Pitch Imperfect(8)
At six foot two of muscular, dark Border Scot, he cut an arresting figure, but it was the sincerity in his direct gaze and the quiet assurance in his voice that made the people of Heaverlock stop arguing to listen. “Our moors are special, aye, but we have to look to the future. The turbines have far less of an environmental impact than other forms of energy. I agree they’re no’ perfect, but they’ll help to preserve the land for our bairns, and theirs after.”
Maggie’s trenchant response set off more alarm bells. The old battle-axe was her nearest neighbour, ten miles east, and if she was crumpling the leaflet in her fist and insisting the wind farm be sighted elsewhere that must mean they wanted to plonk it...near Castle Manor?
Rob waited for Maggie’s tirade to end. “The wind farm’s impact on the moors will be minimal but the impact on our lives, and the planet’s, will be priceless.”
His defence didn’t surprise Anjuli. The Rob she remembered had championed green architecture and renewable energy sources. She was also pro that eco stuff, wasn’t she? Dutifully separating plastics, glass and paper was part of her daily routine. It was, however, a far cry from being at peace with seeing large, ugly turbines from her front door.
Her new livelihood depended on the influx of tourists to Heaverlock and the success of her B&B, but what tourist would pay to wake up with a view of those monstrous things? Anjuli willed Maggie Drummond to continue her protest, but she seemed appeased and had subsided into reluctant acceptance. Anjuli took a step forward, then stopped, clamping her lips together. She was back in Heaverlock to start over, not to thrust herself into the public eye. She’d had enough publicity to last a lifetime and Castle Manor was going to be her refuge. No paparazzi and no reporters.
Why did you disappear and where did you go? Is it true you were in rehab? Why did you start a comeback tour only to pull out with no explanation?
Nobody except her “eccentric” parents and Ash knew the answers, and that was how it was going to stay. Mum and Dad had taken a holiday from the spiritual “Centre for Life Studies” they managed. They were on an extended trip to India and therefore out of the reach of nosy reporters, and Ash was a clam.
A large man brushed past Anjuli, knocking against her shoulder on his way to the platform.
“Out of my way.”
It was Angus Buchanan, and it looked as though the bullish farmer hadn’t changed one bit. His voice was still as thick as his body and his words as blunt as his brain.
Angus heaved himself onto the platform and shook his fist at the councillors. “The annual Common Riding Festival is coming up in June. How do you propose we gallop through a field of bloody turbines? Our lads won’t be able to ride out to mark the boundaries of our common land if you put those damned things on our moors. They won’t be safe. You’re threatening five hundred years of history, not to mention scuppering our chances of winning Best Common Riding Festival this year.”
Alarm swept through the pub and more glasses banged on tables. Discontented murmurs sped around the room. Anjuli frowned. She’d forgotten Heaverlock’s fierce competitive streak, the way they strived to beat Halton, their nearest neighbour, at every Borderland competition. Rivalry between the two villages dated back to when they’d vied for land and cattle, but now it played out on the rugby pitches, country fairs and Common Riding Festivals.
Rob held up his hand. “I’ve ridden those moors with you rain or shine since I was a lad, Angus. I propose we shut down the turbines for the festival. Like I said when I was running for the Council, I’ll always support village interests.”
Running for council? Anjuli’s jaw dropped. Since when was Rob interested in politics? She was the activist; at least she had been until she’d left Heaverlock. She’d caused her first stir as a teenager, newly arrived in the village. Outraged that women weren’t allowed to participate in the festival she and her best friend, Rob’s little sister Mac, had campaigned for change.
Some of the Heaverlock men—Angus Buchanan included—had tried to intimidate them when they’d turned up on horseback for the first Ride Out. Rob and his twin brother Ben had escorted Mac and Anjuli through the village, riding either side of their mounts to protect them. A scary experience, to say the least. Along with verbal abuse, many villagers had hurled rocks and bottles. But Mac and Anjuli’s dogged persistence had worked, and now women were grudgingly allowed to ride in the festival.
Anjuli mentally listed the other local issues she’d been involved with. All the singing she’d done to raise funds for Heaverlock charities and public campaigns before she’d left. But Rob? She looked at him in amazement. Eight years ago he’d only been interested in building his architectural practice. He hadn’t liked getting involved in local affairs or giving speeches, but now it was obvious that he was both very interested in Heaverlock and quite used to public speaking. His once-soft Borders brogue was as rich as the whisky on his lips and even more potent. Deep and smooth, with just the right dose of fire. He had the villagers in the palm of his hand.