rose over him like a hot sea. ‘I wouldn’t take that attitude, if I were you.’
‘No?’ The man sounded unconvinced. ‘What attitude should I take with a weapon pointin’ at me? Intendin’ murder, are you?’
‘Why not – you’re murdering the river!’
‘I’ve never heard of a river bein’ murdered. It doesna’ look dead to me.’ He was sounding very sure of himself now.
‘But it soon bloody well will be. Then you’ll have a chance to see what it looks like – when it’s too bloody late!’
‘Och well. Somethin’ to see then.’
‘You don’t give a shit, do you?’
‘I wouldna’ say that,’ came the cool reply. ‘But then, why should I? An’ then again, why should you ? They say you’re rich enough, eh?’
‘What the hell’s that got to do with it?’ Nick’s wrath wasn’t helped by the realization that the tall man knew exactly who he was.
The man pushed his head forward and spoke in fierce virtuous tones. ‘You come in here, you buy up the place an’ you think you own the entire country. You’ve no knowledge of our ways, no notion of our customs – ’
‘Your customs! You call years of wholesale poaching a custom! Christ – ’
‘No notion – ’
‘It’s you who’s got no notion, chum. The world won’t put up with your sort any longer. Perhaps you haven’t heard of conservation up here, but believe me the rest of the world has.’ Nick waved the gun in a vaguely southerly direction.
‘The rest of the world? Och, I beg your pardon.’ The voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘It’s in the name of conservation, is it, that your friends come up from London in their grand cars an’ lord it over the place an’ boast how they caught a salmon all by theirselves, eh? It’s in the name of con-ser-vation’ – he drew out the syllables scornfully – ‘that we have to put up with your kind tellin’ us what to do, is it?’
‘There’s been no fishing on this river for three years,’ Nick cried in exasperation. ‘And there’ll be no fishing for years to come either – not while you go on draining the bloody river dry.’
‘No fishin’, eh? Is that a fact?’ The voice was both mocking and uncompromising. ‘The folks round here will believe that when they see it. Let me tell you’ – he raised a hand and Nick took a step backwards, momentarily misreading the gesture in the darkness – ‘we’ve been comin’ to this river for longer than any of us can remember. It’s our right. We’re not about to stop, not for the wild ideas of some loony pop star.’
Trembling with rage, Nick heard himself snap hotly: ‘Songwriter.’ No sooner said than regretted: what a time for accuracy.
A bow. ‘Och, I beg your pardon.’
Nick flushed in the darkness, and let his anger carry him forward again. ‘As for wild ideas, Christ, you can talk. You can’t see any farther than the next easy buck. You don’t give a damn about what happens to the river – ’
‘That we do!’ the rough voice interjected, sounding injured. ‘We want the fish back. It’s not been good for us – ’
‘But they’re not your fish!’ Nick cried.
‘An’ what makes you think they’re yours?’
‘Damn it, they are mine!’
The other man didn’t reply and Nick had the impression he was pulling a contemptuous face, even a laughing one.
Nick rushed on: ‘Not good for you – God, you’ve a bloody nerve. If we’re going to talk money, how much do you make a night, eh? Three hundred, five hundred? Who’s the rich guy, then, eh?’
The comparison was a mistake, Nick knew it as soon as he said it. But the tall man wasn’t about to bother with words, not when action would do, not when Nick had forgotten all about the gun and let the barrel drop. He came for the gun with a speed and confidence that caught Nick totally offguard. Grabbing the barrel, he drove his body against Nick’s and carried him backwards until Nick staggered, fighting for balance.
Finding his feet again, Nick
‘No?’ The man sounded unconvinced. ‘What attitude should I take with a weapon pointin’ at me? Intendin’ murder, are you?’
‘Why not – you’re murdering the river!’
‘I’ve never heard of a river bein’ murdered. It doesna’ look dead to me.’ He was sounding very sure of himself now.
‘But it soon bloody well will be. Then you’ll have a chance to see what it looks like – when it’s too bloody late!’
‘Och well. Somethin’ to see then.’
‘You don’t give a shit, do you?’
‘I wouldna’ say that,’ came the cool reply. ‘But then, why should I? An’ then again, why should you ? They say you’re rich enough, eh?’
‘What the hell’s that got to do with it?’ Nick’s wrath wasn’t helped by the realization that the tall man knew exactly who he was.
The man pushed his head forward and spoke in fierce virtuous tones. ‘You come in here, you buy up the place an’ you think you own the entire country. You’ve no knowledge of our ways, no notion of our customs – ’
‘Your customs! You call years of wholesale poaching a custom! Christ – ’
‘No notion – ’
‘It’s you who’s got no notion, chum. The world won’t put up with your sort any longer. Perhaps you haven’t heard of conservation up here, but believe me the rest of the world has.’ Nick waved the gun in a vaguely southerly direction.
‘The rest of the world? Och, I beg your pardon.’ The voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘It’s in the name of conservation, is it, that your friends come up from London in their grand cars an’ lord it over the place an’ boast how they caught a salmon all by theirselves, eh? It’s in the name of con-ser-vation’ – he drew out the syllables scornfully – ‘that we have to put up with your kind tellin’ us what to do, is it?’
‘There’s been no fishing on this river for three years,’ Nick cried in exasperation. ‘And there’ll be no fishing for years to come either – not while you go on draining the bloody river dry.’
‘No fishin’, eh? Is that a fact?’ The voice was both mocking and uncompromising. ‘The folks round here will believe that when they see it. Let me tell you’ – he raised a hand and Nick took a step backwards, momentarily misreading the gesture in the darkness – ‘we’ve been comin’ to this river for longer than any of us can remember. It’s our right. We’re not about to stop, not for the wild ideas of some loony pop star.’
Trembling with rage, Nick heard himself snap hotly: ‘Songwriter.’ No sooner said than regretted: what a time for accuracy.
A bow. ‘Och, I beg your pardon.’
Nick flushed in the darkness, and let his anger carry him forward again. ‘As for wild ideas, Christ, you can talk. You can’t see any farther than the next easy buck. You don’t give a damn about what happens to the river – ’
‘That we do!’ the rough voice interjected, sounding injured. ‘We want the fish back. It’s not been good for us – ’
‘But they’re not your fish!’ Nick cried.
‘An’ what makes you think they’re yours?’
‘Damn it, they are mine!’
The other man didn’t reply and Nick had the impression he was pulling a contemptuous face, even a laughing one.
Nick rushed on: ‘Not good for you – God, you’ve a bloody nerve. If we’re going to talk money, how much do you make a night, eh? Three hundred, five hundred? Who’s the rich guy, then, eh?’
The comparison was a mistake, Nick knew it as soon as he said it. But the tall man wasn’t about to bother with words, not when action would do, not when Nick had forgotten all about the gun and let the barrel drop. He came for the gun with a speed and confidence that caught Nick totally offguard. Grabbing the barrel, he drove his body against Nick’s and carried him backwards until Nick staggered, fighting for balance.
Finding his feet again, Nick