Bluebell's Christmas Magic: A perfect and heart-warming cosy Christmas romance for 2019

by Marie Laval

  ‘Ruth was engaged? I didn’t know that.’

  ‘She was betrothed to Gideon Hardy, a rich farmer from Coniston. He was a very good match for her, much better than the Merriweathers could ever have hoped for. No wonder they were very angry when she broke up with him.’

  ‘Hardy? Was he a relation of Piers, by any chance?’

  He nodded. ‘He was his great-grandfather. The family have been landowners around here for generations.’

  Her grandfather’s friends came back with the drinks, and the conversation rolled on to the preparations for the Christmas Fair in a few weeks’ time, and the problems the organisers faced to staff Santa’s grotto that year. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to be Santa.

  ‘Why don’t any of you volunteer?’ Cassie suggested.

  ‘We’re getting too old for dealing with overexcited children all day,’ her granddad replied. ‘Last time I dressed up as Santa, I got so warm in my costume with that fat pillow on my belly I almost passed out, and I’m not even mentioning the fake beard that gave me a rash for days afterwards.’

  ‘I fell asleep in the grotto and my snoring scared the children away,’ David Fern added, laughing.

  Cassie’s granddad laughed. ‘You had supped too much ale at lunchtime, that’s why you fell asleep, you scoundrel.’

  ‘I may have to volunteer myself,’ Big Jim remarked as he came round to collect empty glasses.

  ‘You sure have the belly for it,’ Joseph Bell said and his friends burst out laughing. ‘You won’t need a pillow.’

  Big Jim patted his belly with his free hand and smiled. ‘I’ll help if no one else wants to do it. It always brings in good money for the Mountain Rescue Service.’

  ‘It’s a shame the fair is so late this year,’ David complained.

  Big Jim shrugged. ‘It was agreed that the local villages shouldn’t compete too much between one another and have Christmas events on the same days. Our village got the last date in the draw at the council meeting. Last year, our Christmas Fair was one of the first in the area, this year we’re the last. It’s just the luck of the draw.’

  As the men talked about the latest village news, Cassie felt a prickly and unpleasant sensation between her shoulder blades, as if a line of ants was crawling up her spine.

  She turned round, and caught Darren Morse staring at her from his table in the far corner of the room. He nodded, lifted his pint glass in mock salute, and went back to checking his mobile phone.

  As usual the man made her uneasy, even if he spent a lot of time at Bluebell Cottage these days, doing odd DIY jobs for her granddad.

  She drained her cider and got up. ‘Gentlemen, I’ll be off now.’

  ‘Wait a minute, pet, I’ll go to the bar with you. It’s my round,’ her grandfather said, patting his jacket’s breast pocket. He frowned, and looked at her and at his friends. ‘I don’t believe it. I’ve left my wallet at home.’

  Not again, Cassie thought. It was the second time that week that he had gone out without any money.

  ‘Pull the other one, Joseph,’ one his friends said. ‘You’re an old miser, and you’re only trying to get out of buying us a round.’

  ‘No, no… I’m sure I put it in my pocket earlier.’

  Cassie’s heart tightened. He was getting more forgetful with every passing day. Perhaps she should make an appointment with the GP for him – not that he would ever agree to go.

  She took her purse out of her handbag and pulled out a twenty-pound note. ‘Here you are, Granddad,’ she said, handing him the note.

  ‘Thank you, Trifle. I don’t understand where that wallet can be,’ he muttered to himself as he walked to the bar.

  It would be rude to ignore Darren on her way out, all the more so when he stood up as she walked past. ‘Hi, Cassie,’ he said in his soft and quiet voice.

  She smiled. ‘Hi, Darren. How are you? And how are things at the campsite?’ She tilted her head up to look into his dark brown eyes, which were as usual cold and unfathomable.

  He scratched his wispy beard. ‘Quiet now that we’re closed for the winter. There are no annoying kids kicking footballs and trampling all over the bushes, no drunken lads messing up the toilet block, or posh couples complaining that there’s no Wi-Fi or air conditioning in their yurt or that their pod is too small.’

  She smiled. ‘You don’t sound like you’re enjoying your job very much.’

  ‘It’s a job.’ He shrugged and glanced towards the counter where her granddad was buying drinks. ‘By the way, your grandfather mentioned earlier that he needed help fixing a new lock to your back door. Would you like me to call at the cottage tomorrow and take a look at it?’

  She frowned. ‘He hasn’t told me anything about it.’ Then again she’d been busy all day, and tonight her mind had been on Belthorn’s new guest and Ruth’s old letters.

  What’s more, it wasn’t the first time her granddad forgot to mention a meeting he had arranged or an appointment at the dentist or the doctor. Poor Granddad, she thought as love and worry welled in her chest, he’d always been so witty and sharp-minded. It looked like his memory was failing him.

  ‘He’s at the bar. Why don’t you go over and make arrangements with him?’ she suggested before saying goodbye and making her escape.

  Luckily Piers was busy talking to his rugby pals at the bar. She kept her head down so he wouldn’t see her and heaved a relieved sigh once she was out of the pub.

  Chapter Five

  At the peak of the tourist season, Saturday meant rushing around, organising her part-time, seasonal staff like a military operation to make sure everybody was at the right place at the right time, kept to the schedule and got through the cleaning of two dozen holiday cottages between ten in the morning and four in the afternoon.

  In the wintertime, things were a lot quieter and the reduced workload was easily divided between herself and Sophie. The only problem now, of course, was that Sophie had left and Cassie was on her own. Hiring new permanent help was something she would have to consider when the season picked up at Easter. By then, who knows, Sophie may have grown disillusioned with life in Manchester and come back to Red Moss… And Cassie may have dyed her hair pink like her fashionista friend Cecilia, who ran the village trendy art and clothing shop!

  Still in her flannelette pyjamas and dressing gown, Cassie made a pot of tea, slid a couple of slices of bread into the toaster, and checked her notebook to make sure she wasn’t missing anything. She only had one holiday cottage to see to that morning before driving to the Old Gatehouse where Nadine Hartley, the very glamorous wife of a local solicitor and one of her regular clients, had asked her to do a last minute tidy up before the cocktail party she was hosting in the evening. After that, she would go shopping for Stefan Lambert and drive to Belthorn.

  It was altogether a rather quiet day, which was lucky as she couldn’t stop yawning and rubbing her eyes. Ruth’s tragic love story, and even more tragic death, had preyed on her mind and kept her awake for a long time. When she’d finally fallen asleep she had dreamt about Belthorn, but a very different Belthorn. In her dream the abbey was still standing, and the sound of bells ringing echoed in the night and bounced against the hills, a slow and solemn call – a warning, perhaps. Someone, or something, was waiting, and watching, on the shore, whilst on the surface of Wolf Tarn a shadow spread until the whole lake was as smooth and black as a pool of ink.

  She had woken up shaking, with her heart beating hard and the sheets tangled around her body. It had been a while since she’d dreamt about Belthorn – and about that night…

  Falling asleep again was out of the question, so she had switched on her bedside lamp, retrieved her sewing basket and finished a new cushion cover for Mason’s living room. It didn’t take long, so she looked through her fabrics bag and selected strips of red and green felt to make another cushion, for Belthorn this time. Stefan Lambert may not want any Christmas decorations, but he hadn’t said anything about new cushions.

  Of cour
se, it would take a lot more than new soft furnishings to cheer the old hall up and bring a smile to Lambert’s lips. It would take a whole makeover for the hall… and possibly a personality transplant for the Frenchman.

  When she finally put her handiwork away and tried to fall asleep again, it wasn’t only her nightmare or Ruth’s letters she was trying to forget. Someone else had been on her mind. Someone with broad shoulders and a rotten temper, and with eyes like burnished gold and a voice so deep the memory alone was enough to give her goosebumps.

  And that morning too, as she spread a thick layer of strawberry jam onto her toast, she still couldn’t help thinking about Stefan Lambert. Had his first night at Belthorn been comfortable? Had he enjoyed the peace and quiet or had he felt lonely? How would he react when she saw him later on that afternoon?

  One thing was certain. She wouldn’t put up with any more rudeness. She would keep out of his way if that’s what he wanted, but she had a job to do, whether he liked it or not.

  She finished her breakfast, washed up, and went up to her room to shower and get dressed. It didn’t take long since she wore the same sensible clothes day in, day out. She put on a long-sleeved grey T-shirt, denim dungarees and gave her shoulder-length hair a quick brush through before twisting it into a bun that she secured with a bandana scarf – a blue one, today. Her friends and family jokingly said that she’d been stuck in a time warp since her Bandanamama days, but there was nothing wrong in being faithful to a look, especially when it was practical for her work, was there? Just like there was nothing wrong with being faithful to her family, her job, her clients…

  She was about to run downstairs when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. A little make-up would hide her pale cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. She reached out for her make-up bag, and applied a coat of mascara, some blusher and pink lip gloss.

  Her granddad was pottering about in the kitchen when she came down. He pointed at her face. ‘Why are you wearing make-up to go cleaning houses?’

  Cassie let out a sigh. His memory may be faltering, but there was nothing wrong with his eyesight.

  ‘Are you meeting some young man you haven’t told me about?’

  ‘Of course not. And it’s not really make-up, only a little lip gloss.’

  ‘Where did you say you were going today?’

  She told him her schedule for the day.

  ‘So you’re going to Belthorn again,’ he said.

  ‘I told you, I have to go there every day. I’ll drive up there in the afternoon after shopping at SuperSaver in Keswick. Charles Ashville’s guest needs food. Perhaps that will make him less grouchy.’

  ‘Get him some real coffee, not that instant rubbish. French people love their coffee, don’t they? And buy some smelly cheese, some of those baguette bread sticks, and plenty of good red wine, of course.’

  Cassie laughed. ‘Coffee, cheese and wine? That’s not proper food!’

  Her granddad nodded. ‘It’s a start.’ He scratched his head and broke into a smile. ‘Why don’t you make him your steak pie? If he doesn’t like it, you can always bring it home for me. You know it’s my favourite.’

  She bent down to kiss his cheek, breathing his comforting scent of pine soap and shaving foam. ‘I’ll make a pie just for you as soon as I have a bit of time, I promise, Granddad.’

  She took her keys from the key rack and was about to leave when she remembered what Darren Morse had told her in the pub the night before.

  ‘By the way, what’s wrong with the back door?’

  Her granddad shrugged and looked at her with a puzzled expression. ‘Nothing’s wrong with it. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Darren mentioned that you’d asked him to fix a new lock or something.’

  His blue eyes took on the vague, slightly lost stare she had noticed more and more these past few weeks. ‘I don’t recall asking him anything, unless…’ His lips relaxed into a smile. ‘Ah yes… He said something about the back door sticking when he came yesterday to fix the leak in the radiator upstairs.’

  ‘Is it leaking again? I thought he mended it last week.’

  Her granddad nodded. ‘That radiator is giving him trouble. Anyway, he came through the back door because he didn’t want to put muck all over the hall, and that’s when he realised that the latch was catching. Is he coming today then?’

  ‘I’m not sure. He was in the pub last night. Didn’t he talk to you after I left?’

  He shook his head. ‘I was with the lads. He probably didn’t want to disturb us. I think he’s a bit shy.’

  ‘Shy or not, he seems to be around here fixing something or other every other day. And when I say fixing, I’m being kind. The television aerial is still playing up, the bath taps drip constantly and the radiator in the back room is still leaking. I’m going to have to call a proper plumber.’

  ‘Don’t be so harsh on the lad. It’s good of him to come round to old folks’ houses and give them a hand with repairs and stuff. Apparently Doris Pearson is so chuffed with him she recommended him to all her friends at the community centre.’

  ‘Doris as in “the angry cat woman from across the road”?’

  Her granddad laughed. ‘Now you’re being mean. She may be a bit obsessed with her Fluffy, but that’s because she’s lonely. Anyway, she is full of praise for young Darren.’

  ‘Maybe he does a better job at her house than he does here. I must dash. See you tonight.’

  ‘Fasten up your coat, and don’t forget your hat. You don’t want to catch a cold.’ Her grandfather handed her the red and green pom-poms hat she had deliberately left on the hallway peg.

  She repressed a grumpy reply. How old did he think she was telling her what to wear, and why did he force her to wear that ridiculous hat? But she immediately felt mean and petty. He was only looking out for her. So what if she looked like a crazy, jumbo-sized elf?

  She said nothing and put the hat on. She took the bag in which she had stuffed her new cushions, waved him goodbye and walked out into the cold, grey morning. The chilly wind stung her cheeks, and the air smelled of wood fire, coal smoke and snow as she walked to Salomé’s bakery.

  The bell above the door chimed as she walked in, and delicious cinnamon, ginger and hot chocolate fragrances immediately enveloped her. She took a deep breath and smiled at her friend who was piling up sugar-coated buns on the counter, next to a tray of churros.

  ‘I’m in cake heaven,’ Cassie declared. ‘The best – no, the only – place I want to be.’

  Salomé wiped her hands on her white pinny. ‘I’d rather be in man heaven. At least I wouldn’t be putting any weight on. I always lose my appetite around attractive men.’

  Cassie put her hand on her heart. ‘No man, however attractive, will ever put me off your cakes, and that’s a fact.’

  Salomé laughed and rolled her chocolate-brown eyes. ‘That’s because you haven’t met the right one yet. What can I get you today?’

  Cassie ordered iced buns for Mason, and for his office manager and surrogate mother, Brenda.

  Salomé wrapped the cakes in a pretty pink paper bag. ‘I put an extra one in for you too – on the house,’ she said.

  Cassie thanked her and hurried out of the bakery and down the main street to Mason’s garage at the far end of the village. This time it wasn’t scents of hot chocolate, ginger and cinnamon that made her smile as she pushed open the door to the reception area, but the smells of grease, leather seats and petrol fumes. They always reminded her of her father, who had co-owned the garage with Mason’s dad for years. If her father’s voice and features had almost completely faded away from her memory, one second in the garage was enough to recall the elusive sensations of her childhood, and what it felt like to climb on his knees and snuggle in his arms when he came back from work at the end of the day.

  Cassie shook her head, and opened her eyes. As usual, the small, cramped and untidy office was far too hot, since Brenda insisted that the fan heater be switched
on full all the time.

  Mason was sorting through paperwork. He looked up and pointed at her hat. ‘You need bells on that!’

  She pulled the hat off. ‘It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Granddad bought it for me and insists I wear it. Mason, I need your help.’

  ‘What can I do for you? Don’t tell me there’s something wrong with your van again.’

  ‘No, it’s not the van.’

  ‘Then you finally agree to come for a ride on my motorbike.’

  She shook her head. ‘That will never happen. I’m far too scared.’

  ‘Even with me?’

  ‘Even with you, champion!’ She gestured to the photos of Mason hanging on the office walls, and showing him astride large motorbikes or lifting race trophies. One of them featured him next to a 500cc blue and white motorbike, wearing matching leathers with a beaming smile on his lips, and his bright blue eyes twinkling as he radiated happiness. In fact, Cassie had never seen him look that happy since. That was the year he won the MotoGP World Championship, and the year he surprised everybody when he stopped racing and took over his father’s garage.

  ‘Too bad. What is it, then?’

  She told him about Stefan Lambert’s Range Rover being stuck in a ditch on the way to Belthorn and he promised to go there later that morning. She almost warned him about the Frenchman’s grumpy temper, but decided against it. Mason would find out soon enough.

  ‘By the way,’ she said as she put two of Salomé’s paper bags on Mason’s desk, ‘I bought you and Brenda a couple of Salomé’s pastries, and…’

  She lifted one of the cushions from her tote bag and held it up for Mason to see. ‘I made you a new cushion! I thought it would go well with the paint we picked for your lounge and with your new sofa. If you like the colours, I’ll make you more in the same style. I have lots of fabric left.’

  Mason smiled and reached out for the cushion. ‘I don’t know what it is with women and cushions… but thanks, Cassie. It looks good, and I appreciate your determination to turn me from a colour-and-style-blind mechanic from the back of beyond into a sophisticated male, even if I’m a lost cause.’