this area’s heritage?”
“Yeah, ’course I do.”
“Because your mother was up in arms about what I wrote?”
“Nothing to do with my mother. You betrayed the whole village with your article about providing everything for tourists.”
“You don’t think tourists are vital to this area’s economy?”
“Tourists—huh! Who needs ’em?”
Another voice broke in. “Most people in this village need them, Nathan.”
Jack turned. He hadn’t realised Abbey had come into the bar. She stood with Sally, and her green eyes flashed dangerously.
“All the shops depend on tourists,” she went on. “And the cafés, too.”
“And the pubs,” Sally added. “You’re talking through your hat, Nathan.”
“Yeah?” Nathan shrugged. “What about all the tourists who buy second homes here and leave ’em empty most of the time?”
“That’s a different issue and anyway, it doesn’t happen as much as it used to,” Abbey replied. “Most estate agents now advertise many houses for local occupancy only.”
“What does that mean?” Jack asked. “I saw it several times in the property pages in this week’s Chronicle .”
She turned to him. “The houses are only available to people who work locally, or who have lived here permanently for over three years.”
He nodded. “Okay, that’s a good policy.”
“You’ve changed your tune,” Nathan scoffed. “Thought you were all for the tourists and to hell with the locals.”
Jack turned back to him. “Isn’t tourism a way of protecting the local population, Nathan?”
“At the expense of preserving our historical buildings? The gatehouse would have fallen down by now if it hadn’t been for the efforts of my mother and a lot of people here. The funding was withdrawn because of your article. How are you going to explain that?”
Jack hadn’t expected to be put on the spot, but he glanced around at the expectant faces in the bar.
“Yeah, Jack,” Nathan’s mate, Gordon, challenged him. “What’s your explanation?”
* * * * *
Abbey was well aware Nathan Garside was being deliberately provocative. For as long as she could remember, he’d been a pompous ass who sneered at everyone simply because they weren’t as rich or influential as his own family.
She watched Jack take another mouthful of his beer, and held her breath. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, compressed his lips, and fixed Nathan with an impassive stare. She suppressed a smile. It was the mannerism she remembered well. Jack, calm and deliberate in the face of provocation, was considering his answer carefully.
When he spoke again, his voice was measured and even. “What exactly are you asking me to explain? Why I wrote the article? Was I aiming to get the gatehouse funding withdrawn? What are my views about preserving Lakeland’s heritage? Do I consider tourists to be more important than locals? Or vice versa? Tell me what you want me to explain, and I’ll do my best to give you an answer.”
“Oh, stop splitting hairs,” Nathan sneered. “We all know the problems your damned article caused.”
A woman’s voice broke in. “Those problems gave people here the opportunity to work together in a way they hadn’t done for years.”
Abbey, and everyone else, turned to Jeannie.
The older woman went on, “Which all goes to show that good can come out of what appears to be a disaster at the time. I think that’s what we should all remember, and not cross-examine Jack about something which happened a long time ago. Come on, folks, we’ve had an enjoyable evening so far. Let’s not spoil everything now with petty squabbles.”
Abbey leaned to whisper in Sally’s ear. “Your Mum always was the peacemaker when she and your Dad ran the pub.”
Sally nodded. “She’s the family peacemaker, too. Sees every side to a problem.”
“I still want an answer,” Nathan persisted.
Mike stepped forward. “You heard what Jeannie said, Nathan. End it now, unless you want
“Yeah, ’course I do.”
“Because your mother was up in arms about what I wrote?”
“Nothing to do with my mother. You betrayed the whole village with your article about providing everything for tourists.”
“You don’t think tourists are vital to this area’s economy?”
“Tourists—huh! Who needs ’em?”
Another voice broke in. “Most people in this village need them, Nathan.”
Jack turned. He hadn’t realised Abbey had come into the bar. She stood with Sally, and her green eyes flashed dangerously.
“All the shops depend on tourists,” she went on. “And the cafés, too.”
“And the pubs,” Sally added. “You’re talking through your hat, Nathan.”
“Yeah?” Nathan shrugged. “What about all the tourists who buy second homes here and leave ’em empty most of the time?”
“That’s a different issue and anyway, it doesn’t happen as much as it used to,” Abbey replied. “Most estate agents now advertise many houses for local occupancy only.”
“What does that mean?” Jack asked. “I saw it several times in the property pages in this week’s Chronicle .”
She turned to him. “The houses are only available to people who work locally, or who have lived here permanently for over three years.”
He nodded. “Okay, that’s a good policy.”
“You’ve changed your tune,” Nathan scoffed. “Thought you were all for the tourists and to hell with the locals.”
Jack turned back to him. “Isn’t tourism a way of protecting the local population, Nathan?”
“At the expense of preserving our historical buildings? The gatehouse would have fallen down by now if it hadn’t been for the efforts of my mother and a lot of people here. The funding was withdrawn because of your article. How are you going to explain that?”
Jack hadn’t expected to be put on the spot, but he glanced around at the expectant faces in the bar.
“Yeah, Jack,” Nathan’s mate, Gordon, challenged him. “What’s your explanation?”
* * * * *
Abbey was well aware Nathan Garside was being deliberately provocative. For as long as she could remember, he’d been a pompous ass who sneered at everyone simply because they weren’t as rich or influential as his own family.
She watched Jack take another mouthful of his beer, and held her breath. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, compressed his lips, and fixed Nathan with an impassive stare. She suppressed a smile. It was the mannerism she remembered well. Jack, calm and deliberate in the face of provocation, was considering his answer carefully.
When he spoke again, his voice was measured and even. “What exactly are you asking me to explain? Why I wrote the article? Was I aiming to get the gatehouse funding withdrawn? What are my views about preserving Lakeland’s heritage? Do I consider tourists to be more important than locals? Or vice versa? Tell me what you want me to explain, and I’ll do my best to give you an answer.”
“Oh, stop splitting hairs,” Nathan sneered. “We all know the problems your damned article caused.”
A woman’s voice broke in. “Those problems gave people here the opportunity to work together in a way they hadn’t done for years.”
Abbey, and everyone else, turned to Jeannie.
The older woman went on, “Which all goes to show that good can come out of what appears to be a disaster at the time. I think that’s what we should all remember, and not cross-examine Jack about something which happened a long time ago. Come on, folks, we’ve had an enjoyable evening so far. Let’s not spoil everything now with petty squabbles.”
Abbey leaned to whisper in Sally’s ear. “Your Mum always was the peacemaker when she and your Dad ran the pub.”
Sally nodded. “She’s the family peacemaker, too. Sees every side to a problem.”
“I still want an answer,” Nathan persisted.
Mike stepped forward. “You heard what Jeannie said, Nathan. End it now, unless you want
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