Then she slipped away as he took his call. She pulled up the hood of her parka against the sleet stinging her face like a swarm of tiny insects, hurrying along the clean cobbled streets in the golden glow of lamps on the corners of elegant, steeply roofed buildings painted cream and gold, catching glimpses of the soaring green German Church tower. As she crossed Stortorget she saw a team had moved in to string lights across from the peach-toned splendour of the stock exchange building that now housed the Swedish Academy and Nobel Museum and Library.

She wasn’t the only one looking forward to Christmas!

Before long she was entering Köpmangatan, pausing between an art gallery and an antique shop to unlock the glass door of Hannah Anna Butik. She stepped inside, happy to spend the evening amongst the mixed smells of leather, silk and cardboard boxes.

In fact, for her, you could bottle the scent and sell it as perfume.

Chapter Two

On Sunday morning, Hannah stared at her new stock. The displays she was stripping hadn’t been up to her usual standard. Maybe her creative energy had been dulled by boyfriend woes.

She was trying to think with the kind of breathtaking imagination of form and style that would compel people into the shop when Nico Pettersson tapped on the door. ‘Hej, hej,’ she greeted him in surprise as she let him in, standing back so he could enter and close the door, making the ‘stängt’ sign swing.

He looked a hundred per cent better today. His coat was brushed, his hair washed and combed, he’d shaved and his jeans and boots were clean. ‘I could maybe double your takings,’ he said without preamble, checking out the bags and belts ready for new displays.

She laughed. ‘How? Doubling the prices? Magic wand?’

‘Better. Magic visual merchandising power.’ He winked, then gazed beyond her to the half-dismantled displays that looked as if a bear had blundered through them. ‘You need visual appeal and style. Unanimity. Dynamic use of colour.’

Half-amused and half-annoyed, Hannah planted her hands on her hips. ‘Sorry … does my shop look in need of a consultation?’

He ceased assessing the stands and sent her a rueful grin. ‘I didn’t mean to be presumptuous. I woke up and realised that, yesterday, though you didn’t understand why I looked as if I lived in a cobweb and we hadn’t met for eighteen years, you tried to help. To make up for being ungracious and defensive, I’d like to help you in return.’ His piercing blue eyes looked as if they were silently urging her to accept.

It was impossible to look away. ‘How?’