Read Online Shadows Over Paradise by Isabel Wolff - Free Book Online Page B

dinosaurs.
    “Weren’t they wiped out by an asteroid?” Honor asked her guest. “Sixty-five million years ago?”
    “That’s the accepted theory,” the man replied; “which is known as the Late Cretaceous Tertiary Extinction, but the truth is, no one really knows. So in the program we explore alternative explanations, such as climate change caused by a massive volcanic eruption, or the evolution of mammals that ate dinosaur eggs. We also look at the possibility of a major change in vegetation, resulting in the plant-eating dinosaurs becoming unable to digest their food.”
    “And getting fatal constipation?”
    “Well … yes.”
    Honor laughed. “I think I’d have preferred the meteor strike. But what’s your favorite dinosaur? I’ve always liked Ankylosaurus, with that terrific club on the tail.”
    “Yes, a feature shared by Euoplocephalus, though that had spikes, not armored plates. But my personal favorite
has
to be Spinosaurus, with that marvelous dorsal sail …”
    By now Honor’s lively chatter had lifted my mood so much that I felt able to face the day. I had a job to do, and I was going to do it.
    It was twenty to ten. I switched off the radio and read through the notes I’d made, then opened my laptop and created a new document: “Klara.” I labeled five microcassettes, put one in the machine, tested it, then walked up to the farm.
    On the way there I stopped to look at a chaffinch swinging about on a cluster of elderberries; I realized that this was where I’d been so frightened the night before. Closing my eyes, I could hear the sea pulling in and out, but now it seemed distant, not near at all. Perhaps the darkness had amplified it, or perhaps it was just the effect of the wine. Even so, I shuddered as I remembered the sound.
    As I approached the farm, I saw Klara, in a blue striped dress and white apron, setting out vegetables on the table. She put a jam jar down next to them and then turned at my footsteps. “Jenni! Good morning.”
    “Morning, Klara.” I nodded at the cabbages and cauliflowers. “It’s nice that you do this.”
    She shrugged. “We’ve always done it.”
    “Do people put the money in the jar?”
    “Usually, although I couldn’t care less if they don’t. I care only that good food shouldn’t be wasted.” She folded the carrierbag that she’d been using and tucked it into her apron pocket. “Before we start talking, I’ve a few chores I need to do. Will you come with me?”
    “Of course—I’d love to see the farm.”
    We crossed the yard and went into the shed. “This is our second boat,” Klara explained. “It’s a Cornish cove boat like our first one—my grandson’s been repairing it.” We stepped around the tins of black paint, then picked our way through various bits of farm machinery and several sacks of animal feed. Klara half filled a plastic bowl with corn. I followed her into a small field. There were two large wooden coops there with long runs, in each of which were a dozen or so hens. At our approach there was a burst of frenzied clucking.
    “Ladies, please!” Klara called as the hens rushed forward. “No pushing or pecking!” She tossed the grain through the mesh. “These are Rhode Island Reds; they have dreadful manners, but they lay well.” She threw in another handful. “I give them these corn pellets in the morning, then vegetable scraps at night.” I stared about me in fascination as she topped up the water bowls from a rain barrel. The hens in the second coop were black with tufty faces, like Victorian whiskers. “These are Araucana,” Klara explained. “They’re very sweet-natured, and their eggs are a beautiful blue.” She gave them the rest of the corn, then wiped the bowl with the corner of her apron. “All done. Now we go up here.”
    I dutifully followed Klara through another gate into the adjacent field. A large greenhouse on a brick plinth stood there. Its panes flashed and glinted in the sun.
    As we went