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sort of conversation for a pleasant dinner, is it? Let’s talk about something else. Dorothy, that’s an astonishing hat you’re wearing.’

THREE
    B efore we went home for the night, Andrew arranged to pick us up at seven in the morning. I wasn’t terribly happy about the hour. I am not at any time a bright and shining morning person, and this was supposed to be a vacation. But it was going to take quite a time to get to the island with the odd name, so we needed to get on with it.
    Watson is always excited about the prospect of a ride, no matter what the hour, so the three of us bundled into Andrew’s car the next morning and he drove us north and east to the tiny village of Tingwall, where his launch was berthed. He indicated various points of interest along the way, but I was too sleepy to pay a lot of attention. The sun had been up for hours, but though my body was ambulatory, my brain was still curled up in bed.
    I’d prudently taken a ginger capsule before we set out, since I’m a terrible sailor, and the rest of the trip was by sea. Andrew had cheerfully announced that the water ‘could be a wee bit rough’, which, as I know to my sorrow, is the seaman’s way of describing anything up to gale-force winds and boat-swamping waves.
    The launch was a pleasant little boat, and fortunately Watson seemed quite happy to climb aboard. Andrew had thoughtfully brought along coffee and buns. I thought I’d better avoid food, but I drank the coffee, strong and hot and wonderful, and began to wake up a little and even to enjoy the beauty around me. It was a gorgeous day, warm for these northern lands, with just enough of a breeze to make the air feel like a tonic.
    ‘All right, love?’ asked Alan, who knows my unfortunate re action to water travel.
    ‘I’m fine. Really. I think I might even have a bun with my coffee.’
    He looked dubious, but I didn’t see how one rather bland bun could do me any harm. Nor did it. I clapped my hat down firmly and left the shelter of the cabin to stand out on deck and watch the passing scene.
    From the sea, the islands were remarkably similar. We passed close to the shore for much of the start of our journey, in a progression from one ‘sound’ to the next. Gairsay Sound, Eynhallow Sound, Wyre Sound: wonderful names. The exciting Neolithic sites weren’t obvious from there, though I could see the odd standing stone here and there. But mostly there were fields, tiny villages, roads, and sky – limitless sky. Watson wasn’t interested in the view, but he was fascinated by all the new and enticing scents. For a dog brought up in the Cotswolds and now living in a cathedral city far from the sea, this was an entrancing world.
    We passed ferries on the way, small car ferries with one or two vehicles aboard. I popped back into the cabin to query Andrew. ‘I thought you said there was no ferry service.’
    ‘Not to where we’re going, only to the principal islands. We could have gone most of the way by commercial ferry, but the launch is a lot quicker. We’ll be heading out into open water soon. How are you doing?’
    ‘Nary a qualm. You’re an excellent driver.’
    ‘Ah, yes, I always choose the flattest water when ladies are aboard.’ And he turned his attention back to the wheel.
    When we turned north into open water, the wind grew a bit stronger and the sea a little less like a lily pond, and I thought it prudent to take another ginger capsule and retire to the quietest part of the cabin with eyes firmly shut. I didn’t want to tarnish a new friendship with Andrew by being sick all over his boat.
    The trip seemed, after that, to take a long time, although Andrew told us later we had travelled less than twenty nautical miles. I think I actually dozed for part of the way, but I opened my eyes now and then, saw water and sky, and closed them again. Then Alan was touching my shoulder and saying, ‘Re-entry time, darling. We’re here.’
    ‘Here’ was a beautiful place, a