‘OK.’
Helgi had been expecting a stronger reaction from her, although the news wouldn’t necessarily come as a shock. After all, Kristín would never have a chance to see her mother again, never get an answer to all the personal questions she hadn’t been permitted to ask during the interview. A disappointment she would no doubt deal with in private.
‘We’re going to retrieve her body tomorrow,’ Helgi said, after a brief pause. ‘If what Lovísa told me is true, Elín had a heart attack while they were in the mountains together.’
‘Thank you for letting me know.’
‘Let’s talk properly tomorrow, Kristín, if that’s OK. I realize there’s a lot for you to take in. The inheritance, the interview – if you still want to publish it, given what’s happened. Elín also left behind an unpublished manuscript, and I expect it’ll be up to you to decide whether it should see the light of day.’
‘Right, yes. And the funeral – maybe I can be involved with that in some capacity?’
‘Yes, I’d have thought so. In due course, perhaps I can put you in touch with your mother’s cousin, a university lecturer. He’s her closest relative – was, I mean… You two should meet.’
‘Yes.’
‘Call me if you need anything, Kristín. Otherwise, shall we talk tomorrow?’ Helgi was eager to head off home to the warmth and Aníta.
‘Thanks for calling, Helgi.’
Then, belatedly, he remembered one more thing. ‘Oh, yes. Listen, there was one other thing I meant to say.’
‘Oh? What’s that?’
‘Lovísa told me who your father is. He’s alive, still going strong. And he has two grown-up children, so you have a half-brother and -sister.’
2012
Tuesday, 6 November
This damned rain.
He couldn’t concentrate. It was still pouring outside, the rhythmic pattering of the raindrops distracting him fromBrat Farrar, the novel he was trying to read. The author, Josephine Tey, hadn’t published many books, but, in his opinion, each novel had been better than its predecessor, andBrat Farrarwas one of the only two books by her that he hadn’t yet read. Tey’s twists almost always took him by surprise and he was looking forward to seeing how she would pull the rug out from under his feet this time.
Yet he wasn’t making any headway.
There was an appetizing smell spreading through the flat from the kitchen, where supper was waiting in the oven. Helgi had decided a special effort was called for to celebrate the occasion and had made a casserole, which was one of his signature dishes.
But it wasn’t only the rain that distracted him now. He was preoccupied with the fallout from the day’s revelations.
Lovísa would spend the night in a prison cell; the first of many, the way things were going.
And as soon as it got light tomorrow, they would be able to launch the search to retrieve Elín’s body.
He had worries closer to home as well. His thoughts kept returning to his mother, who had rung him that morning to say she was feeling unusually poorly and was going to see the doctor that afternoon.
Filled with guilt at having cut short his visit to Akureyri, he had offered to fly north straight away, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Anyway, he reminded himself, it would have been difficult for him to keep his promise, and his mother was an independent woman. She knew her own mind.
She had promised to ring him after her appointment with the doctor, but he still hadn’t heard from her. Surely she must be out by now? It was nearly 6 p.m. and he was beginning to fret, but he held back from calling her as he wanted to give her a chance to let him know in her own time.
Aníta had gone out for a run. Far from being put off by the rain, she’d said she liked it. She hadn’t brought up the subject of Bergthóra yet.
He sat there on the sofa with his book. He was in his favourite spot, embarking on a promising novel, savouring the peace and quiet in the knowledge that the mystery of the missing author had been solved – moreor less – and he could look forward to the prospect of a relaxing evening with Aníta.
Everything he could have wished for, yet here he was, stuck on the same page.
His thoughts dwelled on Aníta. She always went out for a run at the same time, whatever the weather. She would be away for nearly half an hour, sometimes longer, and would return invigorated. They were out of sync in that respect. Where he himself often began the day by going for a run, she preferred to brave the elements, the cold, blustery Icelandic weather, after finishing work.
How he loved welcoming her back from those runs.
