Anna drives along the winding road up the ridge unnecessarily fast, and has to remind herself of the close shave with the Glarea truck the other day. However, she realises that she keeps speeding up as she approaches her destination. The weather is about to change; sunbeams are beginning to poke through the grey cloud cover here and there, making the tarmac sparkle so that she has to flip down the sun visor.

The tree-lined avenue beyond the lodge feels longer than it looks from the main road. The trunks and treetops all lean slightly to the left at almost exactly the same angle because of the wind.

The original section of Änglaberga consists of four large whitewashed buildings. Straight ahead is the grand two-storey manor house with stepped gables and several chimneys. On the left are two long, low structures that she assumes are stables, with attractive wrought-iron window frames. On the right the stables are mirrored by an identical building, but judging by the large doors it is probably some kind of lodge. The space on the far right is empty. It looks as if a fifth building should be there, but there is only a large area of neatly raked gravel, which somehow makes the well-maintained estate look unbalanced, as if something is missing. It takes her a few seconds to work out that this was where the garage used to be. The place where Simon set up a studio upstairs, and where Karl-Jo kept his sports car.

She slows down, looks up at the gable of the lodge but can’t seen any trace of fire damage. Hardly surprising – they’ve had twenty-seven years to fix things.

There is no sign of any parked cars; she is wondering whether to leave her car there anyway when she sees a track running between the left-hand stable and the main house. It leads her to a lower courtyard surrounded by much newer stables and a machine shed with roller doors on the sides. One of them is open, and she can see two men, each pressure-washing a tractor. She recognises the man nearest the door – he’s one of the Poles who helped her and Agnes move into Tabor. She waves to him as she passes by, but gets no response. At the far end of the yard there is one of those ubiquitous low-level temporary buildings. A couple of cars with foreign number plates are parked outside, and she guesses that it is used as accommodation for the workers. Klein’s pickup truck and Elisabet Vidje’s green Land Rover are parked in a carport. She pulls up behind them, gets out and follows a gravel path leading back to the main house. The air smells of earth and animals, with a faint hint of overripe apples.