The Ice Princess. Camilla Lackberg

      

      CAMILLA LACKBERG

       The Ice Princess

      Translated from the Swedish by

      Steven T. Murray

      Copyright

      Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

      1 London Bridge Street

      London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2008

      Copyright © Camilla Lackberg 2004

      Published by agreement with Bengt Nordin Agency, Sweden

      English translation © Steven T. Murray 2007

      Cover design by Heike Schüssler © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

      Cover photographs © Aleah Ford/Arcangel (woman); Shutterstock (ice)

      Fjällbacka map by Andrew Ashton © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2008

      Camilla Lackberg asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

      This is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

      Source ISBN: 9780007416189

      Ebook Edition © FEBRUARY 2009 ISBN: 9780007313693

      Version: 2017-08-03

      Dedication

       For Wille

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       Copyright

       Dedication

       Map

       Chapter 1

       Chapter 2

       Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       The Preacher

       About the Author

       Also by the Author

       About the Publisher

      1

       The house was desolate and empty. The cold penetrated into every corner. A thin sheet of ice had formed in the bathtub. She had begun to take on a slightly bluish tinge.

       He thought she looked like a princess lying there. An ice princess.

       The floor he was sitting on was ice cold, but the chill didn’t bother him. He reached out his hand and touched her.

       The blood on her wrists had congealed long ago.

       His love for her had never been stronger. He caressed her arm, as if he were caressing the soul that had now left her body.

       He didn’t look back when he left. It was not ‘good-bye’, it was ‘until we meet again’.

      Eilert Berg was not a happy man. His breathing was strained and his breath came out of his mouth in little white puffs, but his health was not what he considered his biggest problem.

      Svea had been so gorgeous in her youth, and he had hardly been able to stand the wait before he could get her into the bridal bed. She had seemed tender, affectionate, and a bit shy. Her true nature had come out after a period of youthful lust that was far too brief. She had put her foot down and kept him on a tight leash for close to fifty years. But Eilert had a secret. For the first time, he saw an opportunity for a little freedom in the autumn of his years and he did not intend to squander it.

      He had toiled hard as a fisherman all his life, and the income had been just enough to provide for Svea and the children. After he retired they had only their meagre pensions to live on. With no money in his pocket there was no chance of starting his life over somewhere else, alone. Now this opportunity had appeared like a gift from above, and it was laughably easy besides. But if someone wanted to pay him a shameless amount of money for a few hours’ work each week, that wasn’t his problem. He wasn’t about to complain. The banknotes in the wooden box behind the compost heap had piled up impressively in only a year, and soon he would have enough to be able to move to warmer climes.

      He stopped to catch his breath on the last steep approach to the house and massaged his arthritic hands. Spain, or maybe Greece, would thaw the chill that seemed to come from deep inside him. Eilert reckoned that he had at least ten years left before it would be time to turn up his toes, and he intended to make the most of them, so he’d be damned if he’d spend them at home with that old bitch.

      His daily walk in the early morning hours had been his only time spent in peace and quiet; it also meant that he got some much-needed exercise. He always took the same route, and people who knew his habits would often come out and have a chat. He particularly enjoyed talking with the pretty girl in the house farthest up the hill by the Håkebacken school. She was there only on weekends, always alone, but she was happy to take the time to talk about the weather. Miss Alexandra was interested in Fjällbacka in the old days as well, and this was a topic that Eilert enjoyed