In the light of what we discovered later, I think Liv really was more concerned about her father than the money. Or was she most intent on giving an impression of concern? I said I’d call at the hotel on my way to work at the Houghtons’ but first I wanted to write my diary. The difficulty was always in finding privacy. Silver alone left me undisturbed while I was writing. I usually went into our bedroom and closed the door, but that morning Liv kept coming in to make more attempts to reach her mother. The answering-machine tape would soon be used up, I thought, for every time the unmistakable voice of Håkan Almquist came loudly out of the receiver and the long beep sounded, she left a message. All at Silver’s expense too.

“Are you sure she still has this number?” I said when she’d made the fifth call.

“You are right, Clodagh. It is possible she is losing it. I will give it.” And she made a sixth call.

Soon after that I heard a shrill scream from the living room. It was hard to tell whether it was uttered in pain or pleasure but there was no doubt it was Liv’s scream. Her father’s come, I thought, he’s come back from wherever he’s been and, please God, he’s got the money. But it wasn’t Håkan Almquist, it was Jonny.

“The bad penny is back,” he said when he saw me.

“Why aren’t you at the car park?”

“Listen to her. You’d think she was a schoolteacher.” He curled back his upper lip. “ ‘Why aren’t you at the car park?’ ” He used a shrill affected voice, not much like mine, I hope. “I’ll tell you why, Miss Brown. I’m not proud. I’m not at the car park because I’ve resigned. I’ve left. Asked for my cards. Does that satisfy you?”

Instead of the top half of a suit, he wore a black leather jacket, jeans into which someone had ironed creases—highly unacceptable to Silver and me, to whom creases in jeans were in as bad taste as high heels with trousers would have been to my mother—and black suede designer trainers. Wim, who’d seldom taken much notice of him, stared in fascination and only with difficulty took away his eyes. As to Liv, she had retreated to the end of the sofa and her English-Swedish dictionary.

When I left, Silver walked part of the way with me. He was going to shop for wine, biscuits, crisps, and bananas, further evidence to 4E of our good faith. “I won’t come to the hotel,” he said. “They know me. But you could say you’re Almquist’s daughter.”

“I’m not Swedish.”

“They won’t think about that. They’ll tell you more if you say he’s your father.”