Far North - Michael Ridpath [13]
‘In a moment, Markús, in a moment.’
The hard weather-beaten face crinkled in a smile. Einar was a fisherman, and when he was still taking his boat out to sea he had had the reputation as one of the toughest captains in the fleet. But not where his grandson was concerned. Or his daughter.
He opened his arms to hug her. With difficulty she pulled herself away from the computer and went over to him. They were the same height, but he was broad and strong, and it was comforting to feel his big meaty hands on her back.
He had always been tender towards her, but he never used to hug her as much as he had over the last few months.
He knew she needed it.
To her surprise, safe in his arms, Harpa began to cry.
Einar broke away to look at her. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’
‘The boss of Ódinsbanki has been murdered. Óskar Gunnarsson.’
‘He probably deserved it.’
‘Dad!’ Harpa knew that her father disliked bankers with a passion, especially those who had fired his beloved daughter, but that was a bit callous, even for him.
‘I’m sorry, love, did you know him?’
‘No, not really,’ Harpa said. ‘A bit.’
Einar was looking straight at her, his blue eyes seeing right into her soul. He knows I’m lying, Harpa thought in panic. Just like he knew I was lying when I talked to the police about Gabríel Örn. She felt herself blush.
She stepped back and collapsed on a kitchen chair and started to sob.
Einar poured a cup of coffee for both of them and sat down opposite her. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
Harpa shook her head. She tried, and succeeded, to control her tears. Her father waited. ‘How was the fishing?’ she asked him.
She meant the fly-fishing. Einar had had to give up sea-fishing fifteen years before when a wave had broken over the Helgi and flung him against a winch, breaking his knee. He had spent a few years managing the boat from land before selling it and his quota for hundreds of millions of krónur. Since then he had been a wealthy retired fisherman. Until he had listened to his daughter, that is.
At first, he had invested the money in high-interest accounts at Ódinsbanki, which gave him plenty of income to live on. But some of his mates were making a fortune speculating on currencies or investing in the booming Icelandic stock market. He had asked his clever daughter who worked for a bank for advice.
She had told him to steer clear of the currency speculation and of investing in the racier new shares on the stock exchange. But bank stocks, they were safe. And she could recommend Ódinsbanki. It was the smartest of all the Icelandic banks.
And so Einar had put all his savings in Ódinsbanki shares. Shares which were all but worthless when the government nationalized the banks the previous autumn.
Harpa wondered how he could still afford to go fly-fishing.
‘I didn’t catch much. And it rained most of the time. But I’m going again over the weekend. Maybe my luck will change.’ He put his arm around his daughter. ‘Are you sure there is nothing you want to tell me?’
For a moment Harpa considered it. Telling him everything. His love for her was unconditional, wasn’t it? He would stand by her whatever she had done. Wouldn’t he?
But what she had done was awful. Unforgivable. She had certainly never forgiven herself, could never possibly forgive herself in the future. He was a good man. How could he forgive her?
She couldn’t bear it if he didn’t.
So Harpa shook her head. ‘No, Dad. There’s nothing.’
CHAPTER FOUR
October 1934
BENEDIKT HAD A really good idea for a game.
He had just finished the Saga of the People of Eyri and he had read that there was a chieftain called Björn from Breidavík on the other side of the Snaefells Peninsula, across the mountains from Hraun and Bjarnarhöfn, who had travelled all the way to a land far overseas that Benedikt guessed was America. Björn had become a chief there amongst the natives. What if Hallgrímur and Benedikt discovered America?
Hallgrímur wanted the berserkers to go too. They could fight the Skraelings, the name the Vikings had given to the Native Americans.