‘Where are the horses going?’ she asked. ‘To Copenhagen?’

Mouritzen shook his head, grinning. ‘In Denmark, we do not eat horse.’

‘Eat?’

She bit her lip and looked quickly at Annabel, who had turned from watching the scene in the hold to stare at Mouritzen.

He said softly: ‘I am sorry.’ In a normal voice, he went on: ‘It is a saying. I mean, we do not use horses to work in the fields. We have tractors instead.’

She said gratefully: ‘Where will these horses be sent to work?’

‘Some will leave us at Dieppe, the rest at Amsterdam. You are not a country woman?’

‘No. Why do you say that?’

‘They are not young, these horses. Ten years old and more. We think all Irish people have a deep knowledge of horses.’

‘I’ve always lived in Dublin.’

‘And now you go far away – to Amsterdam?’

‘Yes.’

He waited for her to say something more, but she remained silent. He asked:

‘Is it your first visit?’

‘Yes.’

‘I hope you will like it there.’

She made no comment. Annabel asked:

‘Do people eat horses?’