The Lion's Mouth Read Online Free

together even while everyone around them was trying to prove that lifelong marriage couldn’t survive such an urbane, hectic environment. Birgitte was not only an important part of his life, in many ways she was his life, something he had regarded as a natural consequence of their joint decision to prioritize her career. Now he sat on the settee, staring at some non-existent place.
    The Labor Party Secretary stood at the verandah door, appearing very uncomfortable in the Bishop’s presence. She had protested at his being there. “ I’m the one who knows them,” she had said. “For God’s sake, Birgitte wasn’t even a member of the Church!”
    But protocol required it, and protocol had to be followed. Especially now. When everything was crazy and upside down and the way nobody ever thought it could be, the dust was brushed offthe Crisis Management Handbook. Suddenly it became something new and different rather than simply a book lying in a drawer for when the thing that was never going to happen actually happened.
    “I’d like you to leave,” whispered the man on the settee.
    The Bishop looked disbelieving for a brief moment, but only for a second; he caught himself and recovered his ecclesiastical dignity.
    “This is a very difficult time,” he continued in his east-Norwegian accent. “I have the greatest respect for your wish to be alone. Maybe there is someone else? Family, perhaps?”
    Roy Hansen continued to stare at something the others could not see. He did not sob, his breathing was even and easy, but a silent stream of tears ran down from his pale blue eyes, a tiny rivulet he had long since given up wiping away.
    “She can stay,” he said, without looking at the Party Secretary.
    “Then I’ll withdraw,” the Bishop said, though he remained seated. “I shall pray for you and your family. And by all means phone if there’s anything I or anyone else can do for you.”
    He still did not get to his feet. The Party Secretary stood at the door, keen to open it and hasten the man’s departure, but there was something about the situation that made her stand absolutely still. The minutes passed, and all that could be heard was the ticking of the oak-cased mantel clock. Suddenly it struck nine: ponderous, strained, hesitant strokes, as though it did not wish the evening to progress.
    “Aha, then,” said the Bishop, with a heavy sigh. “I’ll be off.”
    When at long last he had gone, and the Party Secretary had locked the door behind him, she returned to the living room. Roy Hansen looked at her for the first time; a bewildered look that turned into a grimace as he finally burst into tears in earnest. The Party Secretary sat down beside him, and he rested his head on her lap as he struggled to catch his breath.
    “Someone will have to speak to Per,” he wept. “I don’t have the strength to tell Per.”
    21.03, ODINS GATE 3
    T he liver was top quality. He held it up underneath his nose, letting his tongue just touch the pale slice of meat. The slaughterhouse at Torshov was the only one he could truly rely on as far as calf’s liver was concerned, and although it was situated out of his way, the detour was worth the trouble.
    He had bought the truffles in France three days earlier. Normally he contented himself with canned ones, but when the opportunity presented itself – something that happened relatively often – there was nothing to compare with the fresh variety.
    Ding-dong.
    He had to do something about that doorbell. The sound was discordant and atonal, and startled him every time it rang.
    He glanced at his wristwatch, and it crossed his mind that he was not expecting anyone. This was Friday, and the party was not until tomorrow.
    En route to the front door, he suddenly stopped, remaining still for a split second, before walking resolutely across to the heavy oak coffee table and taking hold of the object lying there. Without further thought, he opened one of the sideboard doors decorated