Hege reached out for the glass of water on the polished concrete table. Took a sip and then sat twirling the glass in her hand.

‘He asked about what I had hidden in the air vent in my bathroom.’

‘And you said?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Did you say “Nothing,” or did you say nothing?’

‘I said nothing. Didn’t answer him at all.’

‘Why didn’t you deny it? Why didn’t you say that …’

‘Dad!’

The exclamation turned into a screech. She slammed the glass of water on the table and covered her face with her hands.

‘Can’t we stop this? How long do we have to sit here and …’

‘Just as long as I say so.’

Her father was unrecognizable.

Jan Morell could be excessively inflexible. Abrupt and impatient. All the same, there was always something restrained about him, something that held him back when he was close to breaking point. Hege had never experienced her father losing his cool, even though he had become considerably more authoritarian since her mother’s death. She imagined it must be impossible to build up a million-kroner business without having control over the last, dangerous button on his temperament. Now his face was deep red. He slammed the other tennis ball on the floor.

‘And you!’

His trembling forefinger was pointed in Maggi’s direction.

‘I’ve given you house room here for more than twelve years,’ he spluttered. ‘You’ve had a better life than you could ever have dreamed of. Under my roof. With a generous, legal wage. And you repay me by being so disloyal as to run to Sølve Bang …’

He spat the name out into the room as he made for the sideboard along the windowless main wall.

‘Of all the windbags in the whole universe you had to go to Sølve Bang, no less. In order to … ask for advice!’

His voice distorted into an imitation of Maggi’s.

‘You have to come to me if you’re in doubt about anything!’

Throughout the evening, Maggi had been virtually silent. She had given short, succinct answers to all of Jan’s questions, that was all; she was still in shock over the initial, blazing dressing-down she had received when he had arrived home around half past nine and got to hear of what had happened. Otherwise, she had not even attempted to console Hege each time she had burst into another wild paroxysm of weeping.

‘What did he do when you didn’t answer?’

It was Hege he was looking at now, before opening a drawer and extracting an unopened pack of Marlboro cigarettes.

‘He asked again,’ she said. ‘I still didn’t reply. Then he claimed to have information from a reliable source that I had used a banned medication containing Clostebol. And that I had hidden it in the air vent. In the bathroom. My bathroom.’

‘And then?’

He fumbled in annoyance with the cellophane.

‘I …’