‘Thanks very much’, it had said in the newspaper. That was what he habitually did after he and Marita made love. He always said ‘thanks, darling’, sometimes adding how good it had been.

Thanks, darling, that was great.

Then Marita would giggle and be happy. She would be glad and satisfied with him, and satisfied with herself, their relationship and their life together. But how could Katrín Eva have decided to say that he had said those words to her? How could she know that was the kind of thing he’d say after sex? Had Jónatan had sex with her? Judging by what Kiddi said, the girl was already sexually experienced. Had she done it with Jónatan, regretted it and then gone home to tell her mother that she had been raped? Were there samples from him in the rape kit that the newspapers had reported?

Marita stared into the darkness. Her eyes were dry and sore, but she was so shocked that she was unable to blink. Could Jónatan have been unfaithful to her? With this teenage girl? With a child?

157

Monday

65

Edvard’s vile comment had been a slap in the face – hurtful and humiliating; but somehow it had shaken her out of the dejection she’d felt after all this Pétur business. This new attack had somehow reinforced the armour that Thorbjörn had found his way inside, and which she now found she badly needed to keep in place. She had gulped a cup of coffee while people attending the meeting found their seats, then got to her feet. She had briefly introduced herself, for the benefit of those who didn’t know who she was, and after listing her work experience and the main projects she had worked on, she moved on.

‘Just to clear the air, I’d like to make it clear that I’m not a minister because I dropped to my knees for the PM, as someone suggested to me just now.’

A mutter had passed through the hall, and she could see that Edvard sank deeper into his seat in front of her, as if he longed to drop through the floor. She took care not to look directly at him, or anyone else, as she had no intention of letting anyone know who had made the offending remark. He had every reason to be relieved that she didn’t mention his name, which would have opened him up to the fury of the party members. After the coffee break, his seat had been empty.

Now, at the morning meeting with Eva to organise the week ahead, she was bursting with energy and enthusiasm.

‘First of all,’ she said. ‘I’d like you to organise a short press call so I can make a statement about this Pétur matter.’ 158

The Sunday papers had certainly spun out of all proportion her ill-considered request for information on whether Pétur might be dangerous, raking over the death of her father and weaving webs of intrigue about why she had wanted Pétur’s medical records.