Night drop - Morning

Hours later, a rap. 'Nora! Ready for breakfast?' 

Nora sighs, sits up. Sonofabitch. She puts a pillow briefly over her head. Breakfast. Conversation. Work. Yes, that is why she's in Larvik. Work. 

She sighs, stretches her legs along the cool bedsheets, rolls on to her side, slips a hand between her legs. Not just yet.

'Absolutely! I'll meet you downstairs. Say 20 minutes,' she calls back. 

'Excellent! See you!' Nora waits, listens for the shuffle of feet off.  20 minutes...what could she accomplish in 20 minutes...She turns over languidly, thinks back to the sea air, the mysterious form climbing out of the water. Oh, yes. I can work with this...

The dining area is blandly chic. Purple accent tones, which cause Nora to lift a brow.  She once had to live with a plethora of purple. Curtains, dining chairs, paintings...all variants of purple. 

'Nora!!'

Mable Nilson, all 5 foot, 1 inch of her, is a vision of fuschia and peacock blue resort wear. 'Dear Nora! Here!!'  Nora can't help but smile as she braces herself for the inevitable Lanvin scented hug.  'Sit! I've requested coffee. Normally you'll serve yourself but, I told them to bring a carafe.' she gestures to the buffet, 'And of course, breakfast. But I know you need coffee first. You and sweet Jorie, always needing coffee first thing.'

Nora laughs. 'It's true.' She smiles at the waiter as he pours out.  'Thank you.' Silence as she takes a few sips. She closes her eyes. Takes another sip. 'That smoked salmon looks amazing.'

'Eat, then we'll talk.' Mabel's own plate is brimming with smoked salmon, fresh fruit, pastry. 'I want to hear all of the news.'

The dining room fills with a mix of people in bathrobes and anorak-clad types, very serious. I guess I wouldn't be in Norway if I didn't feel like I was in a Berghaus advert. 'A conference?' Nora's eyes scan the room and then she see him. Jeans, collared shirt, no tie, pocket square.  Not handsome, exactly, more intensely attractive.  But beyond that, it's the stillness she recognises. Their eyes lock again. Nora arches a brow. A small flicker, a smirk. 'What is going on here?' She doesn't realise she spoken out loud.

'Oh, yes. Something to do with ships, I think? The Regatta is this weekend. And the hotel's spa is famous.' Mabel says, gesturing to the guests in brown bathrobes. 'You must take advantage of the fjordsauna. And the mineral baths. But first, I will tell you about the house.

Mabel walks Nora through a verbal history of the house. 'My great uncle lived in the house as a boy. His father was a doctor, sent to help with the government health initiative in the early 1900s. The house had belonged to a local iron mill owner.'