When I got off the train in Frederikshavn, my abdomen throbbed not with the froth of anticipation I’d once felt when arriving in a new place, but with a dull ball of weight, like uncooked dough. I went to the address Kristine had sent. She opened the door, saying, “It’s only me,” and I dropped my bags, hugged her. When we let go, she rubbed my arms. “It’s okay.” I believed her. “I’ll help you settle in. We’re the only people here.”
“Whose home is this?”
“My employers in Aalborg. This is one of their residences. I told them that I had a family matter, and they offered me the use of the apartment while I’m here.”
“They just let you leave, on such short notice?”
“They’re good employers – and I’m the best personal secretary my lady is likely to ever hire. Besides, everyone understands fami
