He had been right after all: this was part of the package, part of the adventure she had signed up for. She regretted now that she had shrunk away from the challenge.
Once she’d had a good go, he’d taken over the wheel again and driven at a cracking pace until a mountain loomed up ahead, at which point he took his foot off the accelerator and slowed to a stop.
‘This’ll do. We’ll leave the car here.’
Stepping out into a light mist of snow, she surveyed their surroundings. ‘Are we going up there, up the mountain?’ she asked doubtfully, quailing at the sight of the sheer black crags showing through the white.
He shook his head. ‘No, not all the way, just into the valley over the next ridge. The going’ll be a bit challenging, though.’
Darkness was closing in with frightening speed and she only hoped they would make it to their destination while it was still twilight. The night would be impenetrable here: no distant glow from a town; nothing but mountains and snow.
‘Will … will there be any other people about?’
‘Nobody else comes out here,’ he said flatly.
He had begun to unload the car and their rucksacks were already lying in the snow beside the other equipment. Reaching into one of them, he pulled out a thick jumper, a traditional lopapeysa, hand-knitted from Icelandic wool, with a distinctive zig-zagging pattern in white, brown and grey around the yoke.
‘Here. Put this on or you’ll freeze,’ he said, grinning. In the twilight, it was hard to see what sort of grin it was.
She obeyed without protest, taking off her thick down jacket. A shiver spread through her body. Probably just the cold, she told herself, but on second thoughts, maybe … maybe it was fear.
He handed her the rucksack and, staggering a little under the weight, she hoisted it on to her back. He helped her with the straps before fixing the ice axe to the outside.
They hadn’t gone more than a few paces before she realized she’d forgotten to put on her gloves. In what seemed like moments, she had lost all sensation in her fingers and had to call him to ask for help with digging the gloves out of her pack. Once he had done this, they resumed their march, plodding onwards through the thickening snow until, finally, he halted.
‘We’re going to try and climb up here. Do you think you can make it?’
Ahead, she saw a steep, white slope rising up to invisible heights, the top obscured by the failing light and the snowflakes stinging her eyes.
‘Do you think you can make it?’ he asked again.
She nodded doubtfully and waited for him to lead the way.
‘You first,’ he prompted, after a short silence. She couldn’t believe her ears. There was no way she was tackling this slope alone and unaided.
‘Me? Why?’
‘I’m not sure how firm the snow is up there. If there’s an avalanche, I’ll be able to dig you out.’
She stood there, rigid with fear, wondering if he was joking but afraid that he was deadly serious.
He handed her the walking poles that had been fixed to the outside of her backpack and told her to get a move on.
Since there was nothing for it, she set off, picking her way up with extreme caution. The incline wasn’t too steep at first, but it increased sharply the higher she climbed. She tried to concentrate on taking one step at a time, keeping her eyes down, trying not to lose her balance. Every now and then she peered up, but the white ground and falling snow merged into one and she couldn’t for the life of her see where the slope ended. It was becoming more and more difficult to lift her feet and ever trickier to find a purchase. Soon she was sliding backwards with every step, sometimes taking several attempts to gain a few centimetres in height. She tried to kick footholds in the snow using the toes of her boots, but with limited success, until in a moment of dizzying fear she felt herself losing her balance and slid halfway back down the way she had come.
XXV
A few clouds streaked the sky above the tall firs in Pétur’s garden, as if painted with broad brushstrokes on the blue vault of the heavens, and the sun was descending towards its late setting. Usually, it was a time of year that filled Hulda with vitality, but not today. She was utterly drained of energy following her meeting with Magnús, too weary to put any more work into the investigation: Elena would have to wait until morning.
Pétur opened the door before she could knock, having no doubt been watching out for her from the kitchen window. She tried not to let her exhaustion show.
‘Hulda! Come in.’ His manner was as warm as ever, like a doctor talking to his favourite patient. He led the way into the sitting room that doubled as a dining room, where the table was already laid, with the most succulent-looking joint of lamb, obviously hot off the barbecue, as the pièce de résistance. It smelled so delicious that Hulda belatedly realized she was famished. Pétur had opened a bottle of red wine, too, as she’d hoped he would. Just as well she’d taken the precaution of dropping her car off at home and ringing for a taxi.
‘This looks good,’ she said.
He offered her a chair and she sank into it gratefully, feeling the fatigue flowing out of her limbs. Pétur vanished into the kitchen. Sitting there felt a little strange, as if she didn’t belong, as if she were a gatecrasher. Yet, another part of her felt as if she had come home. Perhaps it was the garden that she could see from the living-room windows, reminding her a little of her old garden on Álftanes.
Pétur’s place was warm but, more than that, it had a cosy, homely air.
