Edvard “Teddy” Larsen had to engage his brain to avoid heaving a sigh of relief as he passed the flock of photographers crowding round the door to the large room as they waited for the minister to appear. He had had to draw on his many years of finely honed ingenuity and cunning to make her understand that they had to do this his way. Ruth-Dorthe Nordgarden had persisted in her intransigence: Teddy should read out a statement on her behalf, and then she would turn up to answer questions for ten minutes. “But, Ruth-Dorthe,” he had tried to explain, “it would look really strange if I, an employee in the ministry, were to read out a statement from you, a politician! It would look extremely peculiar!” “But I can’t just stand there reading aloud with loads of people in front of me, watching,” she had complained. “Does it actually matter if it looks slightly irregular? The most important thing is for them to hear what action we’re taking.” It had taken half an hour to convince her, and strictly speaking, that was the thirty minutes he should have used to prepare.
