The weather closed in around them as they approached Stóri-Asgarbær. The road became a track, with plenty of bumps and dips. The landscape lost all its features and merged with the sky. It was no surprise when George suggested they turn back.

‘I’ll gladly bring you out here another day, Umiko,’ he said, slowing to a crawl. ‘Otherwise we’re gonna have the makings of a Jack London novel here.’

‘I do not know the novels of Jack London.’

‘Well trust me, the endings of some of ’em wouldn’t be any comfort in this situation.’

‘But we are only a few kilometres from our destination.’

‘Yeah. And this track leads to it. So we can probably get there. But can we get back?’

He’d come to a halt by now. The wipers were batting away great clods of snow. But for the posts dotted along the side of the track, they could easily have gone into a snow-filled gully. The journey had become hazardous at some point they’d already passed. And she knew going on would only make it more hazardous still.

‘Can you actually turn round here?’

‘Not sure. But there was a swing-round sheltered by some damn great rock a few hundred yards back. I can reverse as far as that.’

‘I really need to get to Stóri-Asgarbær today, George.’

‘You realize we could be trapped there overnight? My phone doesn’t work out here and I’m taking it yours doesn’t either.’

Wada checked. ‘No signal,’ she reported dismally.

‘Right. So, we’d be kinda counting on finding some hospitality at this place. You know? Roaring fire, roasted reindeer, that kinda thing. You said you had business there.’

‘I did say that, yes.’

‘With whoever lives there?’

Wada sensed it was time to drop the pretence. ‘I do not know if anyone lives there, George.’

‘You don’t?’

‘No.’

‘So, this business of yours …’

‘Is complicated to explain.’

George sighed. ‘I can’t complain, I suppose, when a woman of mystery turns out to have a lot of secrets.’

She sighed too. ‘We will go back if you think we should.’

‘I think we should. Sorry, Umiko. As soon as the weather clears, we’ll take another crack at this, I promise.’

He engaged reverse, slung one large arm across the back of her seat, swivelled his neck to see where they were going and began to steer a careful course back they way they’d come.

And all Wada could do was stifle her disappointment.

Nick was greeted at the Arnarson by the man he’d spoken to on the phone. His name, according to his lapel badge, was Bjarni.

‘Hello, Mr Miller,’ he said, smiling amiably. ‘I am sorry if I was … unhelpful … when you called.’

‘That’s OK. I guess you have confidentiality issues to consider.’