Then the woman appears in the doorway with two wine glasses and a bottle of white wine so cold it has condensation on it. Klara has to hide the tiny wave of relief and euphoria that hits her at the sight of it. She’s hardly touched a drop all through the autumn. But now she really wants a glass. No, not wants – she needs a glass.

‘My name’s Maria, by the way,’ the woman says. ‘Maria Wittman. I’d say it’s about time I introduce myself.’

‘Are you an opera singer, ma’am?’ Klara asks, gesturing towards the framed posters.

Why did she say ‘ma’am’? But there’s something about this woman that demands a certain level of respect, so it just popped out.

Maria laughs and invites Klara to sit down on the green couch. ‘You’re not the first to make that assumption,’ she says. ‘I suppose I fit the part. No, my husband played the French horn in the orchestra at the Royal Opera house and liked collecting souvenirs. As for me, I’m afraid I’m quite talentless. I was forced to make do with a job in finance.’

While Klara looks around at the large, tastefully decorated apartment, Maria pours wine into the two glasses.

‘You can’t be completely talentless,’ Klara says. ‘I mean, it’s quite an outstanding apartment.’

Maria shrugs and sits down on the sofa beside her. She takes a little sip of the wine and smiles at her guest. ‘There are various kinds of talents,’ she says. ‘What are yours?’

Klara picks up the glass and has to resist the temptation to down it in one gulp. After all, she’s barely drunk anything for almost four months. But she manages to take a cautious sip instead, feels the warmth and the calm spreading through her body.

‘Always ending up in some kind of trouble,’ she says. ‘I’d say that’s my most outstanding talent.’

‘It’s a talent you certainly shouldn’t take too lightly,’ Maria says. ‘Gabriella seems to share it with you.’

Klara takes another sip, a bit bigger now. The wine is dry and earthy, full of life. It tastes like someone’s glory days.

‘She was arrested this afternoon,’ Klara says. ‘Outside of her office on Skeppsbron, in some sort of terror crackdown. I sat in the car and could only watch while a SWAT team dragged her into a van.’

To Klara’s surprise Maria seems neither shocked nor upset. She just listens quietly, spinning the glass between her fingertips. A single large emerald glitters on one of her ring fingers.

‘She made a lot of people angry this autumn,’ Maria says. ‘A very brave young woman, our Gabi, you have to admit that.’

Our Gabi, Klara thinks. There aren’t many beside Klara who call her Gabi. Why has Gabriella never told her about this Maria if they were so close?