‘Probably because the whole island would have suffered if what Huss was doing had become public knowledge. We were completely dependent on the mines back then and if he’d fallen, he would have dragged us all down with him. He owned half the island and was on the county council and the fisheries board.’

‘So Grandpa kept it to himself,’ Karen says doubtfully. ‘My God, that’s bloo—’

‘Now, now, don’t take that tone, lass,’ Ingeborg cuts her off sharply. ‘They were different times, and if you think life is hard here now, you should have seen what it was like back then. Besides, this was right at the end of the war so it didn’t make any difference.’

Karen makes no reply.

‘But I think it weighed on him until the day he died,’ her aunt says. ‘And I can’t deny it’s made my tongue itch on more than a few occasions.’

Karen decides to change the subject.

‘Fredrik Stuub must have been about your age, right? How well did you know him?’

Ingeborg freezes with her cup halfway to her lips. Then she continues the motion, takes a sip and slowly puts the cup back down. It clinks against the saucer.

‘People talk too much. What have you heard?’ she demands sharply.

‘Nothing. At least, not about you and Fredrik Stuub. So you did know him?’

‘Yes, of course I did, when we were young. It’s a small island. Well, I might as well confess that we had a brief romance, but that was long before he married, of course. And before I married, too, for that matter.’

‘Did you see him more recently?’

‘Of course not! This is what I’m telling you, he was a Huss, born and bred.’

‘I haven’t had the impression Fredrik was much of a snob,’ Karen ventures to protest. ‘Nor his sister, actually; she’s just very religious.’

‘Pff,’ Ingeborg snorts. ‘Gertrud, she probably thinks she’s closer to Our Lord than anyone else. That’s how the high and mighty think. That they’re wealthy because God favours them. Believe me, Kay-Kay, the women of that family have always strutted around with their noses in the air. The men were better, true, Ivar was always sweet, poor thing, and Fredrik was . . .’

She trails off; Karen waits.

‘Fredrik was a good man,’ she finishes curtly. ‘I can’t begin to imagine who would have wanted to see him dead.’

And something makes Ingeborg Eiken hastily turn her face away. Then she stands up and walks over to the kitchen counter.

‘I think we’ve wasted more than enough time on idle gossip now.’

*