Art expert Emma Lindahl is anxious when she’s asked to appraise the antiques and artefacts in the infamous manor house of one of Sweden’s wealthiest families, on the island of Storholmen, where a young woman was murdered nine years earlier, her killer never found.
Emma must work alone, and the Gussman family apparently avoiding her, she sees virtually no one in the house. Do they have something to hide?
As she goes about her painstaking work and one shocking discovery yields clues that lead to another, Emma becomes determined to uncover the secrets of the house and its occupants.
When the lifeless body of another young woman is found in the icy waters surrounding the island, Detective Karl Rosén arrives to investigate, and memories his failure to solve the first case come rushing back. Could this young woman’s tragic death somehow hold the key?
Battling her own demons, Emma joins forces with Karl to embark upon a chilling investigation, plunging them into horrifying secrets from the past – Viking rites and tainted love – and Scandinavia’s deepest, darkest winter…
I'm delighted to be sharing an extract from Yule Island by Johana Gustawsson, winner of the Cultura Ligue de l’Imaginaire Award 2023, today. Many thanks to Orenda Books and Anne Cater from Random Things Tours for inviting me.
Emma
Still five more hours to wait.
I’m more astounded than annoyed.
I thought I’d be able to access the manor house at my convenience, but here I am, twiddling my thumbs for half a day. I have no information to work with yet. Nothing with which I can make a start on the job. And there’s no point leaving the island and going home, or even dropping into the office for an hour or so.
So, I’ve taken Björn’s advice and retreated to Ett Glas, the only place for non-islanders to go. The café sits right on Storholmen’s south dock. It boasts a spectacular view across the water to the shores of Djursholm, which is Stockholm’s, and Sweden’s, swankiest and most exclusive suburb. It’s where most of my colleagues are bringing up their children.
I’m sitting in the bay window, the closest spot to the sea – and to the sun, which is always too eager to make itself scarce in the autumn. There’s a work of art on the wall across from me. It’s captivating. It looks like something Séraphine de Senlis might have painted. She was a housekeeper whose immense talent was discovered only by chance. She used to hide away and paint by candlelight, and would often etch her signature on her works with
a knife. She ended up alone, like her contemporary Camille Claudel, descending into delusion and eating grass and all kinds of rubbish.
‘What do you think?’
The waitress is beside me. I didn’t hear her coming. She digs her hands into the pockets of her embroidered apron and joins me in contemplating the painting. There’s something both sad and powerful about it. The leaves on the painted tree look like they’re having one last dance in the wind before dying.
‘It’s magnificent.’
‘Really?’ She gives a bashful little laugh that creases the corners of her bright eyes and brings out her dimples.
‘Ah, you painted it,’ I smile, touched by her coyness.
She slowly nods, keeping her eyes trained on the painting. Then she turns to me. ‘Are you ready to order? Or should I give you a few more minutes?’ She gives me a smile that’s more genuine than businesslike and sweeps a lock of red hair behind her ear.
‘I’ll have a latte, please.’
‘Anything to nibble on?’
‘Maybe later, thanks. I’m going to hog this table for a while, if you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all.’
She draws a sharp breath, as if to add something, or voice a thought, perhaps. But she thinks better of it and gives me another smile instead, a briefer one this time, before returning behind the bar. The espresso machine starts hissing. There’s a clinking of porcelain on the counter. And a comforting waft of freshly baked bread that makes me wish I’d ordered more than just coffee.
I can see Lotta, now, at the helm of her water taxi, pulling up to the dock. In that same moment, a portcullis of sunbeams descends onto my table, bringing the grain of the wood alive and revealing the scars of time. I wonder what treasures are hiding in the collection the Gussmans have neglected for the last century.
‘Here you go.’ I’m almost startled to find a frothy latte in front of me, as well as a golden-brown bun sprinkled with pearl sugar.
‘I couldn’t resist bringing you a saffransbulle,’ says the waitress, her eyes sparkling hungrily. ‘They’re fresh from the oven. It’d be a sin not to try one.’
I'm about halfway through Yule Island and I'm loving it – expect a review from me very soon! In the meantime, follow the blog tour to find out more about this fabulous book.
Yule Island is published by Orenda Books and is available to buy on their website. Further purchasing options can be found here or order from your favourite independent bookseller.
About the Author
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About the Translator
Thanks for the blog tour support x
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