Pernille was not dead. The doctor, of course, did not know why Eusden was so overwhelmed by his reference to her. Nor was he able to answer the seemingly obtuse question, ‘How can she be alive?’ The simple fact, self-evident to him, was that she was. And she was just as anxious to see Eusden as Inspector Ahlroos.

It was Ahlroos, however, who arrived first. A slightly built, dark-haired man with a professionally guarded expression and the apparent ability never to blink, he was accompanied by a burly junior who prowled round the room and did a lot of gum-chewing and window-gazing while his boss asked the questions. And he had a lot of questions to ask.

The inspector might have anticipated caution or evasion from his interviewee. It was clear to Eusden that he must be an actual or potential murder suspect. He supposed the most prudent course of action would be to say nothing at all until he had taken legal advice. As it was, however, he was so euphoric at the news that Pernille was not dead that he told Ahlroos everything he wanted to know and probably more, which even so was less than the whole and multi-faceted truth. All he sought in return was an answer to the question he had put to the doctor in vain: ‘How can she be alive?’

His persistence eventually won him an explanation of sorts. ‘Ms Madsen was never at the house in Munkkiniemi, Mr Eusden. She told us she let Lars Aksden take her place. He was killed in the explosion. For why they swapped, you must ask her.’

Eusden’s chance to do that came a couple of hours later. When Pernille entered the room, she stopped in the doorway and they smiled disbelievingly at each other. Then she walked across and kissed him on the cheek and sat down on the chair beside the bed. She was dressed in the same black outfit she had worn when they first met in Stockholm. She looked tired and stressed – and wonderfully alive.

‘I thought you’d run away,’ she said, still smiling at him.

‘And I thought you were dead.’

‘I’m happy we were both wrong.’

‘The police said Lars took your place.’

‘Someone inside Mjollnir tipped him off about what was happening. He refused to tell me who it was and now I suppose we may never know. He saw his chance to find out what the family secret really was and I was so… disappointed…you’d quit on me I… didn’t try to talk him out of it. We met halfway to Koskinen’s house. I got out of the car and he got in. Matalainen had no choice about going along with it. There wasn’t time for him to argue. They drove away – to their deaths. When I heard about the explosion, I realized Tolmar had doublecrossed us – and killed his brother by mistake in the process. I moved to a different hotel so no one would know where I was and tried to decide what to do. In the end, I went to the police. They didn’t believe me, of course. Then the news came from here that Tolmar and Arto Falenius and another man had been found dead – and that you were in hospital. It was the last news I was expecting.’

‘The Opposition sent a hit man after Tolmar, who shot Falenius by mistake. Then Tolmar shot the hit man. And then…’ Eusden searched Pernille’s face for some clue to what she thought he had done. ‘It was him or me.’

‘I’m glad it wasn’t you.’

‘I don’t suppose Michael will be. How is he?’

‘Not good. He’s lost his uncle as well as his father. He’s…’ She shrugged. ‘You can imagine.’

‘I’m trying to.’

‘I left him in Helsinki with Elsa.’

‘Thanks for coming to see me. It… can’t have been easy to get away.’

‘I’ve been several times.’

‘So I gather. And you’ve had to fend off reporters to do it, apparently.’

‘I can handle them. I’m more worried about the police. What did they want to know?’

‘Everything. And that’s what I told them. Now I should tell you everything as well. About what happened by the lake.’

‘It can wait. The doctor says you need plenty of rest. You also need a lawyer. I can help with that.’

‘I’m just going to keep on telling the truth, Pernille. It’s about all I feel capable of doing.’

‘They’ve arrested Erik Lund.’

‘Good.’

‘And poor Osmo Koskinen. But I expect they’ll let him go soon. I think it’s going to be all right. But still you should have a lawyer.’

‘OK. If you say so.’

A silence fell briefly between them, strangely lacking in awkwardness. Then Pernille said, ‘I met your American friend, Regina Celeste, in Helsinki. She asked me to tell you that Werner Straub has turned up there.’

‘He’s wasting his time. Sooner or later, he’ll realize that and go home.’

‘She also asked me to tell you that you owe her an apology.’

‘I seem to owe quite a lot of people one of those.’

Another fleeting silence was broken this time by Eusden.

‘I’m sorry about Lars, Pernille. He seemed a decent man.’

‘He was. I never should have let him go… instead of me.’

‘I’m glad you did.’

She sighed. ‘It’s not going to be easy… to find a way through this. Michael is so angry. He doesn’t believe what I’ve told him about his father. He’ll have to in the end. But then…’

‘Maybe I can help.’ Eusden reached out towards her and she took his hand.

‘Maybe we can help each other,’ she said softly.

Lying in bed that night, gazing up at the shadows on the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the hospital around him, Eusden wondered if he and Pernille really were alive, or if this frailly hopeful future that seemed now to be possible was merely a consoling fantasy devised by his brain to render the process of freezing to death in a Finnish forest more tolerable. Maybe it was, he decided. But as consolations went, it was mightily effective. There was nothing to be gained by fighting against it. Time would tell whether it was real or not. He closed his eyes. And the darkness received him like a loyal friend.

COWES

FIFTY-TWO

The sky over Cowes is cloudless azure, the still air cool, the noon sun warm. It is a Wednesday in mid-September, yet there is no tinge of autumn in the late summer light. The warmth and stillness have certainly been a blessing for the occupants of the motorboat now approaching one of the jetties along the Parade. Richard Eusden and Gemma Conway are returning from a shared last act of mourning for their friend and in Gemma’s case ex-husband, Marty Hewitson: the scattering of his ashes in the indulgently calm, gently lapping waters of the Solent.

The owner of the motorboat puts them ashore, acknowledges their thanks and heads out again. The two people who knew Marty best in the world watch the departing vessel for a while, then walk slowly away, their savouring breaths of the ozoned air blended with full-hearted sighs. The sunlight sparkles on the wake of a Red Jet ferry as it accelerates out of the harbour, bound for Southampton. Eusden tracks its progress from the corner of his eye, knowing he will soon be leaving the Isle of Wight himself, crossing the water where he has just bidden a final farewell to his friend of nearly forty years.

As they turn away from the sea into Watchhouse Lane, Gemma breaks the silence that has hung between them since leaving the boat. ‘I’m glad we were able to do this at last, Richard. Just you and me. And Marty.’

‘Same here. I hated missing his funeral. This has… made up for it in a way, I guess. Even though…’

‘Yes?’

‘I should have been there. To say a few words. To tell everyone…I loved him.’

‘I told them for you. They all understood you couldn’t make the journey. Even Bernie Shadbolt.’

‘And Vicky?’

‘Her too, I think. They had lots of questions, of course. Questions I couldn’t answer.’

‘I’m not sure I’d have been able to either.’

‘Able? Or willing?’

Eusden smiles ruefully. ‘A bit of both.’ They reach the High Street end of the lane and stop by the entrance to the Union Inn. It is a pub he and Marty frequented in their time, as did Marty’s grandfather, Clem Hewitson, though never at the same time. ‘Can I buy you a drink, Gem?’ His use of the diminutive form of her name appears to surprise her almost as much as it does him. He wonders if this is the first occasion he has used it since their divorce. And he wonders if she wonders also. ‘Unless…’ He is aware she is not an entirely free agent. Their long postponed joint adieu to Marty has been arranged as part of a pre-term holiday Gemma is spending on the Island with Monica, who has diplomatically absented herself, though not, Eusden suspects, for long.