‘Apparently I later said of that trip to Bergen in 1925 that I was so comfortable on the bed, I might as well lie in it. When I came home from Bergen to Bærum wearing an engagement ring, I was left standing. I had not expected it to be easy. He was from the working class and, as if that were not enough, he was not working and did not have a family fortune. But I had not expected it to be so utterly hopeless either. They had never really bothered much before at home about what I did. Mother and Father were not too opposed to it at first. Magdalon, on the other hand, was adamant that this was nothing more than a youthful romance and that my fiancé was after the money. Back then, my older brother was the strongest in the family and has been so ever since. Within a matter of days, there was a united family front against my fiancé, without any of them, other than me, having met him.’
A sad expression flooded Magdalena Schelderup’s face as she stubbed out her cigarette in silence and immediately lit another. She had definitely lost any appetite for her piece of cake, but her cup of coffee was empty. She suddenly looked far older than her sixty-seven years.
‘We have time to do so many stupid things over the course of a lifetime. Every day I have regretted becoming a member of the NS during the war, but still, it is peanuts in comparison to how much I regret allowing myself to be persuaded to break off the engagement and return the ring by post. I knew that I would not be able to go through with it if I met him and perhaps not if I even heard his voice. So I asked him never to contact me again. He was an honourable man and respected that. But then we did meet again all the same, in an almost bizarre way, in a hotel reception here in Oslo. There were sparks for a few minutes, just as there had been ten years earlier, until his wife appeared. And the worst thing was that I had been right, that he would have made a wonderful husband. He was now a successful businessman of his own making and was on the local board of the Liberal Left Party. When we met again in 1935, my family would no doubt have thought he would make the perfect husband. But by then he had married someone else and they had three children. It was a terrible feeling to go home alone that night, having met her and seen her beaming happily between him and their children.’
Magdalena blew out the cigarette smoke in a violent blast. The tears I had not seen when her brother died were filling her eyes.
