Konstantin stared at his in something like awe.

“Is that, like, the first time you’ve ever made something?” teased Isla quietly.

“Yes,” he said simply, still looking at it in amazement.

They sat at the kitchen table and he took a bite. Gaspard had whipped up a hollandaise sauce to eat with it too, and it was absolutely sensational, but to Konstantin it was something new altogether.

He was even more surprised when Isla, who had been looking at it all afternoon and getting annoyed by it, scooted over when they’d finished eating and lifted his coat down from the stand.

“What are you doing?”

She frowned and showed him one of the small sewing kits the hotel was full of. “Do you want to do it?”

He blinked. “You’re going to sew up my coat?”

Isla went bright red. She had genuinely barely given it a second thought; she had darned for her father and was always proud of her neat stitching, and couldn’t bear looking at the beautiful expensive coat with the tears in the fine material. It was mostly habit.

And partly gratitude; he had, undeniably, despite his bad attitude, saved Ash from at the very least a nasty hit to the head. His hands were still red and cut.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, which made her feel even worse, like a servant he was being kind to.

“Well, you helped my friend,” she said, her voice timid and shy.

Konstantin blinked.

“You can do it if you want,” she said again.

“I don’t know how.”

“You can’t sew ?”

He laughed. “Of course I can’t sew! Who can sew?”

“I can sew!” said Kerry.

“Moi aussi,” said Gaspard. “Of course. We are not animals.”

“So, everyone can sew,” said Konstantin suspiciously. If he ever ripped anything, he tended to throw it away; he thought everyone did.

The kitchen staff looked back at him.

Isla would have put money on him saying something snotty and cutting, or just leaving them to get on with it on his behalf. Instead, he sat back in his chair.

“Okay,” he said. “Teach me to sew.”

THEY HAD A little time before the cleanup and dinner service. Gaspard went off for his daily sieste . Kerry and Tam went out to collect eggs, a job Isla was absolutely terrified of but they both seemed to quite like. It depended very much where you stood on chickens. Isla was scared of their beady little eyes, but she was a little scared of a lot of things. Konstantin hadn’t been drafted yet in case Bjårk ate all the eggs. Bjårk tried to go help, but they were having none of it.

Isla retuned the radio from the shocking French pop music Gaspard liked (Flora had commented dryly that his good taste in food obviously had to be evened out somewhere else by his frankly horrible taste in music) to BBC Radio nan Gàidheal and let its gentle music run through the big kitchen.