her for as long as her guardian was Holger Palmgren; if the need arose, she could
wrap him around her little finger.
With the appearance of Nils Bjurman, the declaration of incompetence threatened
to become a troublesome burden in her life. No matter who she turned to, pitfalls
would open up; and what would happen if she lost the battle? Would she be
institutionalised? Locked up? There was really no option.
Later that night, when Cecilia Vanger and Blomkvist were lying peacefully with
their legs intertwined and Cecilia’s breasts resting against his side, she looked up at
him.
“Thank you. It’s been a long time. And you’re not bad.”
He smiled. That sort of flattery was always childishly satisfying.
“It was unexpected, but I had fun.”
“I’d be happy to do it again,” Cecilia said. “If you feel like it.”
He looked at her.
“You don’t mean that you’d like to have a lover, do you?”
“An occasional lover,” Cecilia said. “But I’d like you to go home before you fall
asleep. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow morning and find you here before I
manage to do my exercises and fix my face. And it would be good if you didn’t tell
the whole village what we’ve been up to.”
“Wouldn’t think of it,” Blomkvist said.
“Most of all I don’t want Isabella to know. She’s such a bitch.”
“And your closest neighbour...I’ve met her.”
“Yes, but luckily she can’t see my front door from her house. Mikael, please be
discreet.”
“I’ll be discreet.”