‘Do people let him get away with it?’

‘What else can they do? If you don’t like it, he says, you can sue me! But it’ll be the last time you ever get an order out of me! And he sticks to that quite rigidly. People know that – and in the end they give in. Just recently, the whole office was redecorated; you should have seen how he treated the workmen! But that’s how you get to go to Abbazia, while the workmen walk across the Alexanderplatz. That’s life.’

‘And in what way is he mean?’

‘That must be genetic – I think generations must have contributed to it. It can’t be the work of just one man. If his best friend wanted to do him a favour, he would have to break his leg on my boss’s birthday. I’ve never seen anything like it. He really looks for opportunities to rejoice at the misfortunes of other people . . . Maybe it’s so that he can prove to himself how superior he is. Whenever he’s being rude, he thinks he’s very superior to you. That must be it. He’s so unsure of himself . . .’

‘It’s often that way. Have you noticed how often rudeness can be attributed to uncertainty?’

‘Yes . . . What a jolly place Berlin is! But what am I supposed to do? They say, A woman like you! Whenever I hear that! Marry some drip . . . You may laugh, Poppa, I can’t bear that type. Well, their money. But it’s not just the wagon-lits and the big cars, it’s when they talk! And especially when they let themselves go a bit . . . Come on, let’s go in, it’s getting cold.’

It was early evening by the clock, but here it was still light. Even though Gripsholm wasn’t that far north, the Arctic sun still shone and it was only dark for a few hours, and then not completely. We walked over the meadows and looked at the grass.

‘Let’s have supperas!’ said the Princess in Swedish.

We ate, and very reverently I drank water with the meal. When you’re in a foreign country, first of all you have to let the foreign water gurgle inside you, to get the flavour of the place. We sat and smoked. Now the holiday began, the real holiday.

The bedroom curtains were tightly drawn and pinned shut with needles. Men can only sleep in pitch darkness; the Princess saw this as a male characteristic. I read.

‘Don’t rustle the newspaper so angrily!’ she said.

That night the Princess turned over and slept like a stone. She hardly breathed; I didn’t hear her. I read.

Sometimes, in the grip of a nightmare, I would start up and cling to the Princess . . . ridiculous!

‘Do you want to save me?’ she would ask laughingly. It had happened two or three times – often I wouldn’t even know.