The Silence of the Sea Read online

  ‘Are you joking?’ boomed Bella, peering around. ‘I can hardly hear you in this gale and you’re standing right next to me.’

  ‘All the same.’ Thóra was about to ask Bella to watch her tongue when they went inside, but decided not to bother. It wouldn’t do any good. She was hoping the secretary’s presence might come in useful, since she and Karítas had been in the same year at school. When Bella had let this slip during their visit to the yacht, Thóra had failed to follow it up, assuming that Karítas was irrelevant to the case. It had also seemed unwise to encourage Bella to talk in front of Fannar, since the secretary had looked as if she had some inappropriate comment on the tip of her tongue. Later, however, after finding the page with Karítas’s contact details, Thóra had asked Bella about their acquaintance, only to receive an angry lecture on how the fact that they were in the same year at school did not mean they were friends or had known each other at all. Thóra had waited for Bella to simmer down, then tackled her again.

  She turned out to remember Karítas well, which was hardly surprising given that the other girl had been the queen bee of the school. Far from belonging to the same gang, however, Karítas had hung out with the cool kids, Bella with the misfits. Not that Bella had put it quite like that but Thóra could read between the lines. ‘Do you think her mother will remember you?’ They entered through a wrought-iron gate far too fussily ornamental for its Icelandic setting. A paved path led down to the house, which stood on a plot by the sea.

  ‘No way. I bet she’d like to forget those days. She didn’t live in a posh house like this then. From what I remember Karítas and her mum lived in a small flat that probably belonged to the council. Her mum used to work in the local shop.’

  ‘Things have obviously looked up for her since then.’ Thóra lowered her voice as they approached the front door. ‘Remember to drop in casually that you used to know her daughter,’ she whispered, ‘but for goodness’ sake don’t badmouth her. Pretend you were her number one fan.’

  Bella snorted disgustedly but didn’t refuse outright as Thóra had feared. In the large white concrete tubs flanking the entrance, the yellowing stalks of last summer’s flowers poked up out of the dry earth and trembled in the wind. Thóra thought statues of lions would have been more in keeping. She rang the bell, adding as an afterthought: ‘Otherwise I’ll never take you out with me again, not even to the recycling centre.’

  ‘Is that supposed to be a threat?’

  Before Thóra could reply the door opened and a woman emerged. ‘Oh, do come inside, quick. There’s such a draught that everything will go flying.’ She beckoned them in with a tanned, somewhat leathery arm, jingling with gold bracelets. They didn’t look genuine but then Thóra was no judge. ‘I was smoking out of the downstairs window when you rang the bell. Come in, come in.’

  Thóra and Bella hurriedly closed the door behind them and the three of them crowded into an entrance hall that was surprisingly poky in comparison to the rest of the house. Thóra was afraid of elbowing the owner in the jaw as she removed her coat; a bad start like that could ruin everything. ‘What a beautiful house.’ She followed the woman down the hall. In fact, the décor was not at all to her taste, but she knew that there were people who regarded gilt and velvet as the height of sophistication. The hallway and sitting room were so cluttered with occasional tables, vases, pictures, shelves and knick-knacks that Thóra pitied the poor woman having to dust them all. On closer inspection, she realised the place could do with a good clean, but she didn’t dare spend too long examining the surfaces in case it looked rude. Perhaps the woman’s cleaner had left, which was not unlikely if she was dependent on her daughter for money.

  ‘Do sit down. I’ll bring us some coffee.’ While she was out of the room, Thóra and Bella had a good look around. To judge from Bella’s expression, she was even less impressed with the furnishings and ornaments than Thóra. Her upper lip curled as if she had noticed a bad smell. Really, it was hardly possible to imagine less suitable surroundings for Bella. Her attention was fixed on the photographs of Karítas, alone or with her husband, which no doubt brought back teenage memories she would rather forget, even though – interestingly – the pictures all dated from the time after Karítas had married into the jet set. There were none of her as a child or teenager.

  ‘Here we are.’ The woman bore in a silver tray laden with rose-patterned china cups and a large matching coffee pot. There was even a cream jug and a sugar bowl with a dainty silver spoon. ‘Would you both like some? I’m dying for a cup myself, though I’m trying to give up as my blood pressure’s sky high at the moment.’ Thóra and Bella had both nodded while she was sharing this information, so she poured them each a cup as well as one for herself. ‘Now, which of you is Thóra?’

  ‘Me,’ Thóra blurted out loudly in her eagerness not to be confused with the secretary. ‘I’m Thóra – I spoke to you on the phone. This is Bella who works for us.’

  The woman extended her hand to Bella: ‘Hello, do call me Begga.’ Still maintaining eye contact, the woman studied her intently. ‘I recognise you. Do I know you from somewhere?’

  ‘I used to live in the same neighbourhood as you when I was a kid. Karítas was in my year at school. You probably remember me from those days.’

  Begga instantly became very twitchy, clearly uncomfortable at being reminded of her former life, and Thóra cursed herself for not considering this possibility. ‘Bella happened to mention to me that she remembered your daughter because she was so stunning. Still is, of course.’

  The woman relaxed a little. The same could not be said of Bella, but at least she refrained from making a face. ‘Karítas was always special. Even as a baby she looked like an angel.’ Her mother smiled fondly at the memory. The lipstick she had applied, perhaps in their honour, had bled slightly into the small lines that fanned out from her mouth, making her appear older than she probably was. While it couldn’t be said that her daughter took after her in looks, there was a certain resemblance, particularly about the eyes, though the woman had trowelled on such a ridiculous amount of make-up that it was hard to tell what she looked like underneath. Perhaps she had been a beauty in her youth and found it difficult to reconcile herself to ageing. Her legs were still slim and elegant, a fact she was apparently aware of as she was dolled up in a knee-length skirt and high heels that were far too smart for the occasion. In comparison to her legs the rest of her body appeared almost bloated, and she seemed to be in low spirits. ‘I can’t begin to describe how much I miss her. We’re so close. It was always just the two of us. Her father was never in the picture and that made us all the more important to each other. We’re more like best friends than mother and daughter.’ Begga’s tone sounded increasingly hollow.

  ‘I can believe it,’ said Thóra. ‘Does she stay here with you when she’s in the country?’

  ‘Usually, yes. If she’s alone. They own this house, though I live here – as a favour to them really. Otherwise they’d keep getting burgled. But when Gulam’s with her, they stay at a hotel. Not that he comes very often – or at all nowadays. It’s hardly surprising.’ Begga tossed her head. ‘Even Karítas can’t face it any more.’

  ‘You mean because of the business with the bank?’ Thóra didn’t dare breathe a word about debts or bankruptcy for fear the woman would take offence.

  ‘Yes. It’s so awful.’ Begga took a sip of coffee, and when she put down her cup there was a scarlet smear on the rim. ‘I can’t discuss it for obvious reasons – you never know what might get back to that vile special prosecutor. How could they dream that a man as rich as Gulam would commit fraud for money? He has absolutely no need to, I assure you.’ She sniffed and ran a hand over her badly styled hair. ‘Not that I suspect you of being in the pay of that prosecutor. You both seem far too nice.’

  That the woman could mistake Bella for a nice person was testimony to how few visitors she received. She must have a tough time of it socially if she had shed her old friends and acquain
tances, only to discover that she was not welcome among the new Icelandic elite. Too obviously nouveau riche herself, she would serve as an uncomfortable reminder to others in the group that they were no better.

  ‘Karítas is okay, isn’t she? Financially, I mean.’ Incredibly, Bella managed to sound genuinely concerned.

  Begga paused to consider for a moment, then waved a hand over her shoulder as if dismissing her troubles. ‘Well, don’t spread it about but Karítas is fine. It isn’t like when ordinary people go bankrupt; she and Gulam have all sorts of funds and that sort of thing, but they’ve had some problems as a result of this cash-flow crisis – you know, all that unpleasantness caused by those Lehman brothers. It’s so unfair, really, because if they’d been allowed to take out more loans, it wouldn’t have been an issue. If you want my opinion, it was nothing but jealousy. They had so much that people were determined to take it away. But fortunately it didn’t work. Not completely.’

  Thóra assumed an expression of sympathy. At least Begga won points for mistaking Lehman Brothers Holdings for a couple of fraudsters and trying to blame the whole disaster on them. ‘As I explained on the phone, we’re here to ask you a few questions about the yacht that Karítas and her husband used to own. We don’t actually know anything about their finances, though naturally we’re pleased to hear they’re doing well. The thing is, as you’ve no doubt heard, the yacht turned up empty the other day, minus the crew and passengers who were supposed to be delivering her to this country. I’m working for the relatives of the missing family.’ The woman’s face revealed scant pity for the victims, so Thóra tried another tack. ‘I gather that even without this tragedy the yacht would have been hard to sell.’

  ‘Oh?’ Begga raised heavily pencilled, over-plucked eyebrows. ‘Was she damaged? Karítas and Gulam shelled out a fortune for her back in the day.’

  ‘Yes, she was crippled, but after this latest incident it’s her reputation that’s likely to bring down her price. Apparently they’re a superstitious lot in the seafaring world.’

  ‘Will Karítas lose out as a result of this?’ Anxiety shone from the woman’s eyes as she glanced at them both in turn.

  ‘No, not exactly.’ Thóra took extra care over the phrasing of the next part, as she didn’t know whether the woman was aware of the change of ownership. ‘The bank’s resolution committee has repossessed the boat. I gather that part of Karítas’s husband’s loan was used to pay for the yacht, which gave the bank a claim to her. You know what financial institutions are like …’ She stopped herself from adding ‘ruthless’, in case it seemed over the top.

  Begga nodded but seemed distracted. ‘Yes, I knew about that. Karítas was staying with me when she heard.’ She paused. ‘I do believe it was the last time she was in the country. It was the final straw really as she was already in a state about whether she should divorce Gulam. And it didn’t help that the authorities here wouldn’t stop pestering her and kept summoning her to interrogate her about their finances.’ She looked disgusted. ‘Can you believe it? As if there was anything more private than one’s personal finances!’ Without waiting for an answer, she continued: ‘It was driving her frantic; she even considered handing over all her papers, just to get some peace. Then the news came about the yacht and I swear I thought it would push her over the edge. But she’s got a backbone, has Karítas, so she simply left the country. Of course I miss her terribly but it’s better for her to stay away until all this fuss has died down.’

  ‘Do you have any idea where she went?’

  ‘She went to Lisbon, where the yacht was moored. She needed to pick up all kinds of stuff that was on board – personal belongings that the bank had no right to confiscate. She has a maid she could have sent instead, but she wanted to go through everything personally. The maid isn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, so I can understand why Karítas preferred to do it herself.’

  ‘Is she still in Lisbon? Do you think she’d be prepared to talk to me on the phone? I don’t suppose there are many people who know as much about the yacht as she does, so there’s a chance she might be able to help me piece together what happened to the crew and passengers. Perhaps she could tell me if there was a lifeboat on board that other people didn’t know about, for instance, or testify to the fact that there wasn’t one. There’s also a chance that Karítas knew about some fault that the crew were unaware of. I could use any information that would lend support to the idea that there was a problem with the boat. The case I’m dealing with concerns a life assurance policy that will only be paid out if it can be proved that the people who were on board are dead.’ She deliberately avoided referring to Ægir or his family by name in case Begga had heard about them on the news and realised that he had worked for the resolution committee.

  A grandfather clock chimed once to mark the half hour. Looking at her watch, Thóra saw that it was only twenty past ten. Clearly, the dusting wasn’t the only thing that required attention around here. Begga was suddenly keen to offer them more coffee. They accepted, and then, ignoring the woman’s evasion tactics, Thóra repeated her question.

  ‘I don’t know if she’ll talk on the phone. She’s been badly burnt by all this and I think she’s afraid her phone’s bugged. I mean, she hasn’t rung me once since she left, though usually she makes an effort to stay in touch.’ She began to rearrange the cups and pot on the tray, turning them all to face Thóra and Bella. ‘I am her mother, after all.’

  ‘Where is she now? I promise you we have absolutely nothing to do with the Financial Supervisory Authority or any other official body.’ Thóra put down her cup, taking care to position it correctly on the saucer.

  ‘In Brazil. I think.’ Begga watched Bella drain nearly a whole cup in one go. ‘I got a postcard from her this morning. She’s sent me cards before on her travels. On my birthday last year, for instance. She was in America at the time.’

  ‘Could we see the one you received this morning?’ Bella came straight to the point and Thóra could have kissed her.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ Begga was affronted by the request. ‘It’s private and I really don’t see what it could have to do with the yacht.’

  It would be odd, to say the least, to send a private message on a postcard that anyone could read, but there was no easy way of breaking this to Karítas’s mother, and not even Bella could bring herself to do so. Besides, the woman was right; the card had nothing to do with their business. ‘Have you been on board the yacht yourself?’ Thóra deftly changed the subject.

  ‘Yes. Twice, in fact.’ Begga reminded Thóra of her cat at its smuggest. ‘It’s absolutely amazing,’ she added, on an indrawn breath, leaning back a little and fluffing up her hair, inadvertently revealing grey roots.

  ‘Did anyone happen to mention the life-saving equipment while you were on board? Did Karítas or her husband point it out to you?’

  ‘I haven’t met Gulam that often and when I did we didn’t discuss the yacht. For one thing, my English isn’t good enough, and anyway the subject wouldn’t have crossed my mind. The few times we’ve been together since Karítas married and moved out, I’ve tried to discuss more important matters, like whether they’re planning to have children. I keep hoping she’ll come home for a long holiday or that I’ll be able to visit her abroad for more than a few days at a time, but it never seems to be the right moment. Her husband’s always so preoccupied with business and I suspect him of wanting to have Karítas to himself. Understandably, of course.’ She gave a cloying smile. ‘But he didn’t always get his own way as I do perhaps have more of a claim on her when it comes down to it. After all, she is my daughter.’ She apparently regretted having said anything negative because she added hastily: ‘Don’t misunderstand me; it’s not that I bear a grudge against him. Not at all. Gulam’s a wonderful man and quite devoted to Karítas. She can have anything she wants.’

  ‘He’s a bit old. Isn’t that kind of weird? He must be about your age.’ Again, Bella took it upon herself to
ask the difficult question. Wham bam. Straight to the point.

  Begga’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘He’s a little older than me. But it’s quite different with men. They’re slower to mature than women, so an age gap like that can work perfectly well.’ An embarrassed silence ensued; clearly none of them believed that men lagged almost thirty years behind women in maturity. ‘In any case, there was no need to make a fuss about life-saving equipment. That yacht’s unsinkable.’ She gave them a scornful look. ‘And it didn’t sink, did it? I don’t know what safety equipment could have stopped those people from going missing.’ There was no reply to this, so Thóra and Bella simply sat there sheepishly. This seemed to cheer the woman up. ‘Not that I had the time or inclination to do anything but enjoy myself while I was on board. I don’t know when I’ve eaten so well or drunk so much good wine. It was as if the meals arrived on a conveyor belt.’ Again she looked like the cat that got the cream.

  They continued chatting until the clock struck eleven (at ten to, of course). Little of importance had emerged so Thóra seized this opportunity to end their visit and thanked Begga for her hospitality. They were walking away from the house when Begga suddenly called after them: ‘If you do manage to get in touch with Karítas, you might ask her to give me a ring. I need to get hold of her rather urgently about a small misunderstanding over the property tax.’

  Thóra turned and looked back at the woman standing in the porch of her daughter’s house, a house that must have required endless outgoings that Begga almost certainly couldn’t afford on her own. Perhaps a smaller home and a larger social circle would have been preferable if the daughter had really wanted to make her mother happy. ‘I’ll do that. Of course.’

  They carried on walking but did not hear the door close. No doubt the woman was still standing there, watching them leave, as if to eke out this unremarkable visit. Thóra felt bad as they drove away.