but I didn’t; I got out and was just extracting the suitcase when a tal
man came out of the hotel, paused, and hailed me. ‘Alan Stewart!’
I looked up and cursed under my breath because the man in the uniform of
an Icelandic pilot was the last man I wanted to see – Bjarni Ragnarsson.
‘Hel o, Bjarni,’ I said. We shook hands. ‘Elin didn’t tel me you were
coming.’ ‘She didn’t know,’ I said. ‘It was a last-minute decision; I
didn’t even have time to telephone.’
He looked at my suitcase resting on the pavement. ‘You’re not staying at
the Saga!’ he said in surprise.
It was a snap judgment and I had to make it fast. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’l be
going to the apartment.’ I didn’t want to bring Elin into this but now
her brother knew I was in Reykjavik he would be sure to tel her and I
didn’t want her to be hurt in that way. Elin was very special.
I saw Bjarni looking at the car. ‘I’l leave it here,’ I said lightly.
‘It’s just a delivery job for a friend. I’l take a taxi to the apartment.’
He accepted that, and said, ‘Staying long?’
‘For the rest of the summer, as usual,’ I said easily.
‘We must go fishing,’ he said.
I agreed. ‘Have you become a father yet?’
‘Another month,’ he said glumly. ‘I’m dreading it.’
I laughed. ‘I should think that’s Kristin’s worry; you aren’t even in
the country half the time. No nappy-changing for you.’
We spent another few minutes in the usual idle smal -talk of old friends
just met and then he glanced at his watch. ‘I have a flight to
Greenland,’ he said. ‘I must go. I’l ring you in a couple of days.’
‘Do that.’ I watched him go and then captured a taxi which had just
dropped a fare at the hotel and told the driver where to go. Outside the
building I paid him off and then stood uncertainly on the pavement
wondering whether I was doing the right thing.
Elin Ragnarsdottir was someone very special.
She was a schoolteacher but, like many other Icelanders of her type, she
held down two jobs. There are certain factors about Iceland – the
smal ness of population, the size of the country and its situation in
high northern latitudes -which result in a social system which outsiders
are apt to find weird. But since the system is designed to suit
Icelanders they don’t give a damn what outsiders think, which is just as
it should be.
One result of this social system is that al the schools close down for
four months in the summer and a lot of them are used as hotels. The
teachers thus have a lot of spare time and many of them have quite a
different summer occupation. When I first met her three years earlier,
Elin had been a courier for /Ferdaskrifstofaa Nordri,/ a travel agency
in Reykjavik, and had shown visitors around the country.
A couple of seasons before, I had persuaded her to become my personal
courier on a ful -time summer basis. I had been afraid that her brother,
Bjarni, might have thought that a touch-irregular and put in an
objection, but he didn’t – presumably he thought his sister to be
grownup enough to handle her own affairs. She was an undemanding person
and it was an easy relationship, but obviously it couldn’t go on like
that for ever and I intended to do something about it, but I doubted if
this was the appropriate time – it takes someone with a stronger stomach
than mine to propose marriage on the same day one has dropped a body
down a hole.
I went up to the apartment and, although I had a key, I didn’t use it;
instead I knocked on the door. Elin opened it and looked at me with an
expression of surprise changing to delight, and something in me jumped
at the sight of her trim figure and corn-coloured hair. ‘Alan!’ she
said. ‘Why didn’t you tel me you were coming?’
‘A quick decision,’ I said, and held up the cased fishing-rod. ‘I’ve got
a new one.’
Her lips curved down in mock glumness. ‘That makes six,’ she said
severely, and held the door wide. ‘Oh, come in, darling!’
I went in, dropped the suitcase and the rod, and took her in my arms.
She held me closely and said, with her head against my chest. ‘You
didn’t write, and I thought . . .”
‘You thought I wasn’t coming.’ The reason I hadn’t written was because
of something Slade had said, but I couldn’t tel her that. I said, ‘I’ve
been very busy, Elin.’
She drew back her head and looked at me intently. ‘Yes, your face is
drawn; you look tired.’
I smiled. ‘But I feel hungry.’
She kissed me. ‘I’l prepare something.’ She broke away. ‘Don’t worry
about unpacking your bag; I’l do it after supper.’
I thought of the bloody suit. ‘Not to worry,’ I said. ‘I can do it.’ I
picked up the suitcase and the rod and took them into my room. I cal it
my room because it was the place where my gear was stored. Actual y, the
whole apartment was mine because, although it was in Elin’s name, I paid
the rent. Spending one-third of every year in Iceland, it was convenient
to have a /pied-a-terre./ I put the rod with the others and laid down
the suitcase, wondering what to do with the suit. Until that moment I
had never had any secrets I wanted to keep from Elin -with the one
important exception – and there wasn’t a lockable cupboard or drawer in
the place. I opened the wardrobe and surveyed the line of suits and
jackets, each on its hanger and neatly encased in its zipped plastic
bag. It would be very risky to let the suit take its place in that line;
Elin was meticulous in the care of my clothes and would be certain to
find it.
In the end I emptied the suitcase of everything but the suit and the
weapons, locked it, and heaved it on top of the wardrobe where it
usual y lived when not in use. It was unlikely that Elin would pull it
down and even then it was locked, although that was not usual.
I took off my shirt and examined it closely and discovered a spot of
blood on the front so I took it into the bathroom and cleaned it under
the cold tap. Then I scrubbed my face in cold water and felt better for
it. By the time Elin cal ed that supper was ready I was cleaned up and
already in the living-room looking through the window.
I was about to turn away when my attention was caught by a nicker of
movement. On the other side of the street there was an al ey between two
buildings and it had seemed that someone had moved quickly out of sight
when I twitched the curtains. I stared across the street but saw nothing
more, but when Elin cal ed again I was thoughtful as I turned to her.
Over supper I said, ‘How’s the Land-Rover?’
‘I didn’t know when you were coming but I had a complete overhaul done
last week. It’s ready for anything.’
Icelandic roads being what they are, Land-Rovers are as thick as fleas
on a dog. The Icelanders prefer the short wheelbase Land-Rover, but ours
was the long wheelbase job, fitted out as a camping van. When we
travel ed we were self-contained and could, and did, spend many weeks
away from civilization, only being driven into a town by running out of
food. There were worse ways of spending a summer than to be alone for
weeks on end with Elin Ragnarsdottir.
In other summers we had left as soon as I arrived in Reykjavik, but this
time it had to be different because of Blade’s package, and I wondered
how I was to get to Akureyri alone without arousing her suspicions.
Slade had said the job was going to be easy but the late Mr Lindholm
made al the difference and I didn’t want Elin involved in any part of
it. Stil , al I had to do was to deliver the package and the job would
be over and the summer would be like al the other summers. It didn’t
seem too difficult.
I was mulling this over when Elin said, ‘You real y do look tired. You
must have been overworking.’
I managed a smile. ‘An exhausting winter. There was too much snow on the
hil s – I lost a lot of stock.’ Suddenly I remembered. ‘You wanted to
see what the glen was like; I brought you some photographs.’
I went and got the photographs and we pored over them. I pointed out
Bheinn Fhada and Sgurr Dearg, but Elin was more interested in the river