FRIDAY JANUARY 8, 2016

“This is a gift. Despite everything. A gift.”

Halvor Stenskar, General Manager of the health food firm VitaeBrass AS, gave a loud sigh and placed his hand over hers. She pulled back, just slowly enough to appear dismissive rather than downright rude.

“I mean …”

He stood up and walked to the window, where the accursed weather cast the fjord in shades of dark gray beneath a sky that seemed only slightly paler. The Nesoddland peninsula lay like an oppressive predator on the other side of the water, only just visible in the low clouds above the city of Oslo.

November weather in January.

“Of course suicide is a tragedy,” he said.

It dawned on him that this was probably the fifth time he had done so since his arrival. He cleared his throat and began over again.

“Nevertheless, suicide is a voluntary act. I’m sure it isn’t undertaken lightly. Not by anyone. Not even by Iselin. But despite all that, it is a choice, after all.”

He turned again to face the living room. Even though the apartment was located in an eye-wateringly expensive area of Tjuvholm, it was not impressively large. Besides, there were too many items of furniture here, which made it all seem cramped. Furniture and bric-a-brac and strong colors, completely different from the strict minimalism his own wife favored. A gigantic painting above the fireplace of a sea eagle in flight was the only picture in the entire room. Otherwise there were only curios, made of ceramic and wood, of copper and wrought iron. And brass. There were objects made of brass everywhere. Admittedly, the pale-yellow metal was the key to the company’s success, but there had to be a limit as to quantity. He had counted candlesticks and arrived at a total of fourteen before he had given up. The room reminded him of a boudoir most of all, with its dark red settees, countless soft cushions and the scent of incense that was making him feel slightly queasy. Boudoir was appropriate to some extent, since two lesbians, getting on in years, had lived together here.

On the other hand he had never set foot inside a boudoir, so what did he know?

He caught himself staring at Maria.

The settee she sat on was so deep and low that her legs, when stretched out, were almost parallel with the floor. She was clutching a cushion to her stomach, holding on to it as if for grim death. It could not possibly be to hide her paunch. Despite her age, she was slim, healthy and relatively fit. She seemed neither tear-stained nor devastated, at least not the way he would imagine his own wife to be if he had been the one to die.

“The most important thing is to pour oil on troubled waters,” he said. “It’s been an unpleasant time for all of us these past few weeks. It’s not particularly advantageous for the company, all this …”

His hand waved uncertainly in the air, as if he was bothered by an insect.

“… media interest.”

Finally Maria glanced up. They had never enjoyed a close relati