'Me? Complicated?' Lund opened the passenger door. 'We can thrash that out on the way.'

GRAVEL CRUNCHED under the tyres as they turned on to the track leading to the house, and wound their way past the dark shapes of trees. The lake lay ahead, like a second sky embedded in the forest; its surface studded with stars. In Trondheim it was probably still raining.

Johanson parked the car and carried his case into the house, then joined Lund on the veranda. The floorboards creaked. The stillness of the place had always filled him with awe, and seemed more intense for all the sounds he could hear rustlings, the faraway call of a bird, twigs cracking, a scurrying in the undergrowth, and others he couldn't distinguish. A few steps led down from the veranda to a sloping meadow that separated the house from the lake. A crooked landing-stage jutted into it. At the far end, the boat he used for fishing lay motionless on the water.

Lund was gazing into the night. 'And you've got all this to yourself?'

'Mostly.'

'I guess you're happy in your own company, then,' she said.

Johanson laughed. 'What makes you say that?'

'Well, if there's no one else, you'd have to be.'

'When I'm out here, I can do exactly as I please – like or loathe myself, whatever… Come on, let's go inside. I'll make us a risotto.'

A few minutes later Johanson was frying onions, adding rice, stirring then pouring in hot chicken stock. He sliced a few porcini mushrooms and left them to sizzle gently over a low heat.

Lund was watching him. She couldn't cook, Johanson knew. He opened a bottle of red wine, decanted it and poured two glasses. The usual routine. They ate, drank, talked and got closer in a secluded romantic setting. An ageing Bohemian and a younger woman. He knew how it would end.

If only she hadn't insisted on coming.

He was tempted to let things take their course. Lund was sitting at the kitchen table in one of his jumpers, more relaxed than she'd seemed in a long time. There was an unexpected softness about her features that perturbed him. He'd tried to persuade himself that she wasn't his type, too hyperactive and too Nordic, with her straight white-blonde hair and eyebrows. Now he was forced to admit it wasn't true.

You could have had a quiet weekend, he told himself, but you had to go and complicate things.

They ate in the kitchen, drank their wine, chatted easily and laughed. Soon they had started on another bottle.

At midnight Johanson said, 'Fancy a boat trip? It isn't too cold.'

She propped her chin in her hands and grinned at him. 'How about a dip?'

'I'd give that a miss. In a month or two, maybe, when the water's warmer. No, I thought we could motor to the middle of the lake, take the wine with us and…'

'And what?'

'Gaze up at the stars.'

Their eyes met, and Johanson felt his defences crumble. He heard himself saying things he hadn't meant to say, setting things in motion, leading her on. He edged closer to her until he could feel her breath on his face. 'OK, let's go.'

The wind had dropped. They walked along the landing-stage and hopped down into the boat. It rocked in the water and Johanson caught her arm. He nearly laughed. It was like a film, he thought – a corny romantic comedy, with Meg Ryan as the lead.

He'd purchased the little wooden boat with the house. At the bow end, planks had been nailed together to create storage space. Lund sat cross-legged on top, and Johanson started the outboard engine.

They didn't speak while the boat was moving, and soon Johanson released the throttle and let the engine die. They were some distance from the house but the veranda lights reflected in the water as a rippling band of brightness. The silence was punctuated by soft splashes as fish darted up to seize insects. Johanson picked his way carefully across to Lund, with the half-empty wine bottle in one hand. 'If you lie back and look at the sky,' he said, 'the universe and everything in it will be yours.'

She looked at him, eyes glinting in the dark. 'Ever seen a shooting star from here?'

'Plenty.'

'Did you make a wish?'

I'm not enough of a romantic,' he said, and squeezed in beside her. 'I just enjoyed the view.'

Lund giggled. 'You don't believe in such things, then?'

'Do you?'

'Of course not!'

'You're not the type for flowers either. Kare will have his work cut out with you. A stability analysis for subsea construction would be the most romantic present anyone could give you.'

Lund gazed at him. Then she lay down, and her jumper rode up to reveal a taut abdomen. 'Do you mean that?'

Johanson propped himself up on his elbow. 'No, not really.'

'You think I'm unromantic.'

'I think you've never stopped to think what romance is about.'

Their eyes met.

And lingered.

His fingers were already in her hair, combing through the long blonde strands.

'Maybe you could show me,' she murmured. She wrapped an arm round his neck, eyes closed.

Kiss her. Now.

Neither of them moved. They were locked in position, as if they were waiting for a sign.

What's wrong? thought Johanson. Why isn't it working? He could feel the warmth of Lund's body and he breathed in her scent – but he felt like an intruder.

'It's not happening,' said Lund.

Johanson felt as though he'd been thrown into the lake's cold water. Something had been extinguished. His ardour dispersed, giving way to relief 'You're right,' he said.

They disentangled themselves reluctantly. Johanson saw a question in her eyes that was probably mirrored in his: have we spoilt what we had? 'Are you all right?' he asked.

Lund didn't reply. He sat down in front of her, with his back against the side of the boat, and offered her the bottle. 'Good friends like us,' he said, 'should never be lovers.'

It was a cliché, but it had the right effect. She giggled, grabbed the bottle and took a swig. Then she laughed. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle it, but noisy laughter spilled between her fingers, and Johanson joined in.

'Phew,' she said. 'Are you angry with me?'

'No. What about you?'

'No- it's just. . .' She hesitated. 'I don't get it. On the Thorvaldson that night in your cabin, if I'd stayed a moment longer something could have happened, but now…'

He took the bottle from her and drank some wine. 'No,' he said. 'It would have been like tonight.'

'But why?'

'Because you love him.'

Lund wrapped her arms around her knees. 'Kare?'

'Who else?'

For a long time she stared silently into space. 'I thought I could get away from him.' She paused, then went on, 'You and I were always on the verge of something happening. Neither of us wanted anything serious so we were perfectly suited… But I never thought, it has to happen now. I wasn't in love with you. I didn't want to be in love. And then I met Kare and I knew I was…'

'In love.'

'I couldn't focus on my job, my mind was always elsewhere – and that's just not me.'

'So you thought you'd cash in your chips before things got out of hand.'

'Then you are angry with me!'

'I'm not angry. I was never in love with you either.' He thought for a moment. 'I wanted you – but only really since you started seeing Kare. It dented my pride…' He laughed. 'There's a wonderful film, Moonstruck, with Cher and Nicolas Cage. Someone asks, "Why do men chase women?" And the answer comes, "Maybe it's because they fear death." Why am I telling you this?'

'Because it's all about fear – fear of being alone, fear of never being asked and, worst of all, the fear of having a choice and making the wrong one. You and I could have an affair, but with Kare… With Kare, it would be much more than that. I knew it from the start. When you find yourself wanting someone you don't even know, whatever the price. But their life is part of the deal, and you have to take that too – so you get nervous.'