Anjuli suppressed a sigh. Singing. It always came down to singing. That’s all people saw when they looked at her. A walking, talking, singing machine.
“I’m sorry, I’m very busy at the moment.”
“Of course you are,” Mrs. Spedding said thinly.
Definitely coldhearted bitch, then. Great, her first week back home and already she had snubbed Councillor Hamish and managed to disappoint the influential headmistress of Heaverlock Primary. She should probably head home before she bumped into the Provost. Unfortunately, she had a shift at the pub so she could only hope he didn’t come in for a pint.
Anjuli walked into the colour-coded library and looked around for Mac. A petite, dark-haired woman of about fifty was shelving books in the red zone.
“What a great library,” Anjuli said.
The woman smiled proudly. “The entire school is beautiful. Not only that, Heaverlock Primary is the first eco-friendly primary in the Borders. We get our energy from solar panels and recycle almost everything. I’m the librarian by the way, Florinda Montrose.”
“It must have cost a fortune to build.”
Florinda smiled. “Not as much as it might have. The village rallied round and we raised enough money to add to the Council’s budget. It helped immensely that the architect—our own Robert Douglas—only charged for labour and materials.”
Anjuli’s brows lifted. Why hadn’t she realised that Rob had designed and built the school? It had his attention to ecological detail imprinted in every sleekly rounded corner. Ash had mentioned the drab old building had been torn down, but what she hadn’t said was that Rob had built the new school.
“Oh, it’s true,” Florinda said, misinterpreting Anjuli’s expression. “Mr. Douglas didn’t charge for the hours he spent designing our school, or his time on-site, or any of his expenses, although the man himself wouldn’t admit it if you asked him.”
“I can imagine.” Rob would have refused to charge because he thought it was the right thing to do, not because he wanted the village’s admiration.
Florinda lowered her voice. “I never indulge in gossip myself, but I heard that Mr. Douglas was left at the altar. There he was, a young man waiting for his bride, rejected in front of friends and family. The poor lad insisted that his bride was coming until his brother sat him down and told him she was gone. Good riddance, I say. There are plenty of lasses around these parts who would love to have his ring on their finger. Why, if I were any younger I’d—”
“What’s in that section over there?” Anjuli interrupted, turning her back. “Is that a chill-out area? It looks great.”
Florinda followed her to the green zone. “It was the Carver lass who humiliated him. Not the loopy publican, mind, but the drug-addicted singer. Janet or Jules I think her name was. My neighbour told me about her. She was flighty at best, constantly picking causes to get riled up about and causing all sorts of trouble.”
“Flighty?”
Anjuli’s huff added fuel to Florinda’s fire. “Oh yes. It’s not surprising, really. The entire family is odd. The parents run a bizarre retreat in the hills. ‘The Centre for Life Studies’ they call it. It’s one of these mumbo-jumbo cults, you know, dancing around or hugging trees.”
“It’s not a cult. It’s a spiritual pathway from India that—”
“But Jules was the worst. She and one of the teachers here rode the village boundaries in the Common Riding Festival. Can you imagine? Ignoring our traditions just to prove a point.”
“I hardly think that was the reason.”
Florinda sniffed. “Shortly after that Jules snared Mr. Douglas and stomped all over his heart. Then she left him for somebody in New York who was in the music industry. And I hear she made a nasty scene at the pub on Monday. Bold as brass she was, accusing Mr. Douglas of foul play in front of the whole village. And when Councillor Hamish asked her to sing? She declared she’d never perform for the likes of us. I think she probably can’t sing at all. She’s young and beautiful so they put her on stage to mouth the words.”
Anjuli stared at Florinda. Watching her talk was like watching a lion move in for the kill. Even though she wanted to look away from the blood and gore, from the utter enjoyment the beast had in chewing on its prey, she couldn’t. She had to let the attack run its course, eyes half-shut, looking sideways through her fingers.
“...and then Jules bought that old manor in front of Heaverlock Castle even though the trust had a gentlemen’s agreement to sell it to Mr. Douglas. In she waltzed with a higher offer and just like that they accepted it.”