; she had grown up in Farsta in a family that didn’t own a summer cottage, but a vague, almost atavistic longing for a rural community had attracted her to the job on Öland for this summer season.

And the money, of course.

When she looked down at the grass she noticed wide grooves – deep tyre tracks. A large, heavy machine had driven through this ancient forest, straight across the glade and over to the trees on the far side.

A small building had once stood there, but the machine must have driven right into it, because now there was nothing left but the foundations and a few grey planks of wood.

Beyond the ruin she saw more trees, and further away the sun glinted on the sea; there was a small beach and a few boulders protruding into the water to form a narrow jetty.

A lost idyll. The family that had lived here once upon a time would have been able to go down for a swim every day …

‘What are you doing here?’ said a voice behind her.

Lisa turned around. A young man was standing in the middle of the glade, staring at her.

He was wearing a black peaked cap, and a shirt and trousers in the same shade of blue as the receptionists’ uniform up at the hotel. He was tall and thin; his forehead was covered in sweat as he strode towards her. Lisa noticed a black two-way radio clipped to his belt, and realized that he was one of the guards. Young and determined.

Lisa had nothing against security guards, but Lady Summertime, the rebel within her, didn’t like them.
Uniforms
– sooooo boring.

‘What am I doing?’ she said, staring right back at him. ‘I work here.’

‘Where?’

‘At the Ölandic Resort.’

‘Do you?’

‘I’m a DJ at the May Lai Bar.’

The guard stopped a metre away from her.

‘Oh? I haven’t seen you before.’

‘It’s my first day,’ Lisa said. ‘I start tonight – Lady Summertime. Do you want to see my ID?’

He stared at her for a little while longer, then shook his head. ‘I just wanted to …’

Then he glanced over her shoulder and froze. ‘Shit, there’s somebody else …’

He fell silent, and Lisa turned around. At first she couldn’t see anything apart from leaves and shimmering water, but then she saw a shadow against the dazzling sunlight. Someone was standing motionless on the jetty, his back to the beach. An old man in a fisherman’s jumper, straight-backed and sturdy.

Lisa looked at the guard. ‘Can I go?’

He glanced at her, then nodded reluctantly. ‘OK. Go back to the hotel. You shouldn’t be here.’