‘Come in,’ said Viola, stepping aside. Paula glanced appreciatively at the entry hall. The flat was very different to her own, but she liked it. She’d never been to Provence, but this was how she thought it must look. Rustic country furniture combined with fabric and paintings with flower motifs. She peered into the living room, and saw that the same style prevailed.

‘I’ve made us some coffee,’ said Viola, leading the way. On the coffee table stood a delicate pink-floral coffee service, with biscuits arranged on a plate.

‘Thank you,’ said Patrik, perching cautiously on the sofa. After the introductions were out of the way, Viola poured everyone coffee and then seemed to be waiting for them to go on.

‘How do you get those geraniums to look so beautiful?’ Paula found herself asking as she sipped the coffee. Patrik and Martin glanced at her in surprise. ‘Mine always seem to rot away or dry up,’ she explained. Patrik and Martin raised their eyebrows even higher.

‘Oh, it’s not really that hard,’ said Viola proudly. ‘Just make sure that the soil dries out properly between waterings; you must never over-water them. I got a marvellous tip from Lasse Anrell. He told me to fertilize them with a bit of urine every once in a while. That does the trick if they’re giving you any trouble.’

‘Lasse Anrell?’ said Martin. ‘Isn’t he the sports writer for Aftonbladet? What does he have to do with geraniums?’

Viola looked as if she could hardly be bothered to answer such a silly question. For her, Lasse was first and foremost an expert on geraniums; the fact that he was also a sports writer and TV personality had barely entered her consciousness.

Patrik cleared his throat. ‘From what we understand, you and Erik Frankel saw each other fairly regularly.’ He paused but then went on. ‘I’m… I’m very sorry for your loss.’

‘Thank you,’ said Viola, looking down at her coffee cup. ‘Yes, we used to see each other. Erik sometimes stayed here, maybe twice a month.’

‘How did you meet?’ asked Paula. It was difficult to imagine how these two people had come together, seeing how different their homes were.

Viola smiled. Paula noted that she had two charming dimples.

‘Erik gave a lecture at the library a few years ago. When was it exactly? Four years…? It was a talk about Bohuslän and the Second World War, as I recall. Afterwards we got to talking and, well… one thing led to another.’ She smiled at the memory.

‘You never met at his house?’ Martin reached for a biscuit.

‘No. Erik thought it was easier to meet here. He shares… shared the house with his brother, you know, and even though Axel was gone a lot… No, Erik preferred to come here.’

‘Did he ever mention receiving threats?’ asked Patrik.

Viola shook her head vigorously. ‘No, never. I can’t even imagine… I mean, why would anyone want to threaten Erik, a retired history teacher? It’s absurd even to think such a thing.’

‘But the fact of the matter is that he did receive threats, at least indirectly, because of his interest in the Second World War and Nazism. Certain organizations don’t appreciate it when people paint a picture of history that they don’t agree with.’

‘Erik didn’t “paint a picture”, as you so carelessly express it,’ said Viola, anger suddenly flashing in her eyes. ‘He was a dedicated historian, meticulous about facts and extremely finicky about portraying the truth as it really was, not the way he or anyone else would have liked it to be. Erik didn’t paint. He pieced together puzzles. Ever so slowly, piece by piece, he would work out how things would have looked in the past. A piece of blue sky here, a piece of green meadow there, until at last he could show the results to the rest of us. Not that he was ever really finished,’ she said. The gentle look had returned to her eyes. ‘There are always more facts, more reality to uncover.’

‘Why was he so passionate about the Second World War?’ asked Paula.

‘Why is anyone interested in anything? Why do I love geraniums? Why not roses?’ Viola threw out her hands, but at the same time her expression turned pensive. ‘In Erik’s case, you don’t have to be Einstein to figure it out. What happened to his brother during the war marked him. He never talked to me about it, or at least, only once – and that was also the only time I ever saw Erik drunk. It was the last time we saw each other.’ Her voice broke, and it took a few minutes for Viola to pull herself together enough to go on. ‘Erik showed up here without telling me he was coming. That alone was unusual, but he’d obviously had too much to drink, and that was unheard of. The first thing he did when he came in was to go to the drinks cabinet and pour himself a big whisky. Then he sat down here on the sofa and started talking as he gulped down his drink. I didn’t understand much of what he was saying; it sounded like drunken ramblings to me. But I did understand that it had to do with Axel. And what he’d been through when he was a prisoner. How it had affected the family.’

‘You said that was the last time you saw Erik. Why was that? Why didn’t you see each other during the summer? Didn’t you wonder where he was?’

Viola’s face contorted as she fought back the tears. Finally, in a husky voice she said, ‘Because Erik said goodbye. He walked out of here around midnight – staggered might be a better description – and the last thing he said was that we would have to say goodbye. He thanked me for our time together and kissed me on the cheek. Then he left. I thought it was just drunken nonsense. I behaved like a real fool the next day, sitting and staring at the telephone all day long, waiting for him to ring and explain, or to apologize, or… whatever… But I didn’t hear from him. And because of my stupid, stupid pride, I refused to call him. If I had, he might not have been left alone there…’ Sobs took over, preventing her from finishing her sentence.

But Paula understood. She put her hand over Viola’s and said gently, ‘There was nothing you could have done. How could you have known?’

Viola nodded reluctantly and wiped away the tears with the back of her hand.

‘Do you remember what day he was here?’ asked Patrik.

‘I’ll check the calendar,’ said Viola and got up, grateful for the distraction. ‘I always make notes for each day, so I should be able to find out for you.’ She left the room and was gone for a while.

‘It was June fifteenth,’ she said when she returned. ‘I remember I’d been to the dentist in the afternoon, so I’m positive that was the day.’

‘Okay, thanks,’ said Patrik, standing up.

After they’d said goodbye to Viola and were back out on the street, they all had the same thought. What happened on 15 June that made Erik, quite uncharacteristically, get drunk and then end his relationship with Viola? What could have happened?

‘She obviously has no control over her!’

‘But, Dan, you’re being unfair! How can you be so sure that you wouldn’t have fallen for the same thing?’ Anna was leaning on the counter with her arms folded, glaring at him.

‘Oh, no. Absolutely not!’ Dan’s blond hair stood on end because he kept running his hands through it out of sheer frustration.

‘Right. And you’re the one who seriously thought that someone had broken in during the night and eaten all the chocolate in the pantry. If I hadn’t found the chocolate wrappers under Lina’s pillow, you’d still be out there looking for a thief with smears of chocolate around his mouth.’ Anna choked back a laugh and felt some of her anger fade. Looking at her, Dan felt a smile tugging at his own lips.

‘You have to admit she was awfully convincing when she assured me that she was innocent.’

‘She certainly was. That kid is going to get an Oscar when she grows up. But keep in mind that Belinda can be just as convincing. It’s not surprising that Pernilla believed her. You can’t honestly swear that you wouldn’t have done the same.’