the east, heading for Barösund.
He was standing in the inlet waiting for her to round the headland. She was rowing now, with the sail furled round the mast.
They beached the boat and he fastened a rope round one of the big stones.
'She's completely dry. Shipping no water at all. Did you see that I was talking to you?'
'Yes, but I couldn't understand what you were saying.'
'You will do next time.'
'What about that cargo boat?'
'It's on its way here.'
They walked up the path to the cottage. Spring flowers were starting to appear, moss campion and sand couch.
'It's a sailor from Aland,' she said. 'He always comes here in the spring. He says he knows when the sea is open. In fact, I think he hangs around in one of the pools where the ice never forms.'
'What do you mean, pools?'
'Holes in the ice. That never freeze over.'
He had never heard of any such thing before. 'Have you seen them?'
'How on earth could I have seen them? But others have. They are like big gills in the ice. The sea has to breathe when it's covered in ice. This man who's on his way here, ask him, his name's Olaus, he usually rows over to the island and asks if I need anything from civilisation. Or if I have any letters he can post for me.'
'Letters?' He looked at her in surprise.
'Olaus is a nice man. He thinks there might be somebody for me to write to. He thinks he's doing me a favour when he offers to post letters for me.'
They went into the cottage.
1 have a letter,' he said.
'I haven't seen you writing anything.'
'I haven't written it yet. Now that I know there's somebody who could post it, I can write it.'
'Who do you have to write to?'
'The hydrographic engineers, my superiors in Stockholm. I have various observations to report.'
'What have you seen that I haven't seen?'
That made him angry, but he did not show it. When she had gone outside he took writing paper and an envelope from one of the rucksacks and sat down at the table. He found it difficult to produce the words.
The letter was one long prevarication. It was about why it had been posted on the east coast and not from the part of Sweden where he was supposed to be. Complications, sudden changes of plan, tasks that had been cancelled, all of them secret. He ought not really to send this letter, but he was writing it even so. He would soon be going back to the fortress in Karlsborg; no doubt by the time she received this letter he would have left the melting ice of the Baltic Sea.
He finished by saying: 'I'll soon be home again. Nothing is fixed, but it will be before summer. I'm always thinking of you and the baby'
* * *
He went over to the window and looked at the woman outside.
For one brief moment the faces fused, one half was Kristina Tacker's, the eyes, the hair and the forehead were Sara Fredrika's.
She came in and sat down on the bed.
'Read it to me.'
'Why?'
'I've always dreamed of receiving a letter one day.'
'It's secret.'
'Who is there I could tell it to?'
He unfolded the paper and read aloud: '"The ice has melted away, the channels are navigable once more, meteorological forecasts suggest lower water levels and an increased risk of mines drifting into our waters. No sightings of foreign warships. Lars Tobiasson-Svartman."'
'Is that all?'
'I only write the bare minimum.'
'What's secret about that? Ice and water levels? I don't know what mines are.'
'Mines are a sort of iron driftwood that can explode. They blow ships and people to pieces.'
'Can't you write a letter to me?'
'I shall write a letter to you. If you leave the room. I have to be alone when I write.'
She left him alone. He sealed the letter to his wife and then wrote a couple of lines to Sara Fredrika.
'I'm so happy at the thought of having a child, after the tragic loss of my daughter Laura. I'm dreaming of the day when we can go away together'.
He did not sign the letter, but put it into the envelope and sealed it.
To Sara Fredrika. Halsskär.
CHAPTER 133
The man whose name was Olaus lay to anchor north of the skerry and rowed into the inlet. He was an old man with stiff joints who showed no sign of surprise when he saw Tobiasson-Svartman. It was a short visit, a sailor had gone ashore to make sure that the