Rising from her chair, she went into the back room where the assistant was wrapping Anton’s purchases.

‘So that’s all done,’ the man was saying. ‘For the last shirt, if you could choose between these two … The thin stripe is more classic, but the cream you can wear with anything.’

Anton was fingering the material on the counter-top, but Lena could tell that he was not interested.

‘I think you should have this one,’ she said, pulling a blue shirt off the rail and holding it out to him.

He looked her deep in the eye as she stood with her arm outstretched. Was there a glint of recognition, she wondered, or was he merely surprised by her decisive movement?

‘Do you have this in my size?’ he said. ‘I like the colour.’

‘It would suit you,’ said Lena.

‘Let me see, yes, we do have it in your size. It’s a very good quality cotton, a little more expensive than the others.’

‘That’s all right. I’ll take it. Thank you … Lena. I’m not very gifted when it comes to shopping, as you can probably see.’

‘That shade of blue … It was easy to choose.’

‘I have very little sense of colour at all.’

‘That’s sad. I paint sometimes. Faces mostly, though I try to do landscapes with greens and browns. And white snow.’

‘That must be hard,’ said Anton. ‘Getting a snow colour. I like looking at pictures. Dürer or Klimt. But I can hardly tell green from blue.’

He took the packages from the shop owner and paid him.

‘What did you do while we were in the café?’ said Lena. ‘Did you go to the art gallery?’

‘No. I went to see someone. On business.’

‘Was it a good meeting?’

‘Not particularly. But I think I may have learned something.’

‘I can show you some of my paintings if you like. Back at the clinic.’

‘Thank you, yes, I’d like that. I don’t want you to think I’m an expert, though. I just … admire the talent of others.’

‘Don’t expect too much.’

‘Are we all done?’ said Martha as they rejoined her.

‘Yes. Thanks to … Lena. I’m set up for another month now.’

‘A month?’

‘Will that be long enough?’

‘Well,’ said Martha, opening the door onto the street, ‘it depends how much effort you put into it.’

Hauling laundry baskets down the cloister, digging carrots and potatoes in the garden, Lena felt as though her blood had been transfused. Outside, her eyes took in the surface of the lake and the ragged peaks of the Karawanken beyond, but didn’t feel constrained by the horizon. Nothing Daisy asked her to do, not even cleaning the chronic wards in Emil Kraepelin, seemed to weigh on her. In the whitewashed corridor that led to her room upstairs and in the dark passageways that only the staff would ever see, the air seemed light.

When they were laying the table for drinks before dinner the next day, she wanted to tell Johanna about the revolution in her mind. To care for someone else was not a burden, it was a release. How could she never have guessed that? And the sense of liberation came in waves. But when she looked at Johanna’s face, the thought of explaining made her laugh. Could she ever find the words to describe what she was feeling – even to someone who was almost a sister?