But Konstantin, for all his faults, was merry at heart; it was hard for him to be down for long periods of time without his natural buoyancy reasserting itself. Although the worst realization, which made him slightly coil up in agony, was that all the time he thought he was surrounded by friends and employees who thought he was simply charming, it became increasingly obvious that that, in fact, was not the case at all, and if people weren’t actually being paid by his father, or enjoying the fruits of the family’s largesse, then some people liked him and some, notably Isla, very much didn’t and, what was almost worse, lots of people, the entire population of the island really, were almost entirely indifferent to him. Back home everyone knew who he was. Here everyone knew who everyone else was, but nobody gave two shits. It was something of a head-scratcher.

So. He still had absolutely no intention of letting anyone know his background, even if his first inclination had been to shout and scream about it and make a fuss till everyone let him get out of this hellhole. Now . . . he didn’t mind it so much. And he was quite excited about learning how to poach an egg.

More than that: Isla taught him—or at least let him watch—how to make pastry, keeping her hands cool and precise as she baked amazing spiced mince pies, orange cinnamon Christmas buns, and warm gingerbread, and they replicated their menu day after day just to be sure, before sending many of the results down to be sold at the Seaside Kitchen and the rest to the school and the old people’s community center, where they were fallen upon with gusto (and some complaining about modern newfangled ingredients from people who thought putting anything other than salt on porridge was a spoiled affectation).

He learned how to make a proper sauce, watched in awe as Gaspard made liters and liters of stock from bones for the freezer; Isla even let him ice a cake one day, which he made a fantastic hash of. Bjårk was happy getting lengthy walks along the bracing front of the incredibly long beach, which Konstantin had found completely by accident, and it was really hard not to start saying hello to the same people and dogs he saw every day. He could see, somehow, how this place could get under your skin. I mean, it wasn’t Norway, but it was beautiful in its own way.

TO EVERYONE’S SURPRISE, their supposed boss, Fintan, put his head round the kitchen door. Everyone braced themselves, but in fact, he was almost smiling.

“Come, come,” Gaspard was saying.

“What have you done to Colton’s kitchen?” said Fintan in dismay. “It looks like a chicken holocaust.”

“We are making the perfect poached egg,” said Gaspard. “You will practice too! It needs practice! And a wrist! And vinegar! Proper vinegar! Not vinegar of Scotland. Vinegar of Scotland is for removing of the wallpaper! Here!”