ICEHOTEL (9 page)

I was seeing him in a new light. Yet I thought he’d been a
little too quick in his reply about gambling. There was another dimension to
him, a dimension he was being careful not to reveal.

After a silence, I said, ‘Have you heard of the Bibby
Foundation, Mike?’

His expression changed, and he set down his glass.

‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ I said.

‘It’s impossible not to have heard of them. Wilson Bibby has
just unveiled his big new schools’ initiative.’

‘You know about that?’ I said, surprised.

‘The Swedish papers are full of it. And, I expect, so are
the papers everywhere else.’ He rolled the glass between his palms. ‘The Bibbys
were in Stockholm last week, meeting members of the Swedish government.’

‘And this week they’re at the Icehotel.’

His eyes flicked up at me. ‘Yes, I knew they’d be coming
here.’

‘How on earth did you find that out?’ Surely Bibby, a man
who travelled incognito, wouldn’t broadcast his holiday location to the world.

‘It isn’t widely known they’d be coming to the Icehotel,’
Mike said, ‘but one of the Yanks I was drinking with is working with Bibby. He
told me. So, what’s the big interest in the Bibby Foundation?’

‘I’ve just been speaking to Marcellus Bibby, and – ’

‘You’ve been speaking to him?’ A look of horror crossed
Mike’s face. ‘Listen, Maggie, it’s not often I give women advice, but I’m
telling you now to steer clear of him. Of both of them.’

‘That’s not going to be possible. We’re in the same hotel.’

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing in irritation.

‘Why should I steer clear of them?’ I said defensively.

A pulse was beating in his temple.

‘I’m concerned, Mike, because Harry relies on the Bibby
Foundation for his research funding.’

‘Holy Mother o’ God. This just gets better and better. He
takes money from them?’ His jaw muscles clenched. ‘Sounds like Harry’s moral
compass has taken him places it shouldn’t. Take it from me, you need a long
spoon to sup with the Bibbys.’

‘You’re exaggerating,’ I said, looking away.

His voice was laced with sarcasm. ‘Is this why you’re all
here, then? To see the great grand man? Like flies to shit.’

‘We had no idea Wilson Bibby would be at the Icehotel,’ I
said hotly.

But Mike had known. He’d known, and he’d chosen the Icehotel
for a last-minute holiday. I wondered then just how last-minute it had been.
He’d been drinking with the Americans on Saturday. Had he made a snap decision
when he learnt about Bibby’s Icehotel vacation? Perhaps it was Mike who wanted
to see the great man. But, given his strong feelings about Bibby, I couldn’t
help but wonder why.

‘What do you have against Wilson Bibby?’ I said. ‘Come
clean, Mike.’

‘The man’s a gobshite. A streak of piss.’

‘Once again, please. This time with feeling.’

He shot me a look of venom. ‘Let’s just change the subject.’

‘If you like,’ I said, shrugging.

‘Tell me to mind my own business,’ he said, after a pause,
‘but is Harry gay?’

‘If he were, would you have a problem with that?’

‘Of course not, I don’t give a fiddler’s fart one way or the
other. My young brother is gay. No, it’s just that I like to know the lie of
the land.’ His lips twitched. ‘I love his voice. It’s a male version of Maggie
Smith’s in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie.’ He swirled his beer. ‘He strikes me
as a pathological optimist.’

‘He has to be. He’s an academic.’

‘How did you meet him?’

‘Liz introduced us a couple of years ago.’ I smiled,
remembering. ‘She took me to one of his lectures.’

‘Not
Nature or Nurture
?’

‘I have to confess I haven’t read his book but, yes, I think
it was. He told us about the international terrorists he’s interviewed.’

‘He’s interviewed terrorists?’ There was admiration in
Mike’s voice.

‘Some were serving prison sentences. He was deliberately
vague about the whereabouts of the others. But I must tell you, you’ll laugh at
this, he was recounting the story of how he’d lost his passport somewhere in
the Middle East, and was being held overnight in this hole of a prison. You
know he has this cowlick in his hair? Well, he reached up to push it back, and
his glasses went flying into the front row. It was the look on his face. I
nearly wet myself. But he just went down into the audience, cool as you like. Some
bloke had leapt out of his seat and caught them, and Harry asked him if he
wanted to join the university cricket team. Then he carried on with his talk as
though nothing had happened.’

Mike grinned. ‘Got to admit it, he has flair.’

Right on cue, Harry arrived. His clothes were usually the
stuff of television makeovers, but he was dressed more soberly today in a navy
suit that was so old, the style was coming back. He was wearing a
blue-and-white spotted bow tie, the type my father called a ‘proper bow tie’
and not one of those ‘modern elasticated contraptions’. Expertly knotted, it
epitomised everything that Harry stood for.

‘Ah, you’re here, children,’ he said. ‘Let me get myself a
drink.’ He caught the waiter’s eye.

I wondered whether I should broach the subject of Bibby and
his funding, but this was hardly the time. Better to wait till we were alone.

‘Tell me now, Harry, what’s it like being an academic?’ said
Mike. ‘Is it really all croquet and cucumber sandwiches?’

‘Good Lord, no. But it is wonderful, a life of great
variety. There’s teaching, which I love – all those fresh young minds. And then
there’s research. I would have to be honest, however, and say it’s research
that keeps me in academia.’

‘So what’s the attraction?’

He polished his spectacles. ‘It enables me to travel and
meet people, not just academics, but from all walks of life. I’ve met
terrorists, and been in a couple of tight spots. Occasionally I’m asked to do a
spot of research for the police, and sometimes I have to testify in court. And
then there are the book deals.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Unbelievably
lucrative.’

Mike laughed. ‘Haven’t you ever had a proper job, Harry?’

I closed my eyes, embarrassed at his gaucheness.

‘Like what, dear boy?’ Harry said quietly.

‘Doing what Maggie does, for example.’

I threw him a look, annoyed he’d dragged me and my job into
the conversation.

‘Ah, the money.’ Harry eyed me appreciatively. ‘Never
understood it. It’s outwith the orbit of an academic, I’m afraid.’ Harry’s
views on how the rest of the world made a living were well-known to Liz and
myself, but he never missed an opportunity to articulate them to others. ‘If
you want to know what God thinks about money, Mike, look at the sort of people
he’s given it to.’

Mike grinned. ‘Game, set, and match, Harry.’

I glanced at my watch. ‘Does anyone know where Liz is?’

‘She’s in the computer room, talking to the twins,’ said
Harry. ‘She said she’d meet us in the restaurant.’

‘That’s a long time to be on the phone.’

‘She’s speaking via the computer, my dear. Some whizzo
Internet trickery that allows her to see the twins as she speaks.’

‘I didn’t know they had computers,’ said Mike. ‘There’s just
time to check my e-mail before dinner. See you all later.’ He rose hurriedly
and left the room.

I caught Harry’s eye.

‘Yes,’ he said, smiling, ‘I suspect the attraction is not
the computers, but the lovely Liz.’ The smile faded. ‘But if he breaks her
heart, I’ll kill him.’

I put a hand on his arm. ‘There’s something I need to talk
to you about, Harry.’ I hesitated. This was going to be difficult. ‘I’ve been
speaking with Marcellus Bibby.’

He looked startled. ‘Have you indeed?’ he said faintly.

‘He and Wilson were in Stockholm last week, promoting some
new initiative.’

‘I know about that.’

‘You do?’

‘The Bibby Foundation keeps us abreast of new enterprises.
They’re good that way. There was a big write-up in the autumn newsletter about
this Stockholm event.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘I must admit, I rather dragooned
you and Liz into choosing this week for the holiday. You see, I had intended to
pop over to Stockholm and arrange a meeting with Wilson Bibby.’

So that was why he’d cancelled Rome. My breath came out in a
rush. ‘A meeting, Harry. But why?’

‘I need to persuade him to continue funding my research. I
thought that a face-to-face, where I could thrall him with the force of my
argument, would clinch it. I was going to give him a signed copy of my book.’ A
look of sadness crossed his face. ‘As you saw at the airport, I rather blew it.
I was caught on the hop, I simply didn’t expect to see him there. But I had to
speak to him because I thought it might be my only chance. He could have been
jetting off anywhere.’ He patted my hand. ‘Still, not to worry. I’m sure no
irreparable harm was done.’

‘Oh Harry,’ I moaned, ‘I don’t know how to tell you this.’

He smiled kindly. ‘Tell me what, my dear.’

I scrolled through the phrases I could use, but there was
going to be no easy way. ‘Wilson is re-organising the Bibby Foundation. He
intends to drop some things the Foundation supports. Research will be one of
them. He said that
–
’ I stopped, seeing the
look on Harry’s face.

He was leaning forward, his eyes devouring mine. ‘He’s
cutting support for research? Are you sure that’s what he said? You couldn’t
have misunderstood?’

‘Marcellus was quite clear.’ I clutched his arm, alarmed at
his despair. ‘But it’s not definite. Wilson still has to get his Board’s
approval, and they won’t like it.’

‘I’m not surprised. There are leading academics on the
governing body, many of whom I know personally. But I wonder why I haven’t
heard about this. There was nothing in the newsletter.’

‘I had the impression Wilson’s told no-one yet. Marcellus
said that, if it happens, it won’t be till next year. It isn’t the end of the
world, Harry. It leaves you time to find another source of funding.’

He was struggling to keep himself under control. ‘I very
much doubt it. I try every year, and the Bibby Foundation is the only
organisation that gives me a grant.’

‘What about applying for government funding? I would have
thought, with all the terrorism – ’

‘I’ve tried that avenue, but there’s simply too much
competition. No, there’s no point applying elsewhere. I’ll have to start a
completely new line of research, which won’t be easy at my age. And, whatever
my colleagues say, I’m not ready for a pipe-and-slippers life yet,’ he added
defiantly.

‘Oh no, Harry,’ I murmured.

He dropped his head. ‘I must admit this is a body-blow I
hadn’t expected.’

I squeezed his hand, anguished, unable to think of anything to
say.

He sat slumped, face slack, mouth half open, probably
wondering which sleight of hand could make this disappear, like one of his
carnations.

‘Come on, Harry.’ I guided him
gently to his feet. ‘Time for dinner.’

The dining room was on the first
floor. A large warm room, it was decorated in the same cream and maroon colours
as the rest of the Excelsior. The single picture window was framed with silk
curtains that pooled the floor in a swirl of cream. Nothing could be seen
through the glass, except the Icehotel, visible as a ghostly imprint against
the dark sky.

Our group was seated at the long table that ran the length
of the room. We were all present. All except the Bibbys – they had a private
table at the window, and were conversing across a couple of bottles of wine.
Wilson seemed to be doing all the talking. And all the drinking. He looked
relaxed in a brown sweater and tan slacks. Marcellus was wearing designer army
camouflage clothes.

Harry was seated opposite me, with Liz beside him and Mike
on her other side.

He let out another button of his waistcoat. ‘I’d never
appreciated the taste of reindeer before, but that casserole was delicious.’

Good food was guaranteed to lift Harry’s spirits. I was now
bitterly regretting having told him about Wilson’s funding decision. It would
have been better to have left him in a state of happy delusion, and waited till
our return before bursting his bubble. Poor Harry. That he was so dependent on
charity for his research explained his ingratiating behaviour at the airport.
But what had taken me completely by surprise was his throw-away comment about
his plan to visit Wilson. Yet the Icehotel had been Liz’s choice of venue. Had
Harry conspired with her to ensure that we chose to come to Sweden? Could he
have been so manipulative? No, I was sure Liz would have told me. Harry had
just seen an opportunity and taken it. And it had now come to nothing.

Dessert arrived, a concoction of loganberries and ice cream,
served in individual ice dishes.

‘You have to eat it quickly,’ said an unfamiliar voice, ‘or
the ice will melt.’

The voice was sitting to my immediate right. It was the
fair-haired man I’d seen in the gym with Mike.

He smiled broadly. ‘My name is Jonas,’ he said, pronouncing
it, Yonas. ‘Jonas Madsen,’ he added.

‘Maggie Stewart.’

He held the dish to his chin and shovelled the spoon into
his mouth. His hands were as big as plates, the wiry hairs standing on his
fingers like bristles. His hair was that shade of red that glints with gold;
although long, it was thinning on top, and the pink scalp was showing. From the
side, his face was so fleshy that his eyes disappeared into his head, like
currants in a lump of pink dough.

‘Is this your first time at the Icehotel?’ he said. His
words were slightly slurred. Empty beer bottles littered the table in front of
him.

‘Yes, I’m here with friends.’ I dipped my spoon into the
loganberries. ‘But you said, “first time”. Have you slept in the Icehotel
before?’

‘When you’ve done it once, you want to do it again.’ He
turned his head. ‘A bit like sex.’ He smiled directly at me. ‘In fact, a lot
like sex.’ He glanced at my breasts. His eyes glazed over and he began to sway.
For a second, I thought he was going to fall face
down onto the table,
but he blinked hard a few times and kept
himself upright.