Áróra stood on the bed and reached up to slide a finger along the top of the picture frame, but her fingertip found nothing but a thick layer of dust. She felt under the edge of the frame and decided that placing a camera there would be impossible as it was fixed to the wall. Of course, she remembered her father when she was small, fixing the pictures to the walls of their old flat on Grettisgata, a precaution in case an earthquake shook them down. She stepped off the bed, dusted off her fingers and looked around. She shut the wardrobe, and that left nowhere to look but the short passageway leading to the bathroom. There she found just the aircon control panel, a light switch and a folding suitcase stand that she hadn’t needed as she had travelled with only hand baggage. All the lights were recessed, so there were no lights or lamps that could hide a camera. Or were there? The ceiling in Hákon’s room was fairly low, so could there be a light fitting that 135she could fix a small camera inside? She closed her eyes and tried to remember what she had seen as she had lain in Hákon’s bed, but decided that what she was seeing in her mind was more wish than reality. She seemed to recall that there were two lights – one over the bed and the other overlooking the desk.

Her phone pinged as a message arrived and when she opened it, she saw it was from Hákon.

What are you up to? the message read.

Working, she replied. A job I need to finish.

This was the usual version of the truth that she gave him, that she was an accountant working for a small accountancy firm in England, completing tax declarations and annual reports for individuals and small companies.

At work as well, Hákon’s reply read. Dinner tomorrow?

Maybe Friday’s better? she responded. She needed to slow this relationship’s development down and buy herself some time, which she would use to dig deeper into Hákon’s affairs and to figure out what he was up to. As he said he was at work, that had to mean he would be at his computer – into which she now had a window.

She sat on the stool, switched on her laptop and opened the spyware that would let her into Hákon’s computer. She realised that the movements of the cursor across the screen weren’t her own mouse at work, but were Hákon’s and she had a real-time view of what he was doing. Once again, she thanked her own foresight in having invested in this software.