‘It’s not a hobby, I assure you. It’s going to be our livelihood. Mine and Flo’s. It’s just a little different from the ways you might be used to.’ Arthur had to follow him into the yard. ‘Let me walk you to the gate. If I can’t convince you by the time we reach the road, then I won’t bother you again. And you can still have your hot bath here every Sunday, no matter what’s decided.’

At the pace the old man was walking off, his hat was dragging on its string, biting his throat. It was only when his lighter and tobacco pouch slipped out of his back pocket that he stopped at all, noticing the clatter on the gravel. He picked up his belongings with a flash of his long arm, then stood up, saying, ‘Let me tell you something, Mr Mayhood. You had best consider what you plan to do with all this space. Because there’s too much here for you to manage on your own and not enough for you to take for granted.’ He dusted off the pouch, blew on his lighter and inspected it for scratches. ‘You seem a decent bloke to me – and I mean that – but you can’t go about the job of farming like you go about the job of being an architect. The ground will eat you up.’

‘I understand that.’

‘No, see, I don’t think you do. Not yet.’

Arthur grinned at him. ‘Farm supervisor.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘That’s what your title’s going to be. And we’re going to discuss a proper wage for you. As soon as I get payment from a few things I’ve been doing.’

Hollis crossed his arms. ‘You’ve a peculiar way of going about things, you know that?’

‘So I’ve heard.’ He didn’t know what sort of explanation would be satisfactory – there was a sudden coolness to the old man’s attitude that was approaching disapproval. A bit of forthrightness was called for now. ‘You’ve got to understand, we’ve risked an awful lot to move our practice here, and that’s what this place is: a practice, not a farm. We’re trying to make a little Taliesin here in Ockham, which I don’t expect will mean that much to you. But it’s everything to us. This farm, sustaining it – that’s central to our cause. We need our land to function just as well as what goes on inside the draughting room. And there isn’t much that I don’t know about designing buildings, but when it comes to farming, well – you’ve seen, you know. I’m struggling to cope.’ An early heat was settling around them. He felt the perspiration at his temples. It was going to be another glorious June day.

‘You’re not as hopeless as a few I’ve seen,’ the old man said. ‘You’ve got the guts for it, I’ll give you that.’ He heaved out a sigh, slipped the Old Holborn into his back pocket, tucked the lighter in his front. ‘Farm supervisor, eh?’