‘I am Alve,’ he said. No surname. ‘I am from the security service.’

‘What do you want?’ Valera asked.

‘I am here to help you navigate the coming days.’

Alve embodied that unique Scandinavian quality of compassionate pragmatism. When Valera asked him what was going to happen to her, he said, ‘There are many serious conversations that must be had, but we will have them when you are ready.’

She was happy to speak to Alve’s superiors about life in the Soviet Union and, more specifically, about what it was like to live in a closed city. She was also happy to meet with the head of the physics department at Stockholm University in his bright, light-filled office and talk in broad and tantalising terms about the mysteries of spread-spectrum broadcasting and signal code division. But she drew the line when she was introduced to a lady with a large bun of grey hair perched on top of her head who asked her if she’d like to talk about how she was feeling.

Valera didn’t know how to put into words the exhaustion and elation she felt about escaping Russia, or the total and utter despair that consumed her over Ledjo’s death. She didn’t know how to articulate her rage and failure and loss. Or explain how it felt to suddenly have to live without the person you were living for. Or the fear of her memories of him becoming old and faded without any photographs or mementos to keep them alive. Or that last night her recurring dream had returned, monochrome, the lake so flat it felt solid, the boat shrinking smaller and smaller, and Ledjo, no matter how much she grabbed for him, always facing away from her and out of her reach. And if she had known how to talk about any of this, there was no way she was going to discuss it with a psychologist employed by an intelligence agency.

Eventually, Alve returned Valera to the Reisen and informed her that her evening was hers to do what she wanted with. He could arrange for food to be brought to her room, or recommend a restaurant for her, or simply leave her in peace so she could rest or explore the city. Valera was surprised. She’d expected to be kept politely under lock and key while she wasn’t being-politely interrogated. But Alve assured her that wasn’t the way things were done in Sweden, and that the security service wanted her to feel as comfortable as possible before another day of meetings tomorrow.

‘How many more will there be?’ she asked him.

‘That I cannot say,’ he replied. ‘As many as it takes for everyone to be …’ He paused, searching for the right word, ‘… satisfied.’

He placed a small stack of Swedish krona and a slip of paper with a phone number on a side table.