‘I’m convinced someone has sabotaged me,’ Hege said all of a sudden, staring straight at her. ‘We’re not talking about an accident. Neither by me nor by anyone in my circle.’

‘Yes?’

‘I just can’t comprehend who would be interested in doing that. I mean …’

Her voice cracked.

‘Who am I? I go skiing, Selma! I move as fast as I can with metal runners under my feet and poles in my hands. I pick up a few medals and dress in red, white and blue. It’s sport. When all’s said and done, it’s a game. Who in the world has any interest in sabotaging a sportswoman?’

Selma was tempted to mention Tonya Harding.

‘What makes you so sure?’ she asked instead.

‘I’m so careful. At least as careful as Hedda. She managed to safeguard herself, thanks to her own vigilance.’

Suddenly Selma felt dizzy.

It was late. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten. On reflection, she couldn’t fathom what she was doing in this dismal mausoleum in Vettakollen at all. The girl on the settee could expect six months’ suspension or something of that order, from what she herself had called ‘just a game’. She didn’t feel sorry for Hege. In truth she, Selma, was the one there was reason to feel sympathy for. She was the one who had lost everything. Her husband and children, house and home and the whole fucking business.

Anine. Johannes.

Don’t think about the children. Don’t.

Selma tucked her hair behind her ear and swallowed. At least the children knew she wasn’t ill. She wanted to say something, but knew her voice would barely carry.

‘Dad said you used to be an Olympic champion,’ Hege said.

‘Then he’s lying,’ Selma said, clearing her throat. ‘I got silver in the Olympics. Twice. Eighty-eight and ninety-two. And a World Championships bronze in eighty-six.’

‘And then you won Shall We Dance? last year.’

Now she was smiling again.

‘Shall We Dance? was harder to win than you’d think. But I have to go. We won’t get any more done tonight. It’s Friday now. I’ll make the train if I get a move on.’

Hege followed her out into the hallway. Selma put on her jacket and scarf and remembered she’d left The Investigator’s ABC on an old telephone table beside the front door when she arrived.

It was still lying there. She drew on her gloves and tucked the book under her arm before letting Hege open the door.

Outside, a fine layer of snow had enveloped everything. Not enough to make the ground white, but a grey coating of slush had settled on the lawn, the footpath leading to the road and the bottom three granite steps.