‘Why didn’t you tell me about Ingunn and Jakob?’
Hrund hesitated. ‘Why should I?’ she said eventually. ‘I didn’t know you at all. When you told me you were in the police, it set me off dredging it all up again. But I couldn’t make up my mind, so I’m afraid I lost my temper when you came back. It was uncalled for and I hope you’ll forgive my rudeness.’
‘There’s no need. I know I’m an outsider,’ said Erlendur.
‘You must realise it’s not easy to talk about.’
Erlendur nodded. ‘So you knew about Ingunn and Jakob?’
‘I didn’t grasp what had gone on until I was older,’ said Hrund. ‘My mother didn’t like to talk about it. I only really picked it up from whispered hints much later on. By then both Matthildur and Jakob were dead. I gather she was shattered by Ingunn’s letter. That must explain what happened afterwards.’
‘Do you think she was intending to leave Jakob?’
‘It seems likely.’
‘Is there any reason to believe Ingunn was lying?’
‘Why should she?’
‘It crossed my mind that Jakob might not have been the father. That there was someone else.’
‘I find that highly unlikely. Though I never saw the famous letter. Goodness knows what happened to it.’
‘Ninna’s got it,’ said Erlendur. ‘Maybe you should speak to her. Ingunn claims in it that Jakob’s the father.’
‘So you’ve read it?’
Erlendur nodded.
‘I don’t believe there was anyone else in the picture,’ said Hrund. ‘Then, by complete coincidence, Matthildur went and married him. It was just one of those things. Life’s like that — coincidences happen.’
‘But that doesn’t necessarily mean Jakob was to blame. He didn’t cheat on Matthildur. His relationship with Ingunn, whatever form it took, was over before he and Matthildur moved in together. Everybody has a past.’
‘Of course.’
‘So if she was lying about Jakob being the father, Ingunn must have had some other reason for wanting to destroy the marriage.’
‘Jakob treated her shabbily,’ Hrund pointed out.
‘I know, Ingunn says so in her letter.’
‘I don’t know what she said, but he made all sorts of threats when she told him the news and asked him to acknowledge the baby. He threatened to beat her. Maybe he actually did it. And warned her he’d put it about that she was a. . was no better than a common tart. It was because of him that she fled to Reykjavík, I’m sure. My mother was convinced he’d hit her, though Ingunn refused to discuss it.’
A nurse came to the door and asked if Hrund needed anything. She shook her head. The woman removed an empty water jug from the bedside table and said she would fill it.
‘Ring the bell if you do need anything,’ she added with a friendly smile.
‘Mother had a go at him when Matthildur didn’t turn up,’ Hrund continued, once the nurse had gone. ‘Asked Jakob straight out if he’d hurt her. If he’d hit Ingunn. He denied everything. Claimed he’d never laid a finger on either of them. There wasn’t much my mother could say to that.’
‘Matthildur must have been stunned when she discovered her nephew was her husband’s son,’ Erlendur remarked.
‘All I know is that Ingunn managed to wreck their marriage with that letter,’ said Hrund. ‘Perhaps that was her intention all along.’
‘What do you mean?’
Hrund did not answer.
‘What happened?’
She looked him in the eye. There was a clacking as someone walked past wearing clogs. Outside a lorry started up noisily.
‘What did you mean when you said that must explain what happened afterwards?’
‘What?’
‘You implied that Ingunn’s letter had an impact on what happened afterwards. Were you referring to Matthildur’s disappearance?’
‘No,’ said Hrund. ‘That was later. . No. Matthildur turned to Ezra. She had an affair with Jakob’s friend.’
‘Ezra?’
‘Yes. They started meeting in secret. Didn’t you visit him?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘And he didn’t tell you?’
‘No.’
‘Well, it’s hardly surprising,’ said Hrund. ‘He’s never opened up about it — except the once. He’s kept it secret all these years and no doubt he’ll take it to his grave.’
22
Erlendur sat in silence while Hrund’s words sank in. The clogs clomped along the corridor again, and gradually the rumble of the lorry’s engine faded away. Hrund stroked the white quilt. Erlendur noticed that someone had brought her a book with a worn brown spine. The title looked like Man and Dust.
‘I suppose you want to know more,’ Hrund said, after an awkward pause.
‘You call the shots,’ said Erlendur. ‘At least you have so far.’
To the best of Hrund’s knowledge, Ezra and Matthildur had been acquainted — though no more than that — before Matthildur received her sister’s letter. Ezra used to work on a fishing boat with Jakob. They got on well enough, having first met several years earlier in Djúpivogur, though Hrund didn’t know the circumstances and had no idea what had brought them both to Eskifjördur after the war. Ezra had never married, nor, as far as Hrund was aware, had he ever been involved with a woman before. Jakob was clearly much more experienced.
Ezra was a loner. He had been that way as a young man and had never changed. People knew next to nothing about him except that he was not local but came originally from the other side of the country. Before meeting Jakob in Djúpivogur he had been living out west, in Stykkishólmur and Borgarnes, where he may well have been born and brought up, though it had never occurred to anyone to ask. It was the fishing that had drawn him to the East Fjords, where he had settled down to work on the sea.
Although he was a solitary man, little given to talking about himself, showing his feelings or getting involved much in local affairs, he was by no means unpopular. He was hard-working and always ready to oblige if asked for help. Clean-living and abstemious too. Despite his powerful frame, though, he had never been considered much of a looker, with his low brow, small eyes, prematurely wrinkled face and the odd blemish on his lower lip that might have been from a fight — not that anyone had ever asked him. Some joker had once quipped that his face looked like a rug that had been kicked into a corner. Maybe that accounted for his shyness and diffidence where women were concerned. Until, that is, he met Matthildur.
Their acquaintance had begun when she and Jakob first started seeing each other. In his shy way Ezra had noticed her before, but only got to know her properly when he and Jakob started crewing a three-tonne motor vessel whose owner ran a fish-processing factory in the village. The boat was christened Sigurlína after the man’s wife. They used to head out at the crack of dawn and return to the harbour in the afternoon or early evening, sometimes manning the boat on their own when the captain had other business. Ezra would wake up in the early hours and drop by to fetch Jakob, by which time Matthildur would be up and about, and they would exchange a few words while Jakob was getting ready. Then the two men would set off down to the harbour while she stood watching from the doorway. Jakob never looked back but Ezra would sometimes snatch an unobtrusive glance over his shoulder, capturing the image of Matthildur to take with him out to sea.
Once when they came ashore, Jakob announced that he had to go over to Djúpivogur for a few days. He did not explain his business, merely told Ezra that he would have to man the boat with the owner in the meantime. The following morning, as he walked past the house, Ezra noticed that Matthildur was up and about. Jakob had made an early start and she had woken to say goodbye to him but couldn’t get back to sleep. The door was open, so Ezra greeted her and they had a brief chat as usual.
The next day Ezra passed the house again and saw that Matthildur had the door open, as if waiting for him. She came out and said hello, and he lingered longer than the day before, enjoying a more leisurely conversation. Matthildur was just as much in the dark about what had taken Jakob to Djúpivogur. He had discussed buying a share in a fishing boat and she thought he might be looking into opportunities. Ezra nodded. Jakob had once suggested they club together to buy a stake in a vessel, but Ezra had poured cold water on the idea because he was broke. ‘We’ll take a loan, mate,’ Jakob had said. ‘Who do you think would lend money to the likes of us?’ Ezra had retorted.