Now, though, Sunna had engaged a lawyer and was pressing for full custody. She was also exploring the possibility of continuing her dance studies in Britain, although this was not something that she and Róbert had discussed in depth. But it was also a piece of news that Breki would be unlikely to accept without a fight, so it looked as if the whole matter would end up in court. Sunna believed she had a strong enough case, though, and that they would finally see Kjartan returned to her full time.
'Sit down, sweetheart,' Róbert said. 'There's pasta.'
'Mmm, great,' she said, curling up on the sofa.
Róbert fetched the food from the kitchen, bringing plates and glasses and a jug of water.
'I hope it tastes good,' he said. 'I'm still finding my way.'
'I'm so hungry it won't matter what it tastes like.'
He put on some relaxing music and sat down next to her.
She told him about her day the rehearsals and the pressure she was under. Sunna was set on perfection, and hated to get anything wrong.
Róbert was satisfied that his pasta had been a success; nothing outstanding, but good enough.
Sunna got to her feet and took his hand. 'Stand up, my love,' she said. 'Time to dance.'
He stood up and wrapped his arms around her and they moved in time to a languid South American ballad. He slid a hand under her sweater and his fingertips stroked her back, unclipping her bra strap in one seamless movement. He was an expert at this.
'Hey, young man,' she said with mock sharpness, her eyes warm. 'What do you think you're up to?'
'Making the most of Kjartan being with his dad,' Róbert answered, and they moved into a long, deep kiss. The temperature between them was rising, as was the temperature in the room, and before long they were making their way to the bedroom.
Out of habit, Róbert pushed the door to and drew the curtains across the bedroom window overlooking the garden. However, none of these precautions stopped the sounds of their lovemaking carrying across to the apartment next door.
When everything was quiet again, he heard the indistinct slamming of a door, muffled by the hammering rain. His first thought was that it was the back door to the porch behind the old house.
Sunna sat up in alarm and glanced at him, disquiet in her eyes. He tried to stifle his own fear behind a show of bravado and, getting to his feet, ventured naked into the living room. It was empty.
But the back door was open, banging to and fro in the wind. He glanced quickly into the porch, just long enough to say that he had taken a look, and hurriedly pulled the door closed. A whole regiment of men could have been out there for all he knew, but he could make out nothing in the darkness.
He then went from one room to another, his heart beating harder and faster, but there were no unwelcome guests to be seen. It was just as well that Kjartan was not at home.
And then he noticed something that would keep him awake for the rest of the night.
He hurried through the living room, frightened for Sunna, terrified that something had happened to her. Holding his breath, he made his way to the bedroom to find her seated on the edge of the bed, pulling on a shirt. She smiled weakly, unable to hide her concern.
'It was nothing, sweetheart,' he said, hoping she would not notice the tremor in his voice. 'I forgot to lock the door after I took the rubbish out; didn't shut it properly behind me,' he lied. 'You know what tricks the wind plays out back. Stay there and I'll get you a drink.'
He stepped quickly out of the bedroom and rapidly removed what he had seen.
He hoped it was the right thing to do— not to tell Sunna about the water on the floor, the wet footprints left by the uninvited guest who had come in out of the rain. The worst part was that they hadn't stopped just inside the back door. The trail had led all the way to the bedroom.