The Silence of the Sea (8 page)

‘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.’

‘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.

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.

‘How about a Chinese?’ Thóra closed the fridge. ‘We can order a takeaway or have noodles.’

‘Takeaway.’ Matthew started clearing away the knives and forks he had just laid on the table. They had become pretty adept at using chopsticks by now. ‘I can’t eat any more pot noodles. Not this year, anyway.’

‘I could bake something.’ Sóley looked up from the homework she was trying to finish before evening. She was supposed to hand in a page on occupations in India for her social studies class, but the sheet of paper in front of her was blank apart from drawings of elephants, tigers and snakes which had at best a tenuous connection to the topic.

‘No, really, there’s no need.’ When he saw Sóley’s hurt expression, Matthew clearly regretted having jumped in so quickly. ‘All I meant is that you need to finish your homework and that’s more important than supper right now. You can do some baking at the weekend if you’re still in the mood. How about chocolate liquorice whips?’ He knew these were her proudest achievement, though her pride was not necessarily justified by the outcome. ‘How would you like to take a little break and come with me to fetch the food?’

Sóley was quick to push aside her zoologically inclined essay on Indian society, and Thóra felt a warm glow of pleasure at how well these two got on. Gylfi and Matthew were friendly enough but they weren’t especially close. If her children had rejected Matthew, it would have been the end of her relationship with him, at least in its current form; the happiness of Sóley, Gylfi and now Orri took precedence. That’s just the way it was and so far no one had had any cause for complaint, least of all Matthew who entirely respected her priorities. Thóra tried to ensure that their life did not entirely revolve around the younger generation, and she and Matthew were quite good at making private time for themselves, but this had become harder since her ex-husband had taken it into his head to start working alternate months in Norway. She made an effort to be understanding about this since Hannes had been forced to start again after their divorce, and had been saddled with a hefty mortgage as a result of buying in the middle of the housing bubble. Working abroad meant he could pay off some of his debts. The upshot was that the children now spent half as many weekends as before with their father, but this was compensated for by the fact that her parents had moved out at long last. They had finally managed to solve their money troubles by selling their timeshare in Spain, which they had had little use for anyway. With the departure of Thóra’s mother, however, the family had lost the cook they so badly needed.