Jakob got up from the organ stool and leaned against the railing. ‘No, no. I’ve got a visitor. That’s all. You…’

‘Can I come up and say hello or would I be disturbing?’

‘I was on the point of inviting you…’

While the priest came up Jakob mumbled a quick explanation. ‘This is Berge Brevik. He’s the resident chaplain. He knows about … Rebecca.’

Then Berge Brevik was with us. He smiled at Jakob and eyed me with curiosity. ‘Dr Livingstone, I presume,’ he said with a dry chuckle, the way priests laugh when they are sitting with a cup of coffee at the six-monthly church bazaar.

We shook hands. His was cold and clammy. Like the priest who had confirmed me. Perhaps it had something to do with the atmosphere in large churches. They could often be chilly and damp.

‘Veum, Varg Veum.’

He looked at me with a humorous glint in his eye. ‘And I’m Brevik, Berge Brevik. “Women-and-Children-First”, as they used to call me at college.’ Another dry chuckle, the way they chuckled during the lunch break at the theology faculty when someone told an amusing story about working in Madagascar.

‘I’m an old school friend of Jakob’s,’ I explained.

‘That’s nice. You’ve kept in touch ever since?’ He spoke a refined Møre dialect, somewhere between Ålesund and Molde.

‘No, I’m afraid not. We—’

‘We met at the funeral on Friday,’ Jakob said. ‘I think I mentioned it to you. A former school friend.’

Berge Brevik nodded. ‘Unfortunate circumstances to meet under. Nevertheless, it’s uplifting that something positive has come out of it, don’t you think?’ He placed a hand on both of our shoulders. ‘That old friends can meet again, eh?’ He embraced us with a benign look.160

I studied him more closely while he was talking. His complexion was pale and his dark beard visible beneath the shave. His eyes were dark blue, his facial features classically clean cut and his carriage erect. He had strong, white teeth, lips with a red, feminine tinge and slim, white hands that were expressive and hairless.

He had turned to Jakob now and asked in a hushed voice, with a concerned expression: ‘Anything new … from your side?’

‘No. Nothing.’

‘You haven’t heard anything?’

‘Not since last time.’

Berge Brevik gloomily shook his head. Then he squeezed Jakob’s shoulder. ‘It’ll be fine, you’ll see. It’ll all work out in the end.’

For a moment he stood immersed in his own thoughts. Then he visibly tore himself away, shook off the apparent melancholy, smiled and said: ‘Well, I won’t disturb your chat with your friend anymore. As I said … I just noticed the silence.’ He shook my hand. ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again.’

I shook his hand once more. ‘Not impossible. In which case … until we meet again.’

‘Until we meet again, Varg Veum.’ As he left he added: ‘I’m glad I wasn’t on duty for your christening. That would’ve been an entertaining occasion.’

‘You were being christened yourself at the time, weren’t you?’