Кит Мори - Deathly Wind

Liam Sartori laid down his cue and picked up his cigarette. He took a deep inhalation on it and smiled at his employer. ‘We’ll do you proud, boss.’

‘You do that. As for me, I’m going to take the girls for a walk.’

The Duncan Institute was packed and the meeting was in full swing when Torquil arrived. The Padre had suggested that it would be a good idea for him to be there to get a flavour of the strength of local opinion about the wind farm issue.

Nial Urquart and Megan Munro were sitting behind a long table on the dais, together with Miss Bella Melville, the local retired schoolmistress who had educated most of the local people on West Uist between the ages of twenty and fifty. She was a sprightly looking seventy-something woman dressed in tweeds and a rust-coloured shawl. A tubby fellow of Torquil’s age with a double chin and lank hair, wearing a yellow anorak was standing in the front row of the audience addressing a question to the Say No to Wind Farms committee. In his hands he held an A5 spiral notebook with a pencil poised above it.

‘As you are all aware,’ he said, ‘the West Uist Chronicle has been running a series of articles on the pros and cons of wind energy for the last month. The SNWF committee say that windmills are injurious to wildlife, but could you give us any evidence that this will be a problem on West Uist?’

Torquil grinned. Calum Steele, the editor-in-chief, and in fact the only reporter on the West Uist Chronicle, was one of his oldest friends. They had been classmates together and both shared a healthy respect for Miss Bella Melville. As Torquil anticipated, their old teacher came out on the attack.

‘Calum Steele, you are fishing for a quote. You were always a nosy boy at school. That’s why I told you to become a journalist—’

Calum swallowed hard and two red patches began to form on his cheeks as general laughter went round the hall.

‘— and you already know about the damage that windmills do to bird populations. I sent you a paper about the European experience, which you quoted in an article last week.’ She glowered at him, daring him to refute her statement. ‘You know and I know that it will be just the same here on West Uist if these things are allowed to be erected.’

Calum raised his hand again. ‘Yes, but – er – how do you know it will be the same?’

Miss Melville sighed and shook her head in exasperation. ‘Nial, will you illuminate the Chronicle editor?’

Nial Urquart stood up and grinned. ‘Absolutely, Miss Melville. The problem relates to location. If wind farms are based near the coast then there is a significant danger to seabirds. And, of course, on West Uist we have an incredibly diverse seabird population. As the local Scottish Bird Protection Officer I have been surveying the coastal birds for the better part of a year. We have fulmars, puffins, shags, oystercatchers—’

Calum Steele raised a hand. ‘Excuse me for interrupting, but these are all common birds, are they not? What about our other birds, the protected species? The golden eagles, for example?’

Nial suddenly looked uncomfortable. ‘They would be at risk too. They are master predators and will take any food they can. If they were hunting near windmills they might be in danger of flying into the arms.’

‘A good riddance, too!’ exclaimed Alistair McKinley. ‘They take young sheep.’

Nial smiled humorously. ‘That is a myth, Alistair.’

‘They kill hedgehogs!’ Megan Munro piped up. ‘And you know that, Nial. They are vermin! Vermin!’

‘Ach! Not the hedgehog thing again!’ exclaimed Alistair McKinley. ‘Now they are real vermin and we’ll soon be taking care of them.’

Megan Munro shot to her feet. ‘They are not vermin. They are God’s own creatures and you will not touch one of my hedgehogs.’

Nial held a hand out to appeal to Megan for calm, but she shrugged him off angrily.

‘I’ll not touch your wee hedgehog farm, don’t worry, lassie,’ returned Alistair McKinley, ‘but I make no promises for all the other hedgehogs I find on the island.’

‘It is not a farm, it’s a sanctuary,’ Megan snapped, and slumped petulantly back into her seat.

A background murmur of merriment ran round the hall and Calum Steele gleefully made notes. It was just the sort of heated exchange that he had been looking for. Indeed, despite his fear of Miss Melville, he had been machinating for such a reaction. Bella Melville eyed him with displeasure, but he just kept his head down and continued jotting.

Vincent Gilfillan stood up. ‘Are we not getting a bit off the track here? Let’s be honest. The issue is about a wind farm being set up on the Wee Kingdom, is it not?’

Torquil noticed the two men who had been sitting on the back row, from time to time guffawing and mumbling to each other. Their faces had become serious as Vincent started to talk.

‘What does this new laird plan? Do we know if he’s got a significant wind farm plan in mind?’

Liam Sartori swiftly stamped to his feet. ‘Mr McArdle, the new laird, is not prepared to comment on that.’

‘And would you mind introducing yourself?’ Miss Melville asked. ‘Do you represent the laird?’

Liam Sartori grinned. ‘I am in his employ. Sartori is the name. And yes, I represent his interests at this meeting, as does my colleague here, Mr Daniel Reid.’

‘And can you enlighten us?’

Liam Sartori grinned and shook his head. ‘No comment, that’s all we are permitted to say.’

‘Except,’ added Danny Read, ‘that Mr McArdle is a staunch believer in renewable energy. Surely that’s a good thing in this day and age.’

The comment evoked a mixed reaction from the audience. Indeed it became obvious after a few moments that there was about a fifty-fifty balance, many people being in favour of anything that might increase the number of jobs and pump money into the island.

‘We want to be the first!’ yelled a young man in the middle of the hall.

‘That’s right; we need to get in before they build one on Lewis.’

Torquil looked over the audience and saw Alistair McKinley mumble something to Vincent Gilfillan, and gesture with a nod of his head towards Liam Sartori. Then he saw Calum Steele raise a hand and take to his feet again.

‘It seems that there are a lot of islanders who would welcome wind energy?’

The number of nodding heads and a chorus of assent left no doubt but that the audience was not as anti-wind farm as the SNWD committee had anticipated. It was immediately followed by a chorus of anti-windmill comments, then by a general murmur of disagreement, which prompted Miss Melville to take to her feet and try to subdue it. As she did so Torquil stood aside as Liam Sartori and Danny Reid edged their way out of the hall with amused expressions on their faces. He looked over at his friend Calum Steele, who was scribbling away as if there was no tomorrow, clearly enjoying the mêlée.

He was unsure himself exactly how he felt.

From the meeting Torquil went to pay a visit to Jessie McPhee, Ewan’s mother. A typical West Uist mist had descended suddenly from the Corlins, and its presence was enough to dampen his spirits. He smiled wistfully as he rode up to the shed at the back of the McPhee cottage. There were at least five holes in the shed roof, a result of Ewan’s hammer-throwing practice. Torquil pictured the big red-haired constable winding himself up and hurling the Scottish hammer over the roof as he worked on getting the trajectory just right to get maximum distance. Getting round to repairing his ‘low shots’ had been a frequent bone of contention between Ewan and his mother.

‘He was a strapping lad,’ Jessie said, with tears in her eyes and a cup and saucer in her hand, as she and Torquil sat before a peat fire in the front parlour.