Whirligig by Magnus Macintyre Page A

which was very limited – he suspected it would be one of two distinct experiences. Either it would be a delightful and vast bed with Egyptian cotton bedclothes and devilled kidneys for breakfast, or it would be a sleeping bag and a camp bed in a mildewed attic, with vast spiders and anonymous scuttlings in the wainscotting to keep him fearfully awake. But anything was better than having to go back to a bad hotel across open water, so he let Peregrine’s burbling stream of optimism drift over him. Coky too seemed to be staring into space, and eventually perhaps Peregrine realised that he did not have a fully attentive audience and ground to a halt.
    Silence had reigned for a short while, when Peregrine barked again.
    â€˜What about a PR campaign?’ he suggested.
    â€˜I think we’re beyond that now,’ said Claypole flatly.
    â€˜Mm,’ Coky added. ‘As far as I can see we have seven days to get together written material that persuades Tommy Thompson and John Bruce that the wind farm should be given planning permission.’
    â€˜Is John Bruce the guy with the specs?’ said Claypole. Coky nodded.
    â€˜What about the other woman? Helen something?’ asked Peregrine.
    â€˜MacDougall? Dead set against,’ said Coky. ‘We’ll never convince her, so there’s no point in trying. Almost as anti it as my mother.’
    â€˜Ah,’ said Peregrine, with heavy significance.
    Claypole’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean, “ah”?’
    â€˜Well, we have to change Bonnie’s mind, I’m afraid. At least… a bit.’
    â€˜I don’t follow.’ Claypole looked at Coky, but she too was frowning.
    Peregrine explained. When Peregrine inherited MacGilp House and the Garvach estate, two parcels of land were reserved in his mother’s will for his two sisters. A temporary right-of-way was required over those two parcels of land in order to get the huge turbine towers and blades to the construction site. Peregrine had already drawn up legal papers to guarantee his sisters a generous annual sum for the privilege of being able to drive HGVs across their land – which had no other use – but the two sisters had yet to sign. Without those signatures, there could be no wind farm.
    â€˜Oh,’ said Claypole.
    â€˜Yes,’ said Peregrine gravely. ‘I rather thought that they might talk to you. I don’t see Dorcas much, and I haven’t spoken to the wicked witch for a year.’
    Coky blushed.
    Claypole was engaged with the subject now. ‘And they know how much they are being paid?’
    â€˜Yup.’
    â€˜But you still can’t get them to sign?’
    â€˜Nope.’
    â€˜So… do they want more money?’
    Peregrine hesitated. ‘Honestly, I think they’re just doing it to piss me off. Silly girls.’
    The three of them sat in silence again.
    â€˜I’m off to bed,’ said Coky quickly, and left the room with such speed that Clayple wondered if he had done something to offend her. But Peregrine seemed not to have noticed, and ploughed on.
    â€˜I’ll do all the paperwork that Tommy Thompsonwants us to do, if you’ll just… Well, do you think you could go and have a word with them?’
    Claypole thought. He knew he was not the man for any job that required diplomacy and tact, but all he really wanted at that moment was to go to sleep for a long time – and would have agreed to anything that would get him to a bed faster.
    Claypole stood up and stretched.
    â€˜Yeah. Probably. Can I sleep on it?’ he said, yawning as pointedly as he could without overacting.
    â€˜Sure,’ said Peregrine, beginning to turn out the lights. As they walked through the door to the kitchen, the old man clicked his fingers. ‘How rude of me…’
    Claypole waited for the invitation to stay, which must surely now be coming.
    â€˜You’re welcome to borrow the old Land