Then he looked around at the alien landscape. And he thought, why not? He thought: Dr. Philippoussis would approve.
Because he was tired. Tired of bars and late nights working and stupid office politics and hot girls who wanted to be taken to the best restaurants but refused to eat anything when they got there. Tired of who had the best office, the newest client, the most expensive road bike, the most ridiculous vacations, the hottest table in a nightclub, the coolest apartment, the best-looking girlfriend. It went on and on and he didn’t know how it ended, he never had; he didn’t even know, now that he was here, what it was for. There was a friendly dog, and a windswept girl, and nothing else as far as the eye could see. And he wasn’t just tired from staying up all night. Three A.M. was nothing to him. He had never slept. Never.
He almost told her.
Then the damn dog jumped up at him again.
“BRAMBLE!” shouted Flora. “Oh God, I am so sorry. So sorry. There must be a way of getting the mud off.”
Bramble was going nuts. Flora eventually got him back under control. She looked sideways at Joel. She had felt . . . what? Something. As if he was on the brink of saying something. But she hadn’t been able to tell what it was. And now, it seemed, the moment had gone.
They walked on, both of them, talking through the case, and by the time they’d reached the end of the beach and turned round (Joel feeling ridiculously disappointed that it did eventually have an end, a lighthouse manning the headland), the white sky was turning the faintest of blues, promising the most beautiful day ahead.
And by the time they’d gotten back to where Flora’s boots were, where they’d started, she had, reluctantly, agreed to marshal the troops while Joel went back to London, and to stick to Colton like glue until the council meeting.
“Breakfast?” she said.
Joel glanced at his watch. “It’s five A.M. We were still eating four hours ago, and also, by the way, it’s technically the middle of the night.”
“Okay,” said Flora. “Just a thought.”
“Would it have to be cheese?”
“No.”
Oddly, Joel found he was actually hungry again. Something about the air, he suspected. Normally he controlled his diet the way he controlled every other aspect of his life.
“Where’s open for breakfast?”
“Oh, the boys will be up soon. You can come to the farm.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
By the time they’d picked their way up the track to the farm, the boys were indeed up and the place was buzzing. The warmth of the kitchen was delicious after the fresh morning air, the Aga and the fire turning the room cozy and fuggy.
“Hey,” said Innes, stomping across the floor in worn pajamas and holey socks. He filled the kettle at the sink and stuck it on the stove; only then did he turn round and notice Joel standing there.
“Who the hell are you?” he said.
Joel’s coat was slightly damp, as were his expensive shoes and the bottoms of his trousers. His glasses were starting to steam up. For the first time, Flora thought he looked vulnerable.
“I’m Flora’s boss, Joel Binder,” he said quietly, sticking out his hand.
“It’s five o’clock in the fricking morning,” said Innes. “What kind of hours do you lawyers work?”
“Not as hard as farmers,” noted Joel.
“DADDY?” came a small but definite voice. “MUCH MOST NOISE, DADDY.”
Everyone stopped as a pair of tiny feet pattered into the kitchen. Her pure white hair all mussed up, one hand rubbing her eye, the other clutching her beloved raccoon, Agot stood barefoot on the flagstone floor, squinting at everyone.
“WHY NOISE, EV’BODY?” she said fiercely.
Joel blinked.
“Why don’t I make everyone a cup of tea?” said Flora quickly. “Good morning, Agot darling.”
Agot grinned to see her, and ran into her arms.
“WHO MAN, AUNT FLOWA?”
“This is Joel,” said Flora awkwardly.
Joel gave a half smile.
“Hi,” he said.
“HI,” said Agot. “ME AGOT.” She turned back to Flora. “BEKFAST?”
Eck loomed into the kitchen.
“Dad!” said Flora. “You shouldn’t be getting up for milking!”
“And how am I supposed to sleep with all of you havering about in here?”
Eck seemed to take Joel’s presence for granted, and tea was handed around.
“GRAMPA!” shouted Agot.
“What is it, bairn?”
“BEKFAST? SAMWIDGE?”
Flora smiled. Agot’s favorite thing.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Eck frowned. “You wouldn’t rather have a nice bowl of porridge?”
“SAMWIDGE!”
“Okay, okay,” said Flora. “Seeing as I woke everyone up, apparently, Innes, you make coffee—not everyone drinks that horrible tea slop—and I’ll make bacon sandwiches.”
“YAY!” said Agot. “AN’ MUSIC.”
Innes turned the radio on to BBC Radio Gael, and Agot started swirling around the floor, her nightie streaming out behind her.
“You spoil that bairn,” said Eck as Flora went over to pull out the huge old blackened frying pan.
“I bloody will,” said Innes. “After what she’s been through with me and Eilidh, I’ll spoil her every day.”
Flora fetched the bacon, simply wrapped in paper, from the cold storage, while Innes brewed coffee: good dark stuff that Flora had found, along with a cafetière, and that most of the farm boys turned their noses up at; they preferred the powdered stuff still. Agot was still dancing, and the big kitchen windows were steaming up with noise and chat and happy music.
“Oh God,” said Flora suddenly, turning to Joel. “Do you eat bacon?”
Eck noticed him for the first time.
“You’re not one of the hands?”
“Dad, fix your glasses, for God’s sake! Before you try and milk Bramble!”
“Aooo!” agreed Bramble, lifting his head at the sound of his name.
“I’m . . . I’m with Flora’s firm,” said Joel. Flora looked closely at him. Was he . . . was he smirking? “And yes, don’t worry, bacon’s fine.”
“Why wouldn’t it be fine?” said Eck, and Innes told him to shut up.
Fintan wandered in whistling, with his head up, which was extremely unusual. Innes narrowed his eyes.
“What are you so cheerful about?”
“Nothing.” smiled Fintan, filling his cup. “Oh wow, that smells awesome. Make one for me, sis.”
He grabbed Agot and whirled her round and she screamed and giggled.
“Good morning, my gorgeous girl.”
As he turned, he saw Joel.
“Oh my goodness, did you stay the night?”
The entire kitchen fell silent.
“What?” said Eck.
“YOU HAVE SLEEPOVER?” said Agot.
Flora went bright red.
“Of course not!” she said.
“You know this guy?” said Innes to Fintan. “I thought he was working with Flora.”
“He is, and shut up,” said Flora.
“You’re very red, sis,” observed Fintan.
“SHUT UP, EVERYONE! Just get out and milk the damn cows,” said Flora. “Or you won’t get a sandwich.”