little story of yours exactly?” I ask.
Pippa dashes away her tears. “The story is out there now. If Mrs. Olson knows, chances are that other people know. And while you may not care about who I am, the royal press office is going to have a lot to say about me and how I can't be trusted. The story will get out one way or another. It would be better if I were the one to tell it to a friendly journalist.”
I stand up, feeling like the world is shifting beneath my feet. “Maybe you can't be trusted. I mean, for all I know, you're not Pippa or Sylvie or… whoever.”
She looks down on her the hands in her lap. “I'm sorry, Lars. Really I am. The only reason I didn't tell you before because it just seems… easier to forget who I used to be, I guess.”
Reminding myself to breathe, I walk to the huge glass window, looking out at the dark and city skyline. I have a million questions, I feel like. I try to go through them methodically, to sort out what I absolutely need to know right now. One thing that sticks out in my mind though.
I turn to her, a frown on my face. “You said my grandmother asked you about what I said and did?”
She swallows. “Well, mostly Mrs. Olson asked me. But yes, she asked me for reports on you. I refused, but she wouldn't let me go that easily. I told her as little as I felt I could.”
“Did you tell my grandmother about me trying to be an astronaut?”
Look of surprise on her face is complete. “Well, ja. I did. I thought that was kind of an open secret.”
“And did you tell her about any of my other job details? Any of my confidential conversations that I had with Royal Air Force personnel?”
Her cheeks flush. “I… I don't know. I don't I don't think so but… I could have. Is that important?”
My lips twist. “I don't know Pippa. I don't know about that. I just… I shake my head. I need to think. I need to… run or something.”
Heading to my closet, I grab a t-shirt, a pair of running pants, and a light windbreaker. I change quickly, my mind racing. When I leave my closet and return to my room, Pippa is sitting on my bed, tears in her eyes. She looks so sorrowful that I desperately want to wrap my arms around her.
But I don't. I can’t yet. I'm going on a run.
I just walk right by her, stalking out of the apartment, needing to clear my mind and digest all the information that I have just received. I head onto the darkened Copenhagen streets and push myself, running as fast and as far as I can handle for almost two hours. By the time I am jogging back into my apartment lobby, the sun has risen.
I’m fucking exhausted. I'm still not sure what I'm going to say to Pippa, but I am a lot more centered than I was two hours ago.
But when I get into my apartment, it's still and silent.
“Pippa,” I call. No response. “Pippa?”
But she is nowhere to be found. I grab my phone and try to call her but there is no answer there either.
Pippa Welch or Sylvie Martin or whoever she is… She's definitely not in this apartment anymore.
Fuck.
35
Pippa
I'm standing outside in the freezing cold, looking out over the frosty majesty of landscape. I don't know what exactly drew me to this skiing cabinet again. When I left Lars's house, tears streaming from my face, I had no place to go. I suppose that I came here because I only have good memories associated with this cabin.
But those good memories have driven me out onto the balcony, away from the memories of everything that happened in that bedroom, on the couch, on the dining room table…
I sniffle and blot at my eyes with my mittens, feeling like I've lost everything that I ever held dear. I turned off my phone the second that I left Lars’s place. The thing is that I know him pretty well and I think that he would have forgiven me eventually.
But I can't be a part of his life.
Not if my part in it is to be a marionette, my strings being pulled by his grandmother. Not in exchange for my sister being tied up in all of this.
I'm not even sure what I'm going to do now.