Shadow on the Fells (9 page)

Chrissie heaved a sigh of relief as the sound of his vehicle faded. At least he'd had the decency to apologize. Not that she cared, of course. She'd walked away from him to make a statement—a pathetic one, maybe, but it made her feel better.

The only problem was that she still had to go back outside to check the sheep. “And as for you,” she said to the little collie that was staring up at her, wagging its plumed tail. “It's actually all your fault. What were you doing getting into his car in the first place?”

Floss wriggled with pleasure at the attention, and Chrissie stroked her head before calling to Tess and Fly, who were both lying prostrate by the stove. “Come on, you two, there are sheep still to check.”

They jumped up at once, immediately wide awake. It never failed to impress Chrissie how dogs could go so quickly from sleep to full alert...or maybe it was just her dogs. It occurred to her just how little she knew of the world. In Will Devlin's eyes, she must seem so gauche and naive.

Did she care, though? She remembered the way his silvery eyes seemed to be able to see right into her soul. No, of course she didn't care; hotshot lawyers had no place in her world, and she couldn't understand why she'd accepted his help, anyway. All told, his presence had probably prolonged her night rather than lightened her load.

“Come on,” she called to the dogs, and they fell in behind her as she headed back out into the night.

No, hotshot lawyers had no place in her world, but this one had inserted himself into it. And his plans could put everything she loved at risk.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
HE
BANGING
CAME
on Will's door just as he was finishing his breakfast: two thin slices of toast with low-fat spread and a cup of black coffee. The importance of being in shape had been so much a part of his other life that he found it hard to break the habit.

Heavy lunches with clients had had to be overcome by watching everything else he ate. Of course, always looking good and in control of every aspect of his life wasn't really necessary anymore. He ate when and what he wanted and saw so few people these days that he didn't feel the need to impress anyone with his appearance. And all those strenuous walks with Max on the steep fell slopes had made him fitter than he'd been in years. Old habits died hard, though, and he still liked to look at least halfway decent. He certainly hadn't impressed Chrissie Marsh, that was for sure; she must be the first person ever to stand and laugh at him for his unsuitable attire. As for all that mud and afterbirth...what had he been thinking?

The banging came again and he downed his coffee, feeling irritable as he strode to the door. Why couldn't people just leave him alone?

At the sight of Roy Wallis's tall, imposing figure he took a step back.

“Why don't you answer your phone?” asked Marcus Finch's top man, pushing past Will to go inside. “I've been trying to call you since you left the office.”

“Because I chose not to bother,” Will replied.

Roy stopped in the hallway, glancing around in dismay. “Why on earth do you want to live in this godforsaken spot?”

“Because it's real.”

Roy stared at him with the same authority that Will himself exuded. “Don't be ridiculous. What's ‘real' about living here? Reality lies in the city. What you do there really means something, changes lives. Can't you see you're just wasting away here?”

“Don't you mean what I
used
to do there? And I'm not wasting away.”

“Well, you are wasting your talent. There is no better lawyer than you, Will. Marcus Finch needs you back.”

“I told you, Roy. I'm done with defending the wrong guys, done with the corruption and cruelty. It's barbaric.”

“No!” Roy splayed his manicured hands on the table. “Can't you see
this
is barbaric? They are a hundred years behind the times here. I could hardly even find the place.”

Will just shrugged. “Then why did you try?”

“Because you don't answer your phone.”

“Then don't try and call me.”

Roy took a breath, making an obvious effort to tamp down his temper. “I've thought about what we discussed, and I have an offer for you.”

“I don't remember
discussing
anything. I just remember you telling me what you wanted. I'm not interested in your offer.”

Roy sat down heavily. “Why don't you make me a coffee while I at least explain what's on the table? Please, Will, for old time's sake if nothing else.”

Will rolled his eyes and reached for the kettle. “Black, no sugar, I presume.”

The two men sat in silence for a full five minutes, sipping their coffees. “Nothing you have to say will tempt me back, you know,” said Will. “I've had enough.”

Roy Wallis leaned forward. “But why, when you were so good?”

Will grimaced. “Yes, I was, wasn't I? And I enjoyed it at first, changing people's fates. I never thought about it as real, you see...never thought about how it affected people's lives...never thought about the cruelty and corruption. It was all just clever wordplay to me...until that last case. The fact that children were involved made it come alive and then I thought about all the other cases...murder, extortion and the rest. I made myself sick...so I had to walk away.”

Roy placed a hand on Will's arm. “I get it, I really do. We all do, at the firm, and we want to make you an offer.”

Will stood and poured his coffee down the sink. “There is no offer that can tempt me back to law.”

“What if I said you can pick your cases and be paid twice much as you were before for each one? You can still do criminal law, but maybe only defending wrongfully accused clients. Imagine it, Will, your chance to stamp out some of the violence and corruption you have come to hate so much. You know these people, know what makes them tick. You'll be magnificent.”

Will gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles turning white. The smell of the courtroom filled his nostrils...the tension...

Roy walked across and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I won't keep you any longer. The offer is there if you want it. All we ask is that you give it some thought and think of it as undoing past wrongs. You left us in the lurch, Will. It's payback time.”

For over an hour after his old boss and mentor had left, Will sat at the table, his mind in turmoil. How could he have felt such elation at winning cases when his victories were unworthy of joy? It had all been about him, his successes, his clever words, finding gaps in the evidence or loopholes in the law and seeing the amazement on people's faces as he won yet another big case. Not for the first time since he walked away, he realized he didn't really like himself much. Roy was right that it was payback time, but not the way he'd meant it.

The sound of Max whining outside broke into his thoughts. Will cringed. He'd let the dog out first thing and then, with Roy Wallis turning up, he'd forgotten all about him.

“Max,” he called, hurrying to the door.

The big dog burst into the kitchen with a wide smile on his face, jumping up to plant his huge front paws against his master's chest and leaving two muddy prints.

“Now where have you been?” asked Will, pushing the exuberant dog down and reaching for a damp cloth.

“Chasing sheep that's what,” Jim Wentworth replied, stepping into the kitchen without being asked. “I saw him up the fell earlier, running after a ewe with a single lamb, but when I shouted he totally ignored me. I came to tell you, but you had an important-looking visitor and I didn't like to interrupt.”

Will grimaced, dabbing at the dirty marks. “Oh, he's important, all right—in his own world. Here, he is nothing.” When Jim looked at him quizzically, Will shook his head. “You really don't want to know. Anyway, obviously Max came back.”

“Yes, but you really are going to have to keep him under control,” Jim insisted. “Or some farmer will shoot him. It's perfectly legal and none of them would think twice.”

“What, not even my nearest neighbor, the formidable Chrissie Marsh?”

“Especially Chrissie... Now, she really is passionate about her sheep, and you wouldn't believe the damage a rogue dog can do. They rip and tear at the sheep, even kill them, and then trot off back home as if butter wouldn't melt to curl up in front of the fire.”

“Not Max, though,” Will said. “He would never actually hurt the sheep. He just thinks it's a game.” Guiltily, he thought of the sheep and duck whose lives had been cut short by Max's recklessness. But those had been accidents.

“That's what all owners think, that their dogs wouldn't do that, but believe me—almost all dogs have deep-rooted instincts that can turn them into killers. It can begin with excitement, to be sure, but the hunting instinct lurks just beneath the surface. Max is no different from any other dog.”

“I still can't see Chrissie shooting him, though.”

Jim shook his head. “You don't really get it, do you? Up here it is all about survival. The farmers may love their creatures, but they have to earn their keep.”

“And if they don't?”

Jim shrugged. “Put it like this—they wouldn't keep a ewe if it didn't produce lambs. It wouldn't be economically viable. And if a sheepdog won't work, it has to be sold as a pet...or put down. There are exceptions, of course. An old dog, for instance, that has worked for years and earned the right to retirement, or the odd pet terrier—although even they usually kill rats to earn their keep.”

“And I thought this was a tranquil place,” remarked Will. “It seems I was wrong. Obviously life can be cruel and harsh around here, too.”

“Never without reason or regret, though,” Jim said. “And never from greed and envy... It's just about necessity and survival, like in nature.”

“Then there it differs totally from the city, where greed and envy rule most people's lives.”

“That's very cynical.”

“I have reason to be cynical,” Will said, walking across to peer out the window. “And you really do believe that Chrissie would shoot my dog?”

Jim nodded determinedly. “I know she would. You need to keep him under better control and get him some serious training.”

“Then that's what I shall do,” Will said. “Can't have you shot, can we, Maxy boy? But where can I find a trainer?”

Jim's smile held a hint of irony. “Chrissie is the best there is, but she only trains sheepdogs. If I were you, I'd go to the vet's and see if they can recommend anyone.”

“Well, it definitely won't be Chrissie. She and I don't really see eye to eye on things.”

“What things?” Jim asked curiously. “I didn't realize that you knew her. There was the incident with the sheep, of course, but I thought you'd gotten past that.”

“Well, we kind of had but then there were the ducks...”

“What ducks?”

“The Indian Runner ducks—she uses them to help train the sheepdogs.”

“Don't tell me that Max chased them, as well.”

“Worse,” Will said. “He killed one...well, not intentionally, but it did die.”

Jim held back a smile. “Better not ask her, then.”

“It's not just that.”

Jim held up both his hands in dismay. “Go on,” he said. “Tell me.”

“We had a bit of an argument about my intentions for Craig Side.”

“And?”

Will sighed. “I don't think she's too keen on the idea of holiday rentals.”

“She'll object to the planning, then,” Jim said. “Nothing more sure. Chrissie Marsh hates tourists with a vengeance. Trouble is, she can't accept the fact that the Lake District can't do without them. Think how many jobs would be lost if there were no tourists.”

“I helped her with the sheep last night.” Will threw in the comment as an afterthought, changing the subject. “It made me realize just how ancient and entrenched in tradition the way of life around here is. I'll bet that shepherding hasn't changed for hundreds of years. Do you know that she actually skins a ewe's dead lamb to try and get it to accept an orphan lamb in its place?”

Jim shrugged. “It's still common practice around here. I may be a builder now, but I was brought up on a farm and I worked with the sheep a lot as a boy. They have lambing crates nowadays—the ewe's heads are held so that they can quite happily eat and drink but they can't actually sniff the new lamb until the ewe's own milk has gone through the orphan's system, helping to make its smell familiar to her. You can get sprays, too, that are supposed to help with the bonding process. Most farmers revert to the old tried and tested methods, though. So you enjoyed working with the sheep, then?”

Will smiled. “Do you know, I actually did. I mean, don't get me wrong, it was cold and wet and muddy, but there was something very satisfying about it. I've never really seen anything born before...but I don't suppose I'll be helping her again after she found out about the planning permission. She wasn't happy, that's for sure.”

“Doesn't sound very promising,” Jim agreed. “She's a stubborn woman, Chrissie Marsh. If she gets a bee in her bonnet then it's difficult to sway her.”

Will nodded. “Well she definitely has a bee in her bonnet over the holiday rentals. We got off on a bad foot, but after I helped her with the sheep I thought we were past it. Anyway, the holiday rentals are going ahead no matter how much she protests. They are my income for the future.”

Jim nodded. “I don't think there's any doubt that you'll get the planning permission, especially now that you want to make them more authentic... Which reminds me, Roger Simmons wants you to look at the new plans. He said that he'd called you several times but your phone was switched off. Anyway, he gave me a copy for you—it's in the van. He said to ring for a meeting with him when you've looked at them.”

“And have you seen them?” Will asked. “What did you think?”

“Yes, I've seen them...and they seem fine to me, though I'm still not sure people will want to go back in time like that. Couldn't you at least have some discreetly disguised showers?”

Will shook his head determinedly. “That would ruin the whole concept. Trust me, there are people who would love to stay somewhere like this. For city dwellers, it would be a huge adventure.”

“Well, you know best, I guess,” Jim said, still not convinced. “I'll go and get them, then. Or...” He smiled impishly. “Maybe I'll just go over to High Bracken and run them past Chrissie first. See what she thinks.”

Will bristled, unused to joking around. “You'll do no such thing.”

* * *

O
N
HER
HANDS
and knees in the meadow above High Bracken, Chrissie was helping a ewe give birth to a very stubborn lamb. After a great deal of effort, the lamb slipped out onto the ground and she removed the mucous from its tiny black nose, rubbing its chest roughly to try and get it breathing. When it let out a bleat and began to wriggle, Chrissie stood back to let it get on its feet and allow its mother to bond with her new offspring.

In the wild, lambs needed to be up and running as soon as possible, for any number of predators could be lurking. This lamb's instincts seemed to be just as strong as her truly wild ancestors' had been. Just as well, thought Chrissie, watching the wobbly little creature starting to suckle. With dogs like Will Devlin's labradoodle on the loose, no sheep or lamb was safe.