by Marie Laval
Tim and Rachel laughed. ‘Disappointed? Relieved, more like.’
Joseph tutted and turned to Stefan. ‘As a matter of fact, I just made up a new riddle, and you shall be the first to hear it. “What did the policeman say to the naughty Christmas pudding?”’
Stefan frowned. ‘Sorry?’
Joseph slapped his hand to his forehead. ‘You probably don’t know what a Christmas pudding is, being French. It’s a round cake made with fruit soaked in brandy that we eat with cream or brandy sauce. So, what do you think the policeman said to the naughty Christmas pudding?’
Stefan had no idea. ‘Hmm… Since there’s alcohol involved, could he say that the pudding was over the limit?’
‘Not bad, but not the right answer.’
‘That it was rolling down the hill too fast?’ Stefan suggested.
‘Still not right… I’ll put you out of your misery. The policeman said: “I’m taking you into custardy!”’
Ignoring the chorus of groans from Tim, Rachel and Cassie, Joseph Bell burst out laughing and slapped his thighs with the palm of his hands. ‘It’s good, isn’t it?’
Cassie got up, muttered that she was going to check on the boys and left the room, still without looking at him. She must be regretting her offer of a lift back to Belthorn.
‘I think I’ll walk after all,’ he said when she had gone upstairs.
Joseph Bell frowned. ‘But it’s a long way, and it’s dark now.’
‘I’ll be all right. I have a torch, and I’m used to walking long distances in all kinds of weather.’ There was no need to add that the days when he used to run twenty kilometres in full army gear and with a thirty kilos rucksack on his back were long gone.
He thanked Rachel and Tim for their hospitality, retrieved his bag, zipped up his coat and walked out into the night. The dogs barked at him again as he strode across the muddy courtyard, fastened the gate behind him and started on the track down the hill.
The cold stung his cheeks, and made his breath steam and his eyes water. As he walked away from the farm, the silence, troubled only by the distant barking of dogs, covered the mountains like a thick blanket. It couldn’t be more different than Mali, and yet it was the same sky, the same moon and the same stars. The same feeling of complete solitude.
In the desert the silence was sharp and pure as crystal. The friendships intense, the stories shared around the campfire magical and the music poignant. There was something in the desert at night that made you feel at once very small and insignificant, and indestructible… But nobody was indestructible. His throat tightened and he looked at the moon shadows on the snowy fields.
He had only walked a few hundred yards when a car rattled down the lane behind him and headlights swept over the path. A battered Land Rover rattled to a stop next to him. He stopped at the side of the lane as Cassie wound the window down. She was wrapped up in her red coat and a thick red scarf, and with the pom-poms dangling from her woolly hat and framing her face, she looked like a creature straight out of a Christmas story.
‘I said I would drive you back home. Why didn’t you wait?’ She sounded annoyed.
‘You were busy.’
She shrugged and pushed the door open. ‘I only wanted to kiss the boys goodbye. Get in.’
He frowned. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course, I’m sure.’
He climbed into the car and they set off down the bumpy farm track. It took fifteen minutes of uncomfortable silence to reach the bottom of the lane leading to Belthorn Manor. The Land Rover skidded on the main road several times, so it was only fair to think that the lane to the manor house would be even more treacherous. There was no need for Cassie to risk an accident for his sake.
‘Leave me here,’ he said. ‘I’ll walk the rest of the way.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’ll drive you back.’
‘It’s only three or four miles at the most from here. I’ll walk.’
She slowed down as they approached the turn for Belthorn. ‘But, it’s cold and dark, and you’re not…’
Pride punched his stomach. ‘Not fit enough. Is that what you were going to say?’
She sighed. ‘I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed in pain earlier.’
‘I feel much better now,’ he lied. ‘In fact, the walk will do me good, and it will clear my head too.’
She bit her lip. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’
She brought the Land Rover to a halt. ‘It’s a shame I missed you when I called at Belthorn this morning. There’s some steak pie and vegetables left in the oven, and I put enough logs in the drawing room so you can make a fire tonight.’
‘You shouldn’t have.’
‘It’s all right. It’s—’
‘It’s all part of your job. I know.’
She smiled. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Sure,’ he replied, even though he had no intention of being at Belthorn when she came. The woman brought far too many temptations.
He let himself out and stood watching as she drove off. Soon, the tail lights of the Land Rover disappeared and he was alone, with only the silver glow of the stars and the moon to light the way.
He had lied when he said that he was feeling better. If anything, his body ached even more after the bumpy car journey. He stumbled on lumps of icy snow, the rucksack hanging from his shoulder weighed like a ton of bricks, and it hurt just to breathe. Thank goodness there was nobody around to watch him amble his way up the lane like an old man.
Walking past the Sanctuary Stone at last, he calculated that he only had another two miles to go – another hour’s walk, at the snail pace he was going – and distracted himself by dreaming about a steaming cup of coffee, a slice of Cassie’s steak pie, and memories of the young woman’s sunny smile and sparkling grey eyes.
The walk up the lane took so long that he lost track of time but at long last the dark shapes of Belthorn and the abbey emerged against the starry night sky. He wasn’t easily spooked but he had to admit that there was a certain atmosphere about the place. It was no wonder it had given rise to scary stories.
What had Cassie experienced there that was so terrifying that years later she was still reluctant to talk about it? Was it anything to do with that ghostly Grey Friar Rachel talked about? Charlie had never mentioned any weird story about the place, but then again his friend hardly ever talked about Belthorn…
He fished his keys from his pocket with fingers numb with cold despite the gloves, unlocked the front door and with a sigh of relief made his way to the kitchen to warm up that steak pie he had been dreaming about during his long trek back.
Later in the evening, he poured a dash of brandy into a mug of hot coffee and brought the drink to the drawing room. Cassie must have been sewing again, because there was a new cushion on the armchair, this time with a colourful patchwork design.
A blue Post-it stuck to the mantelpiece attracted his attention. Another joke, no doubt.
‘What is Father Christmas’s cat called?’ He turned the note over, and couldn’t repress a smile. ‘Santa’s Paws.’
Shoving the note into his trouser pocket, he looked around. Cassie had filled a wicker basket with logs, newspapers and kindle. It would be a shame not to make a fire when she had gone to so much trouble.
Kneeling down in front of the fireplace, he scrunched up sheets of newspaper in the grate, snapped a few twigs and added a couple of logs before lighting the fire. Soon, flames danced, hissed and crackled, warming him and soothing his body and soul.
He sat down in the armchair with André Vaillant’s diary on his knees.
How uncanny that Ruth Merriweather should be Cassie’s great-great-aunt, and that Patterdale Farm belonged to her family… What must it be to have roots that went so deep, to live and work on a piece of land your family had owned for generations?
His family had lived on military bases around the country as he was growing up, and for the past twenty years he
had himself moved around a lot. His Paris flat had been meant as an investment and wasn’t somewhere he really wanted to return to. Perhaps he should sell it, and find something else.
He still had time to consider his options, but whatever he chose would probably be a complete change from the life he’d known so far, and that scared the hell out of him.
Ever since he was a child, being a helicopter pilot for the army was all he’d ever dreamt of, and nothing had deterred him from his goal. Not the fact that only ten per cent of applicants were successful, or the physical demands of the gruelling four year training, followed by a further two year course as a Puma, Cougar and Caracal helicopter pilot.
He would never forget the thrill of his first rescue mission… and the horror of his last.
He looked away from the fire and opened Vaillant’s diary. What had become of him? Had he found happiness with sweet Ruth Merriweather or had he returned to France alone? Perhaps he could ask Cassie. She might know the full story.
Stefan turned the pages until he found the last entry he had read.
Chapter Fifteen
Cassie checked the time and switched on her laptop to Skype her mother. It was the second time that week, which immediately prompted her mother to ask her if everything was all right.
Cassie forced a smile. ‘I’m fine, Mum, but with Granddad at Patterdale Farm the cottage is very quiet.’
‘Why don’t you fly over for Christmas? It would be lovely to have you here with us.’
‘Granddad will never leave Red Moss during the festive season, not when he has the Comedy Night to look forward to. It’s his last one too.’
‘You could always come on your own.’
Cassie shook her head. ‘I can’t let my regular customers down. It’s not just the cleaning, Mum. My elderly ladies look forward to my visits. We have a cup of tea and a chat, not to mention Granddad’s jokes, which always cheer them up. The festive season can be really hard on those who have no family around. Besides, some of them feel scared and vulnerable because of the recent burglaries in the village, and me calling on them reassures them.’
‘But, my darling, you’re a cleaner, not a miracle worker! You’re not responsible for other people’s happiness. Actually, what about making me happy for a change? I haven’t seen you in months.’
Cassie sighed. ‘I know, Mum. I’m sorry, but besides my elderly clients, I also have the holiday cottages to look after too and the bookings are picking up now for Christmas and the New Year. And, of course, there’s Charles Ashville’s guest at Belthorn.’
Her mother pulled a face. ‘I had forgotten about him. How are you getting on? I know how much you hate it there.’
‘I’m slowly getting used to it.’
‘And what about the guest? Has his mood improved at all?’
Cassie looked away from the screen. The picture on the screen might be a little blurry but she couldn’t take the risk of her mother noticing that the mere mention of Stefan was enough to make her blush.
‘He is still grumpy, and he still doesn’t like Christmas,’ she replied, trying to keep her voice casual. ‘To tell the truth, I’ve hardly seen him this week. He either goes out as soon as I arrive at Belthorn, or he shuts himself in the library to work.’
‘What does he work on?’
‘A training guide for helicopter pilots, I believe.’
The man was avoiding her, no doubt because of that awkward moment at Patterdale Farm when she had gawked at him like an enamoured teenager. She cringed every time she recalled it, which was often, and yet she still could do nothing to stop her heart from racing or stop her face from burning when she bumped into him at Belthorn.
‘Don’t worry, love, your hard work and lovely smile will win him round in the end,’ her mother said, ‘and Granddad’s jokes are sure to improve his mood. It can’t be pleasant for him being alone at Belthorn.’
Cassie nodded. ‘I made lots of new cushions, rearranged the furniture a bit, and bought a few new things to cheer the place up, and I even started sketching a few ideas.’
‘Darling, please don’t get carried away,’ her mother interrupted. ‘Remember what happened last time… and even if your drawings are good – which I’m sure they are,’ she added quickly, ‘you know very well that what Piers told you is true. If ever Charles and Gabrielle want to update the place, they will ask a proper designer, not—’
‘Not the local cleaning lady, is that what you mean?’ She couldn’t help the bitterness in her voice.
Her mother had the grace to look embarrassed on the screen. ‘Don’t say it like that. There’s nothing wrong with being a cleaner. I was a cleaner all my life and built up a nice little business that I passed onto you.’
‘I know, Mum, and I’m very grateful. I love running Bluebell Cleaning and I love helping people out.’ There was no point telling her mother that she would love being an interior designer even more.
After saying goodbye and switching off her laptop, Cassie warmed up some soup, cut a piece of bread, and sat down to eat whilst flicking through her notebook and the menus she had planned for Stefan. She was no great cook, and devising varied and tasty meals stretched her imagination to the limit. Perhaps she shouldn’t bother. It wasn’t as if Lambert had commented about her food over the last week, or about her cleaning, or any of the changes she had made to Belthorn for that matter…
She finished her tea and glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Only half past seven. The prospect of another evening alone made her want to cry. On an impulse, she reached out for her mobile and texted Salomé.
Fancy a drink at the pub? The answer came back almost immediately.
Good idea! I’ll text Cecilia. See you there. xxx
Feeling considerably more cheerful, she washed up, took the bin out through the back door, muttering when her key got jammed in the new lock Darren had fitted. Was the man actually able to fix anything at all?
She managed to pull her key free, and ran upstairs to shower and change into her new top and a pair of black jeans.
Her mobile rang as she was going out.
‘Cassie, you just have to help us!’ Rachel cried out.
‘What happened? Is it the boys… or Granddad?’
‘No, it’s our Kerry.’
Cassie drew in breath. ‘What has she done now?’
‘She saw photos of a Tarzan and Jane wedding in a bridal magazine at the dentist’s this morning, and now she wants one,’ Rachel said.
Cassie burst out laughing. ‘Are you kidding me?’
‘I wish I was. She wants to turn the campsite clubhouse into a jungle, with drum beats and fake monkeys.’
‘Why doesn’t she fly to that orangutan sanctuary she is sponsoring? There’ll be plenty of real monkeys there.’
‘You know she’s only keen on that charity because she thinks it will make her look good with Alastair’s trendy friends. She doesn’t really like monkeys. In fact, she would probably complain they look horrid and smell disgusting!’ Rachel paused. ‘Oh and by the way, she wants vines too.’
‘Whatever for? Alastair never wears anything but smart suits. I can’t imagine him swinging from the trees with nothing else but a loincloth. What’s more, it’s the middle of winter. Couldn’t Kerry pick a Narnia- or Frozen-themed wedding instead?’ Or an Alice in Wonderland wedding, she carried on silently, so that with a bit of luck she and her stuffy fiancé could disappear down the rabbit hole forever.
‘Stop laughing. It’s not funny. So, are you going to help? You’ll know what to do. After all, you’re an interior designer.’
‘No, I’m a cleaner.’
‘But you have your diploma, and you’ve done bit of decorating for people – Mason, Salomé, even Cecilia at The Studio. If someone can turn the clubhouse into a pretend jungle, it’s you. And before you ask, we did try to tell Kerry it was too late, but she threatened to cancel the wedding. Mum keeps crying and my dad locked himself in the barn with a bottle of whisky and is refusing t
o come out.’
That sounded like Rachel’s sister all right. The girl had a gift for creating havoc… and getting her own way in the end.
She sighed. It looked like she had no choice. ‘What’s your budget?’
Rachel stated a ridiculously low sum.
‘You must be joking. I couldn’t even buy paper napkins with that!’
‘I wish I was. Mum and Dad have already paid for the catering, the flowers, the dress and most of the honeymoon in Barbados, as well as a six-month sponsorship of the orangutan sanctuary. That’s all they can spare. So are you going to help?’
Cassie took a deep breath. However annoying Kerry could be, she was, in a roundabout way, family. ‘I’m not promising any miracles, or even any monkeys – real or fake – but I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Thank you. You’re the best!’ Rachel screeched. Cassie could almost imagine her jumping up and down.
‘Don’t get too excited. I said I wasn’t promising any miracles. By the way, how do you find my granddad?’
She hadn’t told anyone, not even Rachel, about her grandfather’s increasingly frequent memory lapses.
‘He’s great, as usual.’
‘Does he seem distracted and forgetful to you?’
‘Not that I’ve noticed. He’s been helping Louis with his history homework, and Ollie with his maths, and there was nothing wrong with his dates or his timetables. Why do you ask?’
Cassie blew a relieved breath. ‘No particular reason. I’m glad he’s having a good time with the boys.’
‘Actually, we would like him to stay over until after the wedding. Tim and I haven’t had a night out alone together in ages and he offered to babysit. Would you mind?’
Although she didn’t relish the prospect of being alone for another week or so, Cassie could find no reason to object.
‘Great. So I’ll see you tomorrow night at the pub for our Kerry’s hen do at six o’clock sharp. I booked the taxi for eight, which will leave us plenty of time for a few drinks before we go to the restaurant. Remember to wear dungarees, a stripy top, and a bandana in your hair. The Bandanamama girls are back!’
