Off to Norway
I only met my Aunt Olaug a couple of times. Once we went over to Norway to visit her and she came to stay with us in Ireland for a few days. Unlike my mother who married a working class Irishman, who she met on vacation, my Aunt married a comparatively rich businessman.
He died a couple years before her in a car crash and some say she died of a broken heart. She was only in her late fifties and had no children, so we were her closest relatives. However, our family was astounded to hear that she had left us a considerable portion of her estate. She left my mother some money and my sister and inherited an Oslo apartment each and a few thousand Euro.
Astrid, who was married, wanted to sell hers so she could pay off her mortgage in Dublin but I thought it would be a great adventure to go over there and take up residence. I was working as a copy editor, with ambitions of becoming a mystery writer, and so I saw the opportunity to finish my novel without distractions.
Unfortunately I couldn’t speak Norwegian as my mother never spoke it around the house, unless she was in a temper. Consequently I never had the opportunity to learn. However, I was assured that almost everyone there could speak excellent English and so I didn’t have to worry about it. Just in case I did buy a phrase book and a dictionary.
When I arrived in Oslo I first had to make contact with my Aunt’s lawyer who turned out to a real dish! She was a typically Scandinavian beauty, long blonde hair, long, long legs and a pair of gorgeous tits that protruded out of her top.
“I’m Andrea Clemensen,” she said, holding out her hand.
I’m not sure if flying at 30,000 feet makes you horny but just making contact with her soft, warm skin set something moving in my groin area. I did manage to babble that my name was Seth Regan, but she already knew that.
Andrea went through the details of the will with me and it appeared that Great Aunt was quite an entrepreneur. She invested much of the money left by her late husband in property, which she rented out.
“Your particular property was due to be vacated by a Ms. Fredriksen yesterday.” She said, “but I’m afraid I haven’t had time to go and check it out.”
Being anxious to see my new abode, I said if she’d give me the key and the address I would go round there immediately. She handed it to me along with a rather nice check, and after signing a few forms I was on my way by cab. It turned out to be a rather nice building on a street called Dalsbergstien. It took several attempts before I could pronounce the name well enough for the driver to identify it but eventually he dropped me off outside.
I was tingling with excitement when I stepped out of the elevator and approached the apartment door. Presuming that the tenant had moved out I put the key in the lock and barged right in. I was greeted by a small entrance hall that had some coats hanging from the pegs which, indicated that the tenant had not moved out yet or they’d abandoned some of their belongings.
When I entered the living area I was in for quite a shock, right in the middle of the room was a naked woman drying her hair with a towel. I wasn’t quite sure what to do. It seemed a bit late to turn around and start again.
Suddenly she looked up and saw me standing there and responded with an almighty scream. She then tried to cover herself up and garbled something in Norwegian, that didn’t seem at all polite.
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling most embarrassed, “The lawyer said that you were due to move out yesterday.”
“Would you mind turning around,” she asked in English.
I did as she requested and then she went on to explain that she couldn’t find a place she could afford, and then she burst into tears. The next thing I heard was the bathroom door slamming and when I turned around all I could see was her damp footprints on the hardwood floor.
Figuring that she had to come out of the bathroom some time I sat on the sofa and looked around. It was basically a bachelor pad with a living room/kitchen combination and a partition at one end behind which one could just see the bed. That was also where the bathroom door was and I patiently waited for it to open. It was a full fifteen minutes before the woman, who I presumed to be Ms. Fredriksen, re-emerged from the bathroom wearing a robe.
“I’m sorry,” she began, “It’s not your fault – I suppose you’re the new owner.”
“Yes my Aunt Olaug left it to me in her will, I`m Seth Regan,`I said, cautiously extending my hand.
“I’m Silje Fredriksen,” she said, “I knew your Aunt quite well. She was a very nice lady. I wasn’t always able to pay the rent on time and she was always understanding.”
“Well,” I began, “wanting to be an understanding landlord, “I really need to move in here, I can’t very well let you stay while I rent a hotel room for two hundred Euro a night.”
“I don’t suppose you’d let me sleep on the sofa until I find somewhere – would you? I’ll do all the cooking and cleaning.”
Holy fuck, I thought to myself, I`d be an idiot to turn down such an offer from such a beautiful woman. I was really not a good cook and I hated cleaning. BUT – what about my writing – could I concentrate with her around.
“I really need my space,” I said, “I’m in the midst of writing a book but if it was only going to be for a short time – I guess that would be OK.”
She didn’t throw her arms around my neck and shower me with kisses while saying, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” but she gave me a smile, one that sent my heart throbbing for a moment.