Lára was aware that her smile failed to reach her eyes. She too had been assailed by a vague sense of unease. It was only natural, given that this was her first time at sea apart from a few ferry trips to the Westman Islands. Their surroundings were unfamiliar; she had swapped the security of dry land for life on shipboard. There would be no going to hospital if anyone fell ill out here. No dentist if they developed toothache. And no shop to run out to if they realised they’d forgotten something. But that wasn’t the worst; the worst was the seemingly infinite vastness of the Atlantic. Lára had often seen maps of the world that showed the size of the oceans relative to the landmass, but representations like that simply could not do justice to the huge flat expanse that now confronted them on all sides. Sea, sea, endless sea. They had better notice if someone fell overboard, or that person wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of being rescued. ‘Of course we’re not going to sink. Nothing can happen to a boat like this.’ Seeing that the girls were unconvinced, she added: ‘I asked Captain Thráinn and he said this boat is unsinkable. So you needn’t worry – about anything.’ That seemed to work. She wished she believed her own words.
Bylgja closed her eyes behind her wonky glasses and lay back on the pillow. Arna darted her a rather resentful look, fiddling with the Snakes and Ladders game she had been hoping to play before lights out. ‘Read your book, darling. Bylgja needs to rest now but she’ll be fine in the morning.’ Lára lifted the glasses gently from Bylgja’s face and placed them on the bedside table.
‘What about you? Won’t you play?’ Arna already knew the answer: Lára had many excellent qualities as a parent but playing games with her daughters was not one of them.
‘No, darling. I’m going to see Daddy for a while, but we’ll come down and check on you before you go to sleep.’ She kissed them both on the cheek, adding to Arna in an undertone: ‘Come and find us at once if Bylgja starts throwing up. We’ll be on deck.’ From the doorway, she blew them each a kiss, then added a third, directed at the picture of Sigga Dögg. The toddler stared back at her from the glossy paper with lifeless eyes, her fat fingers clasped firmly around the ropes of the swing.
‘Do you know anything about seasickness?’ Lára flopped down beside Ægir on the padded bench on the foredeck. He had opened a bottle of red wine and rustled up two glasses. ‘I think Bylgja’s suffering. Or heading that way.’ She ran her hands through her hair and sighed. ‘You can pour me a little wine – or a lot, actually. I’m feeling a bit woozy myself but it can’t hurt.’
Ægir half-filled their glasses, as they had learnt on the wine course Lára had given him as a birthday present. ‘All I know is that there’s no cure, except to get some fresh air, I think, and stay on deck.’ He couldn’t remember where he had learnt this, as there had been no mention of seasickness on his sailing course. He sipped his wine. ‘God, that’s good. We chose well there.’ He looked forward to being able to allow himself such luxuries more often; most of their money worries were now over and the prospect of a comfortable future lay ahead. Growing older wasn’t as bad as people said.
Lára followed his example, but took a much larger gulp. ‘Should we fetch her? She could lie here beside us. She was asleep, though, or just dropping off, so maybe it’s not such a good idea.’ She replaced her glass on the table. It had a wide bowl and an unusually long stem; presumably not cheap – probably ludicrously expensive. ‘Maybe I should ask Thráinn’s advice?’
‘Oh, no.’ Ægir put his arm round her. ‘Leave him be for now. He might want to join us and I can’t face having to deal with him at the moment. Let’s just enjoy being alone together.’
It was very dark; next to nothing could be seen beyond the rail. The night might have been concealing anything; they could have been on shore were it not for the slapping of the waves and the soothing pitching of the yacht. Lára averted her gaze from the blackness and concentrated on Ægir’s dimly lit face. ‘Bylgja’s afraid the yacht’s going to sink.’ She tried to laugh as if it was funny but could hear how fake it sounded. ‘I told her there was no chance. I am right, aren’t I?’
‘Of course you are.’ Ægir ran a finger down the stem of his glass, making it squeak. ‘I mean, there are circumstances in which the yacht could founder, but we’re talking major storms or collisions with other ships, that kind of thing.’ He realised this was not what Lára wanted to hear. ‘But there’s no likelihood of that on this voyage. None at all.’
Lára was reluctant to pursue the subject. She didn’t want to look out into the encroaching darkness either, to be reminded of how alone and abandoned they were. It would have been different if she could have hoped to see the lights of other ships or stars twinkling between the clouds. They had seen any number of larger and smaller vessels as they left the coast of Portugal, but the further they had travelled from land, the fewer other ships they had seen, until at last they might have been alone in the world. ‘I’d have preferred to sit on the aft deck.’ She glanced up at the large windows of the pilot house. ‘It makes me so uncomfortable to think of those three up there spying us.’
‘They’re not.’ Ægir turned to look at the pilot house, which was on the level above them. ‘Take a look. There’s no one there. I think Thráinn’s gone to bed and Loftur’s reading in the saloon, so Halli must be manning the bridge alone and it’s not as if he has to stand at the helm, staring ahead. It’s all more or less automatic.’
No sooner had Ægir turned away from the bridge than Halli’s dyed thatch of hair appeared. Lára couldn’t discern his face properly but she could tell that he was watching them. ‘He’s looking our way.’ She murmured the words as if afraid he could lip-read. ‘What on earth’s the matter with him?’
‘Stop it. He can’t even see us. He’s inside a brightly lit room and we’re outside in the dark. Just because we can see him doesn’t mean he can see us.’ Nevertheless Ægir blew out the tea-light in the little candle-holder he had found in the galley. ‘There, now it’s impossible for him to watch us. I can scarcely make you out and you’re right beside me.’
Although what Ægir said sounded sensible, Lára could have sworn that Halli was peering at them. ‘He makes me uneasy somehow. I was trying to catch his attention earlier but he pretended not to notice and didn’t even look round. He never speaks either, just stares when he thinks we’re not looking. He does it to the girls too and it makes my flesh crawl. His expression’s so sinister – as if he’d like to throw them overboard.’
‘Stop it, will you? He’s just an ordinary bloke who doesn’t have much time for kids. I’ve yet to meet a young man who dotes on them if he doesn’t have children himself. You’d be more worried if he was over keen.’
Lára bit her lip but couldn’t tear her eyes away from that white head. She didn’t relax until he had vanished from the window. Then she took another sip of wine and leant against Ægir. ‘What do you think it’s like to be stinking rich and live like this all the time?’
‘All right, I suppose. Though it must be stressful too. Imagine what the guy who owns this boat felt like when his world came crashing down. It must have been horrendous. Especially as he must have been aware that no one manages to amass a second fortune like that.’
‘Did he lose the lot?’
‘I doubt it. It’s unbelievable how many smokescreens people like him manage to erect when it comes to money. Stashing it away here and there, using all kinds of shell companies and front men, so it’s impossible to get to the bottom of it all. What we have managed to recover from his bankruptcy suggests that he’s got a fortune hidden away somewhere. Probably in so many different places he’s lost count.’ The yacht gave a sudden lurch before resuming her former lazy rocking. Ægir had to grab the back of the bench to keep his balance. ‘Apparently his wife Karítas possessed some information that she was prepared to share with us on condition that she got to keep what was registered in her name. But she changed her mind – no doubt in return for a substantial bribe. Or maybe she had nothing to gain because it turned out that the whole lot was in her husband’s name after all.’