In the muted lighting, she seemed no different from when she was nineteen. Her hair fell to her shoulders with the same grace, her face had the same soft features, her mouth the same sullen expression that made her smile all the more appealing when she flashed it.

She was wearing a plain, cerise poplin coat and narrow, brown suede boots. Her coat fell open and beneath it I could see a light-brown skirt and a beige jumper.

However, when I studied her more closely I saw a few wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and some barely visible lines at the edge of her mouth that had not been there in 1961. In her dark-blonde hair there were some streaks of a lighter blonde that hadn’t been there before either and were undoubtedly there now as camouflage. 170Her eyes were not quite the same. They were more knowing than they had been. They had seen more, both good and bad.

But she was Rebecca. And her body was as slim and girlish as it had always been. Wearing a ribbon in her hair, a skirt held up by braces and a round-necked blouse, she could still have been sitting with me in the gallery of the parish hall as her father preached; in my worn jeans, sewn with English leather, denim shirt and grey windcheater, I could still have been crouching next to her; and we could still have been listening to the voices of her father’s congregation singing: ‘Promises are eternal.’

Behind her, Helga had discreetly withdrawn. Rebecca held my hands tighter and I looked down. Her hands were as slender and white as before, but covered with almost invisible gossamer that would one day become wrinkles on ageing skin.

‘What are you doing here, Varg? I hardly recognised you.’

‘I recognised you at once.’

She smiled sadly. ‘Why … after so many years?’

I didn’t answer.

‘How did you find out where I’m staying?’

I shrugged. Then I said with a heavy heart: ‘Actually I’ve come on behalf of Jakob.’

The moment was over. She let go of my hands as if they were toxic and took two demonstrative steps backwards, away from me. ‘I should’ve guessed.’

I shook my head. ‘He just wants to know that you’re OK, Rebecca. He just wanted to be sure…’

She said coldly: ‘OK. Give him this message: Rebecca’s fine. She’s never been better. Not for many, many years.’

‘But don’t you miss your children?’

She looked past me. ‘They might be better off with him. Perhaps he’s better suited to taking care of them than I am.’171

I watched her, unable to let go of her with my eyes. ‘I don’t believe that, Rebecca.’ I looked around. ‘Shall we sit down? Let’s have a chat after all these years.’

Her face softened and she beamed me a smile. ‘Perhaps it would’ve been better after all if…’

I waited. ‘If what?’

‘No,’ she said with a casualness I could hardly believe. ‘Nothing.’ She went over to a chair and sat down without taking off her coat.