Shadow On The Fells. Eleanor Jones

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      WILL STEPPED THROUGH the back door of the shabby white farmhouse at Craig Side with a heavy sigh of relief and, to his surprise, a sense of homecoming. The walk up the fell with Max had been meant to clear his head, invigorate his senses and push back the dark thoughts that the builders’ presence had brought on. Great idea that had been; his clothes and shoes were ruined, his whole body felt battered and bruised, and he ached all over.

      “It’s all your fault, Max,” he complained to the muddy dog, who had sprawled in front of the stove the second they got in.

      Max half raised his head in response, thumping his bedraggled tail on the floor.

      “And you need a bath,” added Will, wishing the farmhouse boasted a shower. The thought of standing under a hot shower was so appealing, and a bath just wasn’t the same. His upmarket bachelor apartment in Manchester had a power shower, so the pressure was always good, and the first thing he did when he came home from work in the evening was to strip off his clothes and stand underneath it for at least fifteen minutes, allowing the force of the scalding-hot water to wash away the trials of the day.

      Perhaps he should get a shower fitted here right away. He had big plans for the place eventually, but it would be some time before they were put into action and he didn’t think he could stand only having a bath to wash in for the next year or so. The holiday rentals were his first priority, of course...which reminded him about the builder wanting him to look at the plans his architect had drawn up.

      Just as the thought came into his head, the banging that had made him go out in the first place started up again. So the builders were still here. He groaned. Well, might as well get it over with.

      Will stepped outside again and waved at Jim, calling him over.

      “Hi, Jim, come in,” he said brightly, opening the door wider. The tall gray-haired man he’d met earlier stepped inside, looking around intently.

      “So, I guess you’ll be wanting to do this place up next, when the holiday cottages are done,” he remarked. “Will you be living here, then?”

      Will nodded. “That’s the plan. I could probably do with putting in a shower right away, though.”

      Jim took in his muddy shins and tattered clothes and seemed to be suppressing a smirk. “There’s no water pressure, that’s the problem. Having your own supply is great, but it can be a bit unpredictable. I’ll get the plumber to have a look, if you like.”

      “Great,” said Will, part of him wishing he’d never said anything in the first place, as much as he craved a shower right now. He already regretted starting on his building plans so soon.

      After the gruesome child-murder trial that had been the final straw for him, he had put in his offer on Craig Side and filled his mind and imagination with ideas of what to do with it right away, anything to drown out the details of that case. He’d even had Roger Simmons, his architect, check out the property to brainstorm before the deal was properly finalized.

      Now that he was actually living here, though, Will realized he didn’t want to share it with anyone...not even the workmen. What he needed to recover from his breakdown was peace and quiet, not the stress and tumult of a huge project. But what was done was done, and he had to deal with it.

      Jim laid the plans out on the kitchen table. “Have a good walk?” he asked.

      Will thought about his clash with the woman on the fell. “I wouldn’t exactly put it like that,” he replied with frown. “In fact, you may have noticed that I look as if I have been dragged through a rather thick thorn hedge backward.”

      Jim raised his wild, gray eyebrows. “Well, I did wonder...”

      “I upset some sheep on the fell,” Will explained. “Or, at least, Max did...”

      Jim glanced at the mud-splattered labradoodle, unable to contain a smile. “And I’ll hazard a guess that, as she is your nearest neighbor, the sheep were rough fells and they belonged to Chrissie Marsh.”

      Will shrugged. “I wouldn’t have a clue what the sheep were, but the shepherdess—can you call them that these days or are they all just shepherds?—was definitely Chrissie Marsh.”

      Jim grinned slowly. “If you’ve upset her sheep then I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes.”

      “It will take more than a disgruntled sheepherder to upset me.” Will thought of all the hardened criminals he’d mingled with in the past ten years. “Unless she has a violent husband...”

      “Oh, no,” Jim said. “Chrissie is a loner. She loves her sheep and her dogs, and she doesn’t suffer fools gladly. She’s never been married.” He went back to the plans. “Now, what about this entrance hall? Roger wondered if you wanted a central entrance—you know, like a foyer, and then have apartments inside the barn rather than build individual cottages in the farmyard.”

      Will shook his head, cupping his chin between thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. “No, I’m beginning to think that perhaps they need to be...authentic. You know, traditional, just like they were in the past.”

      “What...no showers or microwaves? Electricity?”

      “It’s just a thought. Roughing it is all the rage these days. City dwellers love the idea of going back to nature and experiencing how things used to be.”

      Jim rolled up the plans, securing them with an elastic band. “It sounds as if you need to have a meeting with Roger, then. He wanted you to look these over because he was hoping to get them ready for next month’s planning meeting, but it seems like it’s going to take a bit longer than that. I’ll drop these off at his house on my way home and tell him to give you a call.”

      Will nodded. “Thanks. My first thoughts were to have apartments, but to be honest since coming here I’ve been realizing how strong the traditions are. I mean, take Chrissie, for instance. I reckon shepherds just like her have been walking these fells with their dogs in the same way for hundreds of years.”

      “Thousands, more likely,” Jim remarked. “Maybe you have something there, then, but I am no architect—or expert on what folks want, for that matter. You need to talk to people who know about stuff like that. Anyway, I’ll see what I can do about your shower. Oh, and I’m afraid the roof trusses in the barn are rotten, six of them, at least. It would be a big mistake not to replace them.”

      “Just order what you need,” СКАЧАТЬ