by Marie Laval
Despite the smile on his face, his eyes remained sad.
‘I’m not trying to turn you into anything,’ she said, her heart tightening. ‘You are wonderful just as you are… and what would the village do with a mechanic too stylish to put grease on his manicured hands and his designer overall?’
This time the sadness disappeared and he laughed good-heartedly. ‘True. You’re a good pal, Cassie.’
‘You’re welcome. See you later.’
The holiday cottage took about an hour to clean. She always left a bouquet for holidaymakers – fresh flowers in the spring and summer and whatever she could find in the winter. There were holly, mistletoe and winter berry bushes at the front of the cottage so she cut a few branches, which she arranged in a vase on the kitchen table, together with one of her granddad’s jokes for the holidaymakers who were due to arrive later in the day.
When she had taken over her mother’s cleaning business and re-launched it as Bluebell Cleaning, her granddad had suggested she give her clients jokes too. ‘People won’t mind opening their wallets if you make them laugh,’ he had said, and he had since then contributed to her small business with a weekly supply of jokes and puns.
Cassie checked the visitors’ book and smiled as she read the latest comments. ‘Great cottage, clean and welcoming. We loved the biscuits and the joke! We have a joke for you too: How do you communicate with a fish? Drop him a line. Merry Christmas!’
Her granddad would like that, she thought as she sprayed some of her favourite lemon essential oil to freshen up the air. What the cottage needed, however, was more than a pretty bouquet and a fresh scent. It was a complete change. The furniture was outdated, the curtains too flowery and the carpet bore the marks of many muddy footprints and spilled glasses of red wine, however much she scrubbed it.
It was the same for all the holiday cottages, but Piers categorically refused to make any improvements, saying it would cost too much. When she had pushed her design book into his hands and timidly suggested she do the redecorations on a tight budget, he had looked at her as if she had lost her mind and burst out laughing. ‘What do you know about design? Forget it, Cassie. If Charlie ever decides to modernise the cottages, he’ll hire a proper designer.’ But I am a proper designer, she wanted to say – at least she had the diploma… But what would have been the point? He hadn’t even glanced at her sketchbook.
Her next stop was The Old Gatehouse where Nadine Hartley welcomed her with a panicked expression and a long list of instructions issued in her usual husky, breathless voice. ‘Go easy on the lemon spray. It clashes with my Givenchy,’ she finished before driving away in her gleaming silver Mercedes Coupé to have her hair and nails done at a nearby luxury hotel spa.
Two hours later, Cassie peeled off her rubber gloves and tidied the cleaning products under the sink. Even though Nadine never smiled at her granddad’s jokes, she took one out of her bag and left it on the black granite kitchen island…
Stefan had left the curtains open all night, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes were grey smudges in the sky above the outline of the mountains. He checked his watch, and blinked in surprise. It was late.
He hadn’t slept well. But then again he never did, and at Belthorn there were the added factors of a lumpy mattress, creaking floorboards and rumbling pipes coupled with the deep silence outside. His back had played up again, and as he tossed and turned the memories, guilt and remorse had kicked in. It had taken two doses of painkillers before he had managed to drop off, sometime after four in the morning.
He pulled the sheets and the duvet down, and repressed a groan as he stood up. The physio assured him that he was on the mend, but there were mornings when the pain clawing at his back was enough to make him howl – that’s if he was able to howl. Given the state of his vocal chords, he was more likely to croak.
The heating didn’t appear to be working much and his breath steamed in the freezing cold bedroom as he cursed his way through his stretching exercises. Fully awake now, but with his back and shoulders aching like hell, he grabbed his towel and walked to the bathroom. He wasn’t expecting a hot shower from the antiquated appliance above the bath, and he didn’t get one, but at least the tepid water washed away the remnants of the night, and he was ready to face his first day at Belthorn Manor.
After donning a pair of jeans and a jumper over his shirt, he laced up his army walking boots, and went down to the kitchen. A quick search of the cupboards uncovered a packet of biscuits and a tin of soup. That would do for a late breakfast. He made some coffee, and ate whilst watching the dark grey clouds race against one another above the rugged, snow-tipped mountains.
He had just finished washing-up when he heard an engine outside. It was followed by a loud knock on the front door that echoed through the house. The housekeeper was back, even though he had done his best to put her off. Remembering his intention to apologise for being short-tempered the day before, he fixed a smile on his face and went to open the door.
It wasn’t Cassie standing at the door but a dark-haired man in a high-vis orange anorak, oil-stained jeans and thick biker boots. Behind him was a roadside rescue truck. ‘Stefan Lambert?’
Without waiting for his answer, the man smiled. ‘I’m Mason Austin. I run the garage in Red Moss. Cassie said you needed a hand with your Range Rover.’
Stefan nodded. ‘That’s right. Thanks for coming. You’re saving me a long walk to the village. Let me get my coat and my keys.’
Mason gave him a lift to the Sanctuary Stone. Together they hooked a cable onto the tow bar at the back of the Range Rover. Mason climbed back into his truck to action the pulley, and the car was back on the lane in no time.
‘Do you want me to check it over?’ he asked after Stefan started the engine and revved it a few times.
‘It sounds all right to me.’ He didn’t mention that he was a skilled mechanic himself and could service and repair a whole range of engines, from mopeds to water pumps and generators, to light aircraft and helicopters. Instead he asked how much he owed for putting the Range Rover back on the road.
Mason shook his head. ‘You can buy me a pint at the pub this evening.’
Stefan frowned. ‘Are you sure?’
The mechanic smiled. ‘Positive. I am usually there by eight on a Saturday night.’
‘Then I’ll see you tonight.’
He turned to look at the standing stone by the side of the lane, and lifted a hand to touch the grooves carved on its cold, rough surface.
‘That stone looks old,’ he remarked.
‘It’s the abbey’s Sanctuary Stone,’ Mason Austin said. ‘I believe there were several of them in the old days.’
Stefan traced the patterns with his finger. ‘What’s a Sanctuary Stone?’
‘They marked the boundaries of the abbey where criminals could be granted asylum… or at least that’s what Miss Parker, our primary school head teacher used to tell us. She’s retired now, but if you’re interested in the history of the village, I’m sure she’d be happy to talk to you.’
‘I may very well do that.’
The men shook hands, and drove away in their respective vehicles. Back at Belthorn, Stefan set off to explore the manor house’s surroundings. His friend had warned him about the dangers of the fells. There were abandoned mine shafts, hidden pits, boggy terrain and ghylls – long, narrow ravines. And of course there was the weather, which could change in the blink of an eye from sunshine into a hellish snow blizzard or blinding white fog.
He zipped up his coat, wrapped a thick scarf around his neck and set off on the rocky path that snaked from the back of the house to the top of the hill. He would try to make it to the top. Failing that, the fresh air and physical effort would tire him out, and perhaps help him sleep instead of twisting and turning in bed, agonising about the past, with guilt and remorse festering inside him like an infected wound.
Charlie said that he would heal in time. How could he tell his friend that mos
t days he didn’t think he deserved to heal? Days when he couldn’t breathe, and didn’t want to breathe?
Coming here might be the easy option – the coward’s option, his father had sneered. All Stefan wanted was a place to hide, push the memories away, if only for a while, and forget about Christmas.
Climbing that hill would be a start.
Chapter Six
By two o’clock, Cassie was loading the van with groceries, fruit and vegetables, packs of coffee and bottles of wine, bread rolls and baguettes.
‘Hi, Cassie. Do you need a hand?’ Darren’s voice said behind her.
Startled, she swung round too fast and bumped her head against the door.
‘Ouch!’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘Thanks, but I have finished now. What are you doing here?’
‘Shopping, like you. You bought a lot of stuff.’
She loaded the last two bags into the van and slammed the boot shut. ‘It’s not for me. It’s for Belthorn Manor.’
‘Ah yes, your grandfather mentioned that someone was staying there. Some French guy, he said. Belthorn is such a big house. How will you cope on your own now that Sophie has left?’
She frowned. How did he know that Sophie had gone to Manchester? ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘I can help.’
The words were on her lips before she realised. ‘No, thank you.’
He stared down at her, his brown eyes expressionless. ‘If you change your mind, you know where to find me. By the way, I’m on my way to buy a new lock for your back door. I’ll fit it tomorrow morning, since your granddad said you were going to a birthday party at your cousin’s farm in the afternoon.’
Her granddad seemed to be discussing their private life with Darren an awful lot lately, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.
‘Tomorrow is Sunday. Won’t you have better things to do than fix our lock?’
He shrugged. ‘Not really, and I’m always happy to help.’
It was true. Darren was generous with his time, and she should be more grateful. She forced a smile. ‘All right, then. See you tomorrow morning. Thank you.’
He put his hand on her trolley. ‘I’ll put it back for you.’
‘Thanks.’ She walked to the driver’s side and climbed behind the wheel.
What a strange young man… As she drove to Belthorn she recalled what she knew about him, which was almost nothing. She had first seen him around the village at the beginning of the summer when he got the caretaker job at the lakeside campsite. He lived in one of the mobile homes, didn’t seem to have made any friends – at least he was always alone when she saw him – but had made himself indispensable with many older residents of the village, and if her granddad was to be believed, even her grumpy neighbour Doris was a fan. And yet she couldn’t help it. There was something about him that made her uneasy.
It was snowing by the time she drove over the cattle grid and climbed the lane up to Belthorn. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and the usual knot hardened in her stomach as images from her nightmare flashed into her mind, mixing with the images from that night, ten years before…
It was only to be expected if she was nervous. After all, this was only the second time she’d been to Belthorn on her own. Her mother had always been with her when Charles Ashville’s father was still alive, and when her mother had retired and Cassie had taken over her small housekeeping business, it was Sophie who had taken on the twice-monthly visits. Cassie would get used to coming there alone – she had to…
Mason had been true to his word. Lambert’s Range Rover was no longer near the Sanctuary Stone but parked in front of the manor house. Her spirits lifted a little. Lambert may not be the most agreeable of men, but at least she wouldn’t be alone in the old house.
Even though she had keys, Cassie rang the bell, and unloaded the shopping as she waited for Lambert to come to the door.
There was no answer so she let herself in.
‘Hello!’ she called a few times, but her voice was met with deep silence, and her heart sank. The Frenchman must have gone for a walk, and she was alone after all…
‘It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine,’ she whispered to herself in a singsong voice even though she felt anything but fine.
Her footsteps echoed on the stone-flagged floor as she walked down the corridor, opening doors and flicking old-fashioned light switches on in a bid to banish any lingering shadows.
In the kitchen the only clues that Lambert had been there were the mug, soup bowl, spoon and saucepan washed and arranged neatly by the side of the sink. It was probably his way of telling her that he could clean after himself and didn’t need her.
She put the shopping away and made the steak pie for Lambert’s evening meal, before tackling the housework she should have done the day before, trying not to jump every time the floorboards creaked, the pipes gurgled or the wind tapped on the window panes.
It was no wonder Charles Ashville and his sister Gabrielle rarely spent any time there since their father’s death. And yet, Cassie thought as she surveyed the drawing room’s faded wallpaper, the oak beams criss-crossing the ceiling and the dark oak furniture… With a colourful throw or two on the sofa, plenty of soft cushions, some fairy lights along the mantelpiece to soften the lighting, and a fire in the fireplace, the room could look almost cosy and welcoming.
She would start the transformations straight away. She slipped her coat back on, extracted a pair of secateurs from her bag and went in the snowy garden to cut sprigs of pine and spiky branches dripping with pretty red berries from the holly bushes growing near the gates. She walked back into the house, shook the snow from her coat and spent time arranging the foliage in bouquets in the hallway and the drawing room.
His heart pumped hard, his breath grew ragged and his legs ached. He tilted his head up and thick snowflakes touched his face. The weather was turning and it was getting dark. He may not make it to the top of the hill, but he hadn’t felt this alive for a long time.
He turned round and started on the way back at a good pace. The house soon appeared at the turn of the path. From his vantage point high up on the fell, the ruins of the abbey seemed a lot more extensive, and closer to the manor house, than he’d thought. For the first time he noticed that both the abbey and the manor house appeared to be built from similar stonework. It might be interesting to dig up some facts about the place and learn about the history of Belthorn Abbey and its links to Charlie’s family. Perhaps he would pay Miss Parker a visit, and ask her if she knew anything about André Vaillant too…
As he proceeded further down the hill, he spotted Cassie Bell’s bright red van on the drive. He let out a resigned sigh. His own personal dust buster fairy was back.
He reached the small mountain lake, marked on the map as Wolf Tarn. Round and grey, with a smooth, glassy surface, it looked like a giant eye staring back at the sky. Snowflakes floated down like feathers and dissolved as they touched the water.
As he followed the path around the tarn, he saw a white car drive slowly up the lane and stop at the gates. A tall, gangly man got out, the hood of his anorak pulled down over his face and his shoulders hunched against the snow and the cold wind, and walked to Cassie’s van. He bent down as if checking the tyres, then straightened up and stalked to the kitchen door.
Stefan’s skin prickled at the back of his neck.
It was probably nothing. Cassie could have called someone to service her van or make a delivery, but he didn’t like the man’s furtive manner. He didn’t like it at all. Instinct kicked in, and he started running.
The kitchen door squeaked open, and Cassie let out a relieved sigh. At last Stefan Lambert was back. She tidied the vacuum cleaner away, hurried to the kitchen… and stopped dead. Darren stood in the kitchen, flicking through the notebook she had left on the kitchen table.
Her mouth opened in shock. ‘Darren… What are you doing here?’
He flipped the notebook shut and looked at her. ‘I knocked but t
here was no answer, so I came in.’
She hadn’t heard any knocking. Then again, she had been dusting and vacuuming.
He unzipped his anorak, and pulled a bottle of wine out of his inside pocket. ‘You forgot this in your shopping trolley, so I thought I’d bring it over.’ He put the bottle on the table.
Cassie frowned. ‘Did I? I’m sure I put away four bottles.’
‘There was a bottle left,’ Darren insisted. He gave the kitchen an appraising look. ‘Wow! This is a massive kitchen. I could fit my entire mobile home in here.’
She forced a smile. ‘Yes, it’s really big. Listen, Darren, it was kind of you to drive all this way and bring the wine, but you can’t just walk in here.’
‘I said I knocked.’ Even though he spoke quietly, his voice had taken a stubborn edge. ‘Where’s the French guy who’s staying here?’
‘I think he went out for a walk.’ She sighed as worry gnawed at her again. Where had Lambert gone? What if he got lost as night fell?
‘Good. Then you can give me a tour of the house. I’ve wondered what Belthorn Manor was like inside for ages.’ He took off his anorak and draped it on the back of a chair.
She swallowed hard. ‘No. Sorry, I can’t do that. It’s not my house.’
He shrugged. ‘Who’s to know? After all, the owner isn’t here, and you just said that the guest is out. I meant it, you know, when I said I wanted to help. It’s an old house and there must be lots of things going wrong. I am always happy to fix things.’
He may be happy to fix things but it didn’t mean he was any good at it, a little voice whispered in her head. Immediately she chastised herself for that uncharitable thought.
‘We’ll see…’
‘Any chance of a cup of tea? It’s freezing today and the heating in my car isn’t working. I got really cold driving up here.’
