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

by Marie Laval

Stefan heaved the old man to his feet. ‘Do you need a lift back to Patterdale Farm?’

  ‘It’s kind of you to offer, son, but Rachel is taking me back later. Young Louis was feeling well enough to attend school this morning so she’s gone to work, and I popped into the village for a few errands.’

  He smiled. ‘By the way, Tim said that our Cassie spent the night at Belthorn because the village road was blocked. It’s lucky you were there to look after her.’

  Stefan frantically tried to find something suitable to say. Telling Joseph that he had made love to his granddaughter most of the night was probably not what he had implied by him looking after Cassie. His face grew hot, again. Damn it, he was making a habit of this blushing business…

  ‘I hope she was… ahem… comfortable enough,’ he muttered.

  ‘Good. Good.’ Was there a twinkle in Joseph’s eyes or was it just the sunlight?

  ‘Actually, there’s something I need from Bluebell Cottage. Would you mind coming with me, that’s if you’ve nothing better to do, of course? With my bad knee and with the pavements being slippery, I could do with a steady arm to lean on. I don’t want to fall and end up in Casualty with a broken bone, like Louis.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Once in front of the cottage, Joseph let go of Stefan’s arm and fished a key out of his coat pocket. ‘Let’s hurry. I don’t want Doris from across the road to see me. The woman scares me to death. She believes I’m trying to steal her cat when I can’t abide the damned animal.’

  Stefan repressed a smile at his panicked expression and the way he darted furtive glances across the street as if his neighbour was about to come out of her cottage and beat him with her walking stick.

  ‘I have to agree with you that she is rather formidable. I met her on Tuesday when Cassie came back here to let the cat out.’

  Joseph glanced up, a surprised look on his face. ‘He came in again? I swear I’m going to start charging that cat rent soon.’ He unlocked the front door and pulled a face. ‘Come in, quick!’

  Stefan did as he was told.

  ‘Now, my lad, would you mind going upstairs and getting a file for me? I’m having a spot of bother with my bank and I need to check my papers, but I don’t think I could manage the stairs just yet.’

  He gave Stefan a description of the file he was after, and added, ‘It’s in the top drawer of the filing cabinet, in the back room. Second door on your left.’ He lowered himself onto a chair at the kitchen table, once again, looking old and forlorn. In fact, he hadn’t cracked a single joke yet.

  It didn’t take long to find the file Joseph was after, all the more because it was sticking out of the drawer, preventing it from closing properly. As Stefan lifted it out, he spotted more files at the back, with stickers with names on, some of them he recognised. Hartley. Gasby. Sweeney. Bennett – wasn’t that the vicar’s name? Larger ones at the back read ‘Ashville Cottages’ and ‘Belthorn’. The files must be Cassie’s.

  As he shut the drawer, something fell at the back of the cabinet with a hard thump. He bent down to retrieve it, and pulled out a chunky magazine he recognised straight away. It was a copy of the interior design magazine he had bought Cassie the day before at the hospital, the one with the photos of her hotel room designs, and the photo of her former boss.

  He swallowed hard as the unpleasant sensation he had experienced in the hospital waiting room tightened his chest once more and left a bitter taste in his mouth. Jealousy – if that’s what that nasty, gut-wrenching feeling was – wasn’t something he cared for.

  He put the magazine on top of the filing cabinet and was about to walk out when the radiator emitted a loud gurgling sound, and a damp patch spread on the carpet below.

  He went back downstairs file in hand and put it on the kitchen table.

  Joseph thanked him. ‘I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention my troubles to Cassie. I have been a little under the weather and have got sidetracked with my finances lately. Nothing serious, you understand, and I don’t want her to worry over nothing. Can I count on you?’

  What could Stefan say? He didn’t like the idea of keeping secrets, but he nodded. ‘By the way, your radiator is leaking.’

  ‘Young Darren has been working on that radiator for weeks,’ Joseph said. ‘He said it was sorted last time he came.’

  Stefan frowned. ‘Do you want me to take a look? It shouldn’t be too hard to fix.’

  ‘It’s nice of you to try. I have a few tools in a box under the sink. While you’re up there, could you also get my arthritis medication from the bathroom cabinet? I’ve been fine without it until today, but I guess I’d better start taking it again.’ He gave him the name of the medication and told him it was in a red and yellow box.

  Back upstairs with the tool box in hand, it didn’t take Stefan more than five minutes to identify the problem with the radiator, select the appropriate tool, and stop the leak, and a further five to lift the wet carpet and make sure there would be no lasting damage to the floorboards underneath.

  Anyone with the most basic skills would have done the same, so what had taken Morse so long to not do the job?

  What if he had just pretended to work? Stefan glanced at the filing cabinet where Joseph stored his bank papers and Cassie some of her clients’ files…

  He rose to his feet, pulled the drawer towards him and grabbed the file named Gasby. From what he remembered, the woman had been burgled recently. Flicking through the papers, he found what he was looking for – a cleaning schedule for the past few months and notes detailing if Mrs Gasby had been in or out when Cassie had been cleaning at her house.

  He put the file back and took another one out. Sweeney. The name had been mentioned at Patterdale Farm about yet another burglary. Once again, the file contained cleaning schedules with a snapshot of the woman’s diary and weekly activities. Anyone studying the schedule would see a pattern emerge, and be able to select a day and time when the house was likely to be empty to commit a crime.

  Anyone pretending to be fixing a radiator, that is…

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Kerry’s car was already in the car park when Cassie arrived at the campsite. She unloaded the flip-flop flamingo that she had just collected from Cecilia’s shop, taking care not to catch the long legs or the beak of the bird in the door, and locked the van. Cecilia had been very giddy – all twinkling blue eyes, lopsided smiles, and hints about Tarzan – but it hadn’t been enough to restore the glorious mood of that morning…

  Her body ached from scrubbing, dusting and polishing every inch of the holiday cottage Alastair had booked for the London friends who were coming to the wedding, and her eyes hurt from crying tears of rage and humiliation after the disaster of her lunch with Piers. More than anything, she was ashamed – ashamed to have let the situation with Piers run for so long; ashamed not to have told him before that she wasn’t interested and not demanding that he stop groping her. It was her fault. She had been weak and pathetic, and now she was paying the price…

  She had been so downhearted that she hadn’t even tried any of the beautiful dresses Cecilia had selected for her. She would have to be careful about money from now on. Piers had terminated their arrangement, and without the Ashville holiday let contract, Bluebell Cleaning was as good as finished.

  ‘Things are going to be a bit tight. I can’t afford to buy a new dress,’ she had confessed to her friend.

  ‘Then I’ll let you borrow one,’ Cecilia had replied, before selecting a diaphanous knee-length grey dress that matched the colour of her eyes. ‘I’m sure your French Tarzan will only have eyes for you in that dress.’

  Cassie walked carefully on the gritted path to the clubhouse, her arms full of a pink flamingo taller than her. What else could go wrong today? Kerry might hate the jungle makeover, have one of her infamous tantrums and pop all the balloons Stefan had blown with her spiky heels, and demand real monkeys instead of the cardboard cut-outs Cassie had designed.

  The door of the
clubhouse swung open and Kerry walked out, a beaming smile on her pretty face.

  ‘Cassie! I love it! It’s beautiful and fun!’ Her excited voice pierced through the night, followed by the clicking of heels as the young woman rushed down the steps. ‘Here, let me help you with that… thing.’

  ‘It’s a flamingo made of recycled flip-flops, coming all the way from Kenya, via Cecilia’s Studio,’ Cassie explained as Kerry grabbed hold of the flamingo’s feet and helped her carry it into the clubhouse.

  They put the bird down and Kerry wrapped Cassie in a tight hug. ‘Thank you so much. You’ve made my dream come true.’ As the young woman pulled away, she was smiling but her eyes glistened with tears.

  ‘You like it that much? Really?’ Cassie gestured to the mock tropical forest, the paper flowers and animal masks peeping through the fake foliage, bathed in the golden glow of the fairy lights strung around the room.

  ‘I told you. I love it!’

  Cassie breathed a sigh of relief. The day wouldn’t be a total disaster after all. ‘Where do you want the flamingo? You’re the bride, you decide,’ she told Kerry, ‘but I think it would look better here… or…’

  Kerry nodded. ‘Put it anywhere. I don’t mind.’

  The sounds of a car engine, of doors closing and men’s voices outside interrupted her. Cassie glanced at Kerry. ‘Is that Alastair? I thought you wanted to keep this a surprise for tomorrow.’

  Rachel’s sister blushed. ‘I didn’t think you would do such a great job. One of Alastair’s friends is an interior designer… I asked him if he could join us and help with any last minute changes, but it turns out there’s nothing to change,’ she added quickly. ‘It’s just perfect as it is.’

  The door creaked open, and Alastair strode in, looking very conservative as usual in his tailored navy blue coat, pinstriped suit and white shirt. He smiled at Kerry. ‘Hello, darling. I heard on the grapevine that there was a Tarzan party. Is it true or was it all just a lot of bananas?’

  Cassie shook her head in disbelief. Had prim, starchy Alastair just cracked a joke?

  ‘I think you’d better stick to writing wills and powers of attorney,’ a tall, dark-haired man said behind him.

  Cassie blinked in surprise, and her mouth gaped open. Nathan Hardman, looking even more film star gorgeous than she remembered, glanced around the room and whistled between his teeth.

  ‘Wow, that’s brilliant. Kitsch, but brilliant nonetheless, especially since you only had a few days and a ridiculous budget to sort everything out.’

  Kerry ran to her fiancé’s side, snaked her arms around his neck and gave him a resounding kiss on the lips. ‘Isn’t it fab?’

  Cassie stepped into the centre of the room. ‘Hi, Nathan.’

  It was Nathan’s turn to be shocked. ‘Cassie? Well, I never… How are you?’

  She smiled. ‘I’m fine. And you?’

  ‘I’m good.’ He frowned. ‘So, the Bluebell Cleaning Fairy van parked outside is yours. I should have guessed.’

  ‘I took over my mum’s business when she retired, and made a few changes, including the name and the van.’

  ‘I see you’re still wearing dungarees.’ He smiled and looked around again. ‘So this is your doing. It’s great.’

  She couldn’t help the glow of pleasure and pride inside her. ‘Thanks but I can’t take all the credit. A friend helped me. I wouldn’t have been able to finish on time if it hadn’t been for him.’

  ‘I’m sorry I dragged you all the way here for nothing, old chap, when you still have to drive to the holiday let, unpack your stuff and get ready for the stag do,’ Alastair told Nathan. ‘I should have trusted Cassie to do a great job and have everything under control.’

  Nathan shrugged. ‘Don’t worry about it… Actually, I could murder a pint. Who is up for a drink at the pub?’

  Kerry and Alastair replied that they were meeting the vicar for a last minute talk about the ceremony.

  ‘What about you?’ Nathan asked Cassie.

  A drink with Nathan… Two years before she would have swooned at the idea. All she could think of now was that this was her chance to ask him about Hotel Maritel. ‘I have a couple of things to sort out here, but why not?’

  ‘Great. I’ll meet you at the Eagle and Child.’

  Once alone, Cassie forced herself to focus on putting the finishing touches to the décor and making sure everything was in order for the reception the following day, but she was shaking with nerves. She hated confrontations, especially after the ugly scene with Piers earlier on, and had no idea how to broach the subject of her hotel designs with Nathan.

  Her fingers froze as she realised she was folding the petals of the same paper flower over and over again. She put the flower down. She was only wasting time… She should be brave and drive to the pub right now to ask Nathan for an explanation. As the horrid altercation with Piers had shown her that lunchtime, procrastinating only led to trouble.

  Nathan was sipping a beer and chatting to Sadie at the bar when she walked in. She ordered an orange juice, and they took their drinks to a table near the fireplace.

  Nathan glanced up at the paper snowflakes dangling from the ceiling, the lights flickering along the counter and the fireplace, and the tinsel draped around the Christmas tree, and pulled a face. ‘In all the years I worked in Ambleside I’ve never been here at Christmas. The decorations are a bit over the top, aren’t they?’

  ‘Big Jim and his wife Ruby make everything themselves.’

  ‘And doesn’t it show?’ he muttered before turning to look at her. ‘I never thought I would ever bump into you again. I have known Alastair since school, but I had no idea his fiancée was related to you.’

  ‘She is, in a roundabout way.’ Now he was looking at her, his dark brown eyes soft as velvet, she could hardly speak. At least if she kept her sentences short there was less risk of stammering, or saying anything stupid. Her old feelings of inadequacy were springing back to the surface. It was as if she was the clueless young cleaner, and he the posh, handsome and talented designer all over again.

  ‘I hope you weren’t offended that Alastair called me to help with the clubhouse,’ Nathan said. ‘He was worried you couldn’t pull it off, but you did a really good job, considering it was all very last minute.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She drank a sip of orange juice and wished she was less tongue-tied. Perhaps she should have asked Sadie to pour a slug of vodka or gin in her glass.

  Nathan was smiling, but his fingers tapped against his pint glass, and he kept coughing to clear his throat. ‘Is your cleaning business doing well?’

  ‘I manage.’ Or she did, before the fiasco with Piers. She would have to work really hard to get new clients if – when – Piers terminated her contract.

  ‘Good. Good. Have you… ahem… thought any more about working in interior design?’

  She nodded. ‘Every single day.’ Now would be the time to mention that she read the professional press, and had seen the article in Great Designs about Maritel.

  ‘Ah…’ He drank a sip of beer. ‘Have you worked on any design project since I moved to London?’

  ‘A few.’ This wasn’t strictly a lie. Mason’s house, Salomé’s living room and Cecilia’s shop refurbishment counted as proper interior design projects after all, albeit on a small scale. She couldn’t however mention her sketches for Belthorn or the holiday cottages since she had no intention of ever submitting them.

  He fiddled with his beer mat and appeared engrossed in reading the slogan printed at the front. ‘Good… Actually it’s lucky I bumped into you because I have something rather interesting to tell you.’

  He cleared his throat again. ‘It’s about the hotel refurbishment competition I worked on two years ago. Do you remember?’

  ‘Of course.’ Did he expect her to have forgotten that he had branded her sketches as amateurish, and broken her heart in the process?

  ‘Well, the thing is I found your portfolio when I unpacked my stuff in
my London studio and realised that some of your ideas were actually quite good – for an amateur, that is.’ He looked at her and smiled, probably expecting her to jump up with joy.

  When she didn’t say anything, he carried on. ‘Of course, your sketches needed a lot of redrafting but they provided me with an initial idea. I reworked some of them and submitted them to Maritel. And guess what?’

  ‘You won the competition, and now you have the contract to refurbish their whole chain,’ she answered.

  He glared at her. ‘You know?’

  ‘I saw the article and the photos in Great Designs magazine.’

  ‘Ah. Yes.’ He gave her a tight smile. ‘I should have told you, shouldn’t I, that I was using some of your ideas, but I… I didn’t know how to get in touch.’

  This was the biggest, most ridiculous lie she’d ever heard, and all of a sudden her shyness and confusion fell away. ‘I’ve had the same phone number for years – the same you texted me on every week to arrange my cleaning days. And even if you’d lost it, you could have checked the internet, or asked any of your friends or former business contacts who lived locally.’

  He looked down, and sighed. It was so strange, sitting opposite this man she had once had a massive crush on – a man she always believed was completely out of her league, being more intelligent, more talented, and altogether more worthy than her – and feel nothing but contempt.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell Maritel your designs were my ideas?’

  He drained what was left of his beer and gave her a quizzical look before putting his glass down. ‘Do you really not understand?’ He sounded haughty and patronising now. ‘They wanted a designer with a good track record and wouldn’t have taken the proposal seriously if I had told them it came from a cleaning lady who only had one A-Level and a distance-learning diploma.’

  She shook her head. ‘What mattered was the work, not my CV, and at the end of the day, you used my ideas.’

  ‘Believe me, there’s a lot of snobbism in the field of interior design, and Maritel would have scrunched the papers into a ball and thrown them in the bin without even glancing at them if they’d had your name on them. Anyway, like I said, I did have to rework and refine the whole concept and sell it to them.’