The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again! Read online

  However, the minute they opened the front door, Martha said: ‘It will soon be time to do this for real!’

  They all looked at each other and immediately became serious. Talking about and playing at bank robberies was one thing, but doing it for real was another matter entirely.

  Martha saw the nervous faces of her friends and so launched into a pep talk: ‘And don’t forget that this is all for a good cause. Since the state doesn’t do things properly, we must do our bit. So we’re doing this as a friend and protector of the poor – we are the twenty-first century’s version of Robin Hood.’

  Robin Hood, Rake reflected, would no doubt have been very angry if he’d known that an old lady some hundreds of years later compared herself to him.

  15

  Christina had fallen asleep on the veranda with a camel-hair rug over her legs and warm socks on her feet. She snored loudly, because in the afternoons she never used her false teeth and, besides, she had a cold. Rake glanced quickly at the sleeping figure. Admittedly, he did have a bit of a bad conscience as he crept up beside Christina to check that she really was fast asleep. He also felt a bit guilty because of the relief he felt when he discovered that indeed she was. But he simply had to go and visit Lillemor. He couldn’t help it. That charming woman was so beautiful, so unpredictable and exciting; she was like a stormy voyage in uncharted waters. Curiosity drove him towards her as if he’d been aquaplaning. A man like him, who had sailed the seven seas and seen so many countries, couldn’t just sit still in an old wooden house and do nothing. No, he must get out and about. He must see this fascinating woman again.

  Lillemor had such interesting eyes, Rake thought as he put his overcoat on. She looked at him in that special way that some woman had, and despite being about sixty years old she was still extremely sexy. He combed his hair, made sure his coat was buttoned up and walked off towards the brick house where she lived. It was one of those modernist-style buildings and it didn’t fit in with the surroundings at all, but in some way it was right for her. Lillemor was not like other people. He rang the doorbell.

  ‘Well, now, is it you, Rake? What a nice surprise. In the name of Light and Love, welcome!’

  Rake rather lost his composure as a result of this unusual greeting, and he felt his entire body warming up. What a fantastic welcome. He immediately felt very, very wanted. She held out a clothes hanger and he fumbled quite a long time before finally he managed to get his overcoat on it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that she was wearing a bright-red silk blouse, a short black skirt, red leg-warmers and high-heeled shoes.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Err, yes please,’ Rake answered and breathed in the sweet smell of incense in the room. He smiled like an idiot and felt as though he was at a school dance and was just about to ask the prettiest girl in class to dance. They went into the living room, and when Lillemor asked him to sit down at the dining table, his clumsiness abated. He straightened his cravat, ran his fingers through his hair and said:

  ‘What a nice blouse you’re wearing.’

  ‘Oh goodness, this? I always wear it when I tell fortunes.’

  He could see that she was blushing. ‘It’s nice having you as a neighbour,’ Rake went on. ‘I’ve thought a great deal about what you said. About my future, that is.’

  ‘Ah yes, your future,’ Lillemor said, and fetched the teapot. She put two teacups on the table and brushed against his hand as she did so. It seemed to Rake that she had done it on purpose, but he wasn’t really certain. Somewhat absentmindedly, he sipped his tea, wondering why it tasted a bit funny. She must have noticed.

  ‘Ginger. It does you the world of good,’ Lillemore explained. ‘Ginger, a bit of milk and cinnamon. I always have that in the tea when I want to cosy up.’

  ‘Cosy up?’ Rake repeated, with a hopeful note in his voice.

  ‘Yes, when you huddle up on the sofa, read a book and feel really good.’

  ‘A book, yes, right, of course. I play computer games . . .’ Rake started saying, but stopped himself at the last moment. Instead he tried to recall the title of the last book he had read, but couldn’t think of it. It was sort of such a long time ago.

  ‘Now, Rake, do you want me to tell your fortune again?’ Lillemor asked and put her hand over his. Rake shuffled his feet and hardly dared look at her. He had thought for a long while about what excuse he could have to be able to visit her – not just this once, but often – and in the end settled on the idea that he was seeking guidance in the world of the Tarot cards.

  ‘I know that it’s mainly women who read Tarot cards, but I’m so curious. Can you teach me to tell fortunes?’

  ‘To tell fortunes? But, Rake, my dear, you must have the gift.’

  ‘It might come to me.’

  ‘But I can tell your fortune. Isn’t that enough? It takes a long time to learn how to interpret the Tarot cards.’ Lillemor went and got something out of the desk drawer and returned with a leather pouch. She carefully untied it, and pulled out a deck of cards wrapped in a black silk cloth.

  ‘You know, the cards don’t have any power in themselves, but they feel your energies,’ Lillemor said, making eyes at him. ‘To succeed, you must have a well-developed intuition and learn all about the cards.’

  ‘I’ve got intuition, that’s for sure,’ Rake assured her, cockily. ‘When I was out at sea I could feel when a storm was brewing, and I can predict when it’s going to rain.’

  ‘No, that’s not really what I meant. Every card means something special, and can be laid in different combinations.’

  ‘No problem.’ Rake reached out to pick up the deck of cards.

  ‘No, stop! This deck of cards is mine. It is not good for them to be influenced by another person. I’ll get another deck for you,’ said Lillemor, and she got up.

  What the Dickens is she going on about? Rake wondered. Couldn’t she just sit down so that, well, he could cosy up with her? When she came back, he moved his chair a little closer.

  ‘Can’t you do that volcano for me?’ he asked, and let his hand fall onto her knee.

  ‘The Arcana, you mean? But then I need to know which sign of the Zodiac you were born under,’ she said, removing his hand. ‘Now, tell me your date of birth again.’

  ‘I’m a Capricorn,’ he mumbled. He’d completely forgotten the date he had given her last time. He didn’t dare give her his real personal identity number. That number was the key to all manner of information about somebody, and what if she was in cahoots with the biker gang up the slope? He tried to remember what he had said, was it perhaps the day before his real birthday? He took 3 January 1931.

  ‘Ah, right,’ said Lillemor, and she gave him that smile that sent a tingle of heat all through his body. ‘The Capricorn tempts us, and takes over our common sense. We lose our self-control and start thinking things we don’t want to do, or ought not to.’

  ‘Oh,’ he mumbled, and gave her leg a squeeze.

  ‘The Devil stands for selfishness, manipulation, greed, ill-will, envy and—’

  ‘Can’t you take another card?’

  ‘The Capricorn will not allow himself to be guided by lower impulses.’

  It’s really more a question of male impulses, Rake thought, and moved his hand up her leg a little.

  ‘The card symbolizes what has been pre-ordained,’ Lillemor went on, without removing his hand. ‘As a Capricorn you might feel that you’re not really capable, or that others haven’t discovered just how capable you are.’

  ‘I can agree with you about that last bit,’ said Rake and he moved even closer to her.

  ‘Perhaps you feel dependent upon the person you love, but at the same time experience the feeling that perhaps you are not good enough.’

  ‘Pah,’ he muttered, because by now he had tired of her talk. Instead he did what he always did when he had an attractive woman right next to him. He put his arm around her waist and kissed her. Lillemor came to an abrupt halt, closed her eyes a
nd leaned back.

  ‘You know what, Rake, I can teach you a lot of other things too,’ she breathed, and put her hand with the red nails around his neck.

  A little later, Rake left the red-brick house feeling exhilarated and happy. He almost felt like dancing for joy where he stood, but then he remembered Christina. Best to lie low a while. His Christina was quite wonderful and he didn’t want to ruin their fine relationship. No, this was just a little adventure, something to spice up his life and nobody need know about it. He opened the gate and whistled to himself as he walked home. When he passed the veranda on the way to his room, he said hello to Christina as naturally as he could before sneaking upstairs. But he caught a glimpse of her face. And what an ice-cold look she gave him!

  Martha had seen Rake sneaking upstairs, and had shaken her head. It was bad enough that Rake had gone to visit that fortune-teller woman but it was almost worse that he then spent his time staring longingly out through the window or busying himself with his cards. Christina had cried herself to sleep and Martha sincerely hoped that her friend would have the strength to put up with this until the day when Rake finally realized that Lillemor was simply a gold-digger. Then he would surely apologize and beg Christina to take him back. Sometimes you had to let men do their thing, Martha thought; it was best in the long run.

  The next day, Christina settled down in the library with her camel-hair rug over her legs, a much-read book and a steaming cup of tea on the table. A pile of crumpled tissues lay there too. She had been crying. Again. Brains came in through the door and saw her withering figure. He went across to her.

  ‘Is that book so very sad?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ said Christina almost inaudibly, and hid it under the rug.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The book?’ She took one of the last tissues from the Kleenex box and tried to say something, but couldn’t find the words. Then Brains’s curiosity got the better of him and he tickled her arms until she let go of the book. He fished it out from under the rug. It was pink and the title bluntly announced: How to Get Them Where You Want Them. All About Men: A Manual For Women.

  ‘But my God, Christina, what on earth are you reading? If anybody can take care of men in this world, then it’s you,’ said Brains sitting down next to her.

  ‘Rake doesn’t think so. I believe he is enthralled by Lillemor.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that. I think he rather fancies himself, that’s what this is about.’

  ‘That’s nothing new, but just watch how he runs over to Lillemor. I’m jolly well going to outwit him.’ Now Christina’s voice sounded a little bolder. ‘Because in this book I’ll find out how to read men’s signals.’

  ‘Signals?’ Brains couldn’t follow her. Signals reminded him of telegraphy and mysterious radio signals in the atmosphere. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Well, those subtle signals that men send out unconsciously,’ Christina explained. ‘It says here that you should listen to your man, talk to him and study the inside of his brain.’

  ‘But, Christina, my dear, is Rake really worth all that effort? Can’t you just be your usual self? You are really nice exactly as you are,’ said Brains.

  ‘Do you think so?’ asked Christina and she started to cry again. Brains picked up the manual and started to thumb through it.

  ‘It says here that the way to a man’s heart is via your nose,’ he said. ‘What sort of hocus-pocus is that?’

  ‘Nothing strange about it at all. It’s an important book. There is so much about men that women don’t know.’

  ‘But via your nose? That sounds like a detour to me,’ said Brains. ‘Usch, just have a bit of patience with Rake. I’ll see if I can have a word with him.’

  16

  There was total silence. Postpone the bank robbery? What had Rake said? He couldn’t be serious, surely? And on an evening that had begun so well.

  As always, Martha thought it was important to make the evening before a big job a really special occasion. Faithful to her habits, she claimed that you ought to celebrate both before and after an event, because if something should go wrong then at least you would have had a bit of a party. So the evening had begun with a glass of champagne, which happened to turn into two, and everyone was slightly tipsy even before dinner. While they ate the delicious shellfish salad, Christina had quoted her favourite lines from a Swedish classic, Karlfeldt and Heidenstam and they all listened contentedly. But when they got to the lamb fillet with herbs and parmesan cheese, Christina switched to detective stories which included tales of murder by poison. The stories got worse and worse in their descriptions of sudden, violent deaths. It wasn’t really her style and everyone realized that things still weren’t as they should be between her and Rake. Martha tried to lighten the mood by suggesting that they sing something by Evert Taube, but even though she filled the wine glasses, their usual high-spiritedness didn’t materialize. Something was wrong – you could feel it in the air. And Rake had been unusually withdrawn and quiet, not saying much during the meal at all. In the end, he wiped his mouth, pushed his plate away and, after a long hmmmm, he cleared his throat.

  ‘Lillemor has said that it isn’t the right time to do anything adventurous just now. The moon is on the wane, so you shouldn’t involve yourself in anything new and demanding,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘All my energy should go to developing things on a personal level, and I shouldn’t waste time on other things. I think we should postpone the robbery.’

  ‘You can’t be serious!’ said Martha.

  ‘Well, if that’s what Lillemor said,’ Christina replied in a cutting voice, ‘then we must of course cancel the whole thing.’

  Total silence followed, and Rake fidgeted with his cravat. His gaze was firmly fixed on his plate and he didn’t dare look anyone in the eye.

  ‘It would be dreadful to end up in prison without you, Christina,’ Rake mumbled.

  ‘Enough of your daft talk, you fool!’ Christina responded with glowing cheeks. She had seen with her own eyes how Rake had gone across to the brick house earlier in the day. ‘You know perfectly well that men and women don’t end up in the same prison,’ she hissed.

  ‘Perhaps we should sing something,’ Martha tried to distract them. ‘ “Gulli-Gullan” might not be appropriate, but—’

  ‘What about a sweet little song about how you can get lady fortune-tellers to go up in smoke.’ Christina lost her temper, pushed her chair back with a crash and rushed out of the room with her hands over her face. Martha looked appealingly at Rake.

  ‘Please, try to get her back in a good mood, otherwise it will all go to pot tomorrow.’

  ‘I think we ought to postpone—’ Rake tried again.

  ‘No, we aren’t changing any plans,’ Martha cut him off in such a decisive tone that Rake didn’t know what to say. ‘Go upstairs and console Christina,’ Martha ordered.

  ‘Well, I don’t understand why she got so angry. She has been completely out of sorts recently.’

  ‘Of course she’s angry. You have ignored her, as you must know!’ said Martha. ‘You have only been paying attention to Lillemor.’

  The conversation was interrupted by a shrill ring of the doorbell. Oh, not her again, Martha thought angrily, and she marched across to the hall. There she took a deep breath and stood up tall ready to refuse admittance to the fortune-teller who had destroyed the good atmosphere in the gang. She pulled the door open wide.

  ‘Now, you just listen to me, you hocus-pocus hag, be on your way!’ she said.

  ‘What the hell!’ Tompa in a black leather jacket and heavy-duty boots moved back so quickly that he came close to tumbling down the steps.

  ‘Oh, dear, I thought . . .’ Martha muttered.

  ‘I wonder if I could borrow a carton of milk?’ asked Tompa, scratching the tattoo on the back of his neck. It’s bloody typical, we’ve run out.’

  ‘Ah yes, come in, come in!’ said Martha, thinking that it wasn’t ever
y day you were relieved to get a visit from a member of a biker gang. She led the way into the kitchen.

  ‘Here you are.’ Martha handed over a carton of milk.

  ‘Nice place you’ve got here,’ said Tompa, nodding in towards the rest of the house. ‘Perhaps we could have a look round? Last time we only saw the kitchen.’

  Martha quickly worked out the pros and cons, and came to the conclusion that a quick round tour might be good for neighbourly relations.

  ‘Yes, happy to oblige,’ she answered, and when she walked past the others she winked and pointed into the interior.

  ‘I’ll just show him round a little,’ she explained with a smile, the giant of a man behind her. Rake got up to protest, but Brains put his hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Martha knows what she’s doing, don’t worry,’ Brains whispered and smiled at Tompa as he passed.

  ‘The bedrooms upstairs aren’t much to look at, but down here we have the dining room and the lounge,’ said Martha. She proudly displayed the large rooms with their wooden floors and antique wallpaper and let Tompa see the view from the veranda. Finally they stopped in the library.

  ‘Piles and piles of books!’ exclaimed Tompa reverently and pointed at the book spines. Slowly and deliberately he looked at the authors’ names and read out Strindberg, Heidenstam and Lagerlöf before stopping when he reached the big collection of crime fiction. Then he caught sight of something on the side and took a few steps to the right. Martha hadn’t had time to see Christina’s most recent purchases, but as soon as she saw Tompa’s expression, she regretted the round trip. His eyes grew darker as he picked up book after book with titles such as The Swedish Godfather, Mafia War, The Swedish Mafia and Hell from Inside. The last one was about a member of a dangerous biker club. When Tompa looked up, his facial features had tightened up and his shoulders were tense.