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

by Marie Laval

  Cassie opened the front door. Immediately, a large ginger cat shot out of the house and curled around the old woman’s legs with loud meows.

  ‘My poor Fluffy darling.’ The woman bent down to stroke the cat but it lashed out at her hand and darted across the street before disappearing between two houses. She stared at the red scratches on the back of her hand and cast Cassie a reproachful glance before marching back to her cottage, muttering and waving her stick.

  Cassie pulled a face. ‘Doris is really mad at me now. Let’s hope her cat comes back soon.’

  ‘I’m not sure I would if I were him,’ he remarked. ‘She is one scary lady.’

  ‘She’s lonely, that’s all. Her husband died years ago, and her children rarely visit. Fluffy is all she’s got.’ Her eyes, her voice, were sad. Did she really not mind that the old woman had just been rude to her and threatened her with the police?

  ‘I hope Fluffy hasn’t made too much of a mess. Last time he sneaked in, he broke my bedside lamp, messed up all the fabrics and threads in my sewing basket, and scattered paperwork all over the floor in the back room upstairs – not to mention almost gave me a heart attack.’

  He followed Cassie into the kitchen, and she gestured to a chair. ‘Please sit down,’ she said. ‘I’ll run upstairs and check the windows are shut properly. I don’t want Fluffy sneaking in again.’

  A sketchpad and boxes of artist’s pencils and crayons were spread out on the kitchen table. Curious, he pulled the sketchpad towards him and lifted the cover. The first sketch made him catch his breath. It was Belthorn’s drawing room, but not as it was now. In fact, the only recognisable features were the fireplace, the elaborate ceiling and cornices and the tall windows. Cassie had given the walls rich cream and mushroom shades, and the sofa and armchairs a re-upholstered look in striking plum and lime green. Curtains in similar colours framed the windows, and interior shutters let sunlight filter into the room.

  He flicked through the pages, each depicting various rooms at Belthorn. He knew nothing about interior design, but Cassie’s ideas were at the same time quirky and elegant, and full of sensitivity to the manor house’s character. Gabrielle and Charlie would love them.

  Why was the woman wasting her time cleaning houses and babysitting him when she could do something infinitely more creative and rewarding, not to mention better paid?

  He recalled his conversations with Sadie and Brenda at the village pub on Saturday night. Neither woman had needed much prompting to talk about Cassie.

  ‘She’s hardly done anything with her interior design diploma,’ Brenda had said.

  ‘That’s because she’s been too busy running Bluebell Cleaning,’ Sadie had added.

  ‘And looking after her granddad,’ Brenda had added. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Joseph is a lovely man, but he does rely on Cassie far too much.’

  Brenda had explained that Cassie’s father – Joseph’s son – had died when Cassie was a toddler. Her mother had remarried when Cassie finished high school. ‘When Keith retired from the police two years ago, they sold their house and bought an apartment in Tenerife. Cassie took over Bluebell Cleaning and moved in with Joseph to keep an eye on him. She hasn’t had much time to herself since, poor love.’

  Stefan had steered the conversation onto Morse but unfortunately, neither Sadie nor Brenda had been able to tell him much. Morse rarely spoke to anyone at the pub, never drank more than a couple of pints, and generally kept himself to himself. ‘Having said that, he is popular with the village’s elderly folks,’ Sadie had added. ‘He does odd jobs for them, so I guess he must be a nice guy.’

  Stefan’s mobile pinged as he was thinking about the best way to find out information about Morse whilst still flicking through the sketchbook. He did what he had carefully avoided doing for weeks. He took the phone out of his pocket, and opened the message without looking at the sender’s details.

  He stared at the screen, and it felt like there was not enough air to breathe. A photo of Isa and himself standing in front of a Cougar helicopter filled the screen. He remembered the day perfectly. It was her first mission as co-pilot, two and half years before. After a short flight to survey the area surrounding the base, they had spent time in the control room working on flight plans for the following days before having lunch and a game of table football with other personnel in the canteen. They had clicked from that very first day, had worked together on more missions than he could remember and had become friends as well as colleagues. She had told him about her family, her hopes for the future, and about the terrible times she’d been through when as a young recruit she had been the victim of a vicious, manipulative stalker and had almost resigned from the army…

  He read a few words before the lines blurred on the screen. ‘We know how highly Isa thought of you. She would want you to have this.’ He scrolled down to the name at the bottom of the email. Carole Bertier. Isa’s mother.

  He put the phone on the table, closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. Isa had trusted him with her life and he had let her down.

  ‘The cat didn’t make too much of a mess this time, but I still have no idea how he got in…’ Cassie said as she came back into the kitchen.

  He opened his eyes to find her staring at him, then at the photo on his phone.

  ‘Are you all right? Did you have bad news or something?’

  He slipped the phone back into his pocket. ‘I’m fine. Just fine.’ He blinked. ‘What were you saying about the cat?’

  She frowned as if she didn’t believe him, but didn’t insist. ‘All the windows upstairs are shut. Fluffy must have sneaked past me as I went out this morning. I swear that cat must have an invisibility cloak! I am really sorry for dragging you here, and for that unpleasant exchange with Doris.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  She fastened her coat and picked up her handbag. Only then did she notice the sketchbook open on the table, and her eyes widened in shock. ‘You looked at my drawings?’

  He didn’t bother apologising. ‘I like your sketches of Belthorn. More to the point, I think Charlie would like them too.’

  ‘Do you really believe that?’

  He nodded. Her eyes sparkled, the dimples on her cheeks deepened, and a soft, mellow sensation spread through his chest. He could get used to Cassie looking at him this way. After the shock of receiving the photo and the email from Isa’s mother it was like a warm, soothing balm on his aching heart.

  Cassie’s smile died down almost immediately and she let out a deep sigh. ‘I have no intention of showing Charlie, or anyone, my designs. I don’t want to hear again that I should stick to what I do best – cleaning.’

  Her shoulders sagged, her eyes misted and she closed the sketchbook and placed the boxes of pencils on top. It wasn’t like her to be so defeated. He hated seeing her so sad. He hated even more the urge to reach out and cradle her in his arms to comfort her.

  ‘Perhaps you should try anyway,’ he said in a gruff voice, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

  She slung her handbag on her shoulder. ‘Forget it. Shall we go?’

  There was no point insisting, so he followed her out. ‘By the way, have you seen any more of Morse?’

  She nodded. ‘He was at a client’s house last Saturday, but you are wrong about him having… feelings… for me. He didn’t look happy to see me at all. One thing is certain. I won’t be asking him to mend anything around here ever again.’

  He arched his eyebrows. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Nothing he fixes ever works. Sometimes I wonder how he got the caretaker job at the campsite. He certainly is rubbish at maintenance.’ She frowned as if trying to remember something and muttered. ‘His hands… there’s something about his hands…’ She shrugged and locked the door. ‘Never mind. I can’t remember.’

  On the road to Keswick, Cassie hardly paused for breath as she pointed to local landmarks and told him about the villages they drove through, and the fells rising around them like be
nevolent giants, snow caps gleaming in the bright sunshine. A few weeks ago, he would have been irritated by her constant chatter, but not today. Today she made him smile, and her stories were a distraction from his usual brooding thoughts.

  ‘Castlerigg is always crowded in summer, but it should be quiet today,’ Cassie said as he drove up the hill, and followed the brown tourist signs to the stone circle.

  She was right. The Range Rover was the only car in the car park. Cassie put her pom-pom hat on and slipped her hands into her gloves. The sun may be shining but it was exposed up on the hill, and the icy wind pricked his skin and made his eyes water.

  He pushed the wooden gate open onto a field where snow-tipped stones formed a circle in the frozen landscape. His boots bit into the snow and his breath steamed in front of him as he strode across the field. The air was so pure and sharp he could taste the frost on his lips.

  Cassie pointed to mountains in the distance. ‘That’s Skiddaw over there, the highest fell in the Lakes. And this is Blencathra.’

  ‘This is amazing.’ He stood at the centre of the circle and turned slowly to take in his surroundings.

  ‘There are thirty-eight big stones and four smaller ones,’ Cassie carried on, her cheeks now as red as her coat.

  ‘When I was a little girl, my grandma told me that the stones were the ancient people’s tool to communicate with their gods and loved ones – a bit like a telephone or a walkie-talkie, if you like.’

  Her pink lips stretched in a wistful smile. ‘I loved the idea that my father could hear me if I whispered very close to that stone, over there.’

  She pointed at one of the bigger stones at the far side of the circle. ‘He died when I was little and I don’t remember him much. Of course, I realised later it was all nonsense, but I still came back over and over again to whisper my worries to the stone, and I always felt better afterwards. People say that talking is part of the healing process when you go through sad or traumatic times and…’

  She left her sentence unfinished and gave him a searching look. ‘You looked upset earlier about the photo on your phone. I want you to know that you can talk to me if you like…’

  His heart thumped in his chest. He looked down. ‘Talk to you? About what, exactly?’

  She put her gloved hand on his forearm. ‘About your friend in the photo, or about whatever troubles you.’

  ‘Why should you care?’ He couldn’t help the bite in his tone.

  Her cheeks turned a deeper pink. ‘I know it’s none of my business, but it’s obvious you have been through terrible times, and if you feel like talking, you can trust me. I will listen and not say a word. In fact, I will be as silent as the standing stones.’

  In this glorious setting, with the winter sun sparkling on the snow, the hills and the stones standing all around them like silent witnesses, the memories of the crash and the bloodbath he had caused were like gruesome, nightmarish ghouls. Worst of all was the pity in Cassie’s eyes.

  His mouth twisted into a sarcastic smile. ‘You really take your job to heart, don’t you?’

  ‘My job?’

  ‘Bluebell to the Rescue… Dirt, gloom and bad memories – you think you can make them all vanish with your Christmas jokes and your feather duster, but there are things that nobody – and not even you – can sort out.’

  Her eyes widened in shock. ‘It’s got nothing to do with my job. I just want to help.’

  ‘Thanks for the offer of a counselling session. I’ll bear it in mind.’

  He looked down at her, and felt even more rubbish when he saw her lips tremble and tears glisten in her eyes. It had only taken a few bad-tempered words to kill her smile.

  She pulled a tissue from her coat pocket and blew her nose. They resumed their walk but didn’t talk any more. He should apologise, of course. In fact, he should apologise for the way he’d been ever since he’d arrived – for being rude and bad-tempered, when she only offered kindness and support, and never mind if it was only because it was in her job description.

  He opened his mouth to speak but she beat him to it.

  ‘I’d like a few minutes alone, if you don’t mind,’ she said without looking at him.

  He nodded and went back to the car. From behind the wheel he watched her touch the large stone she had pointed to before, and his heart did that funny thing again. Was she thinking about her father and telling him what a miserable brute Stefan was for making her cry?

  Suddenly there was no more bitterness, no more hurt pride, self-pity or anger, only overwhelming tenderness for the young woman who believed that her dead father was listening to her troubles and would make everything better…

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘The edges of the lake are frozen,’ Stefan remarked as they reached the end of the path and stood side by side looking at the island at the centre of Derwent Water.

  These were the first words he’d spoken since they had left Castelrigg. Cassie slipped her hands into the pockets of her coat to keep them warm. She had left her gloves in the car – an oversight she sorely regretted now.

  It wasn’t the only thing she regretted. She shouldn’t have been so pushy earlier. Whatever ailed Stefan beside the physical pain must be linked to the woman in the photo. She wore a military boiler suit and stood in front of a helicopter. It was fair to assume that she must have worked with him.

  It had been insensitive to ask him to talk when it was obvious the photo had brought back painful memories, and he had every right to be annoyed with her. She was no psychologist or counsellor. She wasn’t even a friend.

  There was only one thing to do. She had to apologise. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him, only to find that he was looking at her.

  ‘Listen, Cassie…’ he started.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she blurted out at the same time.

  A half-smile stretched his lips. ‘Sorry? What for? I’m the one who needs to apologise. I was rude… again, and there was no need for it. I know you mean well, and it’s nothing personal, but there are things I don’t want to talk about – ever.’

  ‘No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to interfere. I promise never to pry or ask awkward questions again. Friends?’

  She extended her hand. He looked down, winter sunlight caught his eyes, turning them pale amber. She could stare into his eyes for hours, and still find different shades of gold, brown and green. She held her breath. Would he rebuff her and tell her to mind her own business, or would he accept her offer of peace?

  ‘Of course.’ He took her hand.

  A freezing gust of wind blew from the lake and rattled the bare branches in a nearby clump of trees, and she shivered. Stefan released her hand. ‘Let’s go into town and find somewhere to have lunch.’

  Half an hour later they walked into a cosy pub in the town centre. It was packed with office workers enjoying an early Christmas dinner, and they were lucky to find a table close to the fireplace.

  ‘Busy place,’ Stefan remarked, pulling a chair out for her.

  He sat opposite and handed her a menu whilst he studied the chalkboard where daily specials were displayed. ‘I’ll have the steak pie, although I’m sure it won’t be as good as yours,’ he said after a few seconds.

  Heat spread over her cheeks. She lifted the menu to hide her face and pretended to study it, although she had no idea why she should be so flustered. Praising her steak pie wasn’t exactly a sexy compliment, and from what he had said before, she knew he didn’t have a very high opinion of her intellect or her physique.

  ‘I’ll have the Cumberland sausage and mash,’ she said, putting the menu down.

  He asked what she wanted to drink, and got up to place their order at the bar and she relaxed against the back of her chair. A fire crackled in the fireplace nearby and catchy music played in the background. The people sitting at the next table had had too much to drink already, judging from their loud voices and raucous laughter as they pulled crackers and read out the silly ri
ddles inside. Had he been there, her granddad would have probably joined in with a few jokes of his own.

  Worry knotted her stomach again, like every time she thought about her grandfather these days. There was definitely something wrong with him. Before withdrawing money as he requested, she had checked his bank balance and found it surprisingly low. What had he done with his money? He must have bought expensive Christmas presents for the whole family this year – not a good idea, considering how small his pension was.

  A man’s hand fell heavily onto her shoulder, making her cry out in shock. She looked up and met Piers’s smirking face.

  ‘Hello, darling. Fancy seeing you here all alone.’

  She repressed a groan and forced a smile. ‘Hi, Piers. This is a surprise. Are you having lunch here too?’

  ‘I was with a client and we just finished. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to Keswick today? We could have met up.’

  ‘It wasn’t planned. Stefan Lambert invited me.’ She pointed at the bar where Stefan stood head and shoulders above the other patrons ordering drinks.

  ‘Is that him over there?’ Piers pulled a face. ‘Poor chap… He does look rather… battered. What happened to him, do you know?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say. Didn’t Charles write to you about him?’ It was odd that Piers knew nothing about Stefan Lambert when he and Charles Ashville were such close friends.

  Piers shook his head. ‘Not a word apart from the original email I forwarded to you.’

  Stefan walked back towards the table, half a pint of bitter in one hand and a glass of lemonade for her in the other. His gaze went from Piers’s hand on her shoulder to her face, and his eyebrows gathered in an imperceptible frown.

  ‘Hi there. I’m Piers Hardy, Charles’s oldest buddy and estate manager.’ Piers removed his hand from her shoulder at last, and she shuffled her chair away from him.

  Stefan put the glasses down and introduced himself.

  The two men shook hands, and Piers chuckled. ‘Did you catch a cold walking on the hills? You sound terribly croaky. You should ask Cassie to work her magic on you and prepare you a hot toddy.’