She had read a couple of accounts of the glamorous lifestyles Hákon and other rich kids enjoyed while their business empires were flourishing. One recent article suggested that Hákon appeared to be resuming his former lifestyle, despite the bankruptcy. Áróra could feel the excitement, mixed with an undercurrent of chagrin, that usually settled in her heart when a new assignment got under way. Hákon was a con man. The man was a swindler and a cheat who didn’t pay his debts, playing with money that wasn’t his.

It looked like she had stumbled across a job completely by chance. Although it had been accidental and there was an uncomfortable personal angle to it, this one just seemed too exciting to resist. She smiled, unable to hide her satisfaction. It wasn’t every day that she had the chance to nail an Icelandic criminal. She finished her breakfast and left Hákon with a kiss and the promise of a second date.

She took a deep breath of the summer morning as she went outside. The city centre was coming to life, with tourists ambling between the menus outside the cafés as they looked for breakfast at a reasonable price, while a handful of Icelanders crossed the square. It was easy to identify them: unlike the tourists, they had somewhere to go and walked faster, as if they were already late for work. There was something so peculiarly Icelandic about turning up at the last possible moment, always in a hurry.

When she got to the car park, she stood still for a moment and looked around. This is what she still missed about the Icelandic part of her childhood, the promise of summer mornings. The sun was high in the sky, but the sea breeze hadn’t gathered much 46strength, so the multi-coloured corrugated-iron roofs were drinking in the heat of the bright rays. This could turn out to be a fine day, and she recalled Icelanders’ delight when things were looking this fine. There would be barbecues all around town, children would be taking fishing rods down to the harbour, and at kids’ football matches parents would haul garden chairs from the boots of cars to sit in the sun, shouting encouragement, instead of huddling inside the car with the heater on.

Áróra remembered all this, and also how as a child she had felt sorry for her Icelandic relatives, who saw so few summer days like this, often asking why they didn’t move to somewhere better. But now she recalled being bitten by the anticipation, the joy that infected everyone when there was hope of a little sunshine. Now, standing here and looking out over the city, she felt a little of that anticipation inside. But maybe it wasn’t the excitement at the prospect of a warm day ahead that had fired her up, but the thought of Hákon and his hidden treasure.

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