They enter a hallway with several doors leading off it, and turn left into the kitchen. Tabor is beautiful on the inside too. Thick brick walls, beams on the ceiling, old wooden floors and mullioned windows. A wood-burning stove is crackling away in the middle of the kitchen. Call-me must have been here for a while, because the room is pleasantly warm and smells somehow cosy, adding to the calming energy the old building radiates.

‘The house and the land were bought by the Vidje family just after the Second World War. By that time the revivalist movement had faded away, and the place was more or less abandoned. Coffee?’

He points to a brand-new machine on the worktop; the coffee is steadily dripping from the filter.

‘Please.’

He takes out two blue earthenware cups, and it occurs to Anna that the kitchen must have been renovated very recently, just like the outside. The cupboard doors and worktops look antique, but beneath the aroma of coffee and burning wood, she can also smell sawdust, paint and glue.

‘Tabor was used as labourers’ accommodation for many years. The Vidje family were involved in both forestry and fruit growing – as they are today – so they employed a lot of seasonal workers who needed a temporary base.’

Anna takes a sip of her coffee and glances out of one of the windows. Nothing is moving on the edge of the forest. She is beginning to feel both guilty and worried. Why didn’t she help Agnes look for that stupid dog? This is supposed to be their new home, their fresh start.

‘. . . as I said, it was used as an artist’s studio for over twenty-five years,’ Call-me continues. Anna realises that she has missed part of his explanation.

‘Didn’t you say you had a Karl-Johan Vidje at home, Anna?’

She nods. ‘My parents had one of his prints in the parlour. Sometimes I’d sneak in, sit down and just gaze at the picture, because I thought it was so lovely.’ She pauses, takes a deep breath. She hears her father telling her that Karl-Jo had a stammer too. So, you see, Anna, you can succeed anyway.

‘What happened to it?’ Call-me asks. ‘It could be worth quite a bit today.’

She shrugs. ‘My parents split up when I was ten. My father took it with him, and I never saw it again.’

I didn’t see much of him either, she adds mentally.

‘That’s a shame.’ Call-me sucks in air through his teeth. ‘As I’m sure you’re aware, Karl-Jo has come to be regarded as one of the leading artists of his generation, and his work has shot up in value. One of his larger oil paintings sold at Bukowskis auction house for almost four million a couple of years ago.’