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

by Marie Laval

  Her quick retort almost made him smile. ‘Actually, there’s another reason I want to follow you to Red Moss. I arranged to meet Mason Austin in the pub. I owe him a pint for helping me out this morning. I don’t want to get lost and I need you to point me into the right direction.’

  That was the best excuse he could think of.

  This time she nodded. ‘Ah… all right. You’ll have a great evening. The Eagle and Child is a friendly pub, and Mason is a great guy.’

  She may be right… Here at Red Moss there was no risk of bumping into anyone he knew and having to answer endless questions about the accident, deal with sympathetic comments about his injuries, or lie about how he was coping with civilian life.

  Chapter Nine

  Cassie may not want to admit it, but she was glad Lambert was following her to the village in his Range Rover. Even with the snow tyres Mason had fitted at the beginning of winter, the van kept skidding and the Range Rover’s headlights shining in her rear-view mirror were a reassuring presence.

  She wasn’t fooled by his excuse. There was only one pub in Red Moss, and it was in the centre of the village. He couldn’t have missed it. The truth was that he was worried about her and wanted to make sure she got home safely… and that gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.

  She slowed down when she reached the Eagle and Child, beeped her horn and waved him goodbye. As she parked in front of Bluebell Cottage, she couldn’t help but wonder what the locals would make of the Frenchman’s surly temper, of his rough voice and battle-scarred face.

  Long-legged Sadie would no doubt find him very intriguing. She would also notice his broad shoulders and moody eyes, and probably waste no time in fluttering her eyelashes at him.

  ‘I’m back!’ She hung her coat on the rack and popped her head into the living room. Her grandfather sat in his favourite armchair next to the gas fire, his legs stretched out in front of him, his feet encased in his carpet slippers.

  He lifted his eyes from his paper and smiled. ‘Hello, love. You look shattered. Was it a hard day?’

  ‘It wasn’t too bad. Sorry I’m a bit late. I’ve been to Belthorn.’

  He frowned. ‘What was it like to be back up there, and was that Frenchman still cantankerous today?’

  She pulled a face. ‘I’ll get used to it – and to him. Eventually. Actually Lambert insisted on following me back to the village. He said he was meeting Mason at the pub, but I think he was worried about me driving back on my own in the snow.’

  ‘That was good of him.’

  ‘Yes, it was.’ She thought back at the determined look in Stefan’s eyes when he had marched into the kitchen and saved her from Darren’s unwanted attentions, at the mix of pride and vulnerability etched on his face when he refused to admit he was in pain… at the heat of his body when she tried to wake him up and he yanked her to him. The memory alone was enough to make her dizzy.

  But she’d better get on with making the tea rather than reminisce about Stefan Lambert’s hard chest and strong arms. She took the bags of frozen chips, peas and fish fingers out of the freezer and switched the grill on.

  ‘What did you do today, Granddad?’

  Her grandfather immediately proceeded to recount the events of his day. The newspaper had been delivered late and he had complained at the newsagent’s.

  ‘While I was there, I picked up your magazine – the one you like, about fancy houses and expensive wallpaper. Where did I put it? I swear it was on the worktop earlier.’ He fumbled through the piles of letters and papers, getting agitated and muttering to himself.

  Her heart sank at his new memory lapse. ‘Don’t worry about it. It will turn up. Tell me what else happened today.’

  ‘Not much.’ He scratched his head, leaving his white hair all fluffed up. ‘Except that there has been another burglary in the village – that’s the fourth in as many weeks.’

  Cassie sighed. ‘Who was it this time?’

  ‘Sylvia Gasby. All her jewellery, and the money she keeps for emergencies in her underwear drawer, was stolen.’

  Sylvia was an energetic septuagenarian, a pillar of the community centre where she volunteered most days, and another of Cassie’s regular clients. So far, all four victims of the spate of burglaries were clients of hers.

  ‘The police said she must have left a door unlocked or a window open as there was no sign of a break-in,’ her grandfather added.

  ‘Poor Sylvia… I’ll call round tomorrow morning and take her cakes from Salomé’s to cheer her up. She must be very scared and very upset.’

  Cassie switched the oven on. ‘By the way, I met Darren in Keswick this afternoon. He was buying a new lock for the back door.’

  ‘That’s right. I gave him twenty pounds for it.’

  ‘You found your wallet, then?’

  He sighed. ‘It was in my coat all along, but in another pocket. I’ll go to the cash machine tomorrow to pay you back. I gave Darren my last note for the lock.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Granddad. I’m glad you found it. Why do you say you have no money left? Didn’t you get your pension from the post office yesterday?’

  He smoothed his hair back with trembling fingers, and his eyes took on the vague and slightly lost gaze he adopted more and more often these days. ‘I must have dropped it on my way home yesterday. All I had left was twenty pounds and a few coins.’

  He looked so puzzled she didn’t have the heart to scold him for his carelessness.

  ‘He’s a nice lad, is Darren,’ her granddad carried on, ‘and he likes to chat – about you, mostly. He’s interested in everything you do and everywhere you go. I think you may have an admirer there.’

  ‘Hmm… I’m not sure. There’s something about him…’

  But her granddad wasn’t listening. ‘It’s time for my game show. Call me when tea’s ready.’ And he tottered back into the living room.

  Whilst the fish fillets and chips were under the grill, Cassie hunted around the kitchen for her magazine. It was the only link to the wild and crazy dream she had once cherished of becoming an interior designer. A dream that started when fresh out of school she started working for her mother, and rearranged people’s interiors in her head as she cleaned. A dream that had blossomed when she had met Nathan.

  Nathan… The memory of the handsome and talented interior designer whose offices she had cleaned for several years was as usual enough to make her pause and catch her breath. How many times had she gaped admiringly at him as he sat at his drawing board, looking sexy and inspired, with his shirt sleeves rolled over his tanned forearms and his hair dark and ruffled under the bright light of his architect’s lamp? He’d had no idea how instrumental he had been in her decision to enrol at college to study for an A-Level in art then spend all her wages on a long-distance course in interior design.

  To him, she was the timid cleaner he occasionally chatted to about the weather or the new veggie café in town. But to her Nathan was everything. Her first proper crush and the man she wanted to impress more than anyone else in the world.

  She was far too shy to talk to him about her course. She didn’t even tell him when she passed with flying colours. But when he entered a competition to refurbish a boutique hotel in London, she secretly worked on her own proposal. At last, she thought, he would realise that she was more than a cleaner. She was even naïve enough to dream that he might offer her an internship, or even see her as a woman, not just the cleaner wearing dungarees and rubber gloves.

  It was almost too painful to remember the stunned expression on his face the day she had mustered the courage to show him her portfolio. Silent, his dark eyebrows knitted in concentration, he had flicked through her proposal, his surprise quickly followed by a pitying smile as he pushed the drawings back into the folder. He had asked if she had shown them to anyone, and when she had said he was the first, he had promised to take another look at them and give her detailed feedback.

  In the meantime, he’d said, she should focus on givin
g the office a thorough clean. He was thinking of relocating to London and an estate agent was coming to value the premises the following day.

  She had no idea how she managed to finish cleaning his offices that evening, her heart breaking from the news he was moving away, and from the lukewarm reaction to the designs she had poured so much of herself into.

  She had waited a couple of days before asking for more feedback, and then wished she hadn’t. He had been kind, but brutally honest. Her work showed promise, but the colour schemes, the shapes and concepts were amateurish and lacked originality. If she was serious about working as a designer, she should do a ‘proper’ degree at university. For her own sake, and because he didn’t want her to be laughed at, he asked her not to show the drawings to anyone else. In fact, she should leave them with him.

  She had burst into tears. He had handed her a Kleenex, put his arm around her shoulders and let her sob all over his tailored blue shirt, and given her the evening off. A few days later the ‘For Sale’ sign had gone up, Nathan had moved to London shortly afterwards, and she had never heard from him again.

  Cassie’s grandfather laughing in the living room brought her back sharply to the present. Perhaps it was no bad thing the magazine was nowhere to be found. It did no good to reminisce about the past and dream about what could have been. She may still sketch designs and ideas, but the only interior design she did these days was for her close friends, and much of it only involved choosing new colour schemes and making cushions.

  She took two plates and put them on the table, and was reaching into the cutlery drawer for knives and forks when her phone rang.

  ‘Cassie, thank goodness you’re home!’ Nadine Hartley sounded even more panicked and breathless than usual. ‘The waitress the caterer hired for the party tonight has cancelled. I don’t have anybody to help and my guests are about to arrive. It’s a disaster. You must come over right now.’

  ‘But I know nothing about waitressing!’

  ‘There’s nothing to it. All you’ll have to do is serve the champagne and the canapés. I’ll make it worth your while,’ Nadine insisted. ‘I’ll pay twice the cleaning rate, and it’ll be over by ten o’clock, I promise.’

  Cassie sighed. She could do with the extra money, and she needed to keep Nadine Hartley happy. ‘I suppose I could help out.’

  ‘And you’ll tidy up afterwards? You’re so good at tidying up. It will take you no time at all.’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘That’s settled, then. You need to come straight away, and do wear something nice for a change, not those awful dungarees.’ Nadine ended the call, and Cassie put the phone down, cursing her lack of backbone.

  ‘Granddad, I have to go out.’

  He frowned. ‘Now?’

  ‘Nadine Hartley is having a party, her waitress let her down and she is in a complete panic. I have to go.’

  ‘That woman is always in a panic.’ He glanced at the window. ‘It’s still snowing, Trifle. You’ll have to be careful.’

  ‘I will. Don’t worry. The fish and chips are ready. You can eat while I get changed.’

  After a quick shower, she pulled a long-sleeved black dress with a pretty low-cut collar – the only smart dress she owned – and a pair of tights out of her wardrobe. She would wear pumps inside Nadine’s house, but slipped on her snow boots to drive there and back. She slapped on some make-up, tied her hair in a neat ponytail and ran down the stairs.

  ‘You didn’t even have any tea,’ her granddad complained.

  ‘I’ll eat something there. There should be plenty.’

  ‘Don’t forget your hat!’

  Sighing, she grabbed her hat and her coat, pecked a kiss on her granddad’s cheek, and rushed out.

  Chapter Ten

  Stefan pushed open the door to the Eagle and Child and froze as his eyes struggled to take in the Christmas extravaganza in front of him.

  Decorations dangled from the ceiling. A huge tree stood in a corner, disappearing under baubles and tinsel, and fairy lights blinked and twinkled along the walls, along the beams, and along the counter. This was Christmas gone mad.

  ‘Are you going in or not?’ a man asked behind him.

  ‘Sorry.’ This really wasn’t the kind of place he wanted to spend an evening, or even an hour, but he owed Mason Austin a pint, and he was a man of his word. Gritting his teeth, he walked into the pub, bending down slightly to avoid the paper snowflakes dangling from the ceiling.

  He was an hour and a half early for his meeting with Mason Austin so he bought half-a-pint of bitter and found an empty spot at the far end of the counter from where he could both watch the football on the giant television screen and observe the locals. People stared, but that was only to be expected, so he nodded to those closest to him, ignored the others, and drank his beer as he focussed on the match as he waited for Mason.

  One of the bar staff walked over and plucked a few empty glasses from the counter.

  ‘Hi there. I’m Sadie.’ She smiled and flicked her long blonde hair over her shoulder. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you around.’

  ‘I arrived yesterday.’ Hopefully his curt reply would discourage her from asking any more questions. The last thing he wanted was to be dragged into a conversation. He’d had enough with Cassie’s chatting.

  Her eyes opened wide. ‘You’re French! Am I right?’

  He nodded and she put a hand on her heart. ‘I do love a man with a French accent. If you need help finding things to do in the area, give me a shout. I’ll be happy to show you around.’

  ‘Sadie, leave the punters alone and scoot back over here,’ a big man wearing a Christmas jumper with some kind of dog pattern – or was it a squirrel? – shouted from the other end of the counter. ‘There are glasses to be collected over here, in case you haven’t noticed.’

  The girl sighed. ‘Big Jim is a slave driver. I’ll come back for a chat later, when he’s not looking.’ She winked and walked away.

  ‘There aren’t many new faces around here in the winter,’ an elderly gentleman said appearing next to him. ‘It’s only normal young Sadie should be curious.’ The man smiled. ‘You must be that Frenchman who’s staying at Belthorn.’

  Without waiting for his answer he added, ‘I’m Joseph – Joseph Bell. It’s my granddaughter who’s looking after you.’

  Stefan narrowed his eyes. ‘Cassie?’

  ‘That’s the one. Tell me, young man, how do you find Belthorn? A bit remote, I guess.’

  ‘It suits me.’

  The man removed his cap and coat and hung them on the old-fashioned coat stand next to the counter.

  ‘I wanted to thank you for looking after Cassie tonight and making sure she got home all right.’

  Stefan frowned. ‘I didn’t do anything. I only drove down to the village behind her.’

  ‘Still, it was nice of you. I do worry about her driving that old van in the snow, even if she claims that it’s safe. You’ll keep an eye on her, won’t you, my lad?’

  Was Joseph Bell asking him to look after his granddaughter? If he knew how Stefan had failed the people in his care, he wouldn’t want him anywhere near a member of his family.

  ‘Of course,’ Joseph Bell carried on before Stefan could find a suitable reply, ‘you mustn’t tell her. She wouldn’t like that, since she thinks it’s her job to look after folks. You would think she’d have enough work with cleaning houses, but no… she brings folks flowers and cakes, sprays perfume everywhere because she says it improves people’s mood, and buys yards of fabrics to make cushions for everybody. I mean… how many cushions do people need?

  ‘Cassie is far too soft-hearted,’ he added. ‘Take tonight. One of her regular clients asked her to waitress at a party and she didn’t like to refuse so she went out again without having anything to eat. She said she would have something later, but I bet that Hartley woman won’t give her a minute to sit down.’

  He gestured towards Stefan’s glass. ‘Can I get you another beer, son?’


  Stefan shook his head. ‘I’m fine for now, thanks.’

  Cassie’s grandfather ordered a pint and Darren Morse walked into the pub. He smiled at Joseph and nodded at Stefan.

  Joseph cast him a surprised glance. ‘Do you know young Darren?’

  ‘I met him this afternoon at Belthorn,’ Stefan replied in a non-committal voice. ‘Cassie forgot something at the supermarket, and he brought it over.’

  Joseph nodded. ‘That was nice of him. Then again, he is always very helpful. He does lots of jobs for us at the cottage. He’s a good lad but he’s a bit shy, and between you and me I think he’s in love with Cassie. He’s always asking about her.’

  Stefan frowned. Morse was in love with Cassie? Yes, that could explain the way he had behaved with her in Belthorn’s kitchen and the story Stefan was sure he had made up about the bottle of wine…

  The pub was filling up fast. Joseph Bell introduced Stefan to a couple of his friends, two elderly gentlemen he said he used to work with at the local quarry, and Mason Austin walked in soon after.

  ‘How’s the car?’ he asked.

  ‘Good. Thanks again for your help this morning. We agreed I owed you a pint. What are you drinking?’

  Mason said he’d have a pint of Jennings and the two men talked about cars and motorbikes. When Stefan mentioned he’d been a helicopter pilot in the French army, the conversation immediately veered onto the Lake District mountain rescue team and their new S-92 helicopters.

  Mason was easy to listen to, and even easier to talk to, and he seemed fascinated by the helicopters Stefan had piloted. ‘You mean you actually piloted both assault and transport helicopters?’

  ‘Gazelle, Tiger and Cougar, among others.’

  ‘No wonder you didn’t need me to look at your car engine this morning. I bet you can fix just about anything.’

  Stefan smiled. ‘I manage.’

  Perhaps it was the warm, friendly atmosphere that put him at ease, or the mechanic’s sympathetic questions, but Stefan talked more about himself than he’d ever intended to. He mentioned his career spanning over fifteen years, and hinted at a couple of missions he’d taken part in.