The following day was Saturday, but that didn't really matter. Things were already taking too long as it was, so I wouldn't make it worse by allowing myself to have a break during the weekend.
It seemed Ulrik wasn't one to stop working either, as he came into the kitchen in a full suit, ready for another long day of conference calls and being a remote CEO. This serious businessman thing was getting to me hard. I enjoyed watching him sip his coffee in the morning while his intense eyes were focused on some article on his tablet. It was a big difference from the fuckboys I'd known before. And the fact that his clothes were fitted to perfection made him ridiculously alluring. Even fully dressed as he was, I could guess at his broad shoulders, the muscular swells of his pecs, the narrowing of his waist... If I were an artist, I'd want to immortalize him this way, so remarkably himself.
As usual, he disappeared into his office once we were done, and I descended the stairs to the gallery. Upon entering the reserve, I was reminded of my utter failure at keeping up. By the time I'd have to catch my plane on Tuesday, three days from now, I'd have gone over a third of his collection—if not less, given the scrolls, manuscripts, and codex I hadn't started with yet.
I'd need an extension, and I wasn't too happy about that. Ian didn't mind if I stayed a little longer, and it was my understanding that Mullins wouldn't care either. I would have to speak about it with Ulrik, though, to make sure it was fine by him. Maybe if it became too much for him, I could find myself another place to stay, so he'd regain his beloved tranquility. It wouldn't be a bad thing for us to stay out of each other's personal space.
To make up for the fact that I'd probably have to extend my stay, I worked hard the entire morning. I photographed, filed, and organized an entire shelving unit. My ankle was still a little sore, so I made sure not to overwork it. It would be tender for a few more days, so no jogging in the woods for a while.
I was very proud of myself when the lunch bell chimed. If I could keep up this pace, I'd only need one extra week of work, instead of three. That was good news, and it alleviated some of the pressure resting on my shoulders.
Ulrik was abnormally silent during lunch, visibly preoccupied. I might have taken it personally and think it was because of me, but given how he checked on his phone several times per minute, I deduced it was an outside inconvenience. Nothing to do about me and what had happened to us the day before.
He was just done eating when his phone buzzed on the table. I vaguely saw that it was an email, which he read with frowned brows and a bothered look. "Apologies, but I need to get back to work. As always, it was delicious, Yuko."
With his phone in hand and a scowl on his handsome face, he left with haste. I watched until he disappeared at the turn to his office, and turned back to Yuko. "That looked like bad news," I told her with a grimace.
With a gesture of her hand, she dismissed it, indicating this wasn't a rare occurrence. "He get three bad news every month. He will be fine."
A smile stretched my lips at her detachment. She must have seen it all in her days of serving him. As always, I helped her with clearing the table, and since I was quick enough this time around, I got to do the dishes instead of her.
Ever since I'd arrived, I'd done my best to keep my stuff tidy to not give her an excuse to do more work. My bedroom was immaculate, and I spent five minutes every morning making my bed perfectly. It was amusing to think she probably thought me to be a very neat person, when I was kind of a slob—my bedroom at home had never been as immaculate as this one.
I was finishing up with the pot when a phone rang on the other side of the kitchen. She went to pick it up, and I tried to follow what was going on. Since she used his name, I understood she was talking with Jakob, and it seemed he was canceling something. Yuko seemed upset when she hung up, and I went to her, drying my hands.
"Is everything good?" I asked her.
"Yes, it's okay. Jakob was supposed to drive me to town, but he has an issue."
"Oh... Nothing too bad, I hope?"
"His basement is, uh...with water."
"Flooded?"
"Yes, the rain is slipping in it."
"I guess it makes sense he can't move, then. Are you okay to go by yourself?"
A bit sheepish, she shook her head and came closer to me. "I don't drive very well, so I prefer not to anymore."
Well, at least she was aware of it and didn't cling on to her right to drive like I'd seen so many elderly people do. "Maybe Jakob will be available tomorrow," I offered.
"It will be closed tomorrow. But maybe Monday is good."
"Was it important?"
"Just blood work. And I also have some groceries to buy. But is okay."
Still, she seemed upset at this change of plans, and since it was for her health, I felt compelled to help out. Ulrik was obviously too busy to come through, so I was her only solution. "I could drive you, if you want," I suggested.
"No, you have work to do, Miss Mila."
"I don't mind at all. It would air out my head a little, do me some good."
She hesitated, gauging how sincere I was. In all truth, I should have stayed and worked, but not only did I want to help her, I also looked forward to going outside a little and seeing new faces. I missed Norway, and while my living situation was splendid, it wasn't an authentic experience.
"You sure?" she asked, dubious.
"Yes, absolutely. I've been cooped up in here for too long."
After a few more seconds of pondering, she eventually nodded. "I will bring dessert to Mister Ulrik, and ask if it's good with him."
With her natural efficiency, she took out the lemon cake she'd made this morning and cut two generous slices from it, before setting them in two small plates. She added a spoonful of lemon curd over it, and some kind of cream next to it. With a kind smile on her face, she handed me a plate and then went after Ulrik with the other.
I sat back at the table and ate my dessert. Ugh... It was so good, per usual. Why did it feel like I was cheating on Gigi? Her cooking was just as good as Yuko's, so I wasn't entirely cheating by enjoying it, was I? Ulrik's cooking, on the other hand...
Yuko came back, and just with her content grin, I knew she'd gotten a positive answer from him. After half an hour of putting away my things and warning the team back in London that I wouldn't be available for a few hours, we headed down to the lowest level of the house, which I'd never been in.
There, I found the one in which he'd driven me back here from the airport, as well as other luxurious cars that probably cost what I earned in several years. There were also many old, vintage cars, one of which must have been from the 30s. So, he wasn't only collecting Viking artifacts, but also cars? The man had expensive tastes. There were a few motorcycles as well there, and I imagined Ulrik riding them, which made my brain overheat again.
"Uh, which one should we take?" I asked Yuko, standing by the more modern cars.
"We take this, or this, or this." She'd pointed at the Benz™, the Tesla™, and the Porsche™.
After I'd picked the latter, which was the most familiar one, Yuko went to pick up the keys in a secured panel, and handed them to me.
Well, I wasn't used to driving overly expensive cars. Actually, I wasn't used to driving at all, since I hadn't owned a car in half a decade. It was like riding a bike, right? You never forget. And I got to drive now and then, when I visited my father in the States, so it would be fine.
Minutes later, we were on our way down the mountain, following the private road of the Westergaard Estate. Once we were at the gate, it took us half an hour to reach the small town Yuko needed to go to.
I parked at a small grocery store, proud of myself for my stellar driving. The car was particularly smooth, and the trip had been deprived of any mistakes on my part. Once we were inside, I pushed the cart behind Yuko, following her quick pace. It seemed she knew the place very well, as she navigated through the few aisles with ease. Sometimes, she would check on the list she'd written on a post-it, and then head straight to the shelf that held the item she sought.
Following her very specific instructions, I helped bag the goods once we were at the register, and then we walked back to the car, where I put everything in the trunk. Next stop was at a tiny post office pressed between two houses, where she needed to drop a few letters. On our way there, she explained that she maintained a rigorous correspondence with a few friends from all round the world, including Japan, the US, Argentina, England, and right here in Norway. Those were friends she'd met during her trips with the Westergaard family, and who wrote back with the same diligence.
The last stop was at a nurse practice, where she'd have her blood drawn so it could be sent to Trondheim to be analyzed there. She understandably wasn't overjoyed, but she was so detached about it, I gathered she was used to all these procedures. She still hadn't disclosed her health issues to me, so I couldn't use what Ulrik had told me in confidence. Although we didn't have much time left together, I hoped she'd feel comfortable enough with me to open up.
"I hope it's nothing bad," I told her as I parked.
"No, just normal test for a old woman like me."
"You're not that old," I said with a grin.
"I feel very, very old."
"Well, I hope to God to be as efficient and active as you are at your age. Heck, you walk faster than me; I had to run after you in the store. And you handle a place as big as the Westergaard house on your own, which is insane to me. You're a total badass, Yuko."
She giggled like a blushing teenager, touched by my compliments. I was still smiling when she opened the door and climbed down from her seat.
Since the weather had cleared, with patches of blue between the clouds, I exited the car too and decided to walk around as I waited for her to come back. This town was small, maybe two, three hundred people at most. But it had something authentic about it, definitely not the kind of place that was swarmed by tourists every year. The quaint houses and paved streets were charming, and everything was clean and well-maintained.
I was stopped by a bench to read the plate on it when a purring "Meow" came from behind me. The fluffy newcomer came all the way to me, and then body slammed my leg to pet itself on it.
"Hey there," I greeted the cat, squatting to lower to its level. Its fur was wet, and I gathered it might have gotten trapped outside. "Who are you?" I asked, grazing through its thick white fur to find a collar.
There was nothing there, but the cat loved the attention, so I kept petting it. Below the dense fur, I could tell it was just skin and bones, and it made my head twinge. It seemed young, no more than eight months, so I wondered for how long he'd been out there. I looked around and noticed a small alley with some dumpsters in the back, which was the direction he'd come from.
Was it a lost or abandoned cat? Was it living by itself near the bins, feeding itself off scraps? If that was the case, it probably wouldn't survive much longer, with the winter coming.
With my index and thumb, I looked for a microchip hidden under its skin. I was used to the process, and could usually find the device—the size of a grain of rice—in seconds. But there was nothing there, just like there had been no collar.
"Don't you have a home, little one?" I asked it, giving it scratches under its chin. It meowed again, its amber eyes half closed with delight. Adamant to find out where it came from, I walked away from it, toward the houses. The cat followed me as we passed by them, and I carefully kept my eyes on it. If we passed the door of its house, then I would be able to tell. But we reached the end of the street without a single indication that one of these houses was its own.
With a sigh, I picked it up, shocked to see how light it was. That poor little baby either fended for itself or it had a terrible owner. My heart melted when it began purring in my arms, probably thankful for the warmth I was communicating. Now that it was belly up, I noticed it was a little man.
I returned to the bench, faced the alley with the trash bins, and walked up to the closest house. Since it was Saturday, odds were that the owner was in there. Squaring my shoulders, I climbed the few steps that led to the door and knocked.