The Girl Who Played with Fire by Stieg Larsson Read Free Book Online Page A

drinks cabinet at home had vodka and a few bottles of single malt Scotch, all presents. It was absurd how rarely he indulged in them.
    Blomkvist was single. The fact that he had occasional affairs was known both inside and outside his circle of friends, and that had led to further rumours. His long-lasting affair with Erika Berger was frequently the subject of speculation. Lately it had been bandied about that he picked up any number of women, and was exploiting his new celebrity status to screw his way through the clientele of Stockholm’s nightspots. An obscure journalist had once even urged him to seek help for his sex addiction.
    Blomkvist had indeed had many brief relationships. He knew he wasreasonably good-looking, but he had never considered himself exceptionally attractive. But he had often been told that he had something that made women interested in him. Berger had told him that he radiated self-confidence and security at the same time, that he had an ability to make women feel at ease. Going to bed with him was not threatening or complicated, but it might be erotically enjoyable. And that, according to Blomkvist, was as it should be.
    Blomkvist’s best relationships had been with women he knew well and whom he liked a lot, so it was no accident that he had begun an affair with Berger twenty years earlier, when she was a young journalist.
    His present renown, however, had increased women’s interest in him to a point that he found bizarre. Most astonishing were the young women who made impulsive advances in unexpected circumstances.
    But Blomkvist was not turned on by teenagers with miniskirts and perfect bodies. When he was younger his women friends had often been older than he—in some cases considerably older—and more experienced. Over time the age difference had evened out. Salander had definitely been a step in the other direction.
    And this was the reason for his hastily called meeting with Berger.
    Millennium
had taken on a media school graduate for work experience, as a favour to one of Berger’s friends. This was nothing unusual; they had several interns each year. Blomkvist had said a polite hello to the girl and rapidly discovered that she had only the vaguest interest in journalism beyond that she “wanted to be seen on TV” and that—Blomkvist suspected—at present it was quite a coup to work at
Millennium
.
    She did not miss an opportunity to be in close contact with him. He pretended not to notice her blatant advances, but that only induced her to redouble her efforts. Quite simply, it was becoming tiresome.
    Berger burst out laughing. “Good Lord, you’re being sexually harassed at work.”
    “Ricky, this is a drag. There’s no way I want to hurt or embarrass her. But she’s no more subtle than a mare in heat. I’m worried what she might come up with next.”
    “She’s got a crush on you and she’s too young to know how to express herself.”
    “You’re wrong. She knows damned well how to express herself. There’s something warped about how far she goes, and she’s getting annoyed that I’m not taking the bait. I don’t need a new wave of rumours making me out to be some lecherous rock-star type on the hunt for a nice lay.”
    “OK, but let me get to the nub of the problem. She rang your doorbell last night—is that the extent of it?”
    “With a bottle of wine. She said she’d been to a party at a friend’s house close by and tried to make it look like pure chance that she found herself in my building.”
    “What did you tell her?”
    “I didn’t let her in, obviously. I said that she’d come at an awkward time, that I had a friend there.”
    “How did she take that?”
    “She was really upset, but she did leave.”
    “What do you want me to do?”
    “Get her off my back. I’m thinking of having a serious talk with her on Monday. Either she lays off or I’ll kick her out of the office.”
    Berger thought for a moment. “Let me have a talk with her. She’s