Which hardly seemed possible, as he was about twice her size.
She expected an immediate denial, a few assurances that it was nothing, and maybe even a return smile. That was what would have happened in any bar in America. In the South it would have been given with a lazy drawl, a charming twinkle, and no doubt a ma’am or darlin’ or two. In New Orleans, it would be “cher” or, as it was pronounced, “sha.”
What she got was a shake of the head and a gruff grunt that she assumed was meant to serve as his acknowledgment, before he turned sharply around to hunch back over his beer.
She stood there for a moment, staring at the broad back, hunched shoulders, and straight—maybe a little shaggy—dirty blond hair beneath the faded powder blue cap.
What in the world?
She shook her head at his rudeness. Maybe this was Oz after all.
Two
The chilly exchange the night before was forgotten in the warmth of a sunny new day as Annie made her way from the guest house to the harbor along the sunny waterfront street, walking hand in hand with Julien. Ahead of them she could see the distinctly shaped ferry terminal, which looked a little bit like a sombrero, that Julien told her had once been the site of the original castle in Stornoway. The pretty Victorian stone castle that dominated the opposite side of the harbor had been built a couple of hundred years after the original castle’s destruction. When she’d asked about visiting the new castle, the innkeeper told her that Lews, as it was called, wasn’t open. On prodding, she’d reluctantly added that it was being converted from use as a college to a cultural center.
Annie couldn’t blame the Islanders for their standoffishness—or in the case of the man last night, outright rudeness—but she wasn’t used to her friendly overtures being rebuffed. She supposed it was something she would have to grow accustomed to. The activists were clearly unwanted, and the tension with the locals was only going to get worse with what they had planned.
Something big. Something that will make a difference.
Her stomach fluttered a little. The thought of what they were going to do made her even more nervous now that she wasactually here.It will be fine,she told herself. Greenpeace did it all the time. Even Xena—Lucy Lawless herself—had done it. But climbing aboard a drillship in the middle of the North Atlantic to stage a sit-in had sounded much more exciting—and much less crazy—at home. But Julien was right. To draw media attention, they had to do something big. And sadly dramatic got attention—scientific articles didn’t.
If she was suddenly having second thoughts, she pushed them away.
Once they passed the ferry terminal building, another reason the locals were likely to become even more unwelcoming came into view.
She winced at the sight of the Porta Potties, tents, and makeshift banners that filled the parking lot. With the daily influx of activists growing, and guest houses and campgrounds full, the camp was only going to get bigger and even more of an eyesore.
Julien must have been watching her closer than she realized. “Is something wrong,ma belle? You are not still upset about last night?”
“I wasn’t upset. I just hit the jet-lag wall,” she said, repeating the excuse for her unusual quietness she’d given him when they returned to their room. Not wanting to give him another opportunity to ask her impressions of Jean Paul, she motioned to the camp. “You have to admit, it’s a bit of an eyesore. We aren’t likely to rally the locals to our cause with that marring the chamber of commerce views around here.” She looked around at the blue skies, the boats bobbing in the idyllic harbor, and the green-covered hillsides that framed it. “All those tents and banners”—not to mention the toilets—“won’t make very pretty postcards.”
Especially if the drilling went forward, and this turned into a permanent camp like the one on the Scottish mainland at the nuclear plant of Faslane, which had been there since 1982.
Julien smiled reassuringly, perhaps intuiting that she needed it, and squeezed her hand. “The point is to be noticed, Anne.” She didn’t usually like her name, which was why she went byAnnie, but if everyone pronounced Anne like Julien, she might change her mind. Instead of the harda, it was soft with the emphasis on the longnsound. Ah-nnn. “The more unsightly and disruptive we are, the more they will be unable to ignore us,” he added. “That’s how it works.”
Annie felt silly. She looked up at him apologetically, a lopsided grin turning her mouth. “I know. It’s just that”—she shrugged—“I didn’t expect this place to be so pretty.”
“Which is why we are here. To keep it that way,oui?”
He was right. The unsightly camp was much better than oily black water, a coastline of sludge, and dead wildlife. The exploratory drilling set to begin a scant seventy miles west of Lewis, Harris, and the dozens of other islands that made up the archipelago would be devastated by a spill. There were already over seven hundred oil fields in the North Sea east of Britain, but this proposed one to the west in the North Atlantic was too close. And she had the studies to prove it. But no one wanted to listen to her research when they had their own “experts.”
“Oui,”she agreed.
Julien waved to a group of activists he knew as they walked by, still holding her hand with the other. She supposed she should be glad they weren’t in such rustic conditions and that Julien had been able to find a guest room. But their time would come. They hoped to stay aboard the ship for at least a week. Long enough to bring attention to the issue.
Buoyed by the beautiful summer day and the relaxing presence of the man beside her, Annie felt her spirits lift. Whatever strange funk she’d been in since arriving, she willed it away. It would be fine. There was nothing different about Julien. He was still the exciting, smart, passionate man who had swept her off her feet. If she thought he’d been acting a little strange last night, she attributed it to her reaction to his friend. It wasn’t like her to make instant judgments like that. She vowed to give Jean Paul another chance.
Once beyond the parking lot, they turned onto the dock and moorings that fronted the town center. There were a few sailboats sprinkled in among the fishing boats and trawlers. Itpresented a charming picture, but on closer inspection she could see that many of them appeared to have seen better days. Chipped paint and rust seemed to be the order of the day.
She wrinkled her nose. “Who are we looking for again?”
“Island Charters.” Julien moved his head to the side to get a better look down the dock. “Jean Paul said there should be a hut and someone would be there to meet us.”
“I’m surprised Jean Paul didn’t come with us.” Especially as he was the one to set up the charter that would take them on their “dive” near the exploratory drillship. Not that she was necessarily complaining about his absence.
“He is taking care of other things—there are a lot of details to work out. With your experience, he thought you would be the best person to make sure we have everything we need. I know how, uh,particularyou are.”
Annie took the comment in the teasing spirit of which it was given. Her mouth quirked. He was right. She was very particular about her dive equipment, as he’d discovered the few times they were out together in New Orleans.
