Broken by Karin Fossum Read Free Book Online Page A

trendy short haircut with a few blond highlights in it. Alvar nodded.
    “Norwegian born and bred,” he said. “Name’s Fritzwold. He paints landscapes. This is one of his most dramatic paintings. He usually paints mountain scenes, calm blue paintings with a great deal of harmony.”
    “I’m buying a painting for my living room,” the man said, “and I would like the painting to be a good investment. My point being that if it’s not going to go up in value, it’s of no interest.”
    Alvar moved forward very cautiously. He recognized the man’s attitude and prepared for battle.
    “But you like it?” he said lightly.
    “Christ, yeah,” the man said, moving closer. “Very, very good,” he muttered, nodding to himself. His eyes grew distant, as if he had disappeared into another room, and Alvar understood that he had mentally gone to his own living room, where this painting might hang one day. Now he was trying to visualize it. The ice-cold torrents of water cascading down his wall.
    “There are times when it is very important to make a good investment,” Alvar said in that light, amiable voice he always used. “However, it’s terribly important that you like the painting, that it gives you something unique. Always follow your heart,” he said, “don’t intellectualize the process. Remember, it’s a relationship for life—it might even be passed on to the next generation.”
    “It’s huge at any rate,” said the younger man. “It’s bound to create a stir.”
    Right, Alvar thought to himself. He wants attention, possibly from the guests who would enter his living room and see the roaring waterfall and clap their hands with excitement, then toast their host’s exquisite and dramatic taste.
    “Surely it’s possible to buy with your head as well your heart,” the man ventured, giving Alvar a challenging look. His eyes were blue and sharp.
    “Indeed it is,” agreed Alvar. “But the fact is that this painting is not primarily a good investment.”
    The young man fell silent for a moment, and his brows contracted while he thought hard. His eyes, however, could not bear to leave the colossal water masses on the wall.
    “So why isn’t it a good investment?” he demanded to know. His voice had acquired a sulking touch—he hated that things were not going his way. He had taken a fancy to the painting now and it felt as if his living room would be nothing without this work of art.
    “It will most certainly increase in value,” Alvar stated, “but not to the same extent as other paintings. Partly because it is not an oil painting,” he continued. “It’s an aquarelle and it has been painted using an opaque technique.”
    The man was taken aback but did not want to admit to his ignorance when it came to the visual arts.
    “I see.” He hesitated. “I was wondering why the painting was behind glass.”
    “Plexiglas,” Alvar said. “Regular glass would have been too heavy. And watercolors need more protection than oils.”
    “Watercolors?” He gave Alvar a confused look.
    “They’re sun-resistant,” Alvar said quickly, “but the painting ought to hang on a wall that is never exposed to direct sunlight.”
    Once again the man visualized his living room, as if to check out the light conditions.
    “A picture with glass is difficult to hang,” Alvar said calmly, “precisely because of the glass. I’m only telling you this now so that you have all the information.”
    The man had fallen silent. He squirmed a little and seemed troubled at his own indecisiveness.
    “Why didn’t he paint it in oil?” he asked as if Alvar would know.
    “Fritzwold has always worked with a range of techniques,” he explained patiently. “Many artists do. And this is a very successful piece of work, in my opinion.”
    The waterfall continued to cascade in front of them. Suddenly the man started to walk backwards. He walked almost as far as the opposite wall.
    “You can’t tell that it’s not oil,” he