Ashes to Dust (15 page)

Thóra finished her coffee and phoned
Bella to check on her progress - and set her mind at rest about the
archivist’s safety. Her secretary was sullen. The files were obviously in
the archive, but Bella hadn’t yet been able to discover which boat Markus
had travelled on. Thóra regretted not having asked Markus what the boat
was called, since the files were arranged by name of vessel. Thóra did
her best to be encouraging and tell Bella how important her task was, then
she said goodbye and informed her secretary that she was going back to the
hotel, where they would meet and decide how best to take advantage of the rest
of the day until their dinner with Leifur and his family.

The weather was so pleasant that Thóra
decided to make a detour and enjoy the sunshine. She walked past a souvenir
shop and went in to buy a statue of a puffin for Sóley, as well as a
tiny pair of woollen mittens for her grandson Orri. Just as the
saleswoman
was ringing up the items, Bella called.

‘Guess what I found out?’ she
said proudly. ‘Markus and Alda took the same boat to the mainland.’

Thóra thanked her, hung up and
smiled happily at the
saleswoman
as she handed her
her
credit card. They’d cleared the first hurdle.

Monday 16 July
2007

‘Could you please pass the salt?’
asked Thóra, trying to sound nonchalant. On a beautiful porcelain plate
in front of her was a light blue egg, flecked with brown, which she had cracked
open halfway. Doing so had exposed an almost transparent white, even
though the egg was supposed to be hard-boiled. Thóra wasn’t very
adventurous when it came to food, and a wild bird’s egg wasn’t very
high on her list of delicacies. Normally she would have refused it politely and
waited for the main course, but at a dinner with unfamiliar hosts she had no
other choice but to salt it well, swallow it and smile. Leifur grinned at her
and handed her the salt- shaker. ‘It’s not for everyone,’ he
said. ‘You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.’

Thóra smiled back. ‘No, I would
really like to try it,’ she lied, and shook the slender shaker over the
greyish albumen. Then she handed the salt on to Bella and watched as her
secretary did much the same. Bella peered out of the corner of her eye at
Thóra, clearly suffering the same dilemma.

Maria, Leifur’s wife, was watching them
closely from the opposite end of the table. She was visibly displeased. She
looked away from the two women and turned to her husband. ‘I don’t
know why you always have to force this on your guests, especially as we have
visitors so rarely,’ she said, lifting her glass and gulping down her
white wine. ‘It stopped being clever a long time ago.’ Her glass
banged loudly on the table when she put it down, and it was embarrassingly
clear that she’d had a bit too much to drink. She was an extremely
good-looking
woman
who had probably been a great
beauty in her youth, but she was painfully thin and Thóra would have bet
anything she’d had medical assistance to keep herself looking so good.
Her clothing was impeccable and appeared to be mostly brand new, although it
wasn’t the latest fashion. Her outfit was classic, a knee-length beige
skirt and cream silk shirt that matched her pale suede high heels. Since Maria
had very fair colouring, she looked so
monotone
that
Thóra thought she’d be invisible if she walked in front of a
haystack.

‘Maybe you’d have preferred to
serve your famous burnt French onion soup, dear,’ said Leifur, shooting
his wife a look that was anything but loving. He did not seem to be dressed as
formally as her, although he wore a shirt and smart trousers. Perhaps the
casual impression came from his gestures and facial expressions, since he was
in every respect more relaxed than his wife.

‘Have you always lived here in the
Islands?’ asked Thóra, in an attempt to lighten the mood. She had
experienced her own marital troubles and hindsight told her that incidents like
this were the reason others had started to decline her and Hannes’s
dinner invitations before they finally divorced. There had been no need to
serve half-raw wild birds’ eggs to drive away their guests.

‘God, no,’ snapped Maria.

‘Maria isn’t from here, as you
might’ve guessed,’ said Leifur, smiling sarcastically at his wife.
‘We met when I was studying in Reykjavik and lived together there for two
years until my graduation. With the exception of my school years I’ve
always lived in the Islands.’ Leifur set aside the empty shell of one egg
and reached for another. ‘I always wanted to study to be a sea-captain,
but ended up in business.’ His experienced hands broke the shell off the
top of the beautifully coloured egg. ‘It was clear that my father’s
fishing company was growing and I felt a business degree would be of more use
to the family and the company.’

‘And you turned out to be right,
isn’t that so?’ asked Thóra. She knew from Markus that the
fishing company was doing very well. She stuck her spoon into her egg, scooped
out some of the hard congealed stuff and tried to swallow it quickly.

‘Yes, I suppose I did,’ said
Leifur. ‘I actually doubt that my education makes much difference.
We’ve been lucky with the catches, and have very experienced captains.
Actually I have been able to strengthen the company’s foundations, but
that’s only part of the picture. Things are getting a bit tight now, what
with the quotas being curtailed, not to mention the instability of the
krona.’

Thóra nodded and decided not to get into
a deeper conversation about the exchange rate or finances. There was
little more boring to her than money talk, and there was a risk that she would
Display her own ignorance if the conversation continued on its current
path. ‘And Markus hasn’t been involved with the fishing company at
all?’ she asked.

‘No, he’s gone his own
way,’ replied Leifur. ‘Luckily, maybe,’ he added.
‘It’s never a good idea to run a company with two directors. Since
father retired I’ve been running the show alone, and doing well. Markus
doesn’t complain, and it wouldn’t matter if he did. He’s
happy with his share of the profits.’

Maria snorted. ‘You would’ve done
even better if you’d sold. You’re not the only one with a degree in
business administration in this family, and I know very well how much you
can get for the quota and the ships. Magnus says that we could live perfectly
well off the interest alone, Markus included.’ She took another gulp of
wine. ‘But God help us if the quota and the company were to be sold.’

Thóra didn’t know which Magnus
she was referring to, but was fairly certain that she didn’t mean Leifur
and Markus’s father. Whoever she meant, Thóra thought she knew
where the root of the disagreement between the couple lay. Maria wanted to sell
the company and move to Reykjavik. Yes, that’s where Laugavegur High
Street was, with shops where one could spend all one’s money. She would
fit perfectly inside a terribly expensive penthouse in 101 Reykjavik, the
downtown district, where she would look out over the blue bay past a single
lily in a vase as she sipped cafe au lait. Leifur, in contrast, would clearly
feel about as welcome in such minimalist surroundings as a patchwork
quilt. He clearly wanted to hang on to the company and live in the Islands,
where he could continue to work in the fishing industry. Perhaps moral
obligation played a part too; if the quota and the fishing company were sold,
how could he continue to live in the Westmann Islands? His must be a difficult
position, bearing the responsibility for the jobs of so many workers in such a
small community. Although Thóra was no specialist on the Islands’
community after two short visits, she felt that it reflected certain
characteristics of the whole of the country in the not so distant past.
Iceland before the age of capitalists.
Iceland when most people were on almost equal financial terms and
the wealthiest men were the pharmacists.
Leifur and Maria’s house
was no different from any other house in the neighbourhood: large and
well kept
but far from luxurious. It must feel strange
to have that much money but never spend it, especially for Maria, who obviously
appreciated the finer things in life. Thóra thought it best to change
the subject. ‘Do your parents still live here?’ she asked Leifur,
taking another mouthful of egg. It seemed never-ending, and she couldn’t
imagine anything but an ostrich laying one this size.

‘Yes,’ replied Leifur.
‘They live in this street, a few doors down, but we’re not sure for
how much longer. Dad has become extremely difficult and Mum is so old and tired
that she can hardly cope. Maria has been helping her but they’re getting
to the point where they’ll need specialist help, which is hard to find
here in the Islands.’

Maria received unexpected Brownie points from
Thóra for this. She looked at the woman and decided that despite her
cold manner she must have a warm heart. It wasn’t so difficult to
put yourself in her shoes, an empty nester with not enough to do, while her
husband was rushed off his feet. If the woman was from Reykjavik, her support
network must be there; old girlfriends could hardly stop by for coffee here.
‘You have children, don’t you?’ she asked, addressing Maria.
‘Do they live here?’

‘No,’ the woman replied sadly.
She added quickly: ‘I mean, no, they don’t live here, but yes, we
have children.
Two, Magnus and Margret.’
She sat
up straighter. ‘Margret is abroad, doing a medical degree, but Magnus is
a business administrator like his father. He works for one of the big banks and
recently became director of property management.’ She glanced at her
husband. ‘So it’s foolish to think that one of them could take over
the business. Magnus already makes twice what his father does.’

‘Now, it’s not that
simple,’ said Leifur to his wife. ‘You know that.’ He turned
to Thóra. ‘Even though our children have followed other paths in
life, one never knows whether things might change. And Hjalti, Markus’s
son, is very keen on the sea and the company. He’s with us more or less
every summer and a lot of weekends during the winter. He would be very
disappointed if the company changed hands.’ Once again it appeared as
though the conversation were heading in the direction of the couple’s
unresolved conflict.

Thóra heard Bella sigh softly. She
must be tired of the conversation, although it could just as easily have been
the egg that still lay half eaten on the plate in front of her. ‘Do you
remember anything about the eruption?’ she asked Leifur in a desperate
attempt to relieve the tension.

‘Of course, my dear,’ replied
Leifur, pushing his plate away. ‘It’s hard to forget.’

‘Did you go to Reykjavik on the same
boat as Markus?’ asked Thóra. ‘I’m trying to find
someone who could verify that Markus and Alda spoke to each other during that
journey.’

‘I was on board,’ replied Leifur,
thoughtfully. ‘I must admit I don’t particularly remember Alda
being on the same boat, but that doesn’t mean much. Alda was the same age
as Markus, two years younger than me. At that age I didn’t pay much
attention to kids.’ He took a sip of wine. ‘However, I can assure
you that if Alda was there, Markus wasn’t far behind.’ He put down
his glass. ‘I don’t think he ever actually got over his crush
on her, not even as a grown man.’

‘That’s certainly my
understanding,’ said Thóra, as she tried to push the egg down into
its shell so that it would look as though she had finished it. She put down her
spoon and wiped her mouth with a napkin to complete the illusion. ‘Is
there anyone else who might possibly remember these interactions? What
about your mother?’

Leifur shook his head. ‘Not Mum. She
was very seasick and had enough to worry about. I doubt she even noticed
Markus.’ He twirled his glass on the table. ‘Let me think about
this a bit. Maybe I can remember some other people who were there. It would
mostly have been Markus’s childhood friends who would have noticed
anything; the whole class had a crush on Alda so maybe they can remember
something.’

Thóra reached into her handbag, which
was hanging on the back of her chair, and took out a photocopy of the report that
Bella had found in the archive. ‘Here’s a list of the people who
came to the mainland on that boat. Maybe you’ll recognize the names
on it.’ She handed it to Leifur.

Leifur looked over the list, which was
handwritten and totalled four pages. Suddenly his face brightened.
‘Jóhanna, Alda’s younger sister. She still lives in the
Islands and works at the bank where I do business. Maybe she can help, although
she might not remember the evacuation. I’ll talk to her tomorrow if you think
it might help.’

Thóra thanked him. She saw Bella give
up on her egg and place her napkin over it with an uncharacteristically dainty
hand movement. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, pushing the plate
away slightly. ‘Very unique flavour,’ she added, without looking up
from the tablecloth in front of her. Maria smiled at them, but only with her
mouth. She stood up and started clearing the table. Then she went, arms full,
to the kitchen, where they could hear her preparing the main course.
Thóra crossed her fingers in the hope that no more special dishes would
be served, but genuinely feared that the woman was about to appear with a
platter of grilled starfish. ‘Haven’t the police come round to take
statements from you?’ she asked Leifur, setting aside her concerns about
the menu.
‘Or your parents?’