[hissing]
Thanks for the tea.
You’re welcome. I’m sorry about the delay; I hope you’re not in a hurry.
Not at all. The main thing is to make a good job of this interview, at a pace that suits you.
[pause]
Tell me more about the books. What’s most important to you, the story, the plot, the setting or the characters?
The characters, they’re always number one. You could say I got stuck with the two central characters in my series and ended up spending twenty years in their company. God, it’s hard to say that:twenty years– it’s such a terrifyingly long time. But the two women, my friends, were created in the first book and survived to the bitter end…
Where did the characters come from? And the stories?
The characters came from here and there. Often from the deepest recesses of my mind; at other times they were based on people I knew, or even people I’d met only once and didn’t actually know anything about – they just caught my imagination. At one time you yourself might have ended up in a book, under a different name, of course. When a writer’s around, nobody’s safe. My friends were delighted when they heard I’d given up.
What about the stories? Where did you find the inspiration for them?
Often from my imagination, of course, but in some instances they were inspired by true events. By the time you’ve lived for more than sixty years, you’ve seen a lot, heard even more, and the truth is often more extraordinary than fiction. So it makes sense to steal from the truth.
Do you get away with it, with stealing…?
Don’t we all get away with it, at one time or other? Frankly, you wouldn’t believe what writers get away with.
2012
Friday, 2 November
‘It would have been more fun to invite you to my old office down at the District Court, but I don’t have access to it any more. I’m supposed to be retired, though I’ve seldom felt better. Of course, I wasn’t allowed to go on working after seventy, but it’s extraordinary how often I catch myself on the point of turning into town, in the direction of the court. I just feel I still have it in me.’ Lovísa smiled, her eyes twinkling with humour.
Helgi would never have guessed that Lovísa was much more than sixty and he could well believe that she was still bursting with energy. She had a warm manner and reminded him somehow of his mother, different though they were in other respects.
They were sitting in Lovísa’s large house in the attractive suburb of Fossvogur, surrounded by paintings. Every inch of the walls seemed to be taken up with art. Helgi’s gaze fell on a modern oil painting above the fireplace.
‘He’s dead; I lost the dear man many years ago now,’ Lovísa said, following his gaze. ‘My husband, who painted that picture. But he lives on in his art, and in his children and grandchildren. Elín helped me through the grief. I think I can safely say that she’s my best friend.’
‘You met up regularly, from what I’ve been told…’
‘Wemeetup regularly, I prefer to say. Let’s be clear about this: I have every confidence that my friend is safe and well.’ Lovísa’s tone had abruptly changed, acquiring an authoritative ring. Helgi found it easy to picture her in the judge’s seat, delivering her verdict on a defendant.
‘I can understand why you would feel that,’ he said. ‘But do you have any evidence for believing it?’
‘Apart from wishful thinking, you mean?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Nothing tangible, admittedly. I don’t know any more than you do. But let’s just say I trust my intuition. Elín loved life and she didn’t have any enemies. No one goes missing, vanishes into thin air, by accident.’
‘Then what do you think has happened?’
‘I think she’s taken herself off somewhere and that she’ll reappear when it suits her. After all, the police haven’t issued an appeal for information, so she may not even know that she’s been missed. I’m right, I’m sure of it. You mark my words.’
That’s wishful thinking speaking, Helgi thought to himself. Aloud, he said: ‘All the same, she should have let you know. You meet up every week, don’t you?’
‘On Tuesdays, yes. At 2 p.m. It’s an old tradition ofours. Actually, more of a rule than a tradition. You’re right.’
‘Where do you meet?’ he asked, though he already knew the answer.
