‘The deceased’s will was clearly certified and dated by a lawyer in the presence of witnesses on 6 May 1969.’
Something twinkled in Synnøve Jensen’s eyes. She straightened up, but remained sitting in silence, her face tense. I glanced quickly over at Sandra and Maria Irene Schelderup. The mother’s mouth twitched when the date was mentioned. The daughter’s face, on the other hand, remained expressionless and looked relaxed. Only her eyes, which were riveted on the lawyer, revealed just how alert she was.
‘The aforementioned will states as follows: The undersigned, Magdalon Schelderup, born on 17 November 1899, hereby announces his last will regarding the division of his financial wealth and assets. Firstly, I waive the amount outstanding owed to me by Hans Herlofsen, my manager of many years. The promissory note and other documents relating to the case have been destroyed.’
Edvard Rønning allowed himself another pause. I promptly switched focus to Hans Herlofsen. He was also keeping his mask impressively under control. The two sentences that had just been read out saved not only his honour but also his future. All the same, his only reaction was a fleeting smile and a slight loosening of the tie. Then Rønning’s drawling voice picked up the thread and continued. My eyes swung back towards Sandra Schelderup.
‘My wife Sandra Schelderup shall be paid forthwith the sum of two million kroner to support her for the rest of her life.’
His widow furrowed her brow, and understandably enough her eyes darkened. The sum was undoubtedly less than she had hoped. But she stayed sitting calmly on her chair. The major blow was not to her, however, but to her daughter, who was sitting beside her, just as composed. My gaze slid over to Synnøve Jensen.
‘I hereby acknowledge that I am the father of my secretary Synnøve Jensen’s unborn child, and request that it be given my surname upon birth. It is my wish that Miss Jensen shall forthwith be paid the sum of 200,000 kroner from my estate to cover all costs in connection with the pregnancy and birth.’
If Synnøve Jensen had known this beforehand, she was a better actress than I had imagined. In the few seconds before she covered her face with her hands, her expression changed from great surprise to tremendous relief. The tears in her eyes were visible even from where I was sitting.
Another, more visible twitch passed over Sandra Schelderup’s face. The other faces around the table were, as far as I could see, still tense and expectant when the lawyer once again spoke, this time to read out the final and longest paragraph of the will. The fact that the secretary was the deceased’s mistress did not seem to have come as a shock to any of them.
