Page 28 of One Summer

‘No.’

‘Over a hundred years ago that would be. One of them’s called the Castle, one the Summer Palace, one the Abbey. Yours is the smallest but still big enough. It would have to be pretty big, what with the operation they have going in there.’

‘Operation?’ I say, really not liking the sound of this.

Are they secretly growing marijuana in there – taking advantage of the Loor climate, or using hydroponics? Is it a moonshine booze-smuggling operation in the vein of an Enid Blyton gang, determined to get around the demands of Customs with clever use of stills and a speedboat?

He smiles. Somehow, and I’m not sure exactly how, but I feel as if he’s playing a joke on me that I don’t understand.

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ I say, trying to smooth down my hair, which has expanded in volume quite considerably since I arrived on the island, thanks to the humidity of the air. ‘More than adequate for my needs.’

He raises an eyebrow, pondering this.

‘I don’t mean to pry, but you know they have unusual animals in there, do you?’

‘I do know that, yes. I have a list of very detailed instructions for their care.’

‘You’re not squeamish?’

‘Not particularly, no.’

‘Well, I’m not one to judge. Folks can do what they like, so long as they take the proper precautions, and nothing’s released that shouldn’t be onto the island. Very delicate ecosystem we have here.’

Again with the ecosystem. Am I going to be made to feel bad walking down a path, because of the erosion caused by my shoes?

‘Radigon, Goodithea and the like aren’t too happy,’ he continues, ‘but a lot of that’s prejudice, pure and simple. They like to wind each other up at Yoga Lates.’

This is a confusing speech.

‘Yoga Lates?’ I ask. What is that? Yoga for latecomers? Late bloomers? The recently deceased?

He taps himself on the head. ‘Ah, I said it wrong again. It’s yoga crossed with the other one the ladies do. Pilates.’

‘Oh, right, yogalates,’ I say. ‘That makes sense.’

‘All the women go to that, even if they’re just watching. It’s on just after Knit and Natt, you see. And the women do like to talk, especially about anything a bit, well, controversial. Like a young woman coming to live on her own. We expected it to be a man, you see. Or a married couple, at least.’

What is remotely controversial about any of this? I know this is a small community but surely they’re not shocked by a woman living by herself?

‘Like I said, there’s a lot of prejudice,’ he says, with a sigh. ‘People fear what they don’t understand: always have and always will.’

He smiles inscrutably. The merest hint of amusement around the corners of his mouth.

‘Is it okay if we leave now? I’m bursting for a pee.’

‘You should have said. You could have gone behind a hedge.’

He helps me up into the seat at the back of the cart, stows Nemo’s basket at my feet and then gives me a long, appraising look.

‘Sure you’re ready for this?’ he says, climbing up to the driver’s seat and taking the reins.

‘I’m ready,’ I say, as he clicks to the horse.

But it turns out, I am really, really not.

Twenty-Six

Business

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