‘Really?’ Norah said in surprise. ‘Why?’

Kern looked up from the form and fixed her intently.

‘An Arthur Grimm was here yesterday to report you for harassment.’

31

She stared at her plate. The veal schnitzel was in the shape of North America; the vivid green broccoli florets looked like little trees. Even the boiled potatoes were artistically arranged, as if for an Instagram picture. Norah would have liked to make a cutting remark, but as there was no one to make it to, she swallowed it with her first mouthful of schnitzel. As usual, since the move to Vienna, she was eating alone, and it was beginning to get to her.

Mechanically spearing a broccoli floret and putting it in her mouth, she looked about her. She had asked for a table by the window so that she could see everything that was going on outside. At the table next to hers, two men of about sixty were drinking beer. One of them had his back to her; the other, a convivial-looking bloke with a bushy moustache, looked like a Herbert or an Erwin. Beneath his open leather jacket, a black T-shirt strained over a formidable belly. After a glance at Norah he said something she couldn’t hear to the other man.

Was it sad to be eating out alone? Did people find her sad? Norah sniffed scornfully and went back to cutting her schnitzel into little pieces.

Since when have you cared what other people think about you?

Coming out of the police station in a fury, she had put her differences aside and immediately rung Sandra who, apart from being her friend, was also her lawyer. But Sandra hadn’t answered the phone, so Norah had left a short message on her voicemail. No, she wasn’t taking drugs again. Yes, she had forgiven her the outrageous insinuation. And she needed her help. Could she ring her back when she had a moment?

Later that day, Sandra had finally got in touch, but the call was unsatisfactory. Sandra was in a hurry—one of the kids was ill—so Norah had to be brief. Sandra advised her to keep calm and on no account have anything else to do with the man who had reported her. It would sort itself out. She promised to ring again soon when she had more time.

Norah sighed. She stared at the day’s specials that were chalked up on a blackboard, wondering whether to order pudding. She was already full, but it would be nice to stay a bit longer in the coffeehouse. The earlier she got the bill and left, the sooner she’d have to return to the flat, and right now—even with the new lock—there was almost nowhere Norah felt less at ease. Glancing at her phone, she saw that she had a missed call from Coco and felt a pang of guilt, but when she tried to call her back, Coco didn’t pick up. Maybe she’d gone to the cinema. No bad thing, Norah thought. She wasn’t in the mood for a painful conversation just now. Especially as Coco was always harping on about her ex—a topic Norah was anxious to put behind her.