‘She changed her mind?’ Lára loosened her grip on the table edge. ‘How terribly convenient.’
‘You’re telling me.’ Ægir took another sip of wine, with a look of satisfaction that even the darkness could not hide. ‘In spite of that we’ve managed to seize a considerable proportion of the guy’s assets. Like this yacht, for example. At least he can’t cruise around in luxury any more, with staff to cater to his every need. But I bet he’s still pretty comfortably off. Our life is a hard grind by comparison.’
‘Her dresses are still hanging in the closets in our cabin. I was going to unpack but there’s no room to put anything away. Do you think she minded losing all those clothes? I’d have taken them with me.’
Ægir drained his glass, leaving only the dregs behind. ‘The yacht was sealed off without warning. They didn’t have time to remove any belongings. Anyhow, I bet she’s got so many clothes she wouldn’t even notice. Having said that, Thráinn did mention that the seal had been broken when he came on board, though nothing appeared to have been taken. The lock was intact, so whoever meant to break in probably gave up. Maybe he was disturbed or lost his nerve.’
‘Unless it was Karítas or her husband. Someone with a key.’ Lára took another mouthful of wine, shooting a quick glance at the bridge: Halli was nowhere to be seen. ‘Though come to think of it, it can hardly have been her or she’d have taken the clothes.’
‘I doubt Karítas needs those dresses. I’m sure she’s perfectly well off.’
‘Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you don’t have clothes that you’re really attached to and want to wear again and again. Especially evening dresses like those.’ Reaching for the bottle, she took Ægir’s glass and refilled it almost up to the brim; she had learnt less than him on the wine course. ‘Do you think I’d fit into them? If I get bored perhaps I could amuse myself by trying them on.’
‘I think you should leave them alone.’ Ægir took the glass back, looking a little disapproving when he saw how full it was. ‘I’d rather we didn’t touch more than necessary.’ He smiled. ‘Just the essentials, like these glasses. We couldn’t have drunk fine wine like this out of coffee mugs.’
A loud knocking sounded above their heads, causing Lára to jump so badly that she slopped her wine and nearly swept everything off the table. ‘What on earth was that?’ Looking up, she saw Halli standing at the window, banging on the glass. He beckoned to them.
Ægir raised his brows. ‘What do you suppose he wants?’
‘There’s only one way to find out.’ Lára stood up. ‘Bring the bottle; it’s getting chilly out here. Let’s go inside after we’ve spoken to him. We’ll be more comfortable in the saloon. And we won’t have to put up with his spying any more.’
‘Have you forgotten that Loftur’s lying on the sofa in there?’
‘We’ll scare him away by coming over all lovey-dovey.’ She grinned and gave him a long hard kiss on his unshaven jaw, until she was forced to do a sudden sidestep by the plunging of the yacht. Apparently the sea didn’t approve of such intimacy.
‘I told you we’d be on deck, darling. Why didn’t you go there?’ Lára tucked Arna into bed and picked up her book from the floor, where it must have fallen when the little girl nodded off.
‘I couldn’t remember if you said you’d be at the front or the back, and I didn’t dare go out and end up on the wrong side. I thought I’d better find the captain and ask him for help. But he wasn’t there, only Halli.’
‘That was a good idea.’ Ægir stroked the hair from Bylgja’s brow and felt it with his hand. ‘She hasn’t got a temperature; she just feels a bit clammy. Maybe it’s passed. She hasn’t thrown up, has she, Arna?’
The other girl shook her head. ‘She was asleep. I was going to wake her up but I was afraid she’d puke all over me. That’s why I ran – I didn’t want to leave her alone here too long. Not with that woman.’
‘Woman?’ Lára felt Arna’s forehead, to check if she too was coming down with a fever. Perhaps both girls had caught a bug during the holiday. ‘What woman?’
‘The woman in my dream. She wanted to hurt me. And Bylgja.’
‘You were dreaming. There’s only one woman on board, and that’s me. You don’t think I’d hurt you?’ She pressed the tip of her daughter’s nose. ‘Never in a million years.’
Her words had no effect. ‘She doesn’t want us here. Maybe it’s her bed.’ Arna sat up. ‘Can we sleep with you?’
‘Hey, it was just a dream, poppet. No one owns this bed, except maybe the people at Daddy’s office. And they don’t mind in the least if you sleep here. No mysterious woman has any say in the matter. If you close your eyes, I’ll sit here beside you until you go to sleep. But the moment you open them, I’m going. Deal?’
Arna agreed and after turning out the light Lára sat down beside her. Ægir tiptoed over to the door, bracing himself against the wall in the steadily increasing swell. As he pulled the door quietly to behind him, Lára opened her mouth to ask him to leave it open a crack but changed her mind; the door would only bang if it was left ajar. She put her arm round her daughter and before long the girl’s breathing was deep and regular. Unable to bring herself to get up straight away, she stayed on, listening to the girls sleep. When she finally eased herself carefully to her feet, Arna stirred, frowning as if she was having another nightmare. Lára considered staying with her but then Arna quietened down again, and Ægir was waiting above. Pausing in the doorway, she wrinkled her nose. She smelt a waft of strong, heavy perfume that seemed to emanate from the corridor. But that couldn’t be right, because when she stepped out of the cabin to sniff the air, the scent seemed fainter outside. And when she checked again it had gone.
She shrugged, closed the door to the girls’ cabin and made her way out along the narrow, dimly lit corridor.
Chapter 5
There were few things Thóra found more tedious than cooking. In this she differed from most of her friends and their husbands, who seemed to have become increasingly interested in food over the years. One had even bought tickets for Thóra and her partner, Matthew, to attend a cookery course as a Christmas present and seemed very pleased with her own idea. They had dutifully attended the course, which was called Middle Eastern Magic, but the instructor had failed to infect them with any enthusiasm. By the end of the classes they were as clueless as they had been at the beginning, apart from having learnt how to prepare a decent couscous. This proved rather embarrassing when the friend in question demanded to be invited to dinner to taste the fruits of her gift. As the only Middle Eastern restaurants in Reykjavík were takeaway kebab shops, they decided to buy an Indian meal, shove it in a pan and serve it with couscous. Then they looked up an appropriately Arabic name for the dish on the Internet. Their friends were impressed, especially with the Al-Jazeera Chicken. Thóra’s only worry was that their deception had succeeded too well and that she and Matthew would receive another cookery course for Christmas next year.
The course had made no more difference than the countless recipe books and magazines they had acquired over the years. Thóra was quite simply a hopeless cook. As a result, the other members of the household – apart from her grandson, Orri – rallied around the task of feeding the family. Sadly, these attempts proved no more successful than her own. Sóley showed the most promise but lacked the patience to cook proper meals. She was mainly into baking muffins, but while the family’s eating habits left a lot to be desired they had not yet sunk so low as to eat cake for supper. Besides, the kitchen always looked like a bombsite after Sóley had been at work. Thóra’s son, Gylfi, and his girlfriend, Sigga, had reached an age when they would soon be setting up home together, so they should have shown more interest in cooking, but no such luck. They were also the fussiest eaters, vegetarians one minute, on a raw food diet the next, if not both at the same time, and everyone had long ago given up trying to remember which craze they were following – they couldn’t always remember themselves. This evening they had taken Orri and their faddy eating habits to supper with Sigga’s parents, so it shouldn’t have been difficult to decide what to make. If only the fridge hadn’t been empty.