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

by Marie Laval

  ‘You were with Charles Ashville over there, weren’t you?’ Mason asked. ‘We heard that he was almost killed.’

  Stefan’s voice was rougher than usual when he answered. ‘Yeah, it was a close call.’

  Mason cast a sympathetic glance towards him, but didn’t make any comment. All the time Stefan kept an eye on Darren Morse who had crept closer to Cassie’s grandfather and appeared to be listening to the lively discussion he was having with his two friends.

  Mason pointed to the elderly men and laughed. ‘They must be bickering about Comedy Night again.’ Seeing Stefan’s quizzical look, he explained, ‘It’s an amateur stand-up contest organised by the pub in aid of the Mountain Rescue Service. Joseph has won it for the past fifteen years.’

  Sadie came over to collect their empty glasses. ‘Can I tempt you into another beer, gentlemen?’ Her husky voice implied that she would like to tempt them into something infinitely naughtier than a drink.

  Stefan shook his head. ‘Not for me, thanks.’

  He bought Mason another pint, and the conversation rolled over other charity events planned in aid of the Mountain Rescue Service over the Christmas period. When Stefan next glanced towards the bar and the television screen, Morse had left.

  He couldn’t explain the feeling of dread suddenly tugging at the pit of his stomach. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ he told Mason before walking up to Joseph Bell.

  ‘Where did you say Cassie was tonight?’ he asked.

  Chapter Eleven

  If Nadine asked her one more time if she had vacuumed the living room carpet, wiped the kitchen worktops, and washed, dried and put away the crystal flutes, and put all the leftovers in the bin, she was going to explode and say something she would definitely regret!

  It was almost eleven. Her feet ached from standing, her cheeks hurt from smiling, and the cramps tightening her stomach were a sore reminder that she hadn’t eaten anything, not even one of the fancy canapés she had served all evening. The last guests had left an hour before and Nadine’s husband had retreated into his study with a cognac and a sour face.

  ‘I am exhausted!’ Nadine strolled barefoot into the kitchen, her bright coral-painted toenails a splash of colour on the dark granite floor tiles. A champagne glass in one hand, she dangled her black slingback shoes from the fingers of the other.

  ‘It was a great party, wasn’t it?’ she declared in a slightly slurred voice, ‘even though I had to do practically everything on my own.’

  Cassie bit back a retort. Nadine had done nothing but flutter between her guests, nibble at the finger food, drink champagne and boss her around, which, of course, was her prerogative as the party’s hostess.

  ‘Isn’t Piers Hardy a dream?’ Nadine sat on a breakfast bar stool and drank a sip of champagne. ‘The man has such charm and charisma, it’s no wonder women are queuing up to fall into his arms.’

  Not this woman, Cassie thought. Piers’s attentions left her cold, even if he didn’t seem to notice.

  Nadine put her flute down. ‘Let’s put it this way. I wouldn’t push him away if he tried it on. John only ever thinks about work. He never looks at me, never pays me any compliments, and always looks miserable.’

  Complaining about her husband was one of Nadine’s favourite pastimes, along with shopping and treatments at expensive spas, but Cassie knew she wasn’t expected to comment, so she carried on scrubbing the worktops.

  ‘Now, Piers is different,’ Nadine continued. ‘He noticed I’d had my hair and nails done. He told me I looked nice in my new dress, and he could hardly keep his eyes off me all evening – or his hands, for that matter.’

  Cassie scrubbed harder. Nadine wasn’t the only woman Piers had pursued all evening. He had brushed against her every time he walked past, touching her arm or shoulder to ask for another drink, watching her constantly as she poured more champagne into flutes or walked to the kitchen and back to replenish the trays with nibbles.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she recalled how he had blocked her way in the corridor. ‘You should dress like that more often,’ he had said, his gaze fixed on her chest, and trailing down to the white frilly pinny Nadine had insisted she wear.

  Embarrassed by his hot stare, Cassie had stepped back, but he had come closer. ‘What are you doing tomorrow night? We could go out – not to the Eagle and Child, somewhere more private.’

  Nadine calling her had saved her from having to reply, and she had made her escape.

  ‘John said that Piers’s estate management business is doing really well,’ Nadine remarked. ‘So not only is he a hunk but he’s making loads of money too. You’re lucky to be working for him.’

  Not that lucky, Cassie thought. It was exhausting trying to put him off. It was only a question of time before he asked her out again, and the prospect tightened her stomach into a knot and made her want to be sick.

  She opened the cupboard under the sink to store the cleaning products, peeled off her rubber gloves and stacked the sponges by the side of the huge granite sink. ‘I’ve finished now, Nadine. I’m going home.’

  Nadine’s eyes were slightly unfocussed as she glanced around. ‘Already? Are you sure you tidied everything away? I don’t want to find crumbs all over the carpet or a messy loo tomorrow morning. I need to pay you, I suppose. Now, where’s my purse? I hope I have enough change.’

  Cassie tightened her lips. Nadine owed her more than just a few coins since she had promised her double her cleaning rate for her waitressing that evening.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said calmly, even though the woman was starting to annoy her very much. ‘I’ll bring you an invoice next week, together with my monthly cleaning bill.’ She changed into her boots, put her coat on and slipped out before the woman could ask her to do anything else.

  The drive had been full of cars when she’d arrived, so she had parked on the road a short distance away. It was never a busy road, but at this time it was dark and deserted, and so quiet sounds of her breathing and her boots crushing the frozen snow echoed in the night.

  Her van’s dark shape loomed ahead, and she clicked her key fob to unlock the door. Something wasn’t right. The van stood lopsided, with the driver side much lower than the passenger side. She opened the door, grabbed the torch in the glove compartment, and shone the light on the tyres.

  Both tyres on the driver’s side were flat. Great… Just great, she groaned. Now what? It wasn’t worth phoning a taxi. On Saturday night, the few taxis serving the area would be busy, and she would be home by the time it took a cab to pick her up. There was nothing else to do but to walk.

  With a weary sigh, she looped her handbag around her shoulder, locked the van again and set off in the direction of Red Moss.

  She had been walking for less than five minutes when the sound of an engine hummed behind her and headlights swept the road. Even though the car drove slowly, she stepped aside and left plenty of space for it to go past, but instead of overtaking, the car stopped. Nervous, she gripped the torch more tightly. The window slid down, and Darren Morse smiled at her.

  Cassie’s heart sank. Of all the people who could drive by, why did it have to be him?

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I almost didn’t recognise you in the dark. What’s up?’

  She forced a smile. ‘I’m walking home. My van has two flat tyres.’

  He whistled between his teeth. ‘Two flats. That’s really bad luck. Hop in and I’ll give you a lift home.’

  Cassie shifted from one foot to the other. What should she do? She was cold and exhausted and he would save her a long walk, and she couldn’t think of a single good reason to refuse. What’s more, she didn’t want to upset Darren. He might make her uncomfortable but her granddad liked him.

  ‘Thank you.’ She walked around the car and was opening the passenger door to get into the car when a Range Rover drove round the bend and came to a screeching halt. The driver door swung open and a man jumped down, his tall silhouette standing against the glare of t
he car’s powerful headlights. She didn’t need to see his face to recognise him.

  Stefan Lambert. What was he doing there? This wasn’t the way back to Belthorn!

  He strode over, and looked down at her. ‘Is everything all right?’

  She nodded. ‘My van has two flat tyres, and Darren was kindly offering me a lift back.’

  ‘Was he now…?’ he muttered.

  ‘Lucky for me, he was driving past and—’

  Without letting her finish her sentence, Stefan leant down to talk to Darren through the open door. ‘It’s all right. You can go. I’ll drive Cassie home.’

  Frowning at Stefan for his abrupt dismissal, she smiled at Darren. ‘I’ll see you at the cottage tomorrow morning. Good night.’

  ‘Sure. No worries.’ Darren nodded. Cassie pushed the door shut and he drove off.

  ‘Are you truly all right?’ Stefan asked, now towering over her.

  She glanced up. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  He didn’t answer but gestured towards the Range Rover, which was still sitting in the middle of the road with the engine running. ‘Let’s get in the car so I can take you home.’

  He opened the passenger door and pushed a map off the seat for her to sit down. He started driving down the lane in silence. He was frowning and clenched his jaw as if he was annoyed, although what about she had no idea.

  ‘Did you have a nice time at the pub?’ she asked to diffuse the tension.

  He let out a grunt, which could mean anything.

  ‘Did Mason come?’

  He nodded, but still didn’t say a word. She sighed in frustration. Lord, the man was hard work.

  ‘Did you meet anybody else?’ she insisted.

  ‘I had a chat with your granddad, actually.’

  ‘You met my granddad?’ How strange. Her grandfather didn’t mention he was going out…

  ‘Yes. We… ahem… talked,’ he said, eyes focussed on the dark, windy road. ‘Morse was in the pub too. I’m pretty sure he was listening when your grandfather told his friends where you were working tonight. When I realised that he had left, I had a bad feeling, and one thing they teach you in the army is never to ignore a bad feeling.’ He clenched his jaw, and added, ‘It looks like I was right.’

  ‘Well, I did have a problem with my van, so in that respect your instinct was right,’ she conceded, ‘but Darren was going to give me a lift, so I wasn’t completely stranded. It was indeed very lucky he happened to drive by or I would have had a long walk home.’

  ‘Perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence.’

  She looked at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

  He sighed, as if she was being particularly dense. ‘Perhaps he had something to do with your flat tyres.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

  He shrugged. ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘At the campsite.’

  ‘Where is that?’

  ‘At the other end of the village, on the lake’s south shore.’

  ‘So he had no reason to be on this stretch of road at this time of night.’

  ‘He could have been visiting someone.’ She paused. That was unlikely, since most houses on that stretch of road were expensive detached ones, farmhouse conversions, or luxury holiday lets – hardly the kind of people Darren would be mixing with. ‘Or he could have been going for a drive.’

  He glanced at her and arched his eyebrows. ‘At this time of night, and in this weather?’

  She pulled a face. ‘It’s stopped snowing.’ But it was unlikely, it was true.

  ‘How long did you say he’s lived here?’

  ‘About six months. He arrived at the start of the summer season.’

  ‘What do you know about him?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Listen… Mr Lambert.’ Or should she call him Sergeant Major or whatever rank he’d reached in the French army, because right now he sounded like an army officer interrogating a particularly stupid recruit.

  ‘I thought we were on first-name terms.’

  She sighed. ‘All right. Stefan.’ Her voice caught in her throat as she said his name. It sounded intimate – too intimate – even though there was nothing intimate about the way he was barking questions at her.

  ‘Are you implying that Darren is stalking me?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m implying, yes.’

  She let out a derisive laugh and pointed at her pom-poms hat, her shapeless duffle coat and snow boots. ‘Do I look like the type of woman who gets stalked?’

  This time his eyes were hard when he turned to her. ‘Don’t be naïve. Looks have nothing to do with it. Any woman can be the victim of a stalker, whatever she looks like.’

  She gasped. At least now she knew what he thought about her. Not only was she dim – another word for ‘naïve’ – but she was ugly too. More compliments to add to ‘overzealous’, no doubt.

  She counted up to ten to make sure her voice was steady. ‘Darren would never do anything so…’ she racked her brain for a suitable word, ‘weird.’

  ‘It’s not just weird. It’s criminal. You must report him to the police.’

  This time, she bristled. In fact, she was getting downright annoyed at the bossy and condescending tone of his voice. She shook her head, and the pom-poms swung around her face. No wonder he didn’t take her seriously with that silly hat! She pulled it off and placed it in her lap.

  ‘Listen… Stefan. I am grateful for the lift home. However, I am sure there’s a perfectly innocent explanation for my van having flat tyres and Darren driving by tonight. There must have been nails or broken glass on the road, or I drove through potholes – heaven knows the roads are bad enough around here. I see absolutely no reason to accuse Darren of vandalising my van and cause him to be in trouble with the police.’

  Stefan stopped at a crossroads. Despite the absence of road signs, he didn’t hesitate but took the first road to the left. His sense of direction must come from being in the army, like his short temper and his lack of conversational skills.

  ‘I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want to worry you,’ Stefan said after a couple of minutes, ‘but I was walking down the hill this afternoon when Morse arrived at Belthorn. After parking his car, he appeared to be checking the tyres on your van.’

  She shrugged. ‘Why would he do that? No, don’t answer. I really don’t want to talk about Darren any longer.’

  ‘Didn’t you say that he lied this afternoon when he claimed you forgot a bottle of wine at the supermarket?’

  She blew a frustrated sigh. ‘No. I said he was mistaken.’

  ‘Ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away.’

  ‘Who said there was a problem?’

  ‘Your grandfather said that the man has a crush on you.’

  She let out a frustrated sigh and shook her head. ‘I don’t believe Darren has a crush on me at all, but even if – and that’s a very big if – that was the case, having a crush on someone isn’t a crime, or else half the world would be behind bars at some point.’

  She gestured towards the crossroads at the centre of the village. ‘Take a left here, please. Bluebell Cottage is at the end of the street.’

  He followed her instructions, and she turned to him as soon as he’d stopped the car in front of the house.

  ‘Thank you very much for the lift. I shall see you in the morning.’

  ‘How will you get to Belthorn now your van is out of order?’

  ‘Mason will lend me one of his old cars if he can’t fit new tyres on my van tomorrow.’

  She pulled her hat on, bent forward to retrieve her bag and the torch at her feet just as he leant forward too. His shoulder brushed against her cheek. Their fingers met on the torch. His face was only a couple of inches away, so close she felt the warmth of his breath on her face.

  He looked at her. The light from the lamppost in the street reflected in his eyes, made shadows on his face and outlined the contour of his mouth. The air seemed to crackle and sizzle around them
. Frissons danced on her skin, and the same warm, tingly feeling she’d experienced earlier when he’d pulled her on top of him hummed inside her, making her heart beat faster. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, and for a moment they just stared at each other, until a cat meowing nearby broke the spell.

  Stefan reached out for the torch and handed it to her. ‘Here it is,’ he said in his rough voice as they both straightened up.

  ‘Thanks.’ She slipped the torch inside her bag, opened the door and climbed down. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

  She hurried up the short path and opened the front door.

  ‘Why are you so late, Trifle, and where is your van?’ her grandfather said from inside.

  Cassie watched the Range Rover drive off and closed the door. ‘I’ll tell you all about it over a cup of tea. I need to put my feet up. It’s been a long evening.’

  There were, however, two things she would keep to herself: Stefan’s ridiculous statement about Darren Morse stalking her, and the no less ridiculous pull of attraction she was feeling towards him.

  Chapter Twelve

  The manor house loomed at the end of the track, its chimneys rising like masts against the night. He drove slowly, but the slippery lane wasn’t the reason why his fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly and his shoulders tensed up.

  Cassie Bell was, and the way she had brushed off his suggestion that Morse may be stalking her. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the man had checked her wheels in the afternoon then happened to drive past late at night to offer her a lift home when she had flat tyres. What were the odds of having two flat tyres at once?

  He shook his head and let out a long breath. Why did he care so much anyway? After all, he had come to Belthorn to be alone, not to take an interest in anybody else’s problems, or worry about the woman Charlie had hired to babysit him. It didn’t help of course that Cassie’s grandfather had more or less entrusted her to him, and that for some unexplained reason he now felt responsible for her. He didn’t need a shrink to tell him he was overcompensating for his past failings, but there was something more – something that was a very, very bad idea…