They looked at her. Överlind amused, Sturesson, Lange and Lilian kindly, and Sparre with a hard-set expression on his face.
Vera continued: ‘Based on that, the first theorem of welfare was formulated, which states that welfare is optimized when the production of goods and services takes place in a completely free market.’
Överlind pushed his chair back and put his hands behind his head.
But Vera was not finished. ‘It’s like we vote with our money about what should be produced. Whatever people are most willing to pay for is assumed to give us the most welfare. But…’
Vera was just about to bring up what she saw as problems with a blind faith in ‘the invisible hand’ of the market, when she suddenly felt a sharp pain in her right ankle. She turned her head and looked at Cissi. Vera realized that Cissi thought she should keep quiet.
The atmosphere became more disorganized and relaxed. Sturesson wondered about formalities. Vera answered that she could begin right away and that she would gladly accept Cissi as her advisor.
Cissi looked happy and held up the compendium that had been put together for the project. She asked, ‘Just a detail – in my chapter, how much attention do you want me to pay to the question of the share of GDP that goes to the public sector?’
Sparre quickly asked, ‘Yes, what was Sweden’s GDP last year?’
Vera’s hand leafed distractedly through the folder as she glanced at Cissi. But Sparre pointed sternly at Vera. ‘No, no. I am asking you. And I don’t want you to look up the answer.’
Vera saw in the backlight that everyone was looking at her and waiting. It became embarrassingly quiet. She took her hand off the compendium. ‘Sweden’s GDP last year was 2,995 billion kronor.’
Lange and Överlind exchanged a satisfied glance. Lilian put down her pen. Vera’s cheeks had turned red, but she couldn’t stop herself. She held up the folder and said, ‘But that information isn’t in here.’
Sparre twisted irritably, looked at the clock, mumbled something about how they had gone on longer than planned and got up to leave the room. Sturesson glared at Sparre as if he had just scored an own goal.
Vera felt like she had been interrogated for 24 hours. Her hands were cold as ice and her pulse was racing. She and Cissi waited alone in the corridor outside the room. All the members of the department’s executive committee remained inside, except for the one who had departed hastily.
‘Don’t worry about Sparre,’ Cissi whispered. ‘He’s against the whole idea; it has nothing to do with you. He thinks that if you don’t have a PhD in economics you can’t contribute anything of interest. But I think you disproved that.’ Cissi looked proud.
Vera wondered for a second whether or not she dared speak up; then she said: ‘But why did you kick me just when I was getting to the most interesting part?’
Cissi looked down and said, ‘I just thought… it was really just a factual question, and you had already answered it correctly. Sometimes it’s just as well to save the objections for later.’
Suddenly the door opened and they streamed out.
‘So, we have made a decision. Welcome on board!’ said Sturesson and shook Vera’s hand. Överlind and Lange did the same. Lilian was carrying so many binders and papers that her hands were full, but she smiled and told Vera that she should come to her office to complete ‘a little paperwork, signatures and suchlike’.
When the group wandered off, Cissi dropped her papers and threw her arms around Vera: ‘Congratulations, research colleague!’
With her free arm, Vera hugged her back. Even if she had failed today, it would still have been worth it, she thought warmly, because she had spent time with Cissi and learned so much. ‘Thanks for all your help! And you were right; they did ask about Pareto optimality. Not to be confused with the Pareto principle, which states that 20% of the time we talked about what was 80% important – namely economics,’ Vera said smiling.
‘I think they just wanted to know a bit about your background and stuff. But somebody who has literally held a heart in her hand – that’s somebody you should be able to trust, right?’ Cissi looked appreciatively at her.
Just before Sturesson disappeared he stopped so suddenly that Lilian almost ran into him with her pile of binders. He called Cissi from the far end of the long, empty corridor. ‘You… um… Ågren?’
Cissi winced and began to pick up her papers, which were spread all over the floor. ‘Mmmm?’
Vera thought it was strange. Hadn’t Åke Sturesson been Cissi’s dissertation advisor for three years? ‘Her name is Åstr…’
Cissi stood up abruptly and the elbow she drove into Vera’s side was enough to silence her.
Sturesson’s voice sounded authoritative: ‘The banquet. Formal attire. At minimum!’ He nodded distractedly at Vera. ‘Yes, that includes you too, of course.’
11
Linda had called, sounding secretive. She and Peter had agreed to meet at the city’s biggest shopping mall. He had combed his hair back and put on the preppy cap that he knew Linda thought he looked good in. He saw her familiar shiny black hair a long way off. As usual, he felt relaxed in the company of the fun-loving girl he had studied business administration with two years ago. They had also enjoyed quite a bit of sex together, and that was what she seemed to have in mind when she dragged him off to the women’s underwear department of the big clothing store chain.
Peter had always felt uncomfortable in the presence of all these intimate women’s garments. So when Linda turned and went further into the underwear section he stayed close to the demure nightgowns and pretended to look for something in comfortable cotton for his mother. He was standing right outside the women’s changing rooms and could see the feet of two girls under the swing doors.
Piles of clothes that they had already tried on were draped over the doors. Peter sighed. They seemed to have spent hours in the changing room. A poor kid of about 15 sat outside, exhausted and gloomy, his schoolbag thrown on the floor and his jacket open. He had baggy jeans, headphones around his neck and big, unruly hair. Maybe a son or a little brother, thought Peter, sharing in his suffering.
He heard a vaguely familiar female voice from inside the changing room on the left. ‘We can fix this relationship crisis.’
What relationship crisis? thought Peter curiously. Whose? The boy’s? The other participant in this marathon session of trying on clothes? Then Linda suddenly appeared, holding up a bra in front of her.
‘Peter, what do you think of this red lace?’
He barely had time to look around in embarrassment before Linda disappeared again into the vast array of merchandise. Peter tuned in again to what the girl in the left-hand changing room was saying.
‘Okay, but you need to ask yourself: what is love?’
Nobody answered. The item of clothing being tried on in the right-hand changing room seemed to be causing a problem, because a pair of gloved hands was stretched upwards in an effort to get something rust-red and shiny to slide on. The girl on the left continued, ‘This is what love is: it’s when you don’t need to say anything. When you just… when you just know. What do you think about then?’
It was the boy outside who answered: ‘I think about football.’
Peter smiled. Linda appeared again and Peter glanced at her, embarrassed by a leopard-patterned thong.
‘Yeah, I don’t know,’ he said uncertainly and pulled his cap further down on his forehead. Linda giggled and turned back to the merchandise.
That