The Perfect Landscape Part 1

The Perfect Landscape.

Ragna Sigurdardottir.

1.

A LANDSCAPE WITH BIRCH TREES.

Hanna steps onto the street. Inhaling the cold, damp, dismal darkness makes her gasp for breath. The dark air smells of rain, wet tarmac, and car exhaust with a hint of salt.w.a.ter and seaweed. Even when she closes her eyes there's no doubt she's back home. Tucking her head down, she wraps her scarf tightly around her neck, pulls her woolly hat down to her eyes, and walks toward the town center. She hurries along, looking down at the sidewalk, ignoring the street scene around her, which is so very familiar. Seeing a pinkish light from a fast-food outlet reflected in the puddles on the wet asphalt, she peers through the rain and the ugliness of the square takes her by surprisea"she had forgotten how bleak downtown Reykjavik can be.

She heads for the Annexe, the city's art gallery. In her head Hanna is still in Holland, where it's cold but calm, like in the painting she's fond ofa"Winter Landscape with Skaters and Bird Trap. It depicts a still and frosty day, roofs laden with snow, skaters all m.u.f.fled up on a frozen ca.n.a.l, and a bird trap on the bank. For a moment the painting is vividly before her, and then she sees Heba's face, pale in the faint morning light at the railway station in Amsterdam, an auburn curl trailing down the dark blue woolen coat she got for Christmas. Hanna raises an imaginary foil to keep at bay how much she is missing her daughter and walks briskly across the pavement in front of the gallery, where the gusts of wind are sharpest. She tries not to think about Frederico, her Italian husband and father of Heba. They have been married for nearly twenty years, and now their relationship is going through a rough patch.

The Annexe extends from the main building out onto the square; the architect didn't have displaying works of art in mind when he designed this exhibition s.p.a.ce for contemporary art. Transparency and flow may currently be all the rage, but it's hardly prudent to put up a gla.s.s building in a city that witnesses weekend binge drinking. One pane sports the illegible orange initials of its graffitist; another is covered by a piece of plywood, probably broken over the weekend. Monday morning, Hanna muses. Should the Annexe's funds really be spent on such repairs? Half running the last few feet to the entrance, she attempts to decipher the scribble on the gla.s.s without success.

Baldur is standing by the window in the meeting room on the second floor, looking out. The gallery's acquisitions committee is meeting, and everyone is present apart from Hanna and Kristin. He glances across at Thor, the lawyer, and, detecting his impatience, looks back to see Hanna running across. Baldur rushes out into the corridor, down the stairs toward the entrance, his keys jangling in his pocket. When he gets to the lobby he presses a b.u.t.ton on the reception desk and the door opens. Hanna walks in and greets hima"they know each other from their art college days. They look at one another for a moment, and Baldur unconsciously runs his hand through his thick red hair, which is just beginning to fade; the backs of his hands are more freckled than they used to be too.

"I saw you from the window," he says. "Recognized your gait immediately."

Hanna's eyes crinkle when she smiles. When she laughs they almost disappear, but nothing else about her gives the impression of an Asian origin. Her smooth brown hair is totally European, her face is only memorable when she smiles or laughs, and her movements are unremarkable except when she's fencing on the piste.

"It's good to meet an old acquaintance on your first day in a new job," she says, taking off her soaking wet hat and flicking raindrops off her coat as they walk up the stairs, her leather boots resounding on the tiled steps.

"We're just about to begin. Kristin, the director of the gallery, is on the way," explains Baldur as he shows Hanna into the meeting room. Hanna smiles nervously at the three faces turned to greet her. She hasn't been in a management position before and doesn't know which of the three will be working for her, but the job description mentioned two staff.

Baldur introduces her. "This is Agusta, a.s.sistant head of exhibitions. She was quite the a.s.set to Bjorn, your predecessor." Agusta nods at Hanna. "Steinn is in charge of conservation and looks after the premises," adds Baldur.

Steinn's age is hard to gauge; he could be five years older or younger than Hanna. He stands up and greets her with a firm handshake; his hand is big and bony. His eyes remind Hanna of blue-gray basalt, smooth, hard, but genial as if warmed by the sun. Hanna is still holding his hand when he quickly drops his eyes and lets go, as if she were being too intimate.

Baldur continues the introductions. "This is Thor, our legal expert," he says. "He has special knowledge of copyright law." Thor rises halfway out of his seat and greets Hanna politely. He is short with graying hair and steel-rimmed spectacles and that rounded face that comes from too many three-course meals in good restaurants, but muscular nonetheless. A lawyer who frequents the gym, thinks Hanna, who has herself practiced fencing for many years, which is enough physical exercise for her.

Taking a seat opposite Steinn and Agusta, Hanna notices an oil painting standing on an easel at the end of the table. It's a landscape painting remarkably like the work of Gudrun Johannsdottir, one of the country's foremost twentieth-century painters. The painting could well be from the series that Hanna knows well, painted before the war, before Gudrun went to Paris, where she carried on her studies, having finished at the Royal Academy in Copenhagen.

The painting is smalla"a grove of birch trees in the foreground, a mountain on the right, which looks like Mount Baula, and a whitish-blue sky in the distance. The style is realist but has romantic undertones, and there is a hint of Cezanne in the way the canvas is divided up. The brushstrokes have that firm rhythm that Hanna is so familiar with from Gudrun's work.

She leans back in her chair to take in the picture and catches Steinn's eye. He gives her an almost imperceptible grin and she responds with a glimmer of a smile before looking away. She's not going to start her new role exchanging looks when she doesn't know their significance.

There is an aura of politeness around the meeting table; no one refers to the painting.

Puffing and panting, Kristin eventually arrives and shakes Hanna's hand. She exudes a love of her work and total commitment; her dark, speckled-gray eyes look straight into Hanna's as she welcomes her to the group. Kristin has an agitated manner, but that's misleading because when she talks she's clear and concise and comes straight to the point. She sits down at the head of the table next to the painting and launches in.

"How do you like it?" she asks. No one responds; they haven't been told anything about the painting or the meeting's real agenda.

"Elisabet Valsdottir has given us this work of art," Kristin continues proudly. "As you can see, it's clearly by Gudrun Johannsdottir. Elisabet bought it at auction in Copenhagen recently for eight million kronur."

Hanna remembers reading that Gudrun held exhibitions of her work in Copenhagen sometime before the war. Those paintings have not all found their way home to Iceland; some of the sales were not recorded and other works have yet to be uncovered. This one turned up by chance, through some secondhand dealer or from up in an attic somewhere, and then came up for auction. This is one of Gudrun's most appealing pictures, she muses, contemplating the birches, the interplay of colors, their twisted trunks and vibrant foliage. The painting displays a regularity, indicating the direction Gudrun would later take; she has given the twisted birches, which are really no more than shrubs, the true air of a forest tree.

"Elisabet Valsdottir?" asks Hanna.

Kristin gives her a look of surprise. "Don't you know who she is?" she asks brusquely, to which Hanna shakes her head. New faces have become prominent in society since she's been away, and she hasn't kept up-to-date. "She owns a chain of coffee shops that have sprung up all over the place. Elisabet has a keen interest in art and runs her own gallery. She's married to one of the richest men in the country," she adds and mentions a name Hanna has seen in the papers.

"This painting came to light when the estate of a Danish butcher and wealthy storekeeper, Christian Holst, was put up for auction after his widow died last year. The couple owned a large collection of paintings. He bought the majority from the well-known Danish collector, Elisabeth Hansen. She collected abstract works, most of which she bought from artists who later became part of the CoBrA avant-garde movement. But the old guy was partial to landscapes. There was a lyrical side to him. I met him once. He knew his art and may well have bought this painting by Gudrun himself," Kristin explains.

Kristin takes off her gla.s.ses to wipe them. "Of course, we'll need to examine the painting before we exhibit it," she says. "I don't want the papers getting wind of it before we've done that. We'll do this as we normally would. This is a real bonus for us. Of course, as you know, our funds don't stretch to a work of art like this one." She smiles, and under the surface Hanna senses her determination and single-mindedness. This is a woman not to be argued with.

"Well then, what d'you say?" Kristin asks without waiting for an answer. Glancing occasionally at the painting, Baldur and Thor talk in undertones. Kristin is chatting about coffee with a short woman who just tapped on the door and strode straight in.

"Edda dear," she says. "This is Hanna. She's taking over the Annexe from Bjorn. She's just come across from Amsterdam. You just arrived yesterday, didn't you, Hanna?" Hanna nods in response and says h.e.l.lo to Edda.

"Edda fixes everything around here," says Kristin, laughing. "She's worked here at the gallery since it started. She's a real treasure. I don't suppose there are any Danish pastries today, are there?" Kristin asks, and Edda is already on it; on her way out she smiles at Hanna, who immediately takes to her.

Hanna contemplates the painting. Whose responsibility will it be to examine it? What is the gallery's organization; how is it structured? As conservator, it must be Steinn's job to see to this sort of thing. From this one brief meeting she has the impression that the gallery is a small closed world and the staff function like a family. They have all worked here for a long timea"Edda from the outset, Baldur for at least ten years. Steinn looks very much at home here, and Hanna knows that Kristin has been the director for about five years. Even the young woman, Agusta, seems to be one of the family.

Kristin interrupts her thoughts. "Hanna, you and Steinn look into this. Bjorn was d.a.m.n good at writing reports. I hope you're going to follow in his footsteps," she says.

"Hanna wrote her dissertation on Gudrun," Baldur interjects, as if coming to her defense. Hanna looks at him in surprise; she doesn't need someone to defend her and doesn't appreciate being put in that position unbidden. As director of the Annexe, she is also surprised to be asked to take this task on. Her area of expertise is managing exhibitions and the history of landscape painting. But it is true, she did write a dissertation on Gudrun and knows her work well. In her mind she slips into the en garde position, ready for anything.

"Yes, that's right, I did. In fact, with particular reference to this period of Gudrun's career," she says calmly, imagining herself pressing the tip of her foil against Baldur's chest, pinning him to the wall while she talks. She is here on her own merits; this is her job and she doesn't need anyone meddling.

Baldur doesn't say anything further; it's the lawyer, Thor, who cuts in. "Didn't Gudrun hold an auction of her paintings in Copenhagen before the war?" he asks, looking to Hanna for confirmation.

"Indeed she did," Hanna replies. "And in all likelihood this was painted either in her student days or the summer before she left for Paris. It looks like one of her woodscapes. It's possible that Gudrun sold it at an exhibition held in the La.r.s.en Gallery on Hojbroplads, or maybe at the auction you mentioneda"which she held to fund further training in Paris."

After a moment's silence Hanna adds, "It looks to me like this painting is a really valuable acquisition." She looks at the painting and particularly at the mountain in the background. It can only be Mount Baula, actually painted as a straightforward triangle and typical of Gudrun's style. This is undoubtedly a boost for the gallery. The Annexe and the gallery are clearly not such separate ent.i.ties as Hanna had thought; the gallery is simply too small for that. Everyone has to pull together here, and Hanna's role needn't necessarily be limited to the Annexe. That may not be a bad thing. Straightaway on her first day she's been given a very responsible project, which shows that she is trusted and that her knowledge in a particular field is known within the gallery.

Hanna gets up from the table to look at the picture more carefully. Kristin joins her, and they discuss the aesthetics of the painting; they talk about Gudrun's career and her other works the gallery owns. Kristin is easy to talk to, but Hanna senses that she would stand her ground. She is clearly the sort of woman who gets her way. Her dappled neck scarf may be like a matador's muleta, but Kristin lets the bull charge where it willa"she has her own strategy in play. Hanna will be on her guard.

Behind her she can hear Baldur and Thor talking about a new golf course on the outskirts of the city and the door closing. When she looks around, Steinn has left. Edda returns shortly after with a tray, and the meeting dissolves into drinking coffee and eating Danish pastries. Kristin does most of the talking, telling the others about a dinner she was invited to in Copenhagen not long ago with the former Icelandic president. Aha, thinks Hanna. Sn.o.b. Maybe the neck scarf is a sign of vanity, a desire for glitza"a chasing after the wind. But perhaps being a sn.o.b is in some ways a positive attribute for the director of an art gallery. If you must give up some of your time to various social duties, such as openings, you might as well enjoy it. Kristin doesn't refer to Elisabet Valsdottir again, but Hanna would like to learn more.

"Has Elisabet donated to the gallery in the past?" she asks cautiously and is careful not to indicate that she thinks anything out of the ordinary about the gift.

"Elisabet and I are old friends," Kristin replies, "but she hasn't given the gallery anything until now. This was just so ideal and she told me she couldn't help but think of me when she saw this at the auction." Kristin positively glows as she divulges this information, and Hanna is careful to smile in response, but she is surprised. In Holland a gallery director would have kept such details to herself, made light of her connection to the donor.

In and of itself there's nothing significant about the gallery accepting such a superb gift. Why should Kristin refuse a present from a good friend who also happens to be one of the richest women in the country? But it does make Hanna wonder what Elisabet might take upon herself to give the gallery next and how they would react if the gift wasn't up to the gallery's standards. Kristin would surely refuse such a gift, wouldn't she? And if it became a habit among wealthy businessmen to give the gallery gifts in order to bathe their reputation in the art world's limelight, then wouldn't the gallery's artworks become a motley collection? Hanna looks back at the picture. It speaks for itself, and she stops worrying and quietly admires the painting.

The meeting is over. Before she leaves, Kristin reminds them of the staff meeting later in the week. "We need to go over the program," she says, "so we're all singing from the same song sheet."

Hanna sits quietly for a moment, looking at the painting while the others leave. Baldur is on the phone, talking in hushed tones. She wishes Steinn had not slipped out so soon. Something about his calm manner intrigues her. His job is not clear. Is he really conservator and caretaker combined? Perhaps that's feasible in such a small gallery.

Exhaustion washes over her, a combination of jet lag and lack of sleep. To summon the energy to get up and tackle all that lies ahead, a new job and new colleagues, she gazes at the scene in the paintinga"drawing strength from the vitality in the colors of the foliage, the uncompromising mountain, and the white light of the sky.

Gudrun didn't paint many woodscapes during her career; for obvious reasons this has never been a common motif for Icelandic artists. They have tended to focus on mountains. And Icelandic landscape painting didn't come into being until late in the nineteenth century. Up until that point the landscape had been perceived as nothing but rugged pathways and rough trackless terrain. Hanna observes the colors on the ground and the light on the tree trunks. It's as if Gudrun has bent nature to her own will, given it a balance that it doesn't possess, a tranquility that is not real, an immutability that Hanna knows nature does not have but that she longs to find, and she forgets herself for a moment.

When Steinn comes in with a roll of polyethylene, Hanna hurriedly gets to her feet because she wants to have a chat. But neither his manner nor the way he sets about the task invites interaction or interruption. He silently rolls the polyethylene out on the floor; takes the painting down from the easel; cuts the plastic with a penknife; and, wrapping the painting up very carefully, goes out with the knife and the roll of polyethylene under one arm and the painting under the other.

Hanna senses Baldur looking over to her as he finishes his phone call. He looks like he is hoping she will wait for him; maybe he wants to show her around the premises and the offices himself. What Hanna wants is to slip out into the corridor and follow Steinn, but that would look odd so she turns and waits for Baldur instead. He puts the phone in his pocket and smiles at her.

"You haven't changed a bit," he says in a friendly tone when it's just the two of them. Hanna isn't prepared for this. He talks as if they know each other better than she remembers, or like a supervisor to his junior. Maybe it's just the Icelandic way. Has she forgotten how people talk over here? She doesn't respond, and he carries on. "So you're just taking over. You've done extremely well for yourself."

As if he hadn't really expected her to. But perhaps he's only trying to be friendly. Hanna isn't sure, and despite their old acquaintance she finds herself on her guard with him as she was with Kristin.

They go out into the corridor and walk down the stairs. Baldur gives Hanna a general outline of his role at the gallery. He is head of exhibitions, deals more with actually executing projects than generating ideas. He is responsible for producing the gallery's publications and has been from the outset, from way before the Annexe came into being. It's evidently very important to maintain good relations with Baldur, even though Hanna hasn't quite worked out which reins of power he really holds. A little gallery in a small country, she thinks. Maybe the responsibilities of the employees are not as delineated as Hanna is accustomed to, the rules aren't as inflexible, and perhaps everything happens more smoothly here than she has experienced before, but that doesn't necessarily simplify matters.

While they're walking around the premises, Hanna recalls what she knows about Baldur's career after they graduated. Things went tolerably well for him; he even exhibited in the National Gallery, was a bit of a star for a while. He also had a contract with another gallery to exhibit his work, but that ended long ago. Hanna can't remember reading about any exhibition of his work in recent years. Baldur's zenith was around the time of neo-Expressionism; the style suited him well. She can picture the exhibitions becoming fewer and farther between as the years went by, how he didn't succeed in forging relations abroad and had sated the limited market at home. In the end a regular monthly salary and a less demanding relationship with art than that involved in creating from scratch had given him more satisfaction in life than relentlessly carrying on painting pictures in a style that had gone out of fashion. Baldur was only one of many she knew who had taken this path.

Now drawings, craftwork, and the personal approach are back in vogue and painting is in a state of flux, Hanna muses. Surely Baldur wouldn't consider going back to painting, would he? Can an artist who has put his art on the back burner for years on end get the chance to come back?

At least Baldur was once up with the times. As a youngster Hanna had only had eyes for landscapes, which weren't in fashion even then. In their different ways Hanna's parents had each encouraged her to go on and study art. Most of the people back home thought she would become a painter because she drew so well. It wasn't until she got to art college that she realized there was more to art than being a draftsman. Gradually she had also realized that she was more interested in reading, looking, and interpreting. She didn't have that edge that was needed to paint convincing landscapes when they were no longer the in thing. She painted the same motifs over and over but was always dissatisfied, couldn't quite achieve what she was aiming for, and didn't even really know what that was. History of art lectures were her favorite, when she sat in the semidarkness and watched the color slides being projected onto the screena"even then it was the landscape paintings that moved her. Portrait paintings with landscapes in the background or fifteenth- and sixteenth-century paintings depicting landscapes through a window; the confined world of peasants in the paintings of Brueghel the Elder and the Younger in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; the expansive cloudscapes of the Dutch Golden Age; the emotional response to nature in Romanticism of the nineteenth century, when man stood alone in the face of forces greater than himself; the glorious use of color in Impressionism.

Following her course at art college, Hanna went on to study art at the university and then to Amsterdam to complete her master's, where she concentrated on the history of landscape paintings in Europe in the seventeenth century. Curating came later, somewhat unexpectedly, just as fencing had. Heba had wanted to learn fencing, but in the end it was Hanna who became hooked on it.

Hanna and Baldur don't stop on their tour around the gallery, nor do they talk about the current exhibit on display until Hanna pauses at a painting on the second-floor landing.

"Ah yes," she says. "Composition in Blue, isn't it? By Sigfus? I've only ever seen a photo of it."

"There was a great hullabaloo about it," Baldur comments. "But the painting's not bad."

"It's smaller than I thought," says Hanna. "And the blue color isn't as piercing as I remember." They stand there for a moment, looking at an abstract painting by Sigfus Gunnarsson, one of the nation's most celebrated artists, which had been exciting news when it was donated to the gallery the year before.

Baldur shows Hanna all the nooks and crannies. The gallery's artworks are stored in cellars and storage rooms all over the city, and their exhibition s.p.a.ces are designed so displays can easily be changed. Once or twice a year the gallery focuses on the history of Icelandic painting, putting on exhibitions from their own collection, but otherwise the story of the nation's art isn't available to the general public. Their collection is limited, as are their funds for investing in works of art. If they buy the work of younger artists, then there will be gaps in the collection of older works; if they try to plug the missing gaps of history, then a whole generation of contemporary artists will be lost to the gallery.

Baldur seems very much at home here and has the power to open and close doors. Hanna wonders how well he and Kristin get along. Sometimes men find it difficult to have a female boss. And won't she herself be his boss to some extent? The Annexe is an avant-garde exhibition s.p.a.ce, the gallery's trump card in international terms, and in recent years it has exhibited famous foreign artists alongside Icelandic ones. Now she is the new director. Her position is undoubtedly more important than his; despite everything, he is her subordinate.

Eventually Baldur opens a door at ground level leading to a large office with enormous windows along the full length of one wall. In the middle of the room is a large part.i.tioned workstation, where Hanna spots Agusta and Edda at their computers. Under the window wall is a long table covered in papers, cans, and containers, with a computer at the far end. This office s.p.a.ce has a modern feel to ita"as with the Annexe, the idea is that natural daylight should flood unhindered into the room; even the concrete floor has a trendy clear varnish. Outside, dawn hasn't yet broken, and fluorescent bulbs light up the s.p.a.ce.

"Kristin and I have offices on the second floor, where the education department and management, marketing, and publicity sections are," says Baldur. "The rest of the staff is here, but Steinn also has a workshop in the bas.e.m.e.nt. This is Bjorn's desk," he adds, stopping at a desk in the middle of the cl.u.s.ter of cubicles and looking at Hanna, who stares at him blankly.

Who is Bjorn? Then it registers. She is taking over from Bjorn and this is her desk. Hanna a.s.sumed she would have her own office and two a.s.sistants. That was how the job description read. This is not quite what she'd envisaged, and for a second she feels like a fool. She'd forgotten how Iceland operates on a small scale. Obviously the gallery has no money. The Annexe exists more in theory than in reality when there's no funding. She concentrates on hiding her thoughts. The job doesn't revolve around having your own office. The work doesn't get done by sitting alone within four walls. This can only work out better. In a flash, as if she's back on the fencing piste, she turns the situation to her advantage. In her head she moves into the en garde position, running her fingers lightly along the grip. Then she smiles her most winning smile at Baldur.

"Excellent!" she says. "This is greata"I really like it."

Carefully maintaining the gleam in her eyes, Hanna observes Baldur closely. He fiddles nervously with the ring on his finger. That worked, she thinks to herself. He knew this would take me by surprise. He was watching me. But I knocked him off guard.

Hanna smiles at Edda and Agusta, who are sitting on either side of Bjorn's desk, her desk. Thoughts flash across her mind. Baldur's role is not what she had thought. Now an unexpected divide has formed between them. A whole floor, in fact. She thought she was taking on a more responsible role than his but was probably mistaken, at least if the structure of the office s.p.a.ce is anything to go by.

"Maybe you'd rather not sit here? Right in the middle of the chaos?" Baldur asks as if he's read her thoughts. "Of course, it's often hectic here, not exactly peaceful. I could maybe find you a quiet corner if you'd prefer?"

But Hanna has no intention of being stuck in a corner somewhere. In her head she holds her position on the piste, her foil raised and maintaining priority of attack. She doesn't shift her gaze from the desk and replies without hesitation, "No, this is absolutely ideal. I much prefer to be at the hub. That's how I've always envisaged the Annexe. I like to be around people, where it's all happening." Hanna smiles inwardly because nothing could be further from the truth when it comes to her work style. She has always needed peace and quiet, and she struggles with the hustle and bustle of people coming and going around her. Now she is being put to the test and she is in battle mode.

Hanna looks over at Agusta, who flashes her a quick smile as she clicks on her e-mails and answers the phone. She is young. Maybe twenty-five, Hanna guesses. The roots of her dyed blonde hair show through her asymmetrical bob, and she's wearing dark eye makeup. She looks as if she makes an effort to dress fashionably. Hanna recognizes the dress label and the brand of shoe; her clothes are a tasteful mix of secondhand and new, of the flea market and designer labels. Agusta is evidently at pains to show how capable and how busy she is in her job. Hanna recognizes the type. This is the diligent student. The girl who is so bright and together. Very alert, always willing and able, finishes all her a.s.signments before the deadline and is not afraid to tell someone else that something could be done better.

Recognizing a little of herself in Agusta, both in the conscientious student and her underlying ambition, Hanna tries to contain her irrational hostility. It's unlikely Agusta knows that Hanna has an ally in Baldur, an old acquaintance who might come in handy. And Agusta is young. I know better, Hanna thinks to herself. Ought to know better. She simply smiles politely to Agusta while Baldur carries on talking. Hanna realizes that he likes the sound of his own voice and it's best to let him go on.

"Agusta has taken on the task of keeping track of the reports about the state of artworks in public places," he says, patting a pile of reports on her desk. "It had become a pressing task, so it's good that you're here to oversee it. This has been on the back burner since Bjorn left, and the Annexe deals with this, as you know."

Hanna doesn't reply immediately. Silence is going to be her main weapon on her first day. Best not to let anything get to you and to show no reaction. Yes, she's truly back home againa"dealing with what's thrown at you is all part of the game. Having charge of outdoor artworks owned by the city is obviously a large part of the job. In all probability the largest part, so it's not surprising that no one mentioned it when she was asked to come on board. She can see plainly that this aspect of the work will be time-consuming, complex, and a drain on resources. How many artworks in public s.p.a.ces does the city own? And what sort of a state are they likely to be in, given the broken pane and graffiti she saw on the Annexe on her way in? Maybe it's no wonder that her predecessor, Bjorn, escaped to Denmark.

"Yes, of course I'm aware of this," says Hanna. She gives it no further thought for the moment because Baldur is introducing her to her colleagues on the other side of the part.i.tion.

"This is Margret, she deals with the accounts. Vala looks after the archives and registry, and over there is Steinn's desk," he says, pointing to a long table under the window. Hanna shakes hands with the two women and is relieved when Baldur finally goes to get on with his own work.

Sitting down at Bjorn's desk, now hers, she sighs with relief and opens her briefcasea"a large, soft leather case of indeterminate color that has been her companion for years and was a present from Frederico, her Italian husband of nearly twenty years. In it is a box of a.s.sorted chocolates that she's brought from Amsterdam to offer around on her first day in her new job. The lid has a picture from one of the most famous illuminated ma.n.u.scripts in the history of Europe from the Middle Ages, Les Tres Riches Heures du Duc de Berry. In the Middle Ages it was the custom to have a book of hours, handwritten with prayers for each hour of the day and a calendar showing the hours of the day and the months of the year. The month of January adorns the chocolate box and shows the Duke of Berry dressed in rich blue robes patterned like a peac.o.c.k's tail. He is sitting at a table piled high with food, surrounded by his courtiers and precious possessions.

Holding the box in her hands, Hanna hesitates for a moment, then opens it and hands it to Edda. It's difficult to determine how old Edda is; she's cheerful but looks careworn, and her voice is slightly gruff. Maybe she's a smoker or drinks too much. Or maybe it's just weariness? Icelandic winters, lots of children, low salary, and high inflation? For a second Hanna becomes aware of her own appearance, smooth brown hair brushed neatly in a ponytail, a high-quality designer sweater in una.s.suming lilac-gray tones, a well-tailored skirt, and Italian leather boots. She's had a good life.

"We must have some coffee with this," says Edda instead of taking a chocolate from the box. Shortly after, all six of them, Hanna, Agusta, Edda, Vala, Margret, and Steinn, who has just come back in, are sitting in the corner drinking coffee.

"This is the Duke of Berry," explains Hanna, taking off the lid and handing the box around. "He was a powerful, wealthy man at the turn of the fifteenth century. And an art connoisseur. He employed the Limbourg brothers to illuminate a book of hours and an almanac. This is January, the month for giving New Year's gifts. A long time ago in Europe, New Year's gifts were really just like Christmas presents."

Steinn gently runs his finger over the shiny paper on the lid as if to get the feel of its quality. His touch is light. Hanna momentarily watches his fingertips gliding over the surface of the picture, over the duke's blue robe, before looking away as though she'd witnessed something she shouldn't have. "The duke had seventeen castles and stately homes in France," she says.

"Look, there are some animals on the table as well," Agusta points out. "I know these pictures. We talked about them in art history, but I've never examined them in such detail."

"He also collected exotic animals," replies Hanna. "Peac.o.c.ks, camels, and dromedaries, to name but a few. The dogs you see on the table are a special breed of dog that can be traced back to the Arctic hounds used for pulling sleds. I once wrote an essay on this illuminated ma.n.u.script," she adds as if defending her specialist knowledge about the breed of dog depicted on the banquet table of a five-hundred-year-old picture. "Animals were part of his collection, and they had special keepers to look after them. He owned jewels as well and had a large collection of rubies. And books, illuminated vellum ma.n.u.scripts in expensive colors, like lapis lazuli imported from the East."

Steinn looks at her a moment, like he knows what she is talking about. "The rich and powerful of today cannot display such treasures," he says, and his voice is reminiscent of his eyes, firm and resolute.

"And when he died there wasn't any money to pay for the funeral," Hanna says in response. "He'd spent it all on costly items."

"He was dead anyway by then," says Steinn. "You can't take your money with you." He gives a wry smile, as if the thought that we're all equal on our deathbeds pleases him.

"He's a communist and antimaterialist," says Agusta by way of explanation or maybe to tease Steinn, but he doesn't rise to it or even deign to look her way.

"Kids might just do something other than deface walls if this society had some gumption," he says, gazing out of the window as if he were alone. Hanna knows she will get on well with him. He doesn't seem the sort to make a mountain out of a molehill. "Well, I've got plenty to do," says Steinn a moment later, and they all get up from the table. Sitting back down at Bjorn's desk, Hanna looks through some papers and turns on the computer.

Agusta suddenly glances over at Hanna. "I'm printing this out for you," she says and then starts talking. And can she talk, more than Baldur. She has a gently chirping voice with a pushy undertone; she talks without pausing, the words just streaming out of her effortlessly and yet concisely.

She's a pro, Hanna thinks, trying to contain her tiredness. It takes all her energy to follow Agusta without losing the thread. Agusta's youthfulness and the way she blinks remind Hanna of Heba. Agusta is telling Hanna about her work with Bjorn, Hanna's predecessor. She talks about a small international group of independent curators who she works with. She tells her how she and Bjorn liked to work, and finally Hanna understands why Agusta appears unenthusiastic about having a new boss. Bjorn's approach had evidently been very hands-off and he'd let Agusta have free rein, but now those days are over.

"I envision this as a joint project," Hanna says when Agusta asks her about her plans, at the same time apologizing for asking Hanna at the wrong moment. She says she realizes Hanna obviously needs to familiarize herself with the details. But she still asks. She can't help herself. Hanna tries to say as little as possible. She mentions the idea of landscape paintings and art in public s.p.a.ces, a combined exhibition in the spring. Agusta is interested. It probably wouldn't matter what she said; Agusta would find any idea interesting. You could easily extend this concept, run with it in any number of ways. The joy of making something happen is so tangible, something you believe in so pa.s.sionately that the desire to make a difference is so strong. Agusta is just beginning. Hanna has stopped listening and is watching her speak, watching her nostrils flare, and it occurs to Hanna that Agusta will undoubtedly go far and could be pushy if she needed to be. In her mind's eye she sees a column of steam rising from her nose like on the folkloristic painting by Jon Stefansson in which the ghost bull, Thorgeirsboli, dominates the center of the scene. Unwittingly she gives a smile, and Agusta looks at her, perplexed.

"Yes, absolutely," says Hanna without having a clue what Agusta has just been talking about. She promptly feels bad because Agusta is probably lovelya"she doesn't appear quick to take offense, and even though she babbles on, she knows when to shut up because she quickly finishes her monologue and leaves to make a call, scribbling as she speaks. Hanna is about to turn back to her computer when Steinn appears with a pile of papers. He clears his throat, and Hanna waits to hear what's on his mind.

"I, er, I've got some more reports on the state of the outdoor artworks," he says. "We'll have to make a start repairing many of them in the spring. And then there's a lot of vandalism. That's on the increase. Since the city banned graffiti about a year ago it's gone crazy, and we can't keep up with it. These youngsters have no respect for art. Agusta has started to log some of the reports, and here's the rest. It would be good if you could have a look at these as soon as possible," he says. "I'm going to have a look at a vandalized sculpture in the woods by Oskjuhlid, which we heard about this morning," he says, referring to the hill on the southern outskirts of the city. "Do you think you could come with me? Then you'll have a better idea of what's going on."

"Delighted to," Hanna agrees without a moment's hesitation. She'd enjoy going out in the car with Steinn. Then she glances at the reports. The t.i.tle page reads, "A Report on the Condition of Artworks Owned by the City." There is a photo of a sculpture covered in graffiti with a detailed description and an a.s.sessment of what needs to be done to bring it back to its original condition. Hanna rests her hand on the pile. In the background Agusta's voice chirps in a familiar fashion, and out of the corner of her eye she's aware of Edda briskly coming and going. She looks at Steinn's back as he pores over something on the long table. He has made s.p.a.ce for a desk lamp with a strong bulb, which floodlights the table and is reflected in the windowpane above.

She can't see the two women on the other side of the part.i.tion, but she can hear the tap-tap of the keyboards, and every so often a phone rings; their voices are low and she can't make out the words. Outside it has finally started to get light, and the familiar outline of Mount Esja is visible, dark against the faint gray morning light.

It's past midday when Steinn comes over to Hanna and asks whether she's up for going across to Oskjuhlid.

On their way out to the parking lot at the back of the gallery, Steinn looks questioningly at Hanna and asks hesitantly, "By the way, would you mind driving?" The question takes her by surprise, but Steinn offers no explanation and she doesn't ask. It's not that he's disagreeable, but he doesn't exactly invite further inquiry. He has a quiet manner, and his responses are measured. Hanna wants to get to know Steinn, and she tries to slow herself down to his rhythm, mentally drawing herself into the preparatory stance. Of course she can drive. What a question! Steinn fishes the car keys out of his pocket and hands them to her. Apart from the file he has tucked under his arm, he reminds her of a farmer on his way out to the cattle shed in his russet-red winter jacket and knitted hat. He has shoved the digital camera, which he'll use to record the damage, into his jacket pocket. His silver-colored ski pole taps on the wet tarmac. Hiking fanatic, thinks Hanna. Definitely goes walking in the mountains on the weekends.