Page 132 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt

I placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘I do not doubt you would, given the opportunity. But there is no need. If you continue to work hard and please Mr and Mrs Hoffman, I assure you that there will be no financial barrier to you furthering your education.’

‘Thank you, Mr Tanit! Thank you!’ Georg squealed in delight.

‘The same, of course, applies to you, Claudia. Are you enjoying school?’

She looked a little diffident. ‘I find some of the lessons a bit difficult. My French is not as good as my brother’s.’

‘Yet,’ I told her with a wink. ‘Keep going.’ I put my hands out. ‘It has been very good to catch up and see you all, but I’m afraid I must leave now. Continue to behave for Mr and Mrs Hoffman, children.’ I shook Georg’s hand, and Claudia rather surprised me by enveloping me in a hug.

Mr and Mrs Hoffman walked me to the front door. ‘What you do for the children really is wonderful, Mr Tanit,’ Mr Hoffman said, putting a steadying hand on my back.

‘Please, do call me Atlas. And I cannot stress it enough, you are the ones who should be thanked.’

‘Well, that’s as may be, but I think there are few in this life who would use their inheritance to finance the lives of two orphans. Two complete strangers. You were motivated by nothing other than kindness, and that is something to be celebrated.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, a lump coming to my throat.

After settling my affairs with Eric Kohler, which involved putting him in touch with Ralph Mackenzie to organise the secure transfer of my well-stuffed Australian bank account, I finally signed the last documents which would grant me citizenship.

The reader may well ask themselves about my fear of bumping into Kreeg Eszu during the retracing of my steps across Europe. However, I must confess that the fear was virtually non-existent. You will already know from these pages that, without Elle, I hold no regard for my own life. I am totally driven by my quest, and nothing else. I will succeed, or I will die trying.

The Newcastle to Bergen ferry was a choppy experience, but mercifully quick, and we were docked within twenty-four hours. Of all my return visits, this was the one I had been dreading most. What could I possibly say to Astrid and Horst after the unimaginable tragedy they had experienced? This worry was compounded by the prospect of looking once again into little Felix’s eyes and seeing his pain. As a result, I had ensured to medicate with a bottle of whisky during the crossing.

I knew I had to stick to my task. If Elle had returned anywhere, Bergen seemed the most obvious choice. Karine had been her best friend, and the Halvorsens like a family tous. I made the familiar trudge up from the harbour to the hills, where the cottage which had once housed us still stood.

I knocked on the door. ‘Ett minutt!’ came the reply. I waited for a moment, bracing myself for a difficult interaction.

Astrid soon appeared. She looked so much older. Her once rosy cheeks had sagged, and the thick blonde hair I remembered was now scraggly and grey. As she slowly recognised me, her eyes widened, and began to glisten with tears.

‘Hello, Bo,’ she said.

‘Astrid – words will never be able to describe how sorry I am that—’ Before I could finish my sentence, Astrid had thrown her arms around me, and squeezed me so tightly that the air left my lungs.

‘Horst! Horst!’ she cried, dragging me by the hand into the house.

Pip’s father appeared from around a corner at the end of the hallway, and did a double take. ‘Could it be... Bo D’Aplièse?’ he stuttered.

‘Hello, old friend.’ Horst now walked with a stick. He slowly made his way over to me and embraced me too. He tapped my chest with his cane. ‘It is good to see you, not-so-young man!’

‘Please, sit down! I will brew some tea! Do you still like English breakfast?’ Before I could reply, Astrid had pottered off to the tiny kitchen. I followed Horst into the living room, which had not changed even slightly in the decade I had been away.

‘Horst,’ I began, ‘I am unable to express my sorrow for—’ He raised his stick in the air to stop me.

‘Please. We do not talk of it. Everyone in Bergen knows what we have been through. When we pass them in the street, their faces are filled with pity and sorrow. We have had enough of that for one lifetime.’

‘I understand,’ I replied apologetically.

Horst eased himself into his armchair, and gestured for me to sit too. ‘So, tell me of your life, Bo! How is that arm of yours? Are you now a cellist for the London Symphony Orchestra?’

It had been so long since I had even thought of my cello. ‘Alas, no, I regret to say that I am not. I am without pain now, but after only a few minutes of sustained activity, the arm becomes stiff. I have accepted that I will never be a virtuoso.’

Horst looked downhearted. ‘What a terrible waste. I had high hopes for you. So, how have you spent the last decade?’ I told him of High Weald, and Arthur Morston Books, and Australia. ‘My goodness, Bo! Opal mining! I never would have guessed that the sweet, timid boy I knew ten years ago might become the head of such a big operation! But life provides interesting twists and turns. As long as you and Elle are happy. Where is she, by the way? Here in Bergen with you?’

I cast my eyes to the floor. ‘No, Horst, she is not. It is the reason I am here – to look for her. I am guessing by what you have just asked that she has not been to Bergen in the last two years?’

‘No,’ he said with concern. ‘Has something happened between you? When you were here with us, you seemed so in love. We were sure that marriage was not far away.’

I swallowed hard. ‘I thought that too. But I have had no contact with her for two years now.’