She cleared her throat. 'We want to be the first people to hear of anything you uncover. Important or otherwise.'
'Let's see if I can help you in the first place before discussing the details.'
They exchanged good-byes and Thora put the telephone down. A great start to the day, being treated like a maidservant. And over the limit on her credit card. And overdrawn. The telephone rang again. Thora picked up the receiver.
'Hello, I'm calling from the garage. Listen, it looks a bit worse than we thought.'
'What's the prognosis? Will the car live?' Thora snapped back. Her car had refused to start when she wanted to run some lunchtime errands the day before. She had tried the ignition again and again, but to no avail. In the end she gave up and had the car towed off to a garage. The garage owner took pity on her and lent her an old clunker while her car was being fixed. It was a heap of junk, marked 'Bibbi's Garage' all over, and the floor by the backseats was covered in trash, mainly packaging from spare parts and empty Coca-Cola cans. Thora had to make do with the car, though, because she couldn't get by without one.
'It doesn't look good.' He was cold. 'It'll cost a fair bit.' A speech followed packed with car repair terminology that Thora couldn't make head or tail of. But the price needed no explanation.
'Thank you. Just repair it.'
Thora put down the telephone. She stared at it for several minutes, engrossed in her thoughts. Christmas was approaching with all the accompanying expenses: decorations, spending, presents, spending, dinners, spending, family gatherings, spending andsurprise, surpriseeven more spending. The law firm was not exactly turning away clients. If she took on the German project it would keep her busy. And it would solve her money problems and much more besides. She could even take the children on vacation. There must be places for a girl of six, a boy of sixteen, and a woman of thirty-six to go. She could even invite along a man of twenty-six to level out the gender and age ratio. She picked up the telephone.
Frau Guntlieb did not answer; it was a servant. Thora asked for the lady of the household and soon heard footsteps approaching, probably over a tiled floor. A cold voice spoke over the telephone.
'Hello, Frau Guntlieb. This is Thora Gudmundsdottir calling from Iceland.'
'Yes.' After a short silence it was obvious that she was not going to say anything more.
'I've decided to help you.'
'Good.'
'When do you want me to start?'
'Straightaway. I've ordered a table for lunch so that you can discuss the matter with Matthew Reich. He works for my husband. He's in Iceland and has the investigative experience that you lack. He can brief you on the case in more detail.'
The tone to the word 'lack' could hardly have been more condescending had Thora been guilty of turning up dead drunk at a children's birthday party. But she ignored it. 'Yes, I understand. But I want to emphasize that I'm not sure I can actually help you.'
'We shall see. Matthew will have a contract for you to sign. Give yourself plenty of time to read it over.'
Thora was seized by a sudden urge to tell the woman to go to hell. She hated her haughtiness and arrogance. But when she thought about a vacation with her children and the imaginary man of twenty-six, she swallowed her pride and mumbled a vague assent.
'Be at Hotel Borg at twelve. Matthew can tell you a number of things that did not appear in the papers. Some of them are not fit to print.'
Listening to the woman's voice, Thora gave a shudder. It was tough and devoid of emotion, but broken somehow at the same time. People probably sounded like that under such circumstances. She said nothing.
'Did you get that? You know the hotel?'
Thora almost laughed. Hotel Borg was the oldest hotel in Reykjavik, a downtown landmark. 'Yes, I believe I do. I suppose I'll be there.' Although she tried to salvage her pride by striking a note of uncertainty, Thora knew she would be at Hotel Borg at twelve o'clock. No doubt about it.
CHAPTER 2
Thora looked at the clock and put down the documents for the case she had been working on. Yet another client who refused to face up to the fact that his position was hopeless. She was glad she had cleared up a few minor matters before meeting Herr Matthew Reich. She phoned through to Bella on the switchboard.
'I'm going out to a meeting. I don't know how long I'll be but don't expect me back before two.' A grunt came over the line that Thora could only interpret as agreement. My God, what's wrong with simply saying 'yes'?
Thora took her handbag and put a notebook in her briefcase. Everything she knew about the case was from the media, and she had not followed it with any particular interest. As far as she recalled, the scenario was something like this: a foreign student had been murdered, the body mutilated in some unspecified way, and a drug dealer, who maintained his innocence, had been arrested. Not much to go on.
While she was putting on her coat, Thora looked at herself in the large mirror. She knew it was important to make a good impression at the first meeting, especially if the client was well-off. Clothes maketh the man, say those who can afford the best. And by their shoes ye shall know them. She had never understood that, basing her judgment of people on their character and never their footwear. Fortunately her shoes were quite presentable and her dress suit appropriate for a respectable lawyer. She ran her fingers through her long blond hair.
Thora rummaged in her handbag, eventually found her lipstick, and hurriedly dabbed it on her lips. Normally she did not wear much makeup, making do with moisturizer and mascara in the mornings. She carried lipstick in case of unexpected situations like this. It suited her and made her feel confident. She had the good fortune to take after her mother rather than her father, who had once been asked to model as Winston Churchill's double for an advertisement. While she could probably not be described as beautiful or striking, her high cheekbones and blue almond-shaped eyes meant that she could safely be called pretty. She had also been lucky enough to inherit her mother's build, which made it easy to keep slim.
Thora said farewell to her colleagues and Bragi called back, 'Good luck.' She had told him about the telephone conversation with Frau Guntlieb and the meeting arranged with her representative. Bragi found it all very exciting and felt that being contacted from abroad was a clear indication their firm was on the right course. He even suggested tagging 'International' or 'Group' onto their modest name in order to spruce it up a bit. Thora hoped that Bragi was joking, but she could not be sure.
Outside, the wind refreshed her. November had been unusually cold, boding a long, harsh winter. Now they were paying for the incredibly warm summer, although temperatures in the low seventies would hardly be considered a heat wave outside Iceland. Thora felt that the climate was changing, due either to the natural climate cycle or the greenhouse effect. For her children's sake she hoped it was the former, but deep down inside she knew it was not. She covered her cheeks with the hood of her coat so that she did not turn up for the meeting with frozen ears. Hotel Borg was too close to her office for her to consider driving there in the car from the garage. God only knew what the German would think if he saw her parking that heap of junk outside. Her shoes would have little to say in the matter then, that was certain. Parking was sparse downtown so she would probably spend twice the time she saved by circling around hoping for a space to open up. As an added bonus, walking made her feel as if she were doing her bit to fight global warming. A walk that short hardly made her an ecowarrioreven in a country whose inhabitants chose to drive any distance over a few metersbut it was better than nothing.
A full six minutes after leaving the office she walked through the revolving doors of the hotel.
Thora scanned the elegant restaurant. The Art Deco interior had been restored some ten years ago to its original state. The result was a rather gentrified atmosphere, bringing to mind women with bob cuts, Charleston dresses, and gaudy ropes of pearls, smoking from long ivory holders. Since its construction in the Roaring Twenties it had been the grandest venue in Iceland, always full of bright young things and various government officials showing off to foreign dignitaries. The refurbishment had toned the place down a little, Thora thought as
