Konstantin bit his lip to stop himself saying any more and straightened up again.
“Okay,” said Flora. “Is that it?”
“I am not sure,” said Isla to Flora quietly, as they headed up toward the dairy, “which one of them is more spoiled.”
And Flora would normally have leaped to defend her family. But today, with Douglas being fretful because his dad was away, she just laughed. It had been a challenging day. The baby had grizzled and growled, and she had found herself jealous of Joel sitting on a plane, both hands free, drinking a cup of coffee, reading the paper, even though she knew he didn’t want to go and sit in meetings, didn’t want to leave them. But the day stretched ahead, and she’d been up three times in the night and her brain was a fog, and there was so much laundry to be done but she couldn’t put the baby down. Sharing a laugh with Isla was definitely an improvement.
Chapter 21
Flora brought everyone into the kitchen, where she had made Fintan lay out a selection of everything, so Gaspard could choose what he wanted and how much he was going to use. The idea of using another supplier was not on the table, and Fintan hadn’t wanted to do it at all, but Flora had talked him round by stressing how important it was and how the more their produce could be used, the better it would be for everyone.
So there were plates laid out with butter: salted, unsalted, garlic smoked, and olive, plus an exquisite fleur de sel, which had large salt crystals in it and, when spread cold on fresh warm bread with a cracked exterior and a yeasty crumb, could make grown men weep.
It was warm in the farmhouse. Bramble got up from his normal spot lying practically in the fire to say hello to Bjårk, who returned the bum sniff then, both of them satisfied neither was interested in fighting or shagging the other, casually followed him back to the fire and lay down with him back to back. Bjårk had been walking for approximately twenty minutes; the lazy creature now required approximately forty-eight hours of recovery rest. Agot, performing skating moves by herself in the corner, gave him the occasional dirty look.
“So what ees this,” said Gaspard, indicating the first butter, and Fintan took him through their processes: the difficulties of getting certified organic; how their cows were smaller, given the grass was not lush this far north but hardy and sweet; and how highland cows were some of the best out there. Gaspard mentioned something about how Brittany cows could almost certainly beat his in a fight, but Fintan didn’t really notice and, after the first bite, neither did anyone else.
Konstantin had originally been slightly taken aback by the shabbiness of the vast old farmhouse kitchen, with its range, piles of papers, back copies of Farmers Weekly, old horse brasses on the walls, a clutch of Agot’s plastic toys in the corner, and old boots lined up by the fire to dry. It wasn’t shabby chic; it was just actually shabby. The plates were mismatched, half from Eck’s old wedding service, with delicate tulips painted on them and scalloped edges, and half modern pastels Flora had ordered from the mainland for the Seaside Kitchen, with the farmhouse benefiting from the overspill and the chipped. There weren’t quite enough chairs, and even the few available were mismatched and a little wobbly on the flagstones, with the rugs here and there.
But it was filled with the scent of the coffee brewing in the little pot on the stove top, as well as the fragrance of warm bread rising in the air, and the sounds of the crackle of the fireplace, the comforting swish swish swish of the dogs’ tails, the ticktock of the ancient grandfather clock in the corner, the gentle twitter of BBC Radio nan Gàidheal in the corner, the pouring of tea into cups, and the clatter and chatter of old conversations steeped into the walls: the daily chat about the weather forecast, the grain price, the good health of sheep.
Sitting down on the least comfortable chair—he had somehow been last to choose; having been used to being offered the best of everything, it was very confusing—Konstantin found his eyes heavy, practically drifting off, as people ate and talked and the clock ticked in his ear. It had been a very stressful time.
“Konstantin? Konstantin?”
There was a voice that sounded like it was