It felt so good, and she realized how little physical contact they'd had since Maja was born. She was mostly to blame for that, she had to admit.

'How was your day?' she asked. That was something else she hadn't done in a long time.

'Terrible,' he said, taking butter, cheese and caviar out of the fridge.

'I heard that you brought Kaj in,' she said cautiously, unsure of how much Patrik would want to tell. She had decided not to say anything about the visits she'd had that day.

'The gossip has spread like wildfire, I presume?' said Patrik.

'You could say that.'

'So what are people saying?'

'That he must have had something to do with Sara's death. Is it true?'

'I don't know.' Patrik seemed tired as he poured the hot chocolate into a cup and fixed a couple of open sandwiches. He sat down facing Erica and began to dunk his cheese and caviar sandwich into the hot chocolate. After a while he went on, 'But we didn't bring him in because of Sara's murder. There was another reason.'

He fell silent again. Erica knew better than to pry, but she couldn't help asking. In her mind's eye she saw Charlotte's listless gaze.

'But is there anything to indicate that he may have had something to do with Sara's death?'

Patrik dunked another sandwich in the chocolate and Erica tried not to look. She thought this habit was barbaric, to say the least.

'Yeah, there might well be. But we'll have to wait and see. We can't take the risk of narrowing our focus. There's something else we have to look at too,' he said, avoiding her eyes.

She stopped asking questions. Some grunts of protest from the living room indicated that Maja was getting tired of sitting all alone. Patrik got up and brought in the bouncer with their daughter in it. She gurgled gratefully and waved her hands and feet when Patrik set her on the kitchen table. The weariness in his face vanished, and his eyes took on that special gleam reserved for his daughter.

'Is this Pappa's little sweetie? Did Pappa's little darling have a good day? Is she the sweetest girl in the whole world?' he babbled with his face close to Maja's. Then Maja's face contorted, turned bright red, and after a couple of groans there was a noise from the lower regions and a dense stink spread round the table. Erica got up automatically to deal with the situation.

'I'll get it, you just sit,' said Patrik, and Erica gratefully sank back onto the kitchen chair.

When Patrik came back with a newly changed Maja in her pyjamas, she told him with great enthusiasm about the successful pram trick and how she had got Maja to fall asleep.

Patrik looked sceptical. 'She cried for forty-five minutes before she fell asleep? Is she really supposed to do that? On TV they said that if they cry, you're supposed to give them the breast. Can it really be good for her to have to cry like that?'

His lack of enthusiasm and understanding made Erica furious. 'Obviously the point is not for her to cry for forty-five minutes. It'll taper off in a few days, and besides, if you don't think it's a good idea, then you can stay home and take care of her! You're not the one who has to sit here nursing all day long. That must be why you don't see any need to make any changes!'

Then she burst into tears and dashed upstairs to the bedroom. Patrik sat there at the kitchen table, feeling like an idiot. He should think before he opened his mouth.

FJÅLLBACKA 1928

Two days later her father came to Fjällbacka. She was sitting in the little room where she had found a temporary roof over her head, waiting with her hands folded in her lap. When he came in she reflected that the gossip had been right. He looked terrible. His hair had thinned even more on top. A couple of years earlier he'd been pleasantly plump, but now his figure was bordering on fat, and his breathing was erratic. His complexion was flushed bright red from the exertion, but just underneath was a grey tinge that refused to yield to the red. He didn't look well.

He hesitated at the threshold with an expression of disbelief when he saw how small and dark the room was, but when he caught sight of Agnes he rushed forward to give her a big hug. She didn't return the embrace, but kept her hands in her lap. He had betrayed her, and nothing could change that fact.

August tried to get a reaction out of her but then gave up and released her. And yet he couldn't help caressing her cheek. She flinched as if he'd slapped her.

'Agnes, Agnes, my poor Agnes.' He sat down on the chair next to her but refrained from touching her again. The sympathy on his face turned her stomach. It was too late for that now. Four years ago she had needed him, yearned for paternal care and concern. Now it made no difference.

She studiously avoided looking at him as he urgently spoke to her, his words occasionally catching in his throat.

'Agnes, I know that I was wrong and that nothing I can say will change that. But let me help you now that you're in such terrible straits. Come back home, and let me take care of you. Things can be like they were before, everything can be like before. What has happened is horrible, but together we can put it all behind you.'

His voice rose and sank in imploring waves that shattered against the hard shell of her heart. His words felt like a reproach.

'Dear Agnes, please come home. You can have anything you want.'

She saw out of the corner of her eye how his hands trembled, and his beseeching tone of voice gave her more satisfaction than she could have ever imagined. And she had imagined it; she had dreamt about it many times during the dark years that had passed.

She slowly turned to face him. August took this as a sign that she accepted his entreaties and eagerly tried to take her hands. Without expression she abruptly pulled her hands away.

'I'm leaving for America on Friday,' she said, enjoying the dismayed expression on August's face.

'A… aa… merica,' August stammered, and Agnes saw beads of sweat break out on his upper lip. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this.

'Anders had bought tickets for all of us. He dreamt about a future for us there. I intend to honour his wish and go there myself,' she said dramatically, shifting her eyes away from her father to look out of the window. She knew that her profile was beautiful in the backlight, and her black clothing emphasized the pallor she had so carefully guarded.

People had been tiptoeing around her for two days. A small room had been put at her disposal, with the promise that she could stay as long as she liked. All the talking behind her back, all the contempt they had previously directed at her, all that was as if it had been swept away with the wind. The women brought her food and clothing. Everything she wore now was either borrowed or a gift. She had nothing of her own left.

Anders's cutter mates at the quarry had also come by. Dressed in their Sunday best and newly scrubbed, they stood with their caps in hand and looked at the floor. They shook her hand and mumbled some words about Anders.

Agnes couldn't wait until she could get away from this patched, threadbare crowd. She longed to go aboard the boat that would take her to another continent. She wanted to let the sea air blow away the filth and decay that lay like a membrane over her skin. For a couple more days she had to tolerate their sympathy and their pathetic attempts to show goodwill. Then she would set off and never look back. But first there was what she wanted to get from the bloated, red-faced man sitting next to her, this man who had abandoned her so cruelly four years ago. Now she would see to it that he paid, and paid dearly, for each and every one of the four years that had passed.

Her father continued to stammer, still in shock over the news she had just announced. 'But, but, how will you make a living over there?' he asked with concern, wiping the sweat from his brow with a little handkerchief that he pulled out of his pocket.