Shadow On The Fells. Eleanor Jones
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objections from the locals?” he asked the builder.
“Probably,” Jim said. “People around here object to everything.”
Back at Craig Side, Will ate a late lunch beside the stove. For the first time in what felt like ages, he felt a flicker of enthusiasm for the future, followed almost immediately by regret that he might have to leave this place he had become so attached to. The builders’ presence was irritating enough, but it was temporary; what would a property constantly full of tourists do to him?
It was kind of weird that he—who not so long ago thrived on the hubbub of city life—now felt threatened by the idea of sharing his space with just a few tourists.
Closing his eyes, he listened to the silence. It was total and welcome, calming his troubled mind. Later, he supposed, picking up the crumpled invoice from where he had thrown it earlier, he would have to go up to High Bracken and drop off a check. And this time, after the trip he’d made to the men’s outfitters in town, at least he would be dressed right. Hopefully he could act right, too; no one had made him feel as awkward as Chrissie Marsh since he’d become a lawyer.
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