Her backpack was beginning to weigh heavily on her shoulders by the time she finally spotted a house ahead. Her spirits lifted but were almost immediately dashed when she realized from the description she’d been given that it couldn’t be the right place. So she kept going, further than she had thought possible, her pack heavier with each step, blisters forming on her feet, until the farmhouse appeared unexpectedly round a bend at the head of the valley. White with a red roof, as the woman had said, standing utterly alone on its mound, the only building to be seen in the wide, empty landscape. Unnur had the giddying sensation of having literally reached the edge of the inhabited world. This was exactly what she had been looking for.
Here, she would find the peace and quiet she craved. She could work during the day and write in the evenings, undisturbed by external distractions. She wondered if they even had TV reception out here, and hoped not. A quick scan of the roof established that there was no aerial.
Two or three weeks should be about right. That’s what she’d agreed with the farmer’s wife over the phone. Her name was Erla and, from her voice and manner, Unnur had got the impression she was a nice person.
Unnur trudged up to the front door, only to hesitate a moment before raising her fist to knock. This was her last chance to back out, she found herself thinking. But surely there was no reason to do that? She knocked and waited.
When the door opened she was greeted by a middle-aged woman who just stood there, studying her thoughtfully for a while, as if sizing her up. Eventually, she said: ‘Hello. Welcome. I’m Erla. Do come in.’
Unnur followed Erla into the sitting room and noticed a cup of coffee on the table beside an open book.
‘Your room’s in the attic,’ Erla said. ‘The stairs are along here.’ Then, after a pause, she added: ‘But what am I thinking of? Can I offer you something to drink? Some coffee, perhaps? I didn’t hear a car. Surely you haven’t walked all the way?’
‘Yes … yes, actually, I did walk,’ Unnur said, a little shyly.
‘Well I never. Then you’ll definitely need some refreshment. You do drink coffee, don’t you?’ Erla asked, and Unnur got the impression that ‘no’ would not be an acceptable answer.
‘Of course.’
‘Have a seat, then. There’s hot coffee in the pot.’
Unnur obeyed, gratefully taking off her backpack and sitting down on the sofa. She looked round the room, taking in the old, slightly shabby furniture, the grandfather clock that seemed to have stopped and the walls hung with amateurish landscape paintings and reproductions of well-known works. It was all a bit tired and worn, yet the overall effect was cosy.
Erla disappeared, then came straight back with the coffee.
‘Here you are, dear. Strong, black and sugarless.’ She paused, then added: ‘Or do you take milk and sugar? I can fetch them.’
Unnur shook her head. ‘This is fine, thanks.’
‘You must be exhausted.’
‘It was, er, quite good exercise,’ Unnur said, taking a sip of the ferociously strong black brew.
‘I’m alone here at the moment,’ Erla told her. ‘My husband’s in Reykjavík. He often has to go at this time of year. So there’s plenty to do. You won’t have time to get bored.’
‘Oh, right, that sounds good. Having enough to do, I mean.’
‘You mentioned on the phone that you were writing a book,’ Erla went on, staring at her with a peculiar intensity.
‘Yes, or at least I’m trying to. In my free time.’
‘Yes, well, there’s plenty to do here, but plenty of free time too. Once the day’s chores are over, our life here’s pretty uneventful, unless you plan to walk into the village in the evenings.’ She smiled. ‘It’s good to have something to occupy yourself with. I myself read, you know.’
Unnur nodded.
‘Anyway, your room’s upstairs. It’s not very big but I hope it’s all right. No one’s complained so far.’
‘Thanks, I’m sure it’ll be great. I don’t need many creature comforts.’
‘That’s just as well. I’m very pleased to have you here, by the way. It’s a lonely spot, especially when Einar’s away. I have a feeling we’re going to get on well.’
Again, Unnur nodded.
‘Our meals are pretty traditional – old-fashioned home cooking, you know the sort of thing. Country food, really.’ Erla smiled again. ‘It might be a bit different from what you’re used to in…’
‘Gardabær,’ Unnur finished for her. ‘I’ve never been a fussy eater, and, yes, I’m sure we’ll get on well.’
IX
‘It must have been about ten years ago,’ Jens said, frowning. He and Hulda were still standing huddled in the hall, their hands buried in their pockets to keep warm. The inspector had pulled the door to but, even so, a cold draught was stealing in from outside. Hulda shivered involuntarily.
Jens thought for a moment, then went on: ‘Yes, that’s right, it would be about ten years since their daughter died.’
Hulda waited without speaking. She still didn’t trust her voice.
‘I only know the background from what I’ve heard from other people, but then, more or less everything gets around in the countryside. Anyway, as I said, their daughter moved home to the neighbouring farm after finishing college. Apparently, Erla was very upset.’
‘Oh?’
‘The gossip was that Erla had sent her daughter away to school as far from here as possible. It seems she was hoping Anna would settle in Reykjavík. Erla was from the city herself and was never happy here – I think most people would agree about that. She must have regretted leaving the capital and wanted to make sure her daughter would have the chances she herself had missed out on, if you know what I mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘But Anna knew her
