As she opened the bottle, it erupted with fizz.

‘… leapt up on the rostrum. As if he were the host or something. Why did he do that? Why is he allowed to do that?’

Jan Morell sat down on one of the dark leather chairs in the seating area by the window.

‘To tell the truth, I don’t really know,’ he said, surprisingly sub-missive. ‘I’ve wondered the same thing myself. For years. I …’

He had ice cubes in his whisky. They rattled noisily as he drank. He rolled the liquid in his mouth before swallowing, and then went on: ‘In actual fact, Sølve cuts a pretty ridiculous figure. He’s a peacock. But charming. Bright bastard. Knowledgeable and good on TV. He’s taken part in some debates on behalf of the Federation, in connection with these …’

The ice clinked even louder as he waved his glass distractedly.

‘… this hassle from DG. About accountancy shambles and systems failures and all that jazz. He’s capable. A bit short-tempered, perhaps, but he knows an amazing amount. He just shouldn’t take a drink. At least not so much. In the course of a whole night there’s no limit to what he can bring himself to boast about. Not that I’ve ever spent a whole night drinking with Sølve Bang, but he apparently starts screeching about becoming the Minister of Culture around two in the morning. Always. Now that the government is wearing green socks to keep in with the left wingers, it wouldn’t surprise me if he joined the party just to show ready and willing.’

His laughter was dry and humourless.

‘If anyone’s still standing by the time the sun comes up, they get to hear that he’s going to win the Nobel Prize for Literature.’

‘Maybe he will. What did he threaten you with?’

‘To make it public. Go to the press.’

‘About what exactly? After all, he has no proof?’

‘No. I think I eventually persuaded him to realize that. So I threatened him back, of course. With a juicy lawsuit. It made some kind of impression, I think, since he’s afraid for his money. And obviously too smart to come out with allegations of tubes of banned creams hidden in Hege’s bathroom without having any evidence for it other than a hint from a Polish home help. But it’s …’

He raised his eyes and looked at her.

‘Sit down,’ he said.

‘I prefer to stand.’

A ship sounded its horn as it passed a marker buoy. It was now ten to nine and the traffic around the iconic building in Fornebu had eased off. The vast construction sites between MCV’s offices and the sea lay deserted and dark. Jan’s secretary had left before Selma had arrived. The entire building had gone to sleep.

‘Where do we stand, Selma.’

It lacked a question mark. His voice sounded resigned and low. The way he sat there, slumped in the chair, with his tie loosened and his jacket open, he looked as if he had woken after a drinking binge.