by Jenny Colgan
‘Thanks so much,’ said Flora.
‘I just want it off of here. Away. And that’s what I need you guys for.’
‘Normally we handle business mergers and acquisitions,’ said Joel thoughtfully. He was looking at the landscape, Flora noticed, but not like he really got it. Not like he saw what it meant; more like he was measuring it up, in pounds and pence. ‘I mean, Scottish planning… it’s different.’
‘Yeah, but can you do it? I know you guys. I don’t want to have to start talking to some self-satisfied prig in Edinburgh who spends a lot of money on stationery.’
Joel nodded.
‘Who approves these things?’
‘Town council,’ said Flora automatically. ‘They handle planning. Unless it’s a massive problem, then I suppose Mure Council would decide.’
‘Why won’t they move it?’
Colton shrugged.
‘I don’t know. I don’t know what they think of me round here, but I haven’t had much support so far.’
Both men were suddenly looking at Flora.
‘What?’ said Flora, who didn’t want to answer the question and had been looking out to sea because she thought she’d suddenly seen a seal’s head pop up. She looked again; yes, there it was, its whiskers glinting in the sun. She wanted to nudge Joel to show him, but obviously it would be completely inappropriate.
‘What do they think of Colton on the island?’ prompted Joel, looking annoyed that she hadn’t been paying attention.
‘Oh…’ Flora wasn’t sure what to do here: tell the truth or flatter the client. ‘Well… they don’t see you around that much,’ she said, adding diplomatically, ‘You know, you’re not here that often.’
Colton frowned.
‘But I bring a lot of money to this island.’
There was a pause.
‘With respect,’ began Flora. Joel shot her a warning glance, but she figured there wasn’t a lot of point in beating around the bush. The locals weren’t going to come out and support him, and that was that. ‘You don’t… I mean, you bring your own people in, and you don’t shop in the village.’
‘That’s because the produce is —’
‘I’m just saying,’ said Flora. ‘You don’t drink in the pub.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Flora. ‘It’s just something people do.’
‘Why?’
‘Why do pubs exist?’
Colton smiled.
‘Okay, go on. How else am I failing Mure, apart from investing in it, building on it, protecting its flora and fauna…’
‘You’ll be shooting quite a lot of that.’
‘Law firms are definitely getting quite bracing these days,’ said Colton to Joel, who was watching without saying anything. Flora felt nervous, like she’d gone too far.
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘No, no,’ said Joel. ‘Actually, Colton, it’s useful. To know where you stand when we’re putting our strategy together.’
‘What, that everybody hates me?’
‘No!’ said Flora. ‘But nobody knows you.’
There was a pause, as the waves lapped quietly against the perfect sand.
‘So I should go and make nice? So people will support me?’
‘You could just make nice anyway,’ said Flora, smiling slightly.
Colton smiled back.
‘Yeah, yeah, all right… so speaks a lawyer.’
‘I’m not —’ began Flora, but Joel stopped her.
‘What about an animal protection measure?’ he said.
Flora shook her head.
‘What?’ said Joel.
‘Island’s too small,’ she said. ‘If you couldn’t have a wind farm because of the wildlife, the protection zone would go all the way round. You couldn’t put it anywhere.’
‘Well, let’s not put it anywhere,’ said Colton.
‘Then they’ll build a nuclear power plant,’ said Joel. ‘Then you’ll be sorry.’
‘There he is,’ said Flora, pointing.
‘What?’
Colton and Joel followed her outstretched arm but couldn’t work out what she meant at first.
‘Look!’ she said, surprised. ‘Can’t you see?’
The seal popped up with a surprised look on his smiling face, his whiskers trailing water.
‘Well, look at that,’ said Colton.
‘Don’t shoot it,’ said Flora.
He rolled his eyes.
‘No, ma’am. Well now, isn’t he lovely?’
‘He is,’ said Flora.
Joel squinted.
‘What is that, a sea lion?’
They both looked at him.
‘You’ve spent too long with sharks in suits,’ said Colton. He looked at Flora. ‘I notice it was you who spotted it.’
Flora blinked impatiently.
‘I can see why there’s that old legend.’
‘What old legend?’ said Joel.
‘Seal people,’ said Colton. ‘They believe that stuff up here. Seals that turn into humans. They get married sometimes, but they always go back to the sea in the end. Are you one? Is that your cousin?’
Flora desperately tried to smile, but couldn’t.
‘Don’t they have your colouring?’ said Colton.
She suddenly flashbacked to the funeral, that awful, awful day, and was filled with a terrifying sense that she might cry.
‘Hmm,’ she said.
Joel looked at her. Her pale face was distraught. On the white beach, with the green sea behind her that exactly matched the colour of her eyes, he saw, suddenly, that what looked colourless in the city was right at home here. He changed the subject.
‘So, what’s the answer?’
‘Further out,’ said Flora promptly, grabbing her way back to the conversation. ‘Somewhere you can’t see it. They could put it behind Benbecula; that’s uninhabited apart from the birds. You have to tow the turbines out anyway; that’s your cost. Moving them a bit further… I can’t see how that can matter. And the birds won’t mind.’
‘They’ll probably like it,’ said Colton. ‘Something new to shit on.’
‘So there’s a solution,’ said Flora. ‘It’s basically a PR job now.’
Joel shot her a sharp look.
‘That we could also totally handle for you,’ she continued smoothly.
‘Okay, where would you start?’ said Colton.
Flora smiled at him. ‘Councillors.’
Something struck her.
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘I might have a… a bit of a conflict. My dad’s on the council.’
‘This is excellent news.’
Flora shrugged.
‘I’m not sure he’s your biggest fan.’
‘Seriously? Am I going to have to charm-offensive everyone?’
‘Couldn’t hurt.’
‘It can hurt me!’ said Colton. ‘This is meant to be my haven of peace and tranquillity! I don’t want to have to spend every minute of the day chatting up old drunks I can’t understand. No offence to your father.’
‘Ahem,’ said Flora.
‘Who else is on the council?’ Joel said. And they wrote down the list: Maggie Buchanan, old Mrs Kennedy, Fraser Mathieson. Not a group naturally in favour of radical change. Which might work, Colton pointed out, if you didn’t want a wind farm on your doorstep. And might not if it would bring cheaper electricity to the residents.
‘Well,’ said Joel as they headed back. ‘You guys know what you’re doing. I’ll get back to London and you can keep me abreast of any developments.’
‘Hang on,’ said Colton. ‘I want you here to help me draw up the new proposals. People will want to see a real lawyer, and that I’m serious about this.’
‘Won’t she do?’ said Joel. Flora glanced at him, alarmed, and he had the grace to look slightly shamefaced about it.
‘We’re going to make an impression,’ said Colton. ‘Get on the
ground tomorrow, ask around, then we’ll meet and have dinner. You can bring someone local if you like,’ he said to Flora. ‘We might as well get started.’
Chapter Twenty-one
Flora backed the Land Rover out carefully, anxious not to touch any of Colton’s priceless cars. Joel sat beside her, making notes.
‘Well done,’ he said, and she glanced at him, surprised. ‘He took to you. Now you have to get the rest of the place on your side. God knows why I have to be here.’
‘So he’s got a real lawyer?’
‘A real lawyer with a lot of work to get on with.’ He turned to her. ‘But if this works out… he could bring the most tremendous amount of business our way. So.’
‘So don’t mess it up!’
He looked at her, his lips twitching slightly.
‘Is that what I sound like?’
‘What? No!’ said Flora, panicked.
‘You sounded like you were finishing my sentence for me.’
‘So I remember not to mess it up,’ said Flora quickly.
‘Hmm,’ said Joel, looking at her. ‘Uh, good, I guess.’
Flora tackled Maggie Buchanan first. She lived alone in one of the big houses along by the vicarage, and had always seemed rather grand to Flora.
‘Ah, the wanderer returns,’ she said as she answered the door, dressed neatly in a jumper, scarf and waxed jacket. Two or three dogs pottered around her heels.
‘Hello, Mrs Buchanan.’
Flora felt as if she was about to ask the woman to sponsor her for a charity fun run, and didn’t feel massively better when Maggie didn’t invite her in.
‘So. You’re a city girl now.’ There was disapproval in every word.
‘Hmm.’
Awkwardly, Flora explained the situation.
‘Oh, right, you’re working for the American.’ She said ‘the American’ as if referring to Donald Trump.
‘He wants to do things right up here,’ said Flora. ‘Make things nice.’
‘Well he can start by filling in that awful gap along the harbour.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The pink shop. The empty one. He bought it and hasn’t done anything with it. He’s just going to buy up everything on this island and turn it into his personal theme park, and I’m not having it.’
‘Okay,’ said Flora, making a note. ‘I’m sure I can talk to him about that.’
‘Are you?’ Maggie regarded her over her spectacles. ‘Well, good luck with that. But that wind farm could bring a lot of money to Mure. And we don’t see much of his.’
Mrs Kennedy wasn’t much better, and she also had a lot to say about Flora’s dancing, or lack thereof. Flora listened to her to be polite and ended up half promising to look out her old dance outfit again, though if it fitted her, it would be an absolute miracle.
Disheartened, she headed to the shop to pick up something for dinner – she found, to her surprise, that she was looking forward to cooking – and practically ran headlong into a large figure who was counting out sausages into his basket.
‘Hello!’ he said cheerfully when he saw her. It was Charlie, the genial Outward Adventures host. Flora found herself thinking how few men in London looked like him. Outdoorsy. Healthy. Not as if they spent too long under strip lighting, and inside windowless bars.
‘Where’s your dog?’ he said, frowning. ‘How’s he doing?’
‘He’s doing fine, thanks,’ said Flora. ‘Where are all your little shadows?’
‘Oh, that lot are done,’ he said. ‘They’ve had their time. Back home again. It’s businessmen next week. That’s why I’m buying the posh sausages.’ His voice sounded glum.
‘You don’t like them so much?’
‘The team-builders? Neh. They moan all the time and are weirdly competitive with each other, then they get drunk and get off with each other and treat it like a party.’
‘Can’t it be a party? Or is wet and miserable the point?’
‘They don’t take it seriously, so they don’t learn anything. They complain about the midges and never see the beauty of it. If I can get them to lift their heads out of their screens for ten minutes, I consider that a triumph.’
Flora thought of Joel, buried in his phone or his files.
‘So why do you do it?’
‘Because they’re idiots who pay a fortune for it. And that pays for the lads.’
‘Oh come on, you must teach them something.’
‘I try,’ said Charlie, his face softening a little. ‘Sorry. It’s just we sent the lads home this morning and I’ve been worrying about them. Some of them come from really tough backgrounds. I wish… sometimes I wish they didn’t have to go home. One of them said that to me. How bad does your home have to be when you’re twelve years old and you don’t want your mother?’
They stood in silence for a minute.
‘So. Probably why I’m not so cheered by the prospect of a dozen management accountants from Leicester who are turning up to form better inter-team disciplinary practices.’
He glanced into her basket.
‘Sorry, ignore me, I’m banging on. What are you getting?’
‘I’m not quite sure,’ said Flora, looking down. She’d popped into the butcher’s for some good stewing steak, and had added some flour, and was now reading from her mum’s recipe book for whatever else she needed to make Yorkshire puddings. She wasn’t sure, though, that mere ingredients would be enough to replicate the light, golden, puffy joy of her mother’s Yorkshires.
‘It’s nice you’ve come back to look after your family,’ observed Charlie.
‘I haven’t!’ said Flora. ‘Honestly! I’m working. But doing a bit of cooking. They’re big boys. They should be looking after themselves. I just want to show them how.’
‘Well, whatever it is you’re here for…’ he began, then pinkened a little, as if he’d said too much.
‘Actually, I’m trying to stop the wind farm.’
Charlie squinted.
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s ugly.’
‘Do you think? Have you not seen them all whirring around on a windy day? Harnessing all that lovely free energy? I think they’re beautiful.’
Flora glanced in his basket. There were oatcakes and Weetabix along with the sausages.
‘There’s a lot of brown in your shopping,’ she observed.
Charlie followed her gaze.
‘Next thing you’ll be telling me that oatcakes and Weetabix don’t go together.’
Flora smiled.
‘I mean… you could make a really good pie out of what you have,’ said Charlie.
She looked up at him.
‘Are you hoping I’ll ask you to dinner?’
‘Maybe I’ll just put the Weetabix between two oatcakes and bite in…’
‘Can I change your mind about wind farms?’
‘No.’
Flora took a bottle of the deep-brewed local ale off the shelf.
‘I could make a steak and ale pie,’ she mused.
‘I hate wind farms, and always have,’ said Charlie.
Flora smiled.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’m already cooking for a bunch of ingrates. I might as well get some compliments while I’m at it.’
Flora finished her shopping and Charlie carried it up the track to the farm for her.
‘Do you live in a tent all the time?’ wondered Flora as they walked along.
Charlie shook his head. There was an office on the other side of the island, he said, and he had a croft around there.
‘So when it’s raining, aren’t you tempted to just go home?’ she said in surprise. ‘Seeing as you’re nearly there?’
‘For rain?’ said Charlie. ‘It’s just a bit of rain – why would I?’
‘Because it’s yucky and disgusting?’
‘Not as yucky and disgusting as a hot, sticky tent,’ said Charlie. ‘Neh, give me a bit of wind and fresh air any day.’
As he strode
along, Flora admired his broad shoulders and the way he carried all the shopping as if it weighed nothing at all.
‘I don’t know how anybody can take the heat, I really don’t.’
Flora thought again of sweltering London days when the air con wasn’t really working and everyone was a bit begrimed and couldn’t sleep and moaned about it; and the stink rose from the pavements.
‘So where do you go on holiday?’
Charlie smiled.
‘Och, anywhere with a few mountains. There’s not enough to climb around here. Sometimes I’ll go bag a few Monroes. I went to the Alps last year. Oh, Flora, it’s beautiful up there.’
‘You climbed the Alps?’ said Flora, undeniably impressed.
‘Um, one or two of them.’
‘With Jan?’
‘She’s an excellent climber.’
She would be, thought Flora, looking at him to elaborate, which he did not do.
They arrived at the farmhouse.
‘Hi, Innes!’ Charlie waved.
‘Ciamar a tha-thu, Teàrlach,’ said Innes, who was bent over the books and pushed them away with relief when he saw them.
‘No,’ said Flora. ‘Don’t switch. It’s boring and I can’t remember any of it.’
‘But he’s from the Western Isles!’
‘Exactly! He’s a plum foreigner anyway. So.’
Charlie shrugged. ‘I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘Although I do prefer Teàrlach to Charlie. Just sounds more like me.’
Flora rolled her eyes.
‘Well, you should have said that when we met!’
‘I’m bored of spelling it.’
‘What are you up to anyway?’ said Innes. ‘Where’s your little line of waifs and strays?’
‘Boatload of wankers turning up tomorrow,’ said Charlie. ‘So tonight I’m grabbing at straws.’
‘Oh yeah, thank you so very much,’ said Flora.
Innes leapt up.
‘Beer?’
They all piled through into the kitchen, which, amazingly enough, the boys had cleared up from lunch. Flora blinked. Maybe it being tidy to begin with was going to make a difference. Or possibly it would last for twenty-four hours, then all fall apart again.