“Henry?” The distant voice was powered by a set of lungs that could call an unruly pack of hounds to order with a single bellow.
“There you are!” His wife strode up impatiently. “Have you spoken to Halston about the shoot tomorrow?”
“No. He’s in the apple store.”
She stomped off. After a minute there came a dull whump. Presently, a plume of smoke arose.
“Fire,” said Henry gently. Extraordinary really, what a bit of fertiliser and some heat could do.