He looked at the painting again, seeing the narrow line on her face. It was a smile that said everything and nothing. A practiced smile that had stuck, glued on her lips. He searched his memories, every moment he could remember, but could not come up with a single time that she had smiled spontaneously, eyes sparkling, dimples showing.

He was gripped with sorrow; it felt like a claw around his neck. He swallowed a few times to make it release.

Then there was a knock at his office door. Margaretha came in holding two mugs.

“I don’t want any glogg,” he said.

“I know, that’s why I made some coffee for you.”

She smiled and the color returned to the room. He loved his wife’s smile, wished she could smile all the time, wished he could tell her that.

“You look pale. Are you feeling well?” she asked.

He swallowed again. The claw was still there around his neck, squeezing harder now.

He took the coffee and slurped it. Standing silently, he looked at her.

“I baked a saffron cake,” she said.

Karl turned his gaze toward the snow-covered trees.

“She’s coming at four o’clock.”

“I know.”

“Will you join us?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I have a meeting.”

“At that exact time?”

“Yes.”

Margaretha looked at him dejectedly.

“What exactly did she do to you?”

He didn’t answer. A crease appeared between his wide, gray eyebrows.

“Regardless,” she said. “It’s possible to leave the past behind, you know.”

No, it’s not, he thought, turning his head away as the first tear trickled down his cheek.

* * *

“What’s that?”

Per Åström wrinkled his nose when Jana Berzelius placed a tray on the table before him, revealing mineral water, two chicken salads and a covered plastic cup containing a green smoothie. They had taken the last available table at restaurant Asken. On the table sat a wide pillar candle, its three wicks lit festively. The air was warm and heavy.

“A vegetable smoothie,” she said.

“It looks like bile,” he said.

“Do you want a taste?” she asked.

“And risk all those healthy side effects? No, thanks.”

Per took the mineral water and a salad while Jana looked out the window at the people walking around. Many had their hands full of shopping bags, and it seemed that the Christmas shopping season was under way.

“It’s better in the summer, don’t you think?” Per asked.

“Maybe,” she said, beginning to poke around in her salad.

“There’s so much more to do.”

“Like?”

“You’re kidding. You can lie in the sun, have a picnic, go boating, go in the water...”

“Go in the water?”

“Yes, you know—to cool off.”

“The only water I go in is my shower.”

“You’re hopeless.” Per sighed. “Don’t your parents have a summerhouse on the coast?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you ever go swimming there?”

“No.”

“What do you do there, then?”