Reykjavík, page 21
‘Hi, it’s Sunna here.’
‘Sunna?’ The surprise in Margrét’s voice was plain. ‘Oh, hi, how are you?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘It’s nice to hear from you. Actually, I was going to give you a call. What do you think of the news – about Reagan and Gorbachev coming to Reykjavík?’
‘Oh, you know, it’s—’
‘Completely wild, isn’t it? Daddy reckons he’ll get to meet them.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, apparently he’s going to be part of some reception committee or delegation or something. It’s so exciting.’
‘Oh, right,’ Sunna said, then realized Margrét had probably been expecting a more enthusiastic reaction to the news that her father was about to meet the two most powerful men on the planet. ‘Anyway, I was wondering if we could meet for a coffee?’
‘Coffee? Yes, sure. Any time.’
* * *
Later that afternoon Margrét came round to Sunna’s flat in Hlídar. Her visit brought it home to Sunna just how long it was since she had last received any guests; time seemed to have stood still in recent weeks, every day the same, the voices on the radio her only company. It wasn’t as if she met many people outside the four walls of home either, apart from Gunnar; she’d stopped going into the university and had shelved her dissertation for now.
As if to underline how little entertaining she’d done, she had to go upstairs and knock on Kamilla’s door to ask if she could borrow some sugar, and only avoided being drawn into a conversation by explaining that she had a visitor and promising that they’d catch up soon.
Margrét perched on the edge of the sofa, holding a mug of coffee with sugar and milk. She was so smartly turned out that she looked completely out of place on the shabby sofa with its threadbare cushions.
‘Look, I know it was a bit weird,’ Sunna said.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Inviting you round for coffee out of the blue like this.’
In the background they could hear the radio host of the new afternoon show discussing Reagan and Gorbachev, like everyone else at the moment.
‘Don’t be silly, Sunna. It’s nice – I wasn’t doing anything special.’
‘The thing is, I’ve been looking into the Lára business.’
‘Oh? Any news?’
‘Yes, I think so. That’s why I rang. I’m not quite sure where to go from here, so I really needed to talk to someone I could trust …’
‘Oh, I’d love to help. It would have pleased Valur, I’m sure.’
Sunna nodded.
‘You haven’t found her, have you? Lára, I mean?’
‘Not exactly,’ Sunna said hesitantly.
‘Don’t say you’ve found evidence that implicates Ólöf and Óttar?’
Sunna picked up on the sudden note of concern in Margrét’s voice, suggesting that she didn’t want her parents’ friends to be mixed up in anything discreditable.
‘I don’t think so. But I can’t say for sure.’
‘OK. I was only curious,’ Margrét said apologetically.
‘No problem.’ Sunna chose her next words carefully: ‘Margrét, I believe I know where Lára is.’
Margrét looked incredulous. ‘What? Where?’
‘I believe she’s been dead all this time.’
Margrét nodded, waiting solemnly for her to continue.
‘My suspicion is that she’s buried on Videy.’
‘She’s been on Videy all along?’
‘Yes, in the churchyard. Of course, it’s obvious, in hindsight. She vanished on the island, and the best place to hide is in plain sight. Have you read any Edgar Allan Poe?’
Margrét shrugged. ‘No.’
Sunna shook her head impatiently, but this was hardly the moment to start lecturing her guest on her pet subject: the origin of detective stories and Edgar Allan Poe’s role in the development of the genre. Instead, she cut to the chase: ‘I think I even know exactly where: in the grave of a woman called Arnfrídur Leifsdóttir. You see, Valur was asking about her just before he … before he died.’
‘Wow … that’s incredible, if it turns out to be true. I mean, you may have just cracked a thirty-year-old mystery!’
‘We have …’
‘We?’
‘Yes, me and Valur – we’ve done it together.’
‘Of course.’ Margrét gave an embarrassed smile. ‘So what now?’
‘That’s what I wanted to pick your brains about. Do you think I should go to the police? Or talk to Dagbjartur and get the paper on my side? I mean, digging up a body’s bound to be a legal nightmare, don’t you think? Getting all the necessary permissions, and so on. And what if someone gets there first – if the news leaks out? Iceland’s such a small place that it’s going to be impossible to keep this secret for long …’
‘Well, you can rest assured that I’m not going to tell anyone, Sunna.’
‘I know.’
‘I could ask my father, I suppose … You know, ask him how much hassle it would be to get permission to open up a grave, without mentioning why.’
Sunna mulled this over. She was reluctant to involve the lawyer in this, for fear he might work it out and alert his mate, Óttar. After all, Óttar and Ólöf would be in very hot water if Sunna’s theory proved correct; if the girl, who’d been working as their maid, turned out to have been buried on the island. Something terrible must have happened, maybe by accident, maybe not … And it was high time the truth came to light.
She almost regretted her impulse to share her discovery with Margrét, but, on the other hand, it was helpful to have someone to discuss the alternatives with.
‘Margrét, I’ve had an idea,’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘What if we went together, just the two of us … to Videy, this evening or tomorrow, and had a poke around in the graveyard ourselves?’
Margrét didn’t immediately answer.
‘Well … I definitely think we should leave Valur’s newspaper out of it,’ she said eventually, with conviction. ‘And maybe it’s not such a good idea to ask my father either. Let’s just do it ourselves, as you suggest.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. I don’t often get a chance to step outside the comfort zone my parents have created around me, and they’d go ballistic if they knew I was even discussing doing something like this – but I want to do it. To break out. Even if it’s against the law.’
‘Well, I sincerely hope we won’t end up in jail. We’re only following a clue. It’s not like we’re actually going to dig up Arnfrídur’s coffin. Just scrape away a bit of earth and see if there’s any sign that someone else could have been buried there too …’ Sunna had a mental image of this being not so very different from a tough day’s research among old manuscripts in the National Library.
‘I’m up for it,’ Margrét said. ‘A hundred per cent. When shall we go?’
* * *
Following her conversation with Margrét, Sunna made a few phone calls and established that there were no scheduled ferry trips to the island except at weekends. The person she spoke to at the ferry office told her: ‘There’s not much call to visit Videy during the week, but there’s a fisherman who’s been taking people out there as a sideline for several years. Would you like his name and number?’
When she got hold of the fisherman later that same evening, he said he’d be only too happy to give the girls a lift out to the island. Sunna was keen to go as late in the day as possible, to be sure their movements wouldn’t attract attention. Some things were best done under cover of darkness.
‘We’re hoping to get some photos there at dusk, so would you be able to take us over tomorrow evening, at six, say – and maybe pick us up again around nine?’
‘Yes, sure, I should be able to do that. Though I’ll have to charge you a bit extra for an evening trip, you know how it is.’
‘That won’t be a problem,’ Sunna said, confident that she could persuade Margrét to cover the cost.
After all, Margrét had to spend all that family money on something.
1986
9 October
They sat comfortably enough in the little fishing smack, eating biscuits provided by the fisherman. The sea was calm and they were making rapid progress across the sound, but the air was chilly.
‘To take photos, you say?’ the fisherman called from the door of his wheelhouse. ‘People are always wanting to photograph the island. Is it the birds you’re after? Lots of visitors seem to be interested in them.’
‘Anything, really,’ Sunna answered for them both. ‘The scenery, the plant life, the birds … we’re particularly keen to capture the twilight.’
‘I’ve had this boat for ten years and done countless trips to Videy when the conditions are good. It was my father’s boat before me. He often used to ferry people out there in the old days.’
‘So your father must have been doing the Videy run around the time Lára went missing?’
The fisherman raised his eyebrows enquiringly.
‘The girl who vanished there – in 1956.’
‘Yes, I know. I’ve heard the story, of course. Yes, the old man would have been going strong in fifty-six.’
‘The reason I ask is that my brother was researching the story of Lára’s disappearance for his newspaper.’
‘Is that so?’
‘It would be great to have a chat with your father some time and see if he remembers the girl.’
‘You’re a bit late: he died several years back.’
‘Oh, dear. I’m sorry to hear that. Please excuse me for asking.’
‘No need to apologize.’ Changing the subject, the fisherman said: ‘We’re nearly there. Are you sure you want to stay till nine? You’ll be freezing by then. Mind you, just so you know, they generally leave the church unlocked. Its doors are always open, as they say.’
Just the sort of thing Gunnar would come out with, Sunna thought, with a private smile. Part of her wished she was sharing this adventure with him rather than Margrét – if he’d only been home when she rang. He was a sweet guy, even if he did go on about God a bit too much for her taste. Still, she could live with that. All kinds of people made a go of things, even if their interests didn’t perfectly coincide.
‘Maybe just till eight, then,’ Margrét piped up suddenly. ‘I’m sure we won’t need any longer than that.’
On her lap she was hugging a large rucksack containing two small spades. The girls hadn’t liked to cart any bigger tools out to the island, since even the backpack was probably enough to arouse suspicion. Sunna had noticed the fisherman eyeing it during their conversation, but luckily he hadn’t asked why they had so much luggage. No doubt he was used to his passengers’ eccentricities.
Once he’d moored the boat to the jetty, he gave them both a hand ashore.
The breeze blowing on the island was bitingly cold and the light was already failing. Sunna began to have second thoughts. She wondered if she should have gone straight to the police instead of mixing Margrét up in all this.
Sunna covertly studied her companion. Could she trust Margrét? She’d been suspiciously quick to agree to this crazy plan. What if Margrét knew more than she was letting on? What if she’d heard something from her parents about Óttar and Ólöf’s role in the events and had come along to prevent Sunna from solving the mystery? She tried to read Margrét’s expression, but the other girl was peering up the slope towards the mansion and the church.
Sunna tried to shrug off her paranoia.
Margrét was only trying to be nice, she told herself. And, of course, Sunna didn’t want to involve the police at this stage. The truth was, she wanted to find out the answers for herself. If her conjecture proved right, the next step would be to contact the authorities – and to write that article for Dagbjartur. Finish Valur’s work …
‘Night owls.’
Snapping out of her thoughts, Sunna glanced round. She and Margrét were still standing on the jetty. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Night owls, I said.’ The fisherman was smiling at his joke as he loosened the moorings. ‘I was just wondering what kind of birds you were hoping to see at this hour. Personally, I find my eyes work better in the daylight than in the dark, but each to his own. I’ll be back later. Try not to get into trouble – the island’s bigger than it looks.’
Without another word, he stepped into his wheelhouse and steered a course away from the jetty.
‘He’s obviously guessed that we—’ Margrét began.
Sunna cut her off. ‘He can’t possibly have guessed anything, and besides, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got to do this for Valur’s sake. And Lára’s too. OK?’
Margrét nodded. ‘It can’t hurt to take a look in the churchyard,’ she said, as if trying to convince herself. ‘And maybe that’ll be enough. I mean, if we can’t find the grave, or …’
‘We’ll do what we can, Margrét.’
Although the daylight was fading, they could still see well enough for their purposes. Sunna set off briskly up the grassy slope towards the mansion and the church, and after a pause she heard Margrét’s footsteps behind her.
Struck by the loneliness and isolation, Sunna found herself wondering what might have been going through Lára’s head the first time she set foot on the island to start her job as a maid. Fifteen years old – she’d been no more than a child. That had been in May, according to her parents. Her surroundings would have looked much more promising in the light nights of spring than they did now, in the autumnal gloom: Lára would have sensed more hope in the air, more optimism. Although Videy was within sight of the city, for a Reykjavík girl like Lára it must have felt like suddenly stepping into the middle of the countryside, making her feel closer to nature and at the same time strangely free. She must have been excited about getting to stand on her own two feet, earning her own wages, and making the acquaintance of a respectable couple from the higher echelons of society. Óttar and Ólöf were generally regarded as model citizens. No one would have hesitated to send their child to work for them: a respected lawyer, a woman from a prominent family …
Sunna felt an impulse to make a detour past their farmhouse, but it was too far out of their way, according to the map she had consulted in the National Library, and it simply wasn’t their priority on this trip. Anyway, the house stood empty these days and there would be nothing there but old ghosts, the echo of the lost girl’s voice.
Sunna threw a quick glance over her shoulder. Brooding on the past had sent a sudden shiver down her spine.
Margrét, seeing her look round, gave her a conspiratorial smile, and Sunna’s heartbeat slowed a little in response. But she still felt oddly spooked. There was something menacing in the air, a feeling that they were walking into the unknown … And, to make matters worse, the friends – was that what they were now? – were heading straight for the graveyard.
They were nearing the two white-walled, black-roofed buildings, the mansion on the right with its rows of black, lightless windows that seemed suddenly sinister in the gloom, and the church on the left, looking even smaller than Sunna had remembered. But then it was ages since her last visit to Videy and the photos she’d studied recently were deceptive.
It was a pretty little building, recently restored, and there, to the left of it, as modest in scale as the church itself, was the cemetery. It shouldn’t take them long to locate Arnfrídur Leifsdóttir, assuming the graves were clearly marked.
‘This is quite an adventure,’ Margrét said, her voice betraying nothing but high spirits. Despite her initial wobble, she didn’t seem to be sharing Sunna’s qualms now. It had been a sensible decision to bring her along after all. She was sunny by nature, even light-hearted. Perhaps those were the very qualities that had attracted Valur. Certainly, she didn’t seem to take after her parents, those rigidly conventional lawyers from Gardabær.
There was a chance that in time she and Sunna might develop a true friendship. Wasn’t that what Valur would have wanted?
‘Right, let’s get on with finding Arnfrídur,’ Sunna said, filling her lungs with cold, fresh air to steel herself. ‘Then we’ll find Lára.’
‘You know, Sunna, I never dreamed I’d one day be creeping out in the dusk to dig around in a graveyard. My biggest crimes up to now have been speeding and sneaking into a country swimming pool at night without paying. Aren’t you usually the law-abiding type too?’
‘Yup. I don’t even nick library books.’
Sunna tried the door of the church and found it unlocked, as the fisherman had said. That was a relief: they’d be able to warm up in here afterwards. Groping at the wall inside, she encountered a light switch and flicked it on. The interior sprang into view. It was tiny by modern standards, but then the congregation had probably never been large. For a moment Sunna had the sensation of stepping hundreds of years back in time. Most buildings in Iceland dated from the twentieth century, but she’d read that the church had been consecrated in the second half of the eighteenth century, which made it ancient by local standards. The wooden pews were painted blue and brown, and, attractive as they looked, were no doubt uncomfortable to sit on for any length of time. The altar, with the elaborate pulpit above it, was painted in the same colours, with the addition of green. Sunna closed her eyes. She didn’t think of herself as religious and teased Gunnar when he forgot himself and started going on about Christ and God and synods and rituals. Yet she felt moved to send up a silent prayer now, for her brother and for Lára. She had a momentary sense that Lára was very close to her here. Imagination or wishful thinking? Perhaps.
‘Shall we get on with it, then?’ Margrét asked with a touch of impatience. She was still standing outside the church.
‘Sure.’ Sunna turned, switched off the lights and went back outside, closing the door softly behind her.
On the point of entering the cemetery, Sunna wavered, conscious that they were in a very grey area legally. Disturbing a grave would be hard to justify, but then, she told herself grimly, necessity broke laws …
