"How much will she want for this stuff", she whispered. "That's not your worry, m'dear", said Peter in a mock broad Somerset accent.

If he was unconcerned enough to be spending his time sending up the locals accents, Sarah figured why should she worry. A dress was eventually chosen then some leggings. At Peter's insistence, another quite diaphanous dress found its way onto the small pile of garments.

The young girl was happy to spend the time with them and even happier when Peter paid in cash with not even a lift of the eyebrows at the prices.

The amount of cash that changed hands almost made Sarah feel faint. But then she rationalised that he would not have forgotten the spending spree when it came to bedtime. She didn't like that thought - but there was nothing she could do about it and it was actually quite nice to have someone spend some money on her for a change. She decided therefore to put the matter out of her mind.

As they dropped off 'Mad Maggie' with details of Peters solicitor firmly grasped in her hand, as a parting shot, she asked them if they were going down to the Mill that evening. She explained it was where all the locals went at this time in the month.

"No need to eat before you go - there will be plenty there for all. But don't drink too much. They make their own and it's pretty strong. Now don't forget that good school I told you about. They need more pupils. There are too many retirement people coming into the area. The schools need young families like yourselves."

Sarah's eyes silently lifted towards the skies in exasperation but she said nothing.

"I seem to remember they said something about that place last night when that folk group were giving out details of venues", said Peter as they wound their way back to change for the evening.

The landlord told them that The Mill was a huge rambling barn of a house that had been converted into tea rooms. The proprietor was part of the folk music scene and had open parties every month as his contribution to local entertainment.

"Can get a bit risqué", though he said. "Some of the traditions they carry on should carry a health warning."

"Could be sour grapes at the prospect of losing business", suggested Sarah, as they threaded their way between the high hedges lined with red campion and foxgloves in search of 'The Mill'.

"On the other hand it could develop into something interesting and be a lot of fun!" Peter looked at her sideways to see her reaction. What he saw was the hard spot of anger burning again in her cheeks.

"If you think I'm going to get involved in pagan rituals that are a half-baked excuse for an orgy with local peasants, you can forget it", she snapped shrewishly. Peter pursed his lips - but then let the discussion drop. They carried on the rest of the journey in a frosty silence. When, at last, they arrived, the party was already in full swing and the revellers were each taking their turn to play a tune or sing a song. Piano accordions, melodeons, whistles and violins were in profusion everywhere.