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assignment for Norad , the Norwegian aid organisation, four years previously. Although that money was sitting in a special account, increasing each month, he could not bring himself to touch it.
    When they were newly married, and Ingrid was expecting their twins, bills had piled up, and sometimes they had to collect bottles to redeem the deposits when wages did not stretch to the end of the month. Now he had stopped looking at prices when shopping for groceries.
    Uncle Georg’s lawyer had offered to sift through his private finances to devise a plan to minimise his tax liabilities, but he had declined.
    The celebrities on the television screen were laughing. ‘I envy people like that,’ Suzanne said, nodding in the direction of the television set. Wisting agreed, though he was not sure what kind of people she was talking about. He was content merely to sit with her on the settee. ‘People who do just whatever they want,’ she continued. ‘People who dare to take risks, breaking free from everything permanent and secure to do something new and exciting instead. Like that woman Sigrid Heddal.’
    Wisting glanced at the screen, where a woman of around fifty was declaiming enthusiastically about something called Safe Horizon .
    ‘Just think, she’s more than fifty, yet she leaves a secure job as a project manager in industry to travel to Addis Ababa and undertake voluntary work with orphaned children. That takes courage.’ Wisting nodded, warming to this facet of Suzanne. ‘Tommy’s like that too.’
    She was referring to Wisting’s daughter Line’s Danish boyfriend, Tommy Kvanter, who had resigned the year before from his steward’s job on a factory trawler, selling his flat and moving in with her. In partnership with a few friends, he had invested the money from the sale in a restaurant in Oslo. Wisting agreed that Tommy was a dreamer, not adding that this was not necessarily a quality he appreciated.
    Following the meeting with the lawyer, he and Suzanne had dined with Line at Tommy’s restaurant, Wisting’s first time. Now he understood that it was more than an eating place: a restaurant building on three storeys called Shazam Station with a nightclub in the basement, a coffee bar at street level and the restaurant on the top floor.
    Tommy, who had responsibility for the kitchen and restaurant, had been unable to eat with them, but ensured they were served a substantial four-course meal. The food was delicious, that was not the problem, but where were all the customers on this busy Friday afternoon? Only a handful of tables were occupied. If this was the case every day, it did not augur well.
    He had never really understood what his daughter saw in Tommy. It was true he could be thoughtful and talkative, and even Wisting could see how charming he was. He did not trust him though, and not simply because he had a drugs conviction. Not even because he was obstinate and egotistical. Wisting simply felt that he was not the kind of character on whom his daughter should hazard her future.
    Sometimes he wondered whether his scepticism stemmed solely from Line being his daughter. He did not really think so but, on the last few occasions he had seen them together, it did seem that Line had begun to notice some of Tommy’s shortcomings. He seemed to irritate her, and Wisting had to admit ruefully to himself that he was delighted.
    ‘If you don’t take the chance to try something new, you can’t expect to achieve anything,’ Suzanne went on. ‘What have you got to lose? No matter how many times you go wrong, you always learn something new each time. All experience is valuable, both good and bad.’
    One of the guests on the TV show had been asked a question he could not answer immediately, and in the ensuing silence Wisting could hear the sound of a distant police siren.
    He clutched his glass in his hand. ‘Would you think of starting up a restaurant?’ he asked.
    ‘Oh yes,’ she replied, surprised but smiling