However, further searches indicated that the couple must have sorted out their differences since they had not apparently separated after all. Thóra suspected that the fact there was nothing left in the coffers for Karítas’s settlement had played its part, though it was rumoured that her husband had concealed a considerable sum from his creditors, including the Icelandic bank’s resolution committee. No doubt sticking with him had seemed preferable to going back to her job at the hotel. The narrowness of Iceland’s social circle was its main drawback: after featuring in the celebrity gossip columns it can hardly have been a tempting prospect for a young woman to return home so ignominiously. Initial reports that Karítas intended to cooperate with the bank had proved unfounded, but when the media subsequently asked questions, they received few answers. Karítas had been uncontactable when the yacht story broke; in fact, she seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. A representative of her husband had announced that she was staying in Brazil to avoid the press furore, but her mother, who lived in Iceland, was unable to confirm this.
‘Matthew.’ He was glued to his laptop. ‘Have you heard any talk at the bank about the couple who owned the yacht? I know the guy didn’t do business with you directly, but is there any water-cooler gossip about them? About where Karítas might be living at the moment, or whether she’s intending to shed any light on her husband’s business arrangements?’
It took Matthew a while to work out what Thóra was talking about. Although he had made great strides in the language, it sometimes took him a moment or two to switch from German to Icelandic mode. ‘Yes, I’ve heard things, though nothing worth repeating. The women tend to gossip about her; the men, about him.’
‘What do they say?’
‘Nothing very interesting. He’s supposed to have squirrelled away a fortune in assets, which no one’s managed to trace despite an exhaustive search, and apparently she doesn’t want to come home because she won’t be able to flaunt her wealth any more if they have to keep a low profile. The word is that she’s afraid of being questioned by the financial authorities or special prosecutor. I don’t know how seriously to take that, though. It’s probably just speculation.’
Thóra considered. ‘I’m going to try and contact her parents or siblings. They may know how I can get hold of her. I bet she’d be able to provide some useful background on the yacht. Maybe there was a problem the crew weren’t aware of when they set out. Karítas and her husband hadn’t used the boat for a while before she was confiscated – perhaps because of a fault.’
‘Or because a boat like that costs millions of krónur a day to run. They’ve had to tighten their belts in the recession like everyone else.’ Matthew yawned. ‘Why on earth would she talk to you, anyway?’
Thóra closed her laptop. ‘I doubt she’ll have the slightest interest in doing so. But it’s worth trying.’ She stretched lazily. ‘Is her husband a criminal?’
‘What do you mean? The kind with a gun or the kind with a credit rating?’
‘A gun.’
‘I doubt it. What makes you think that?’
‘I just find it incredibly convenient that she should disappear completely at the time most convenient for her husband. One minute she’s on her way home to testify against him; the next, she’s vanished. I started wondering if she might actually be dead. Supposing they’ve bumped her off? It’s quite a while since the press last managed to take any pictures of her, though they’ve been pulling out all the stops over the last few days. Whatever her financial woes, it’s unlike her to lie low – she’s usually so eager to be seen in the media. So maybe it’s all connected. The documents from the resolution committee included a piece of paper with her name and an out-of-date phone number and e-mail address, which started me thinking. Perhaps they’re onto something that they can’t reveal for reasons of bank confidentiality, and her details were a hint to steer me in the right direction.’
‘I find that highly unlikely.’ Matthew looked incredulous. ‘Just because you’re given a piece of paper with a woman’s name and contact details, it doesn’t mean she’s dead. Anyway, you’d be a fool to speak to her family if you do believe she’s been murdered. What are you going to do? Ask her relatives to pass on a message, and assume she’s dead if you don’t hear back?’ He smirked. ‘Not exactly brilliant, is it?’
‘No, I didn’t mean it like that. It would be enough to meet one close relative for a chat. If it turns out the family hasn’t heard from her, then that would support the idea that there’s something wrong. After all, it’s one thing not to talk to the press, but quite another to leave your loved ones in the dark. If there’s any truth in the quotes from her mother in the papers, she doesn’t have a clue where Karítas is. On the other hand, it’s perfectly possible that they know exactly where she is and will be able to put me in touch with her. Which is what I’m hoping for.’
Matthew shook his head, still unconvinced, but at that moment Gylfi and Sigga appeared with Orri asleep in his father’s arms. Sigga took the little boy from him and carried him into the bedroom, but Gylfi hovered. It was obvious that he was bursting with news. ‘Dad rang from Norway.’
‘Oh?’ said Thóra. ‘How’s he?’
‘He’s had an idea. A brainwave, actually.’ Gylfi perched on the arm of Thóra’s sofa. Recently he had shot up to his full height, though he had yet to fill out. Before she knew it, he would be an adult. ‘He’s met a guy in Norway who works for an oil company and apparently he could sort out a job for me if I wanted.’
‘A job?’ Thóra sat bolt upright. ‘This summer, you mean?’
‘Yes. And winter. It’s insanely well paid.’
‘Just hang on a minute.’ There were so many questions racing round Thóra’s head that she didn’t know where to start. ‘I thought you were going straight to university after you’d finished school. This is a crazy idea, isn’t it? And what about Sigga? She’s got a year left of sixth form – are she and Orri supposed to go with you or stay behind?’
‘Sigga can take her final year by distance learning. And I’d be up for taking a gap year. It would give me time to work out what I really want to study. We’d save some money too. I said the pay was unbelievable, didn’t I?’ There was no mistaking his elation; he looked ready to go on-line and buy his ticket right away.
‘Wages may be high in Norway, but the cost of living is astronomical. All your money would go on day-to-day expenses. I mean, what do you think it costs to rent a flat there?’ Thóra racked her brain for a way of dampening his enthusiasm, of making him wake up to the fact that this was an appalling idea. The last thing she wanted was to lose them to a foreign country, though she had been aware for some time that it would not be long before he, Sigga and Orri moved out to set up their own home. She had even assumed it would happen soon after he started university that autumn, but it had never crossed her mind that they might take Orri to live abroad.
‘That’s what’s so fantastic. Dad’s got this big flat, which he only uses every other month. We could share it with him when he’s there and the rest of the time we’d have it to ourselves.’ Gylfi beamed. ‘It’s a brilliant arrangement. And the job’s awesome. I’d work for two weeks, then have three weeks off.’
Thóra exclaimed: ‘That can’t be right. What kind of job is it anyway?
‘On an oil rig. They fly you out there by helicopter.’ He couldn’t stop grinning at the thought.
‘I see.’ She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Of all her ex’s idiotic ideas, this took the biscuit. Gylfi on an oil rig. He had hardly ever left Reykjavík, let alone experienced the sort of conditions he could expect on a floating steel platform in the middle of the Arctic Ocean, or wherever this oil rig happened to be. ‘You know, Gylfi, this is a terrible idea.’ She looked to Matthew for support but he didn’t say a word, and his face was unreadable. ‘The reason it’s well paid is that it’s incredibly dangerous, and anyway you’re far too young and inexperienced. The journey alone would be too risky. It
’s out of the question.’
The smile fell from Gylfi’s face. ‘It’s not “out of the question”.’ He stood up. ‘Anyway, it’s not up to you. I’m going to put together a CV and send it to Dad to pass on to the guy. There’s no guarantee he’ll agree to take me on, but if he does, I want to do it.’ Gylfi’s eyes sought out Matthew but he encountered the same shuttered expression. He turned back to his mother: ‘You’ll just have to get used to the idea. Why are you always so negative?’ He stomped into his room.
Thóra sat in silence, trying to bring her emotions under control before she spoke. ‘What the hell’s he going to do on an oil rig? He can’t even fill up the car with petrol; he always gets the attendant to do it.’
Matthew shrugged. ‘I expect there are plenty of jobs for lads like him. I think it might do him good.’
Thóra glared at him. ‘You can’t be serious?’ But he clearly was. It looked as if she was the only person opposed to the plan. She would have to find some way of stopping it on her own – prevent her son from taking on a job that could well be the death of him and would, moreover, rob Orri of the stability Thóra believed she herself represented in his life. Although Gylfi and Sigga were good parents and keen to take proper care of their son, they lacked the necessary maturity to raise a child. She was brought up short by the realisation that she had become a mother at about the same age. That had worked out all right. Great, now even her own brain had turned against her.
She opened her laptop again, angry with everyone and everything. She didn’t want to waste any more energy thinking about it now, since the chances were that Gylfi would have changed his mind by morning. To distract herself, she started searching for instances of abandoned ships.
The results turned out to be quite a mixed bag.
Chapter 6
The weather had deteriorated overnight and the yacht kept plunging, at the mercy of the waves. Heavy, dark clouds obscured the sun, presaging a downpour, and the sea had changed from blue to a threatening grey, reflecting the leaden sky. The mood on board was similarly muted, the girls scowling with boredom. It appeared the voyage was not going to be the adventure they had anticipated.
‘Why are the waves white on top, Daddy?’ Bylgja sat peering out of the window in the saloon where the family were gathered.
‘Because when the sea rears up like that the water mixes with air. And that’s good for the fish because they get their oxygen from the sea.’ Ægir didn’t actually know why – he had never gone in for natural history – but thought this sounded plausible. Arithmetic and mathematical problems were more in his line; a logical discipline with no room for exceptions. ‘Careful, sweetheart. Try to choose a route where there’s something to hold on to.’ He watched his daughter walk unsteadily across the saloon towards the sofas. The yacht pitched and rolled violently; they had all lost their footing at some point that morning. Ægir guessed he himself probably looked as peaky as the rest of the family. They were trying to put a brave face on things but their stomachs revolted at every new movement.
Lára was prostrate on a sofa, her face buried in her arms. She had complained of a headache and been unable to eat much breakfast. The girls in contrast had tucked in as if they didn’t know where their next meal was coming from, and Ægir hoped this meant their nausea had passed, at least for the time being. Seeing how wan and lethargic they looked now, however, he realised he had been optimistic. This time Bylgja was not the only one to be subdued; Arna seemed little better.
‘Does my head look bigger than normal?’ Lára shifted one hand. Her head appeared its usual size; the only difference was the red mark left by her arm across her cheek.
‘No, it looks perfectly normal to me.’ Ægir breathed out sharply to combat a sudden stomach cramp.
‘I think it looks bigger.’ Arna had leant forward to get a better view. Lára groaned.
‘You know what we should do?’ Ægir slapped his knees in an attempt to summon up the courage to move. ‘We’ll feel better if we go out on deck. Remember what Thráinn said? Fresh air works wonders and I reckon it wouldn’t do us any harm to try it. Afterwards we’ll have a nap and wake up feeling like new.’ The captain had not in fact mentioned anything about lying down, but Ægir felt confident that it would help. Nothing on the sailing course had prepared him for this. At the time he had thought of asking one of the instructors about seasickness but had been reluctant to expose his lack of experience, which was ridiculous considering that most of the other people on the course were amateurs too. No experienced sailor would need a pleasure craft competency certificate. ‘Come on, then.’
Their movements were slow. Ægir had to help Lára to her feet; her eyes were glassy and flickered as if she was having trouble focusing. ‘I think I’m dying,’ she mumbled in his ear as he helped her outside. ‘Aren’t there any drugs you can take to stop this torture?’
‘I’m afraid it may be too late now. But perhaps we should take some pills before we lie down. I’d throw up if I tried to swallow one at the moment, however small they were.’ Ægir paused to undo the catch on the door to the deck. It had taken him a while to get used to the fact that all the outside doors were fastened with catches both inside and outside, but he had finally learnt not to grab the handle and jerk it in vain until he remembered. ‘Halli’s out there.’ Ægir peered through the porthole in the door at the back view of the young man who was leaning over the rail. The smoke from his cigarette scarcely rose above his head before the wind snatched it away. This was just as well, as Ægir suspected that in their present state cigarette smoke would be the final straw. He opened the door, keeping a tight grip on it.
Halli turned his head. ‘Morning.’ He had still been in bed when they themselves got up, but now he was standing there with his short white hair flattened in whorls, his eyes a little puffy with sleep.
They exchanged greetings, the girls barely audible over the roar of the wind and waves, Lára hoarse and throaty. Only Ægir managed to sound more or less his normal self. ‘We’re hoping some fresh sea air will perk us up.’
‘Well, watch out. It’s very windy.’ Pinching his cigarette stub between finger and thumb, Halli flicked it into the sea. ‘People can be blown overboard – kids especially.’ The girls were uneasy under his gaze. Ægir felt Bylgja’s small paw slip into his hand and clasp it tight.
‘I’ll look after them.’ He reached for Arna’s hand as well. ‘How long does it take to get used to it? The seasickness, I mean.’
Halli shrugged unsympathetically. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been seasick.’
Ægir choked back the urge to swear at him. ‘And you’ve never seen anyone else suffer from it?’
‘Yeah. I just don’t remember how it turned out. Anyway, you look pretty chirpy for people who are sick – you should be hanging over the rail, chucking up your insides.’
‘Please, not another word.’ Lára clamped her lips shut as soon as she had spoken. She retched as Halli headed past her on his way inside, but managed to hold it down.
‘Deep breaths, darling. He’s gone and there’s nothing but clean sea air.’ Ægir kept a firm hold on his daughters although they seemed eager to pull free now that Halli had gone. ‘You must hold my hands – you heard what he said. We don’t want you to be blown into the sea.’ Immediately the small fingers ceased their wriggling.
‘There’s something wrong with that man. It’s as if he had a grudge against us.’ Lára inhaled deeply.
‘He’s just a bit uncouth.’ Ægir practised breathing steadily and it seemed to work. The discomfort in his abdomen abated slightly and the pain in his temples dulled. ‘Try to breathe like this, girls. It’ll help.’
‘If I breathe like that I’ll have to close my eyes and I don’t want to.’ Bylgja was even paler now than when they had first come outside. ‘If I do, I’ll see that woman.’
‘What woman?’ Ægir bent down, taking care not to release Arna’s hand.
‘The woman in the picture. I dreamt about
her and if I close my eyes, I’m afraid I’ll dream about her again.’
‘What picture, sweetheart?’
‘The one in the saloon. In the frame on the wall.’ Her glasses were covered with tiny droplets from the spray that splashed over them at regular intervals.
Ægir tried to think which picture Bylgja could be referring to. He had limited interest in people, unlike Lára who could spend hours poring over pictures of strangers in the tabloids. She also spent an excessive amount of time on Facebook, studying her friends’ photos, a habit he found incomprehensible. ‘What’s she talking about, Lára?’
‘The painting of Karítas. The wife of the man who used to own the yacht. It’s on the wall beside the television. You must be off-colour if you haven’t noticed it.’ She gave a ghost of a smile, which made her look a little less wan. ‘Or are you so mad about your wife that you don’t have eyes for any other woman?’
Ægir didn’t know how to reply. He was afraid of agreeing in case that would be the wrong answer. Instead, he turned back to Bylgja who was pulling at his hand. ‘The woman with the necklace, Daddy. In the painting. She was wearing it in my dream. But her face looks different somehow.’
‘The necklace, right.’ Ægir had even less interest in jewellery than in people. He squeezed Bylgja’s hand. ‘We often dream about things we’ve seen during the day. That’s why the woman turned up. It’s perfectly safe to close your eyes, darling; dreams can’t hurt you. They’re only thoughts – thoughts that are a bit muddled because we’re asleep and our guard is lowered.’ He was about to add that it was like being drunk – when common sense goes out of the window and all kinds of foolish things seem like a good idea – but he caught himself in time. It would only have confused her.
‘I had a nightmare about that woman too. I told Mummy last night.’ Arna looked up at her father, who smiled and pressed both their hands. Instead of returning his smile, she added anxiously: ‘My friend Helga says dreams are trying to give you a message. If we both have the same dream it must mean something. Perhaps the woman’s hiding on the boat.’
The Silence of the Sea Page 8
