As a result, Thóra’s request to be put through to Fannar came out rather breathlessly, and she was still flustered as she explained her business to him. Fortunately, he cottoned on immediately and said he had been about to ring her on the same subject. Apparently their receptionist had remembered the incident straight away, since it had involved a high-profile figure. When Karítas had rung to enquire who was handling the yacht affair, the receptionist had been unwilling to reveal the information, but Karítas had sounded distressed and claimed she needed to go on board to fetch a few personal effects that she’d left behind by mistake. As Ægir was not in his office, the woman had agreed to pass on the request to him but refused to give Karítas his name. Ægir had apparently been astonished when the receptionist gave him the message. Although she hadn’t been privy to any telephone conversation between them, she believed they must have spoken at some point because about a week later Karítas had called again, this time asking for Ægir by name. Fannar added that when the receptionist subsequently expressed curiosity about their conversation, Ægir had turned bright red and insisted that he hadn’t been in contact with her. The woman had also noticed that after the conversation with Karítas, Ægir had received two or three phone calls from abroad, which had been diverted to her when he didn’t answer his direct line. The caller had refused to leave a message, so she didn’t know what they were about, yet she clearly remembered Ægir’s odd expression each time she had mentioned them to him.
Thóra rose to her feet at the end of the phone call, glad to be leaving work early for a change but simultaneously disappointed not to be able to follow up the lead. This was yet another piece of bad news, since she now had little doubt that the mysterious body on board was Karítas and that she had died in Lisbon – at around the time Ægir and his family were in the city.
On the plus side, at least she hadn’t exceeded Matthew’s five-minute limit.
Chapter 27
The heavens absorbed the white trail left behind by the jet. Despite its great altitude, the plane’s wings and outline were just visible, unless it was his imagination filling in the gaps. No doubt the airliner was full of people; some on holiday, others travelling for work. Ægir envied every single one of them. They were in paradise compared to the hell that reigned here on board the yacht. He shaded his eyes against the sun. It was strangely unsettling to watch the jet recede into the distance, taking with it his foolish dream of salvation coming from on high. Dropping his hand, he looked down.
‘Daddy.’ Bylgja was tugging at the sleeve of his jumper. He had no idea how long she had been doing this but her insistence suggested it had been some time. His dry eyes stung as he looked down at her. Never in his life had he been as mentally and physically exhausted. ‘Daddy. Your lips are bleeding.’
Ægir licked his split lips and tasted iron. No wonder his mouth was dry; it was hours since he had drunk anything. This was not from any shortage of things to drink, as he had ferried a large supply of cans and bottled water down to the cabin before barricading himself inside with the girls. It was simply that he felt neither thirst nor hunger. There was no room for such sensations when his heart was in a thumbscrew that had been tightened to breaking point. His exhaustion didn’t help. How long had he been awake? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. If it hadn’t been for the girls he would have thrown himself overboard and become one with the sea, but for their sake he couldn’t allow himself that way out. He had to ensure that they reached home safely. And for that he needed to stay awake, which is why they were now standing on deck in the last rays of the evening sunlight.
He had been so overcome by drowsiness in the airless cabin that a quick trip outside had been essential. He took in a great lungful of sea air and closed his eyes. Fog stole into his mind, as if a curtain had been drawn, concealing all the terrible thoughts that had been plaguing him so relentlessly.
‘Daddy. Daddy. You mustn’t fall asleep.’ He couldn’t tell which twin was speaking. ‘Daddy!’
Ægir started and opened his eyes wide. The fresh air was supposed to have had the opposite effect, to wake him up and invigorate him, not knock him out. ‘I’m awake.’ It wasn’t working. He would have to find another way of warding off the beguiling drowsiness. If he had been able to trust Halli or Thráinn he would have asked if they had any stimulants in the medicine chest for use in emergencies. But this was merely another example of irrational thinking caused by fatigue, for if he could have trusted either of them, he wouldn’t need to keep vigil – they could take it in turns to rest. ‘Let’s go. That’s enough.’
‘Do we have to go below again?’ Arna’s face was a picture of dread. ‘What if the ship sinks?’
‘It won’t.’ Ægir was too tired to be kind or understanding. He was desperately sorry about this, aware that they needed him to be a father, not just a bodyguard, but he couldn’t perform both roles. He would trust himself to stay awake for the rest of the voyage but not to give free rein to his emotions. If he did he would fall to pieces. ‘Come on. We can watch a DVD.’
‘We’ve watched all the films we’re allowed to.’ Bylgja sounded close to tears but this did not stem from the limited selection of videos, as Ægir was well aware. He couldn’t discuss the loss of their mother with them now, though. Later he would have time to choose the right words and arrange them into sentences designed to provide solace for their grief. But for now such a task was beyond him. He had explained that their mother had died as the result of an accident and that they would have to be brave. He had stressed that they must bear up until they reached port but after that they would deal with their grief together and face the future without Mummy. It was all he was capable of in that moment. The tears had poured down their small cheeks but his daughters had shown a self-control far beyond their years. No doubt they sensed how much was at stake. ‘I don’t want to watch the grown-up films.’ Bylgja smothered a sob.
‘Then we’ll just watch the funniest one again.’ Ægir scanned their surroundings, suddenly apprehensive about going below. He hadn’t been aware of Thráinn or Halli on their way up, or during the short time they had been standing outside on the lower deck, in a corner where no one could creep up on them from behind. The yacht was making good speed, but that did not necessarily mean that the bridge was manned. The men could be anywhere and if either of them wanted to harm him and the girls, they would make an easy target on their way below. Then again, perhaps only one of the men was left alive. Or neither. He desperately regretted his foolish decision to leave the cabin. If anything, it had only exhausted him further.
‘We’ll have to find something else to do. If I watch another film I’ll start thinking. And I don’t want to think.’ Bylgja gazed at her father and he didn’t have the heart to contradict her. He felt exactly the same.
‘Would you like to do some colouring?’ If they said no to this, Ægir didn’t know what else to suggest. He was impressed he’d even managed to come up with that. His eyelids began to droop again.
‘Yes, please.’ Bylgja put her hand in his and squeezed. ‘Don’t go to sleep, Daddy.’
‘The colouring books aren’t in our cabin.’ Arna grabbed Ægir’s other hand and he tightened his grip in an attempt to communicate all he wanted to say to them.
‘Where are they?’
‘In the saloon.’ Arna broke off. ‘Where Mummy is.’ Her fingers writhed in his hand. ‘I want to see her. To kiss her goodbye. So does Bylgja.’ Their eyes, fixed on him, were full of anxiety and Ægir detected a hint of fear as well. It was hardly surprising in the circumstances, but what shocked him was that they appeared to be afraid of him. He must look like a madman.