The receptionist smiled at Else as she passed. “Feeling better?”
“Much better. Thank you.”
Her feet longed to run, escape, fly away, but she had to look like an innocent patient.
Else pushed her bicycle outside, gave her surroundings a nonchalant sweep, and pedaled home at her usual pace. Although she took a zigzagging route.
The sight of Fru Riber’s charming boardinghouse lifted a weight from her chest, but she checked one last time for anyone she’d seen earlier on the route.
None, thank goodness, and she pushed her bike inside. Since the students had returned to their homes for the summer, fewer bikes rested under the stairs.
Else trotted up two flights to her room, where she deposited her briefcase, her coat, and her tension. She’d done it. She’d printed and delivered her papers again. And she walked free.
Her stomach gurgled, and she went downstairs for a late dinner. She and Laila saved plates for Hemming and for each other.
In the living room, Fru Riber closed the blackout curtains, part of her evening routine. She frowned at Else. “Late again.”
“I’m sorry, Fru. I had a breakthrough at the lab, and time flew.”
In the kitchen, the oven door banged shut. Darling Laila.
Else entered the dining room. “Thank you, Lai—”
Hemming stepped out of the kitchen carrying a plate. “Good evening.”
She stopped short. “Good evening.”
He set the plate at her spot. “I heard you come in. Laila’s plate is in the oven.”
Darling Hemming! He kept stomping down the hedge around her crush. “How kind of you.”
“You three,” Fru Riber called from the living room. “Always late.”
“I’m sorry.” Else couldn’t promise to do better in the future, when she wouldn’t.
Chair legs scraped on the floor. Hemming held out Else’s chair in a gallant gesture.
She sank into her seat and smiled up at him. “Thank you. Would you like to join me? I know you’ve already eaten.”
He gave a gruff nod and sat across from her, tall and straight. Then he slouched.
Else bowed her head to say grace and to conceal her smile. Hemming was a curiosity. Most people, when caught slouching, sat up straight. Hemming, when caught in perfect posture, slouched.
He fiddled with the long sleeves of his chambray work shirt. “How was your day?”
“It was wonderful.” She described her breakthrough as best she could without numbers, formulae, or scientific concepts—which wasn’t very well. But Hemming murmured at the right points. He especially smiled when she described Mortensen’s reaction.
Footsteps dashed into the dining room. Laila flung up one hand and pressed her other hand to her chest in a dramatic pose. “‘Shall we their fond pageant see?’” she quoted in English. “‘Lord, what fools these mortals be!’”
Shakespeare’sA Midsummer Night’s Dream, and Else chuckled. “Very appropriate.”
“Yes, very.” Hemming stood and headed into the kitchen. “I’ll get your plate.”
Else inclined her head and stared at his retreating back. He couldn’t have understood either the English or the Shakespearean reference. But then, how many times had she laughed at a joke she hadn’t understood in order to fit in?
“He saved my plate?” Laila sat next to Else.
“Mine too. Wasn’t that sweet?”
