“I understood the first time around.”
“Well, do you have anything you’d like to say? I’ll listen to whatever it is. Give you whatever you want...”
Her voice trailed off as she looked around the packed pub. She could hardly tell Rob how she felt with Mr. Combe on the barstool next to him—even if he had been deaf since he was seventy. Viking kept bumping into her as he moved around and strangers from Halton crowded the counter, waiting to be served.
“What I want,” Rob said, “is a pint of lager and change from twenty pounds.”
* * *
Thirty-five pints of lager, fifteen glasses of wine and twelve drams later, the Heaverlock-Halton debate was in full swing. Finally able to take a break, Anjuli leaned against the back of the bar and ran a hand through her sweaty hair. The pub felt like a sauna even with the door and windows open the air was stuffy with the smell of hops and whisky. Long August nights meant it would be light outside for hours yet and only sunset would bring a slight chill to the air.
Business at the bar had slowed as protestors, questioners, debaters and those merely wishing to state their opinions walked up to the platform, said their piece and went back to their tables.
She should be listening to the debate. After all, she was staying in Heaverlock for good and the outcome would have an impact on her B&B. Yet instead of pondering the pros and cons of keeping Heaverlock’s festival independent she was staring at Rob like a besotted fan.
She didn’t want to look at him but Rob demanded her attention. Bloody painful, but it seemed her heart was irrevocably linked to his every movement, and the only way to keep it beating was to fix her eyes on his face. Or do something else.
Anjuli took off her apron and smoothed down her clingy aubergine dress. She’d worn it because it was practical enough for the bar and flattered her figure. And she was desperate enough to hope the low neckline would catch Rob’s eye.
Ash came out of the back office, saw her, and grinned. “I recommend taking off your bra.”
“Tart.”
Anjuli willed Rob to see her, to notice her fixed stare. Was he really the same man who had given her respite in his arms and then, oh God, given her so much pleasure? Her dreams about him were so vivid they seemed real. The Victorian hospital nightmare was gone and so was the castle, but sometimes she wished them back. Every morning she woke up in a sweat, the taste of Rob’s skin on her lips and the feel of his hands on her body. Moist and ready. A throbbing nose would have been less painful.
“I have to go over there.”
Ash and Viking exchanged horrified looks, then Ash grinned. “Try announcing to the village that Rob wants an independent Heaverlock festival so he can profit financially. That’ll get his attention. Or better yet, you could accuse him of stealing your materials and setting fire to Castle Manor. Then there’s—”
Viking shut Ash’s mouth with a short, hard kiss.
“Stop tasting her,” he chided and went to serve a customer.
Anjuli smiled at Ash’s dazed expression. “I think he means testing. Or maybe teasing?”
“Tasting is fine by me.”
Anjuli focused on the makeshift platform. There was no danger of her making a public spectacle of herself again. She would catch Rob as soon as he finished saying whatever he was going so say and went back to the glassblower’s table.
But what if he avoided her?
She was supposed to be the expert at avoidance but Rob had perfected the art. The only way to guarantee that he talked to her would be to waylay him at the bottom of the platform so there she would be.
The debate drew to an end and both sides gave their final arguments, the last of these from Rob. He didn’t want Heaverlock to join Halton, and maintained they were better off celebrating the Common Riding independently, that merging their traditions risked diluting the historical significance of Heaverlock. He stayed on the platform along with a few others, debating the point until Councillor Hamish thanked everybody involved and read out a few community notices.
It was over? How had Rob ended up at the opposite end of the platform? Had he seen her hovering, waiting to waylay him? He jumped off and walked into the crowd and she called out, but he didn’t seem to hear her. Or didn’t want to.
Anjuli ran up the platform steps and grabbed the microphone from the table. “I would like to say something, if I may.”
“Is it pro or against the union of our festivals?” Councillor Hamish enquired politely.
Along with the rest of the pub, Rob stopped to listen, and Anjuli balked. In her sweaty palms the microphone felt as slippery as a snake. “I think Heaverlock and Halton work better together and keeping our festivals independent would perpetuate our ancient misunderstandings and be a grievous mistake.” She looked at Rob. “I know a lot about mistakes. I also know a lot about isolation. I think we belong together, that stupid, hurtful decisions were made in the past, but that we can embrace the future, erm, festivals side by side. No matter the risk.”