“And tomorrow is Sunday.” He had an uncanny ability to guess her thoughts. “And this Hedge person won’t be in the village?”
She nodded.
“The church will wait till tomorrow. Let’s go to see Hedge.”
She hesitated. “Nicole.”
He straddled his bike while shouldering the camera and bag. “Don’t worry about Nicole; I’ll take the blame. I would really like to find out about the festival. I bet you a drink of your choice that it fits right into the history Lord M wanted us to uncover.”
He was right. Whatever that festival was, it was bound to fit. Also, Hedge might have knowledge about the folklore that wasn’t available in the library or on the internet. It would be good to see him now.
On the other hand, she might be going against both Nicole’s and Lord M’s instructions by taking Gabriel with her to the village.
They pedalled in silence for a while as she thought about this.
To hell with it! Straightening her shoulders, she pedalled faster. You couldn’t be everything to everyone. Besides – she cast a quick look at Gabriel cycling beside her – he was man enough to decide what he wanted to do.
He came level with her. “This man we’re going to see, is it Hedge as in fund or privet?”
“As in the very old man who lives in a field full of beehives. Has a small shop in the village selling honey which he collects from his own bees.”
“Mr Hedge the beekeeper.”
“Not Mister. Just Hedge. I think he has another name, but everyone just calls him Hedge.”
“I was thinking,” Gabriel said. “Can we write an article about the island’s tradition for strange and confusing names?”
“You’re not one to talk.” She smirked at him. It made her bike wobble a bit, so she turned her face back to watch the lane. “You still haven’t explained the whole Gabriel Emmet hullabaloo.”
“Hullabaloo?”
“Fine. Havoc, mayhem, riddle.”
“I see you’re still a wordsmith.”
“Don’t change the subject.” She smirked meaningfully, but it surprised her that he remembered; it must have been three years ago.
“Okay, okay.” He took one hand off the bike and held it up in surrender. “Emmet is actually my middle name. I used it professionally when I set up on my online gallery a couple of years ago because…” He wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t want people at my main job at the school to know. Diving disabled children comes with certain issues and a camera might seem like a threat. I couldn’t afford to lose my job. Not when I wasn’t sure anything would come of the photography.”
“But you’re not still a driver?”
“No, I am now a full-time photographer. Not making lots of money or anything. Just enough so I can travel around more freely with different assignments.”
“But the Emmet name stuck?”
“Sort of. Then Nicole booked me here under that name, and I didn’t want her to lose face. She’s convinced that Emmet, with its whiff of Irishness, will be more popular in America. So, any media coverage about my work here needs to be under the same name, I guess.”
He didn’t sound particularly concerned either way.
“So, I have to call you Emmet?”
“No, please call me Gabriel.”
“I don’t want to upset Nicole.”
“You won’t.”
They had come to the end of the cedar wood and out onto the lane between fields.
