If so, it seemed their judgement also inclined towards the benefits of reticence. Three paragraphs of well-turned phrases, supplied in English, Icelandic and either Chinese or Japanese – he wasn’t sure which it was – told him more or less nothing about the Quartizon Foundation apart from its commitment to bringing inspiring and transformative new figures in the art world to an ever more cosmopolitan Icelandic audience. As to who ran the Quartizon Foundation or where it was based or what else it did, the document was silent.

And of that cosmopolitan Icelandic audience there was currently no sign. Nick was the only browser. What he knew of the art world suggested the cost of running the Never Before Gallery was likely to outstrip the proceeds – Elena Herrera’s paintings were optimistically priced, to put it mildly – by a long way. Which suggested it might exist to serve some purpose not declared in the blurb.

Nick was tempted to tease the gallerina with an oblique reference to Emergence. But he left without doing so. Like the Quartizon Foundation, he could see the value of reticence.

For now.

The rain that started shortly after George and Wada set off on their drive soon turned to sleet and, as the road took them ever higher into the Icelandic moorlands, snow. According to the car’s thermometer, the outside temperature was creeping towards zero. The car was a large and well-appointed four-wheel-drive, which, according to George, virtually drove itself. This show of modesty on his part rather surprised Wada. When she commented on the conditions, he merely said, ‘It snows in New Jersey too.’

They hadn’t been on the road long before he wheedled her first name out of her and brushed aside her pleadings that everybody simply called her Wada. ‘Umiko’s a beautiful name. You can’t expect me not to use it.’ It wasn’t much longer after that before he established how and when she’d been widowed. ‘A thing like that can make or break someone, Umiko. It’s pretty obvious you’re a fighter.’ This was all blatant flattery, of course. And Wada was dismayed by how pleasant it was to be on the receiving end of it.

The windchill and slanting snow that greeted them at the Þingvellir visitor centre came as a shock after their cosseted journey. Wada wasn’t dressed for such weather and, after George had prevailed on her to borrow his coat, which enveloped her like a duvet, he wasn’t dressed for it, so their exploration of the rift valley carved out by the tearing apart of the North American and Eurasian continental plates was short-lived.

Cutting short their visit suited Wada, since it meant they could head on to Stóri-Asgarbær, but George argued lunch had to be factored in. There was said to be a good restaurant on the road to Gullfoss that served steaks from a local farm … and he was driving.