Nico was fire engine red by now. ‘Welllllllll …’ He rubbed a hand over his jaw. ‘Darling, it’s a physical game.’

Hannah smothered a grin as his daughter turned an astonished face his way. ‘Dad! You did,’ Josie breathed. ‘You were a naughty hockey player.’

‘I was a back. Had to protect my goalie,’ Nico defended himself. ‘Watch the game.’

By the time they went home, full of hotdogs, Maria was half asleep but Josie still wired and clamouring to know when they could watch another game. Nico got her to bed by letting her watch a past Sweden versus Switzerland match on her iPad. When he came downstairs he disappeared into the kitchen, returning with two glasses and a bottle of white wine.

Hannah put aside her e-reader. ‘Josie’s been bitten by the ice hockey bug.’

He passed her a glass and dropped down to join her on the sofa, swinging his legs up on the footstool. As before, his shoulder settled warmly against hers. ‘I’m still stinging from being branded a naughty hockey player.’

She gurgled at the memory of his heated cheeks. ‘You were squirming.’ The wine was cold and slid down her throat like nectar. Or what she assumed nectar might taste like.

‘At least she said “naughty” rather than “dirty”,’ he observed.

‘It’s better to be naughty than dirty?’ Hannah felt herself settle against him, as if their bodies knew each other. Funny how she could be both super-aware of him yet totally relaxed in his company.

He regarded her through slitted eyes. ‘I’m pretty sure I could be either.’

Then, as if he hadn’t made a remark loaded with innuendo he asked her what she’d thought of the match while heat spread from her cheeks to every other part of her.

Chapter Twenty-One

After taking the early train through a snowscape that could have been made from blinding white icing they arrived in Stockholm on Tuesday in time to dump their overnight bags at their hotel and set off on a blue tram through the wintry city. Soft feather snowflakes floated down, forming giant eyebrows over windows and making all the statues look as if they wore barrister’s wigs. Hannah was excited to be back but apprehensive about confronting Albin.

‘Train!’ Maria kept declaring, apparently unconvinced that ‘tram’ was the correct name for their smooth, swooshing mode of transport.

Josie said, ‘I don’t see a tram’s much different to a train either, except it runs through the traffic.’

‘Then that’s the difference,’ observed Carina, adjusting Josie’s fleece hat.

They alighted near the Swedish History Museum because Josie wanted to visit the Gold Room and make a wish. ‘There’s loads and loads of gold down there!’ she cried, with a skipping shuffle of her snow boots.