‘Switching to an earlier return flight than planned would be a personal expense for me. So, since my new and soon to be ex-bosses have already paid for the hotel and the hire car, I plan to see out the trip. But as a tourist, obviously. I’m off the clock.’

‘Well, I hope you enjoy … seeing the sights.’

‘All on my lonesome doesn’t sound like a riot. I wondered if you’d care to join me. They reckon Thingveller is the place to go. Birthplace of Icelandic democracy plus some spectacular canyon where the island’s literally but very slowly tearing itself apart. Teutonic plates or some such. We could maybe go on to Gullfoss after: Iceland’s answer to Niagara Falls. Make a—’

Wada held up her hand. ‘I am sorry, but I have other plans.’

‘Really? That’s too bad. But you don’t have a car, do you? And these coach tours are kinda take it or leave it, not to mention pricey. So, I’m probably your best bet. Let me show you where we’d be going.’

George took a slurp of coffee and spread out a tourist office map of Iceland on the table, swivelling it so that it was at right angles to both of them. His podgy forefinger traced a route east out of Reykjavík to what he’d called Thingveller but was spelt on the map Þingvellir, and on beyond that to Gullfoss.

Wada looked at where George’s forefinger had ended up, lingering somewhere in the emptiness east of Gullfoss. An idea formed suddenly in her mind. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ she said. ‘I must check something.’

She called up the satellite map showing the location of Stóri-Asgarbær on her phone. Þingvellir was only thirty or so kilometres away. She doubted talking George into taking her there would be difficult. And the chance was too good to miss.

‘Could we maybe … take a diversion … after Thingveller?’

George smiled. ‘Sure we could. As many diversions as you like.’

‘There is a property in that area … I need to visit.’

‘Sounds intriguing.’

‘Not really. It is simply, er …’

‘A matter of business?’

‘Something like that.’

‘But what business, hey? No, don’t tell me. I said you were a woman of mystery and I like that, so you’ll just have to let me guess … as the day goes by.’

Nick had to set off at dawn to be sure of making it to Heathrow in plenty of time for the eight fifty flight to Iceland. Kate was barely awake when he left. He’d felt ever guiltier about holding out on her as the weekend had progressed. He was relieved to be on his way now.

The plane took off into a benign spring morning, but, as the three-hour flight proceeded, ever more disheartening reports of conditions at the other end were passed on by the co-pilot. Rain. Three degrees. Snow flurries.