‘Yes, but that’s just an excuse. It’s Alma’s clever plan to get to know Jack better and give him a taste of island life, I think. Food and drinks aplenty, Pappa.’

‘I’ll be there, but I refuse to plant anything. Is Britt coming?’

‘Of course, and she’s bringing beer. Don’t worry.’

‘Sounds good then. Now you can tell me more about this man. Is he nice? Does he look like Agnar?’

Ninni smiled. ‘Yes, he looks like Agnar and he’s nice. You will have to make up your own mind when you meet him.’

‘I will. Do you have enough books?’ Petter was a firm believer that nobody ever had enough books.

It made her laugh. ‘The house is filled with books. It might fall down the slope if you bring any more.’

‘Then I’ll only bring some for me,’ Petter said.

Ninni was still laughing when she turned off the phone.

***

Jack cut the pieces of fenalår into small bits. He roasted them slowly in the pan, just to see how they turned out. A crumble, he thought. Now what could he use that for? Still thinking, he opened the box with Jens’ Old Cheese and sniffed it.

‘Nice,’ he said and smiled. This should be interesting.

He cut off a slice and chopped it into small pieces, then threw them in with the fenalår, drizzled on some oil and stirred a few times.

‘Onions,’ he muttered to himself.

Half the fun of his job was the experimentation. To taste things, to smell ingredients and put them together. Just to see what happened.

He shook the pan a few times. On the bench he had a bowl filled with chopped herbs and plants from the garden. He hummed while crushing some garlic from the shop.

The knocking startled him. ‘Shit,’ he said, and turned around.

A woman in her forties leaned against the doorway and smiled broadly at him. ‘Hei,’ she said.

‘There’s a doorbell, you know,’ he said.

‘Yes, but I don’t think it’s ever been used. I’m Britt.’

Ah, yes, the B&B owner, school teacher, beer brewer and also part owner of the meat business.

‘Nice to meet you,’ Jack said, but he wasn’t happy. Perhaps he should get a padlock on the inside of the door. This was worse than Oxford Street.

She held out a bag. ‘I bring gifts. Someone told me you are a chef. What are you cooking?’

Jack shook the pan again. ‘Not quite sure yet. It’s an experiment.’

Britt walked up to the oven and sniffed. ‘That smells … interesting. What have you put in there?’

‘Mutton and Old Cheese, some herbs and garlic,’ Jack said, watching with fascination how she took a step back.

She looked horrified. ‘That’s disgusting. Do you have any idea of how exclusive that meat is? What it has cost us in time and labour to perfect it? Why would you ruin good meat like that?’

Jack took a spoon and waved it at her. ‘It’s good. Please, taste it.’