disagreement. Over all the years they had been inseparable. Sometimes they had
furious clashes, but their arguments were always about business matters, and they
would invariably resolve all those issues before they hugged each other and went
back to their corners. Or to bed. Last autumn had not been fun, and now it was as if
a great gulf had opened up between them. Malm wondered if he was watching the
beginning of the end of Millennium.
“I don’t have a choice,” Blomkvist said. “We don’t have a choice.”
He poured himself a coffee and sat at the kitchen table. Berger shook her head and
sat down facing him.
“What do you think, Christer?” she said.
He had been expecting the question and dreading the moment when he would
have to take a stand. He was the third partner, but they all knew that it was
Blomkvist and Berger who were Millennium. The only time they asked his advice
was when they could not agree.
“Honestly,” Malm said, “you both know perfectly well it doesn’t matter what I
think.”
He shut up. He loved making pictures. He loved working with graphics. He had
never considered himself an artist, but he knew he was a damned good designer.
On the other hand, he was helpless at intrigue and policy decisions.
Berger and Blomkvist looked at each other across the table. She was cool and
furious. He was thinking hard.
This isn’t an argument, Malm thought. It’s a divorce.
“OK, let me present my case one last time,” Blomkvist said. “This does not mean I’ve
given up on Millennium. We’ve spent too much time working our hearts out for
that.”
“But now you won’t be at the office—Christer and I will have to carry the load. Can’t
you see that? You’re the one marching into self-imposed exile.”
“That’s the second thing. I need a break, Erika. I’m not functioning anymore. I’m
burned out. A paid sabbatical in Hedestad might be exactly what I need.”