‘My name is Margrét. Welcome to Iceland.’
As they walk to the car park, Margrét asks, ‘Any problems travelling? Any at all?’
‘No. None. Thank goodness,’ Ava answers.
‘You were not followed at any time?’
‘Not that we’re aware.’
Less than a five-minute drive later they arrive at one of the airport hotels.
Margrét leads them to a large suite in which she has already checked in.
‘Please. Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll order coffee and something to eat. You must be famished now that the first leg of your journey is complete.’
While they revive with strong coffee, a selection of smoked fish and bread and butter, Margrét explains that the package will be delivered to the room soon. It is the first mention of it.
Constance will go on to remember clearly the moment she heard the hotel room door’s lock click open.
A man and a woman enter the room. The woman removes her knitted cap.
‘Oh heavens. It’s you!’ Constance gasps.
The woman smiles at them.
‘Who, Constance?’ Verity asks.
‘Benedikt.’
Elísabet begins to speak, but Constance rises from her chair and shakes her head in disbelief.
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ Constance says. ‘Under the water … swimming …?’
‘Yes.’ Her eyes brim with warmth. ‘My name is Elísabet. Thank you for taking such great care of my son.’
‘Your son? I don’t understand,’ Verity is confused.
‘Oh yes, sister,’ Constance says. ‘I see it so clearly now. I think I recognized it that terrible day at the Serpentine.’
Elísabet clasps Constance’s hands. ‘I can never repay you for what you did for him. What you both have done for him.’
Constance is studying Elísabet’s face. ‘You’re … her sister … aren’t you? Clovis Fowler is your sister.’
Elísabet nods.
‘You are much more beautiful than her,’ Constance says.
‘That villainous woman,’ Verity says.
‘And the Fowlers? They’re unaware that you and Benedikt are one and the same?’ Constance asks.
‘Yes. And they mustn’t know, yet.’
‘My God. All these years …’
‘Tell us. Please. Is he safe?’ Verity asks.
‘You must know where he is …’ Constance can scarcely breathe.
‘I do, and as of three days ago he was working long hours in his studio, for which I have again to thank you. You nurtured and saved his spirit from the long years he faced, many in misery.’
‘How? How could you possible stay your distance all this time?’ Verity asks.
‘For his safety. Isn’t it the driving force behind motherhood? To always protect them?’
‘Extraordinary,’ Constance says. ‘Nothing short of extraordinary.’
‘I’m sure you have many questions,’ Elísabet continues. ‘And you will see Rafe soon, but plans are laid and we must continue to protect him for a while longer.’
In the remaining hours of the afternoon there are moments when Constance and Verity feel they have stepped into a surreal world. Here they are in Iceland, of all places, as they listen to Elísabet, Stefán and Margrét’s astonishing histories. Ava sits between them, her presence a calming influence. Honoured that she is included, and while cognizant of all that is being spoken, of all plans laid, another part of Ava twists a persistent thought: might Stefán one day lead her to the pool? For she is certain now. Her desire is solid.
Too soon it is time to return to London. The sisters learn that their old friend Owen Mockett is still alive and soon to fall prey to the long sleep with no phial to use upon waking, hence the urgency.
‘I apologize to have put you in harm’s way, but the sleep will overtake me any minute now and I cannot travel,’ Elísabet says.
‘None of us is able,’ Stefán adds. ‘If it’s any consolation, we’ve never had any issue or problem with our passports. They are each created by the same person.’
‘One day soon we will meet on less stressful terms.’ Elísabet has held her emotions in check, but falters for a moment at the sisters’ departure.
Once again at check-in, Ava arranges their return flight. The ticket agent studies their passports.
‘But you’ve just arrived?’ he comments.
‘Yes, that’s right. But unfortunately, my aunts have just been informed of a family emergency.’
The ticket agent looks past Ava to the two women dabbing their noses with tissues, genuinely struggling with their emotions.
‘I’m very sorry,’ he says. ‘Let’s get you on the next flight to London.’
They hardly speak on the flight home. There is much to assimilate, and they agreed that there isn’t enough privacy to confer safely. Every so often the three women turn their heads on the headrests and smile at each other with utter joy, touched by their unbelievable turn in fortune.
Late that night at Lawless House, Constance sorts through the day’s mail.
‘What’s this then?’ She reads quickly. ‘Good lord! It’s a personal invitation to Tate Britain and it’s handwritten and signed by Willa Robinson! An invitation to a private viewing of a new exhibit.’
‘How very odd. So it was Willa I saw at the market,’ Verity says.
‘The young woman you mentioned today in our meeting?’ Ava asks.
‘Yes, I suppose so, though I never knew her surname,’ Constance says.
‘How extraordinary. May I go along?’ Ava asks.
‘Yes of course, we shall all go. It will be a nice distraction while we wait for Elísabet and Stefán to implement their plans.’
‘Well, as I’m the only practising Catholic in this house, I’m going upstairs to offer prayers of praise and thanks,’ Verity says.
Constance and Ava exchange smiles.
‘Are you staying the night, Ava? You know you’re always welcome.’
‘No, thank you Aunt Verity, I have work to do in chambers.’
‘You work too much.’ Verity trails up the stairs.
‘You look worried,’ Ava says to Constance.
‘I am.’
‘Elísabet and Stefán … They’re extraordinarily organized and well resourced. And they’re extremely cautious. My tuppence, but I don’t think you should worry,’ Ava offers.
‘Yes, all true,
