‘A ring?’ her grandmother asked, her voice much quieter than usual. ‘Does it have any engravings on it, or any particular markings? Is there anything that links it to me or our family?’
Charlotte took it off her finger and turned it over and over again, peering at the ring. ‘Nothing that I can see. But it has a very modest solitaire diamond set within the gold, and the band is very small.’
She put the ring back on her little finger and picked up the box again, her eyes widening as she saw something familiar.
‘Is there anything else in there?’
‘There’s a piece of fabric, an emblem, of the coat of arms of Norway,’ she said. Charlotte traced her thumb over the golden lion as it stared back at her from the red background. The emblem also bore a golden crown and an axe with a silver blade, and just seeing it gave her a pain in her heart as she longed for the country of her birth. ‘And I think there’s a photo at the bottom, too.’
Charlotte set aside the fabric and lifted out the carefully folded photo, frowning when she opened it and saw how damaged it was from the fold down the centre. But the two people in the image were almost perfectly preserved, and she gasped when she saw the woman.
‘Lotte? What is it?’
She swallowed, not blinking as she stared at the faded photograph in her hand.
‘Lotte?’ her grandmother asked again. ‘Tell me what you’ve found.’
Charlotte cleared her throat. ‘Grandma, there’s a photo of a very young woman and a man of a similar age. I could be wrong, but it looks like they’re standing outside the hotel at the Sognefjord, the one you took us to when we were children.’
‘Well, that’s more than a coincidence,’ her grandmother started.
‘Grandma, the woman in the photograph, she looks…’ Charlotte held it even closer to her face, hardly able to believe what she was looking at. ‘She looks just like you, but I don’t recognise the man.’
Charlotte turned the photo over, finding carefully printed words on the back as a shiver ran down her spine. If there had been any doubt as to her family’s connection to this little box, the name staring back at her immediately put an end to them.
‘The photo, it has your mother’s name written on it. It says Amalie, 1950.’
Her grandmother was so quiet on the other end that Charlotte had to check she was still there. Everyone had always said that her grandmother was the spitting image of Charlotte’s great-grandmother when she was younger, and although her own hair was lighter, more auburn like her mother’s, Charlotte herself had inherited those same dark brown eyes.
‘Grandma?’
‘It certainly appears that the box has found its intended family,’ she said. ‘And you’re certain it’s the hotel at the fjord?’
Charlotte nodded, still staring at the photo. ‘I’m certain. I know we only went there once, but I’ve never forgotten it.’
‘Well, I think that’s enough mystery for one night,’ her grandmother said. ‘You’ll keep these things safe until we can figure out what they all mean?’
‘Of course,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’m too intrigued not to take good care of them.’
They said goodbye, and when Charlotte ended the call, she picked up the box and carried it to her kitchen table. Then she poured herself a glass of wine and sat back to stare at the items from the box again, feeling overwhelmingly protective of young Amalie in the photo. She had a gnawing feeling in her stomach that Amalie might not be here for much longer, that they might not have long to find out what the clues meant. Because one thing was for sure: someone in her family had been lying about something in their past for this box to resurface so mysteriously all these years later.
Charlotte sipped the last of her wine and then tucked each of the clues back into their little box, placing them in the exact order she’d taken them out. Then she rose to go up to bed, flicking out the kitchen light, but having second thoughts, she picked the box up and took it with her, deciding to place it on her bedside table. For some reason, she wanted the box close to her, and she didn’t know whether it was for safekeeping or because it had reminded her of how much she missed home, how much she wanted to see her grandmother and Amalie, too. Regardless, she liked glancing over and seeing it there as she changed into her pyjamas; it was oddly comforting having something related to her family nearby.
Why are you in that photo, Amalie? What secrets have you been hiding all these years?
And as she slipped beneath the covers, Charlotte had a feeling that no matter how tired she was from such a long day, those questions were going to run through her mind all night. As was the temptation to book a ticket to Norway in the morning just so she could hold her grandmother in her arms and inhale the sweet, flowery scent of her perfume.
The first thing Charlotte did when she woke up the next day was sit bolt upright, reaching for her phone to check the time, before realising that she hadn’t slept in because she didn’t have to get to work. She lay back down, checking her messages and the news on her phone, before stretching and heading into the kitchen to make a coffee. She took a hesitant sip and burnt her bottom lip as she sank into a chair, waiting for her emails to load on her phone. And then she almost sloshed the hot coffee all over herself when she saw the first unopened email.
She stared at it for a minute before opening it, forgetting all about her coffee as her eyes raced across the words.
Dear Charlotte,
You might remember meeting my wife and me when we dined at Velluto earlier this year. You mentioned your contract there ending soon, and I’d like to personally invite you to visit our exciting new hotel in Oslo. It just so happens that we’re in need of an executive chef, with opening less than a month away now, and I have a feeling you might be exactly the right person for the job. I very much hope you can visit us this week or next, your schedule permitting, of course.
Regards,
Daniel Hatton, Executive Manager, Nordic Hotel Group
