"And so are you," says Laufey, smiling. Hanna smiles back.

"Whether I like Steinn is not the point. I'm just concerned about him."

"How is Frederico anyway?" Laufey interrupts. "How is the long-distance relations.h.i.+p going?"

Hanna sighs silently. Laufey always senses what is on Hanna's mind. She can't get away from it.

"Things aren't entirely OK between us," she says, setting her fork and a delicious bit of cake back down on the plate. Then she comes out with it. Says it out loud for the first time since she stumbled on what was going on; she feels as if she is looking down into an abyss. "He's been seeing someone else."

The words sound ba.n.a.l and ordinary. She does not look at Laufey as she says it, not into her warm dark eyes, but past her, at the people at the next table, a young couple who are eating soup. They look as if they are in love. She looks at the girl; she seems so young, too young to have a boyfriend. She looks past them and out onto the street, looks at the scene through Frederico's eyes, as he saw it, that winter when he tried to live here. It is cold, gray, and ugly. She feels so downcast.

Laufey must see it, too, because she lays her hand on Hanna's arm. They sit in silence for a while. Laufey carries on eating. She waits, giving Hanna the opportunity to say something further, but she doesn't.

"Steinn is just a friend," she says instead. "He's been a friend to me ever since I began there." Hanna feels Laufey's eyes on her, senses the doubts she does not put into words, and for a second she is uncertain of herself. Is Steinn really a friend or does he just need a helping hand? She is not entirely sure but leans toward the feeling of friends.h.i.+p. Yes, he is a true friend.

"I don't know how I can put this to him or get him to go to the doctor's. Or how he can get an appointment at the hospital. I think it's too important for him to delay any longer." Hanna forces herself to eat the chocolate cake, and after she has swallowed a few mouthfuls she feels better. She knows that Laufey will not mention Frederico again, and she is grateful to her for that. She won't talk to anyone else about it either, and Hanna is relieved to have a friend she can trust.

"What about his wife?" asks Laufey.

"She is an artist, and they have two children, quite small I think," replies Hanna.

"Do you know her?"

Hanna shakes her head.

"You should just tell him straight-out, Hanna, ask the man about it. Give him a kick," says Laufey. "It can't go on like this. You can point him in the right direction, to the eye clinic at the hospital. I wish I could help more, but I have to go now."

Laufey and Hanna both get up and hug each other and all that is left unsaid between them is expressed in that embrace. For the first time since Hanna realized what was going on, she finds herself holding back her tears. Until now, her anger at her husband has been overwhelming, but Laufey's empathy helps dissolve those feelings. Hanna needs to make up her mind whether she wants to stay in the marriage. She needs to know in her heart whether she is doing it for her own sake or for Heba, and she hasn't yet made that decision.

When Hanna gets back to the gallery, an e-mail from the auction house where Elisabet Valsdottir bought The Birches is waiting for her. She is surprised to hear back from Mr. Jensen. The e-mail reveals the name of the first auction house, the one that sold the paintings from the butcher's collection, where The Birches was originally bought, but not the name of the middleman. Hanna can see that Steinn is right; this kind of information is not handed out on a plate. She contacts the auction house immediately and quickly receives an e-mail listing all the works the auction house sold from the butcher's collection. Not one of them is attributed to Gudrun Johannsdottir, and the list doesn't include photos of the paintings. It only gives the t.i.tle, subject matter, size, and artist's name, but in some cases the painter is unknown. There is only one oil painting the same size as The Birches. It is dated the first half of the twentieth century. The motif is given as a birch thicket, but no mention of a mountain or of Iceland. The painter is listed as unknown, the value a fraction of the eight million kronur that Elisabet paid for it. Hanna goes through the list carefully. There is only one work that is a possibility. Finally she sends a note of thanks and asks for a photo of painting number thirty-seven, painter unknown.

Something doesn't ring quite true. Why is the landscape just listed as a birch copse when Mount Baula is such a critical element in the painting? And it clearly is not a Danish landscape. Hanna is deep in thought when she hears Steinn's voice out front. So he can't be very ill, which is a relief.

Edda and Steinn are standing in the corridor and Hanna rushes out, eager and happy. She is pleased that there's nothing seriously wrong with Steinn, and she wants to tell him about the e-mail from the auction house. She is even more relieved when she hears him tell Edda that he has been to the doctor and says, "My wife sent me to the optometrist!"

Hanna walks toward Steinn with a smile, hardly noticing the dark-haired woman standing with him and Edda. She a.s.sumes the woman is there to see Edda because they are chatting and laughing at something.

"So you're here!" she says. She looks at him happily, but is taken aback when she sees that he is holding the dark-haired woman by the hand. She is tall and slender and very good-looking. Hanna immediately realizes that this must be Steinn's wife. She instinctively adopts the en garde position, winds down her delight at seeing Steinn again, and pulls her face back to neutral, dulling the glow in her eyes.

The two women size each other up. Hanna makes sure she keeps her expression detached and holds out her hand.

"You must be Helga. Steinn has told me about you. I'm Hannaa"I'm the director of the Annexe."

Helga smiles wholeheartedly at her, evidently concluding that she has nothing to fear where Hanna is concerned. To be so unexciting is hurtful to Hanna; maybe this is why Frederico was unfaithful?

Helga and Steinn are tall and make a stunning couple. They seem to have a happy, loving relations.h.i.+p, and Hanna feels a flare of bitter envy and jealousy at their happiness.

"Nice to meet you," says Helga. "Steinn speaks highly of you."

Hanna becomes mindful of the fact that she has not mentioned Steinn to Frederico.

"Helga is an artist," says Steinn, and Hanna can hear the pride in his voice.

"I'm familiar with your work," says Hanna, as if she were on the fencing piste about to attack. She falls silent, which speaks volumes about Helga's painting. Touche, she thinks to herself. She is ashamed of her unseemly behavior but cannot help herself. She has been put in the balance and found wanting. The only course in this situation is self-defense.

When Steinn comes into the office a moment later, he is on his own.

"Were you ill?" asks Hanna cautiously, not sure how he might react to her question or whether he picked up on the tension between her and Helga, but Steinn gives no indication if he has.

"No, no," he says calmly. "Helga sent me to the optometrist, and we made an appointment at the hospital. I need an operation. But there's a long wait, a few months." He feels in his s.h.i.+rt pocket and pulls out a little vial of drops. "Until then I have to use these. And I'm not allowed to drive. That's why Helga is here. She's looking after me like a baby."

Hanna nods and doesn't ask any further questions, doesn't even mention the glaucoma.

"I've been in contact with both auction houses," she says. Steinn looks at her quizzically. "I still haven't found out who bought the painting before Elisabet. But I'm waiting for a photo from the first auction house," she adds. "So we can be sure it's the same painting."

"Hmm," says Steinn but nothing more.

Hanna does not know what he is thinking. She hears Edda's footsteps approaching from behind.

"I really ought to show you something, Hanna," says Steinn hurriedly. "Have you got a moment to have a quick look now?"

Hanna agrees straightaway. She also wants to talk about this in private, so she follows Steinn out of the office and down to the bas.e.m.e.nt, where The Birches is standing on an easel against a wall. Hanna has come to really dislike this work she once thought was so beautiful.

"You don't think we can actually continue with this, do you?" she asks, partly hoping that Steinn will be in agreement. She is not sure she wants to turn up every possible stone, but she is also ashamed of thinking like that. Not to bother investigating the painting to the fullest would be like taking part in the forgery herself, if indeed it is a forgery.

But Steinn doesn't respond. He clutches his head in his hands and staggers forward. Hanna sees beads of sweat appear on his upper lip; he groans and leans heavily against the table. Hanna reaches out her hand.

"Is everything all right?"

"No, I don't think it is." Steinn sits down on a stool, holding his head. When he looks up, one eye is red and bloodshot.

"I can't see," he says, trying to stand, but he loses his balance and stumbles. Hanna goes to steady him, but he falls to the floor with his hands to his head.

Hanna crouches down next to him, makes sure he is breathing, grabs her cell phone out of her pocket, and calls for an ambulance and then up to Edda. Within seconds Edda and the other women are down in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Hanna tells them not to panic; the ambulance is on its way. Agusta goes back up to watch for it, and Edda calls Helga, who left only a short while ago.

Hanna is scared. She feels her heart thumping in her chest; she feels frightened for Steinn lying there unconscious on the floor. She crouches down next to him and holds his cold, clammy hand. What could it have been that he wanted to show her? He must have gotten the X-ray of the painting. Curious, she looks around but can't see anything. Besides, it's even more cluttered with paintings and various artifacts down here than usual.

It has been a busy week preparing for the opening next weekend. The walls had to be repainted, so the paintings that would otherwise permanently hang in the gallery have been moved. Steinn has removed Sigfus Gunnarsson's painting, Composition in Blue, which the gallery was given the year before, down from the wall on the staircase and temporarily made s.p.a.ce for it in the bas.e.m.e.nt. It is now standing on the floor, shrouded in Bubble Wrap, in Hanna's line of vision as she crouches down holding Steinn's hand.

She keeps half an eye on Steinn, who is breathing evenly, although he's pale and beads of perspiration glisten on his forehead.

The outlines of the painting are clearer through the plastic. There is a half-moon, divided by a diagonal line. She has seen this line before, this shape, but she can't remember where, she is in such a state. The painting is on its side, and Hanna sees it from a new perspective. But she doesn't think about that; she is thinking about Steinn. She is fond of him; she cannot imagine losing his friends.h.i.+p. He has supported her from her very first day, he has kept an eye on her at work, and he has been there for her whenever she has needed him. She stares at him, then at the painting, back at Steinn, and then finally, after what seems like an eternity, she hears footsteps and the EMTs' voices. She explains what happened, tells them about the headaches, the shooting pain in his eye, and how it went all bloodshot.

"I think he's had an attack of acute glaucoma," says Hanna.

"What makes you say that?" asks an EMT.

Hanna gives a hurried and rather muddled response because there's no time to lose and she doesn't think they are really listening. "Just look in his s.h.i.+rt pocketa"he's got eye drops. He was at the optometrist yesterday."

The man fumbles in his pocket, but there is nothing there; the vial has either fallen out or Steinn has put it down. He looks at Edda and Agusta. "Did you know that he had glaucoma?"

Edda shakes her head and looks at Hanna in surprise. "He was at the optometrist, I know that much. But he never mentioned glaucoma." She looks at Baldur, who has also come down, and he shakes his head. n.o.body is aware that Steinn has glaucoma.

Having lifted Steinn onto the stretcher, the EMTs now stand up, every movement quick and well practiced. Hanna and the others shrink to one side and watch them carry the stretcher up the stairs.

"Just call the hospital," one of the men says to Hanna as they disappear up the steps. Hanna would really have liked to go with them, but she doesn't. She is only a work colleague, and naturally Helga will be going up there straightaway. But supposing Steinn hasn't mentioned to her about the glaucoma? Hanna is not sure that he has. Glaucoma is a serious condition, and Steinn is not likely to want to give Helga cause for concern.

When the EMTs have gone, they are all left standing there worried. Edda goes to make coffee, her automatic response to any difficulty. Hanna is concerned that she may be the only one who knows that Steinn might have glaucoma. She doesn't want to call Helga. That would be odd. And maybe Helga saw how she looked at Steinn. She isn't even sure herself how she looked at him. But it's vital that the hospital staff give him the right treatment.

Hanna hesitates briefly then goes out into the reception area, where no one can hear her, calls the hospital, and asks for Laufey. She is busy. Hanna tells the receptionist that this is an emergency. She is advised to call the emergency room and give them the relevant information. Hanna calls and the receptionist there says she will pa.s.s her message on. Hanna tells her that Steinn could go blind if he doesn't get the right treatment straightaway. The receptionist agrees and repeats that she will ensure the information gets to the right person. Hanna hangs up, worried that this won't be enough. She fears that Steinn might lose his sight because of a doctor's mistake. She tries to get through to Laufey again but fails. She calls her cell, but Laufey doesn't pick up. Eventually she gives up calling. Mentally she moves into the neutral position to calm her mind before setting off for the hospital.

Hanna fears b.u.mping into Helga in the emergency room, but she has already gone in with Steinn. Hanna learns that he is merely under investigation. An optometrist has not been sent for. Hanna goes out again and into the main entrance to look for Laufey. She must get a hold of someone in the hospital who will listen to her. Eventually she finds the physical rehabilitation department, where Laufey is doctor-in-charge.

Hanna enters the corridor, glances around, peeps into the ward, and sees Laufey talking to a patient in one of the rooms. Hanna waits outside, and when Laufey walks back out, she is startled to see Hanna there, out of breath and looking uneasy. Hanna briefly tells her the whole story, and Laufey takes her by the hand, leads her into the visitors' room, and tells her to take a seat and wait. Then she goes back into the department, leaving Hanna there on her own.

She sits restlessly and sees again and again the image of Steinn putting his hand up to his right eye, red and bloodshot. She sees the painting against the wall, Composition in Blue. She can picture it, the half-moon, cut through with straight lines, the interplay of blue and yellow colors, and at last it occurs to her where she has seen these lines before.

It was when she and Steinn were looking at images of The Birches on the computer. When Steinn showed her the infrared image. The drawing underneath the painting, curved lines cut through with straight lines. She'd thought maybe they were a bridge or a boat. But now she is absolutely certain. They are the same shapes. There can be no doubt about it.

Hanna has a photographic memory. Her memories are stored as pictures; her brain is a database of hundreds of paintings that she can recall whenever, their colors, light, shapes, and lines. She is never mistaken.

Underneath The Birches lies a drawing that is based on similar lines and shapes as Composition in Blue by Sigfus Gunnarsson. For whatever reason. She does not try to understand it now; her mind is too taken up with Steinn.

Laufey comes back in after a while. "He's going for tests in the ophthalmology unit. He is on his way there now." She smiles encouragingly at Hanna. "It'll be all right. He'll get all the help available. It was just as well this thing about his acute glaucoma came out. His wife is with him," she adds with a mischievous look. Hanna pretends not to hear the tone in her voice or see the amus.e.m.e.nt in her eye and just thanks her for her help.

Laufey goes back to work, but Hanna remains on the sofa in the visitors' room for a moment. She thinks about paintings. About the ones she is most fond of and goes back to again and again. She pictures the wide expanse of the sky in Jacob van Ruisdael's paintings, the tranquil landscape paintings of Camille Corot, the soft light in paintings by Claude Lorainn, and the pinkish-red hues of the mountainsides from home. She thinks about Heba.

6.

ARTIST IN THE MAKING.

Kari has his dad's brown eyes; he has just turned thirteen and looks like an angel. Dark hair, fas.h.i.+onably long, and girlish good-looks. His eyes are furtive and also innocent, giving him the air of a defenseless animal. Looking at him you cannot avoid feeling some sort of sympathy, a desire to give him a helping hand, to do something for him. His sisters are different. Saerun, the younger one, is a tough cookie and cheeky with it, and she uses foul language comically at odds with her five years. At fifteen, Soffia is the eldest. She looks after them and is just waiting for tenth grade to finish so she can start working. None of them has the same father; this home has never known a dad.

They live in a two-room bas.e.m.e.nt flat on Njalsgata, just behind Snorrabraut. Their mom sleeps in the living room when she is home, the sisters share the lower bunk in the bedroom, and Kari has the top bunk. They have a desk in the bedroom, no wardrobe, and their clothes lie in scattered heaps on the floor.

The children fend for themselves, and their mother is proud of the way they manage. There is no way of knowing whether there will be food in the house, and they never have a packed lunch for school. The social workers have paid them more than one visit, and up until now they have deemed it better for the children to stay together than be put in foster care with separate families. Then there are long periods when things run smoothly, more or less. Now is not one of those times, and Kari wakes feeling tired. He has a headache and his tummy aches; he is late for school, and Soffia and Saerun have already left.

He gets up and goes through to the kitchen. There are dirty dishes and gla.s.ses, empty yogurt cups, and a liter of milk in the fridge that has gone sour. He has a drink of water, searches for his clothes and his backpack in the bedroom, then gives up halfway througha"he sees no point in turning up late for school only to be told off and he is too tired anyway. He was out with his crew the night before. The oldest boys are already seventeen and eighteen, and they often have cigarettes and even share a joint, sometimes a beer. They were doing a piece on an inside wall in Hverfisgata and they gave him free reina"him, the youngest. He is proud because in the end he did the wall almost all by himself, in his own style. The others haven't quite got what it takes, the right touch. He decides to go and look at the wall again. If he could just get a hold of a cell phone somewhere he could take a picture. Maybe he will find a phone in a cafe. People are often so careless with their phones; they leave them lying on the table and don't notice when they disappear.

Kari puts on the same jeans he wore yesterday and the week before and a black hoodie. Neither is clean, but he's not concerned. He glances out of the window. It's not raining so he doesn't bother with his coat, which he cannot standa"he would rather be cold than walk around in that crummy garment. He pulls his cap down to his eyes and goes out, slamming the door behind him. He doesn't bother locking ita"there's nothing worth taking anyway.

He starts at Subway, but the man behind the cash register kicks him straight out again. He knows Kari and he knows that he does not have any money, but he hands him a b.u.t.tered roll as he shows him the door. Chewing on the bread, Kari tries another cafe around the corner. He walks around slowly as though looking for someone, as though expecting someone. The girl behind the counter looks at him with suspicion in her eyesa"a youngster in town during school hours is suspicious.

Kari moves out of her line of sight. He finds his victim toward the back of the room near the toilets. A middle-aged man is sitting down reading the papers, and his cell phone is lying on the table. Kari steals a look around. There are not many people in the cafe; it doesn't look as if anyone will ruin his plans, no one at the counter that he needs to run past, no one at the entrance. Quick as a flash he grabs the phone and makes a run for it, out, over the street, and across the square by the art gallery, where he is far too visible. From there he shoots down a side alley, behind the Thai restaurant, where he crouches down behind the garbage cans, waiting.

He is sweating and out of breath. He doesn't feel good; his heart is thumping. It's been a while since he has eaten properly. Soffia doesn't know how to cook and often buys sweets for Saerun to keep her happy rather than buying a meal. Soffia looks after Saerun as best she cana"as well as any child can look after another child, when she doesn't know what it is to be looked after herself. She doesn't know how to, doesn't think about cleanliness or healthy food or sleeping patterns, but she gives Saerun hugs and lets her fall asleep in her lap. Soffia can't leave, Kari thinks to himself. Much as they fight, he cannot even begin to think about it. He couldn't look after Saerun. He doesn't even know if he likes her. Most of the time he finds her a pain.

Kari does not dwell on these thoughts. What matters to him most is his crew, graffitiinga"he feels good when he is bombing, which is all too rarely. He can't afford cannons. He cannot hear anyone chasing him and opens his clammy fist to examine the phone; yesss, it's got a camera and the battery is charged. Shoving the phone into his pocket he heads up a side street rather than the main shopping street, because there are fewer people around. He feels like everyone is looking at him, a boy who isn't at school; he wants to be left in peace. He doesn't care that he's skipped cla.s.ses; he's done it often and there have been no repercussions. They threaten to expel him, tell him off, but none of that bothers him because these people don't matter to him. I don't matter to them either, he thinks to himself.

At last he reaches the derelict house where he and his friends spent the previous evening. He crawls in through a broken bas.e.m.e.nt window and holds his breath against the smell of excrement and urine. In the half dark he fumbles his way toward the stairs up to the ground floor and then on up a wooden staircase to the second floor once he has made sure there is no one around. He is frightened of b.u.mping into one of the old winos or crazed drug addicts who crash out there, but luck is on his sidea"the building is empty. He goes straight into a large room on the second floor, gets the cell phone out, and photographs the wall. This will go straight onto the Internet; he is proud of this wall. The whole expanse is awash in color, covered uncontrollably in white, gray, and violet, shadows of something he feels inside but does not know exactly what, something that draws him back again and again and allows him to forget.

The moment he has finished taking his photos, he hears men's loud voices and noisy footsteps on the stairs. It's the police! He is about to shove the phone in his pocket when one of the police officers whips it from him and holds Kari in a firm but gentle grip. Kari doesn't answer their questions. They mean nothing to him; they cannot touch hima"all they can do is take a statement from him down at the police station and drive him home.

This is the second time that he has been arrested recently. The duty sergeant recognizes him. He is friendly, asks Kari if he's hungry or cold. But Kari doesn't fall for these friendly overtures; he just shakes his head and gives the policemen monosyllabic answers. Virtually the whole group was arrested last time; they were all picked up by their parents, except Kari, who was driven home, as he is again this time.

He is sullen and angry at himself for being caught, and when he sees his mother sleeping in the living room, his feelings overwhelm him. It is more peaceful when she is not home. She wakes up when the policemen come in, and Kari sees her turn on the charm, making out that she is just fine while she talks to them. She claims to be surprised; she doesn't understand this at alla"it must be a new phase that will pa.s.s. Kari's mom is still young, and despite her dissolute life she is still beautiful. Kari can tell she's been drinking, but probably not since the previous evening; she isn't drunk. He waits till the policemen have left before asking her for money.

7.

EXHIBITION OPENING COPENHAGEN, SPRING 2005.

The opening of the fine arts exhibition is being held at the Icelandica"Danish Cultural a.s.sociation in the newly renovated docklands area, and the building is bursting at the seams. Crowds of people are standing or sitting at tables on the white paving stones in front of the gla.s.s building on a sunny afternoon in May. The sun reflects off the water and mirrors through the gla.s.s; the white pavement intensifies the brightness.

Inside is a plentiful supply of food. Trays piled with national gourmet cuisine with a modern twist glide around on the arms of courteous waiters: minute blood sausage tartlets, salted meat in aspic served in little aluminum dishes, croutons of rye bread with lamb pate on sticks. A band is due to start shortly, to appeal to the young people who perhaps don't have an awful lot of interest in Icelandic painters who studied in Copenhagen in the middle of the last century. There are paintings by Thorarin B. Thorlaksson, Kristin Jonsdottir, Sigfus Gunnarsson, Thorvald Skulason, and Gudrun Johannsdottir among others. All paintings are from the earlier parts of their careers, landscape, a touch of cubism, a hint of romanticism, and some expressionism. Still life paintings, scenes through a window, harbor views, street scenes, and landscapes. Sigfus was one of the most ambitious. Both his sketchbooks and his cubist face paintings are on display, and his semiabstract paintings stand out with their vivid colors.

Standing with an exhibition program in one hand and a soda water in the other, Hrafn Arnason looks around the room. Hrafn is a regular visitor to Copenhagen because the company has its factories here. In previous years the company produced frozen prawns and smoked salmon, but now it produces fresh sus.h.i.+ and sas.h.i.+mi, which it sells in gourmet delicatessens in Denmark and Sweden. Business is going well; sus.h.i.+ bars are trendy. Hrafn is hoping to meet an acquaintance here who has recently bought up a hotel. The idea is to get him to open a sus.h.i.+ bar inside and Hrafn will offer him a discount on his products. Hrafn is always on the lookout for new business opportunities; he wants to expand, and he needs more regular customers. He likes best to see to everything himselfa"just like his father before him. He knows most of his staff and prefers to employ Icelanders, even here in Copenhagen, and he regularly visits the site at Norrebro where the packing is done and watches the work being carried out.

Hrafn is standing so stock-still he is nearly invisible, alone with his thoughts in the crowd. Someone suddenly attracts his attention, fair hair, brown eyes, a slender body; then Masha's face fills his line of vision and she kisses him three times. Hrafn hasn't seen Masha and Larisa since the previous year, at the business conference in Moscow. As soon as he sees Masha, he wonders how many restaurants she owns in Moscow. Until now he has stuck to Copenhagen and Malmo in Sweden, but there is no reason why he shouldn't sell sus.h.i.+ to Moscow. He catches Larisa's eye. He has not forgotten her, despite his efforts to, and he slides his hands up into his sleeves, feeling embarra.s.sed.

"Call me Masha, Mr. Arnason. How lovely to see you again!" Mariya says loudly. Her English is as stiff as before, and she lets her Russian accent show through. Mariya is a powerful woman from a powerful country; she does not need to submit to other nations' rules of p.r.o.nunciation.

"I didn't know there were artists in Iceland," continues Masha with a smile. "Larisa told me there were only a handful." Larisa smiles politely at Hrafn, her eyes constantly wandering to the paintings on the walls. She clearly has more interest in them than in Hrafn, and he is relieved and disappointed at the same time. He follows her gaze, and, because he does not know what they want of him, to break the ice he begins talking about Icelandic art.

When he talks about the first Icelandic painters, their innovative work, how they had to go abroad to study, and how most of them came to Copenhagen, Larisa is all ears, which surprises him. She looks intently at the paintings as Hrafn explains how they went all out in the fight for independence at the turn of the century and painted the beauty of the Icelandic countryside, rural prosperity, and bright, clear nights. He also mentions their value and supply and demand and talks about the careers of Sigfus Gunnarsson and Svavar Gudnasonar, who were both connected to the CoBrA movement. "The works of Sigfus and Svavar are amongst those that fetch the highest prices," he says and mentions a sum. He is careful what he says because he is not an expert like Larisa and he doesn't care to reveal his lack of knowledge.

"I bought a painting not long ago that could be by this woman," he says a moment later, pointing to a painting by Gudrun Johannsdottir. Masha nods, taking in what he says, but her mind is clearly elsewhere. Larisa has moved to the other side of the room, where she is looking at Sigfus Gunnarsson's sketchbooks in a display cabinet.

By chance, the director of the cultural a.s.sociation suddenly appears and greets Hrafn with open arms; she used to know his parents. Hrafn introduces her to Masha, not quite knowing what to say.

"We met at a business conference in Moscow last year," he says finally.

The director introduces Hrafn to a woman standing at her side. "This is Hanna Jonsdottir; she's an art historian. She wrote a piece in the exhibition program for us and helped us with Gudrun's paintings."