The Silence of the Sea Page 3

  Triumphant at acquiring this piece of evidence, Thóra marched back to her office. One thing was certain: when Bella came back she would have to be confronted, but until then Thóra needed to get some work done. Thanks to the yacht affair, though, it would be hard to concentrate on mundane matters. It was all very peculiar and the high life insurance policy did nothing to lessen the mystery. Heavy drops of rain began to rattle against the window and gooseflesh prickled her arms as she tried to imagine what it would feel like to be trapped on a boat in a storm, or to fall overboard and struggle to stay afloat, knowing that help was unlikely to arrive. She hoped the passengers would be found alive, adrift in a lifeboat. If not, the odds were that they had met a sudden, tragic end.

  She turned to the computer screen. Her current cases could wait half an hour or so; she wanted to refresh her memory of the yacht incident. As she trawled the Internet, it occurred to Thóra that she had failed to ask the couple a crucial question: why had their son gone on the trip in the first place – and taken his family too? It was still winter; hardly ideal cruising season, even on a luxury vessel. And why had the bank’s resolution committee allowed one of its employees to make use of an asset for a family holiday? There must be more to this than met the eye.

  Chapter 2

  Not for the first time on this trip, Ægir felt he had been born in the wrong place; surely he wasn’t meant to go through life bundled up against the cold in Iceland? The weather may have been cool for Lisbon, but it was nothing like the arctic conditions at home and he relished the sensation of walking the streets in light clothes. Underfoot were the white cobblestones from which all the city’s pavements seemed to be made. There was something oddly pleasing about negotiating their uneven surfaces, though his wife, Lára, would probably not have agreed as she teetered along in high heels at his side, barely keeping her balance. They were wandering the steep, narrow lanes of the old city centre, built long before the invention of the motor car. They were a little lost but the square they were looking for was near the riverfront, so they knew they should be heading downhill. Glancing round, Ægir saw that his daughters were lagging behind.

  ‘Hurry up, girls. We’re going to be late. I’m supposed to meet the man in ten minutes.’

  They picked up speed a little, but ten minutes is a lifetime to eight-year-olds, so they saw no need to rush. As usual it was Arna who decided the twins’ pace; she had entered the world first and although the order in which they were born was probably coincidental, Ægir often got the impression that they had worked out their roles in the womb. Arna, daring and extrovert, usually charged ahead, while the comparatively reserved and introverted Bylgja took things more slowly. Where her twin rushed in, she would pause to consider. In appearance, however, they were almost identical; had it not been for Bylgja’s glasses, it would have been virtually impossible for strangers to tell them apart. ‘How many stones are there in this pavement, Daddy?’ Bylgja was walking behind her sister, her eyes fixed on the ground.

  ‘I don’t know, darling. A million and seven. Something like that.’ Ægir wished he had never mentioned the number of cobbles when they set out from the hotel. He should have known his daughter would become obsessed with the idea, but it hadn’t occurred to him that she would actually try to count them.

  ‘Hey! There it is.’ Lára pointed down a side street. ‘There can’t be many squares that big in the city.’

  As if they had been waiting for this moment, the girls broke into a run. They were extraordinarily like their mother: their dark wavy hair, green eyes and prominent front teeth, their build, even their hands were miniature versions of Lára’s.

  A feeling of melancholy stole up on Ægir, though he couldn’t put his finger on the cause; melancholy about what lay ahead, perhaps, in the magnificent square that opened out at the end of the street. It could simply have been the awareness that life was perfect right now, that it couldn’t get any better, and from now on it could only go downhill. He was reluctant to let go of the moment. ‘Do you think we should do this another time?’

  ‘What?’ Lára looked astonished. ‘What do you mean?’

  Ægir was sorry he’d mentioned it. Or was he? ‘I mean, maybe we should just extend our holiday here and forget about the cruise. They don’t really need me and I’m sure the crew problem can be sorted out some other way.’ A strange note had entered his voice; he didn’t know where it had come from. A few minutes ago he had been looking forward to the voyage, seeing it as a godsend, but now he felt reluctant to leave dry land. Despite its opulence, the yacht didn’t actually have much room on board. Besides, they were well off here, with little restaurants and cafés on every corner and no end to the delights on offer. What would they do with themselves all day on the boat? Play cards? He didn’t want to leave this bright city that seemed to radiate light. Everywhere one looked there were vibrant colours to raise the spirits; tiled walls in pastel hues that he couldn’t recall having seen anywhere else. It must be good for the soul to live among them. How could anyone be unhappy here? Whereas at sea they would probably spend the entire voyage hanging over the rail, being wretchedly sick. What had he been thinking of, volunteering when he learnt that one of the crew had dropped out? Why hadn’t he just said no and flown home as planned?

  His wife and daughters were staring at him. He thought he detected a hint of understanding in Bylgja’s eyes, though her glasses were smeary as usual so he couldn’t be sure. She lowered her gaze again and resumed her stone counting. ‘You mean you don’t want to go on the boat, Daddy?’ Arna turned up her nose. ‘I told everyone on Facebook that we’re coming home to Iceland by yacht.’

  As if that alone would be enough to clinch the matter. ‘No, I didn’t really mean it.’ Perhaps he was simply reluctant to meet the captain. Their telephone conversation the previous day had got off to a bad start when Ægir had reacted with consternation to the news that the cost of moving the yacht to Iceland threatened to be much higher than expected. The arrangements were his responsibility. He didn’t want to go back to his boss with the information that they would now have to hire a local to replace the missing crew member, which would work out far more expensive. He had lost his temper when he heard what level of pay the possible replacements were demanding, but the captain had given as good as he got and Ægir had been forced to accept that people were not exactly queuing up to take a short trip north to the arse end of nowhere. At what point in the conversation he had suggested making up the shortfall himself, he couldn’t remember, but he hadn’t expected to be taken literally, despite half hoping he would. However, when the captain heard that Ægir held a Pleasure Craft Competency Certificate he had latched onto the idea and dismissed all the other man’s attempts to retract. He said it made no difference that Ægir had never sailed outside Nauthólsvík bay in Reykjavík; all they needed was to meet the conditions for the minimum safe manning of the ship; the certificate was irrelevant, as was his lack of experience. After all, he wouldn’t be on board in the role of skipper, mate or engineer, if that’s what he thought.

  Back when he was working towards his pleasure craft certificate, Ægir had entertained no thoughts of becoming a substitute crew member on a luxury yacht. He had been motivated by an old dream of saving up for a share in a small sailing boat, but this had had to go on the back burner since his and Lára’s salaries combined were barely enough to make ends meet. The little money they had managed to put aside had been used to pay for his wife and daughters to accompany him to Lisbon for this impromptu winter holiday. There had been no plans for a sea voyage.

  The captain had been rather taken aback when he heard there was a family in tow. But by then Ægir had become fired up by the idea; this might be their only chance to sail the ocean in a luxury yacht, and the voyage would also solve a specific problem that had been troubling him. In his capacity as representative of the new owners, therefore, he had presented the captain with a fait accompli; there was nothing further to discuss.

  In the
meantime Ægir had told his manager on the board of the resolution committee that he himself would assist in bringing the vessel home. His boss had been so preoccupied when he gave the green light that he had dismissed the financial implications, being long inured to far higher sums. He made it obvious during their brief phone call that other, more urgent matters awaited his attention. It seemed that the only reason he had agreed to speak to Ægir in the first place was to find out if he had succeeded in registering the yacht in the committee’s name. He had cut Ægir off in mid-sentence, muttering that he would see him when he got back from Spain. In other words, he didn’t even remember which country Ægir had travelled to to collect the yacht, let alone realise that he had agreed to his wife and daughters’ going along for the ride.

  The memory of his boss’s lack of concern over his absence only intensified Ægir’s odd sense of trepidation about the voyage. By rights he should be bursting with anticipation like Arna. Father and daughter had both been wild with excitement the night before, whereas Lára and Bylgja’s response had been more muted. Lára’s main worry had been that she wasn’t that strong a swimmer, and of course Bylgja had not revealed what was going on in her mind. Eventually, however, Lára had been infected by their enthusiasm and become the prime mover in organising the trip. She would be terribly disappointed if it didn’t go ahead. He would have to shrug off his apprehension, especially now that he was about to meet the captain face to face. He braced himself. ‘Well, let’s go. The man’s waiting.’ Again his wife and daughters looked at him in surprise over this sudden volte-face, but they followed him without a word.

  As they drew near the picturesque square, which Ægir had read was the largest in Europe, they were greeted by a warm gust of wind – a harbinger of spring. Ægir’s doubts evaporated. In the distance the innocently calm sea sparkled as if to reassure him that everything would be all right. Indeed, what could go wrong? He smiled to himself: what had got into him? It would be an adventure, and he had successfully won round trickier customers than this captain in his time. In fact, it was his reputation as an accomplished mediator that had secured him the job of sorting out the red tape surrounding the yacht. He had spent the last two days going from one Portuguese office to another, settling unpaid harbour fees, obtaining licences and submitting documents to confirm the transfer of ownership.

  On the other side of the river, Christ opened his arms to the city. The statue, magnificent on its lofty pedestal, was a smaller scale version of Rio’s famous ‘Christ the Redeemer’. ‘Look, Daddy. There’s Jesus again.’ Arna pointed to the monument. Bylgja shaded her eyes and contemplated it in silence. She had been very impressed when their mother told them that the city’s human and animal inhabitants lived under Christ’s protection. Ægir didn’t know for sure whether his daughters believed in God, but he assumed so. Despite counting themselves as Christian, neither he nor Lára were practising or ever discussed religion at home, but his parents were churchgoers and he trusted them to talk over such matters with the girls in a tactful manner. ‘Why don’t we have a Jesus to protect Reykjavík?’ Arna tugged at her father’s sleeve. ‘Isn’t that silly?’

  ‘Yes, probably,’ Ægir replied distractedly, scanning the square in search of the café the captain had suggested for their meeting.

  Once inside the small establishment his eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom. The captain, who was sitting alone at a table, rose as they approached. He introduced himself as Thráinn. Ægir noticed how calloused the man’s hand was, though the captain kept the handshake as brief as possible without seeming positively rude. Perhaps he was ashamed of his workman’s fist.

  While Lára was at the bar buying soft drinks for the girls, Thráinn asked: ‘Is the paperwork sorted?’ His voice was as brusque as his handshake. ‘I’d like to sail this evening if possible. The sooner we leave port, the sooner we’ll be home.’

  ‘I see no reason to hang about. I’ve got all the documents that were stipulated. If it turns out something’s missing, we’ll just have to chance it.’ Ægir drew his chair closer to the table. One of the steel legs had lost its rubber guard and it screeched across the tiled floor.

  ‘Can you be on board by six?’ The captain had yet to meet Ægir’s eye. ‘It’s as good a time as any and I’d like to leave while it’s still light. It gets dark between seven and eight.’

  ‘Fine by me.’ Ægir tried smiling at the man. This was going to be easier than he’d expected. If Thráinn had been intending to renew his objections, he had evidently changed his mind; perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to refuse them passage in the girls’ presence. ‘All we need is to buy some supplies. Apart from that we’re ready.’ When Thráinn didn’t respond, Ægir decided to plough on regardless. Lára was being served, which meant that she and the girls would be back any minute. ‘So you’re okay about my wife and girls coming along?’

  The man’s expression did not alter; his eyes remained fixed on something behind Ægir. ‘I’ve told you my opinion. I strongly object to taking kids along on this trip. You never know what they’ll get up to. As I made clear on the phone, now that it turns out you’re not travelling alone I’d rather have hired a local.’

  Lára and the girls came over, the twins grinning above their glasses of fizzy orange as they took care not to spill the contents. ‘I’m aware of that,’ Ægir assured him, ‘and we’ll keep an eye on them. The girls will be our responsibility. So, it’s okay, then?’

  The man grunted. ‘Did I miss something? Do I have any choice?’

  ‘No, not really.’ Ægir took Bylgja’s glass and placed it on the table. Arna put her drink down with less care and a small orange puddle formed around the base. Lára wiped up the mess immediately, as if to demonstrate that they would treat the yacht with respect.

  ‘Will you have room for us, Thráinn?’ She gave the captain a charming smile. Ægir hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell her about their disagreement. For all she knew, the man was well disposed towards them. ‘I haven’t seen the boat yet but Ægir tells me she’s amazing.’

  ‘Yes, we should have. There are enough empty cabins, if you can call them cabins. They’re more like staterooms. The boys and I are so stuck in our ways that we automatically took the crew quarters, so you’ll have several cabins to choose from. No one should have any cause for complaint.’

  ‘Are there boys on board?’ Arna made a face as she released the straw. The day was still a long way off when the girls would go crazy about the opposite sex.

  ‘Well, they seem like boys to me, but you’ll probably think they’re grown-up men.’ To Ægir’s relief, the captain winked at Arna. Once they were at sea their little teething troubles would no doubt be forgotten. ‘They’re in their twenties.’ He winked at Arna again. ‘And both a bit soft in the head.’

  ‘Oh.’ Arna giggled. ‘What are their names?’

  ‘One’s called Halli – short for Halldór, I guess – and the other’s known as Loftur, because he’s lofty.’

  Arna didn’t understand this attempt at humour and frowned. ‘He’s joking, darling.’ Ægir put an arm round her shoulders in case she showed signs of answering back. ‘Loftur’s his proper name, and neither of them is really soft in the head.’ In fact, he hadn’t a clue whether the man was joking. Perhaps the boys were idiots, though if so he doubted the committee would have hired them. Thráinn, at any rate, came very highly recommended. He hadn’t seen the reference himself as he hadn’t been involved in hiring the crew, but the committee would presumably have chosen a crack team for a trip with such a valuable vessel at stake. ‘How’s the man who was injured?’

  The captain scowled again. ‘I don’t suppose the stupid bastard’s having much fun. Broken his leg, apparently. No doubt during a pub crawl, though his friend Halli denies it. That lot can’t be trusted to set foot in a foreign port without getting smashed out of their skulls. He’s on his way home now, I hear. And you’re taking his place.’ A sardonic smile accompanied his words. ‘And bringi
ng an army along for the ride.’

  ‘Yup. It’s your lucky day.’ Ægir would have liked to say more but bit his tongue. He didn’t want the girls to witness a quarrel, even one disguised as pleasantries.

  Bylgja sat in silence, watching the captain. The only sound she made was a quiet slurping as she drank her orangeade. She was a pretty sharp judge of character and Ægir longed to know what she was thinking, but it would have to wait.

  Ægir and Lára had assumed they had plenty of time to get ready, but in the event the family turned up at the harbour nearly half an hour later than arranged. As a result there was no time to admire the white yacht from shore, though Lára did remark that she was much larger than she had expected. There was a mad scramble to carry the stores on board, but his wife was too anxious about leaving the girls behind on the docks to be of much use. Neither Thráinn nor the two younger men lifted a finger to help. They lounged against the pilot house, watching the family’s activities with suppressed grins. By the time the last box was on board, Ægir was in a muck-sweat and longing to root around in their shopping for a beer. But judging by the face the captain had made when he’d appeared carrying a case of wine, this would not be a good idea. At least, not straight away.

  ‘Well, well.’ Thráinn came over to where Ægir stood panting beside the provisions. His gaze fell again on the wine, which happened to be at the front and therefore embarrassingly conspicuous. ‘It’ll make quite a difference to this job to have passengers along for a pleasure trip. I hope you aren’t under the illusion that we’re your staff.’ He nodded towards Halli and Loftur, who were looking on impassively. ‘I know what I said, but you may have to take the odd watch, so it wouldn’t do for you to drink too much.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Ægir didn’t intend to let the man rile him. ‘I won’t overdo it, and we’ll cook for ourselves. For you too, if you’d like.’ He hoped the man’s attitude would soften; they had a long voyage ahead of them and however spacious the yacht, it would soon become claustrophobic if there was a poisonous atmosphere. He watched Lára and the twins easing their way down into the boat. The gleaming deck emitted a hollow boom as Arna landed, as if the yacht were nothing but a shell – handsome packaging around an empty space. Ægir knew this wasn’t true, but the sound reverberated in his head and he couldn’t help thinking that under all the surface gloss the yacht was little more than a tub. But since his own experience of seagoing craft amounted to the battered dinghy on which he had taken his competency certificate and a small boat belonging to his cousin, perhaps he simply didn’t know how to appreciate quality.