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house next door and the small cottage a few hundred metres to the north.
    ‘This is an excellent area,’ he said. ‘Absolutely top-notch. The neighbours are just in the right place – not too close, not too far away. And no other properties between you and the shore … All you have to do is walk around the quarry if you fancy a morning dip.’
    ‘Once the ice has melted, of course,’ said Vendela.
    ‘It won’t be long now,’ said the agent. ‘It’s quite rare for it to be here this late … but we had a hard winter this year. Minus fifteen some nights.’
    A stocky man in blue dungarees was standing next to the agent. He was the local builder, and nodded to Vendela.
    ‘Any problems, give me a ring,’ he said.
    Those were his first and last words to Vendela this evening. Both he and the agent made a move.
    ‘Don’t fall out with your neighbours,’ was the agent’s final piece of advice to Vendela as they shook hands. ‘That’s the golden rule for house-owners.’
    ‘We haven’t met the neighbours yet,’ said Vendela, laughing again.
    As she walked back into the house, little Aloysius hauled himself laboriously out of his dog basket on his stiff legs and barked. He didn’t seem to be aware that it was his mistress who had come into the room – perhaps his sense of smell was failing too.
    ‘It’s only me, Ally,’ said Vendela, patting him.
    She had felt a little exposed out in the windswept garden, but in here nobody could get to her. She loved the clean surfaces in the new house. Everything was pristine, there was no rubbish hidden in cupboards or attics. There was no cellar waiting to be cleared out and cleaned.
    She remembered what the agent had said about the neighbours, and suddenly had an idea: perhaps she and Max ought to organize a party for everyone in the village, some time this week, so that they could get to know people. It would also be a way for her to practise relaxing when she was in company.
    A party would definitely be a good idea.
    Although it wasn’t actually the neighbours she wanted to meet, it was the elves.
    Once upon a time, long, long ago, a hunter went out on to the alvar , her father had told Vendela one evening. The hunter was after hares and pheasants, but instead he met the great love of his life out there. And he was never the same again .
    She had been six or seven years old when her father, Henry, started to tell her a story about the elves out on the alvar. Vendela had never forgotten that story. She often pondered on it and everything else she had learned about the elves over the years.
    She started to write down Henry’s story, exactly as she remembered it:
     
The hunter went far out on to the alvar, but there were no birds or small wild animals to be seen that day. The only thing he saw was a tall, slender deer in the distance, a deer that remained where it was, as if it were waiting for him to come closer, before turning and setting off towards the horizon .
The hunter followed across the grass, his gun at the ready. His pursuit of the deer lasted for several hours, but the hunter never got any nearer to his quarry. The sun went down and the evening came, and slowly the hunter drew closer to the deer. He raised his gun .
Then suddenly the sun was shining brightly once again, and the hunter saw that he was standing on the alvar where the grass was fresh and green, with little streams babbling around him. The deer had vanished, but in its place a tall, beautiful woman dressed all in white was coming towards him .
The woman smiled and told him she was the queen of the elves; she had seen him many times out on the alvar, and had fallen in love with him. Now she had lured him into her own domain .
    Vendela looked up and studied the wide sound beyond the window. In the darkness the ice looked grey and dirty.
    If she leaned close to the glass she could see the house next door, which made her think about the party again. Yes, she would definitely get that