A rare smile crossed her face. Hege Chin Morell was a beautiful woman, with regular features and large, narrow eyes, but she smiled far too infrequently. Even after winning, she was serious and sober in interviews. At the beginning of her career, this had been used against her by sports journalists, especially reading between the lines, but eventually as the medals came rolling in, her lack of visible pleasure was taken as a sign of concentration and dedication. For the first time, Selma noticed she had an alluring dimple just beside the left corner of her mouth.

‘Dracula. She looked like a vampire. Blood was trickling down her chin.’

‘And then?’

‘I managed to calm her down a little. Offered to fetch Bottolf, since she was so upset. And then I did that. Luckily, he was awake.’

‘Was he on his own?’

‘Yes … yes, he was. He was dressed and alone and came with me at once.’

The sci-fi sound of the kitchen door made them all turn their eyes.

‘Do you need anything else?’

Maggi had taken off her apron.

‘No,’ Jan said curtly. ‘You can go to bed. I’d like breakfast at six a.m.’

The Polish home help nodded in acknowledgement before disappearing into the hall. Selma assumed that the stairs down to the basement went from there.

‘Goodnight, Maggi!’

Hege waved at her back, like a little child.

‘And then?’ Selma asked once the home help had gone.

‘Bottolf listened to Hedda. Examined the tube. He agreed, absolutely, that Stian had made a mistake. A massive blunder. He praised Hedda for being vigilant and then asked us to keep our mouths shut.’

Jan Morell looked as if he would leap up from the settee on the other side of the highly polished concrete table. Now his face was deep red. The look Selma gave him forced him back into his seat.

‘What do you mean, you should keep your mouths shut?’ she asked Hege.

‘In Bottolf ‘s opinion, no damage had actually been done. Since Hedda hadn’t used the ointment. And if other people got to know about this, it would all come out. To the press. Become public knowledge, you know. A whole gang of journalists had been there a few days earlier. To suss out the lay of the land, so to speak, a couple of months before the start of the season. But they had gone. If we just said nothing, no one would know anything about it.’

‘Who would gain by that? Stian Bach?’

Hege let her ponytail slide through her left hand. Her hairline drew a straight, almost diabolical, V across her forehead. A lot of hair had come loose from the elastic band in the course of the evening, thick, black strands that were plastered to her neck. She seemed sweaty, even though the temperature in the uncomfortable living room was on the cool side.