House of Evidence(58)

“What was this business your brother was engaged in?”

“He was raising finance for his railroad company. He was all set to commence construction of a railroad in Iceland but lacked funds, and we went to see certain wealthy industrialists in Berlin who were prepared to invest in the enterprise.”

“What sort of reception did the two of you get?”

“Extremely satisfactory, as my brother Jacob had done the most thorough homework for his mission. I was only there to assist him in a secretarial capacity. But all these plans came to nothing, of course, when the war started.”

“This draft of a summons that was with the article, was it ever submitted in court?”

“No, my nephew and I decided to leave it. Jacob Junior was, however, keen to write a response to the piece for the magazine. He was a scrupulous historian himself and was respected for his research.”

“Was that response ever published?”

“No, I think not. I once saw a draft he had written. It was measured and professional, and would have eliminated these speculations immediately, but I think he felt that the matter would die a natural death anyway.”

“Have you any idea what this man’s motive was for writing the article?”

“Envy, perhaps. I have come across such things in the past. My father was very wealthy by Icelandic standards, so my family was rather in the limelight. There were all sorts of stories going around about us, then as now. Most are fabrications, and the rest half-truths. It has actually not affected me much, as I have lived abroad. There is a Chinese saying that you can measure the height of a tower from the shadow it casts, and the value of great men from the slander they encounter.” Matthías smiled.

Klemenz entered the parlor. “Excuse me, sir, your supper is ready. Perhaps you would care to invite your visitor to join you?”

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Matthías replied and turned to Hrefna. “May I offer you supper, my dear?”

Hrefna was of two minds about the offer; her business here was not finished, yet she was actually quite hungry. Her stomach won out in the end. “Yes, please,” she replied.

“Excellent,” Matthías said and turned to Klemenz. “What is on offer this evening?”

“The first course is quiche lorraine and the main course is filet mignon chateaubriand.”

“How does that sound?” Matthías turned to Hrefna.

“That sounds good.”

“Do you know the story of Chateaubriand?”

“No.”

“He was a nineteenth-century French writer and politician. It was, in fact, his chef, Montmireil, who first cut filet mignon in this manner, but the honor was attributed to his master.”

“How fascinating.”

Matthías turned to Klemenz. “We shall have white wine with the first course, a Sauternes Bordeaux.” He looked back at Hrefna. “It is slightly sweet. Are you familiar with it?”

“No,” she replied, and was about to add that since she was working, she would just have water, but sensed it would be in bad taste. A little wouldn’t hurt, she decided.

“We shall stick with the Bordeaux region and have a Margaux red wine with the main course,” he told Klemenz.

“Excellent, sir. Would it suit you to take a seat right away?”

“Yes, please.”

Matthías went over to the record player and took an LP record from a shelf.

“I should like to listen to the Elgar Cello Concerto while we dine. Jacqueline du Pré is the soloist with the London Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Sir John Barbirolli.”

He took the vinyl disk gently from its sleeve and blew some grains of dust from it before placing it on the turntable. Setting the music to play at low volume, he led Hrefna into the dining room next to the parlor. The table had been set for two, one at each end.

“This is not the sort of tableware I would have chosen, but it comes with the apartment,” Matthías said apologetically, as he invited Hrefna to take a seat.

Hrefna didn’t see anything wrong with the setting in front of her. Klemenz brought in a silver bucket with an open wine bottle on ice, and put it in the center of the table. He took the bottle and wiped it before half-filling Hrefna’s glass, and then did the same for Matthías, before returning the bottle to the bucket and disappearing into the kitchen.

Matthías took his glass and carefully examined the wine.

“You may rest assured that the wine is satisfactory. Klemenz tastes it himself before serving it. He has a better palate than I myself do. Prosit!” He raised his glass.

“Cheers,” Hrefna said, raising her glass and sipping the wine. She was not very familiar with white wine, apart from the cheapest sort in the state wine store, but this tasted very good.