by Marie Laval
Cassie’s face coloured. ‘Give me five minutes, Nathan. I need to talk to Stefan first.’
The designer arched his eyebrows and gave Stefan a puzzled look. ‘Okay. I’ll go back to the cottage now and pour us a glass of wine while I wait for you.’
The moment he had left, Cassie turned to him. ‘This isn’t what it sounds like. I was just about to tell you that Nathan offered me a job as a trainee designer yesterday, and he now wants to discuss the terms of our contract.’
It was as if a light was being switched off in his heart. ‘You saw him yesterday.’
‘Yes… I didn’t know he was coming but he is a friend of Alastair’s, and anyway, we went to the Eagle and Child for a drink and I—’
‘You went to the pub with him?’
‘Yes. He explained why he used some of my ideas for the hotel project and more or less promised me a job. Now he wants to discuss the terms of the contract… I won’t be long, I promise.’ She smiled.
She had kept such a big piece of news from him the night before – hadn’t even mentioned seeing the designer as they made love and ate and talked. But of course, why would she? She didn’t have to tell him anything of her personal life. He was the one who had got everything wrong. All along, he had only been a job for her. A job that would yield a bonus if she did it well…
He took his car keys out of his trouser pocket. ‘You can be as long as you want. Congratulations on the job offer. That’s great, and I hope you enjoy your evening with your new boss. I’ll see you around.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
How could Stefan storm out without giving her the chance to explain? Worse still, how could he even for one second believe that she would sleep with him for the sake of a bonus? Should she run after him, explain that he’d got it all wrong, and apologise for not telling him about Nathan the night before? Or was it better to leave him alone to think things through? Surely he would realise that Piers was a bitter and nasty drunk who had lied in the hope of wrecking their relationship.
Anger grew and twisted inside her, before giving way to a feeling of total devastation. Tears streaming down her face, she ran to the ladies toilets and locked herself into one of the cubicles.
She pulled down the top of the toilet seat, sat down and cried until her eyes burned and her throat and chest hurt, and she’d used up all the toilet roll to blow her nose. The music changed from pop to a slow dance, from rock to country. A steady stream of women came in, and Cassie listened to their excited chattering about make-up or outfits, or the attributes of their various dance partners.
She waited until the toilets were empty before coming out of the cubicle. Turning the tap on, she splashed her face with cold water and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Heavens, she looked a sight. She felt even worse.
The door creaked open, and Salomé came in, holding a glass of red wine as dark as her lipstick. Her eyes widened as she looked at Cassie.
‘So that’s where you’ve been hiding. We thought you had gone home! What’s up?’
Cassie burst into fresh tears. ‘Oh, Salomé. What am I going to do?’
‘What happened, darling?’ Salomé put her glass down on the sink and took her in her arms, hugging her tightly whilst Cassie sobbed that everything was ruined.
‘Shh…’ Salomé patted her back. ‘Is this to do with that hunky French guy you seem so keen on?’
Cassie nodded. ‘Stefan thinks… he thinks I only slept with him because of Charles Ashville’s bonus. That’s what Piers said, and he believed him.’
‘What bonus?’
‘Charles promised me a bonus if I looked after Stefan well and if he was happy at Belthorn. Piers told him that was the only reason I slept with him.’
‘And he believed him? That’s a bit much!’ Salomé brushed a strand of hair from Cassie’s face. ‘Anyway, why did Piers Hardy tell him about the bonus? What is it to him?’
Cassie heaved a shaky sigh. ‘He is angry because I wouldn’t sleep with him yesterday.’
‘What?’
‘After my performance review, he took me for lunch to that posh hotel in Keswick, and after…’ Cassie shuddered. ‘He wanted me to go up to a room with him.’
Salomé’s eyes opened wide in shock. ‘He didn’t, did he? The disgusting pig!’ She shook her head. ‘Right, I’ll tell you what we’ll do. There’s no way you can go back in there, and I’m not letting you drive home on your own when you’re in that state. I’ll get Cecilia and we’ll go back to mine. We’ll talk it over, watch a film, play Scrabble – you choose. But whatever you decide, we’ll definitely drink wine and eat cake. Does that sound like a plan to you?’
Cassie had cried so much she felt drained, and her mind was in a fuddle. ‘Can you tell Rachel and my granddad that I’m leaving early because I have a headache – but try not to worry them?’
Salomé nodded. ‘Sure. I’ll be back in five minutes. Wait in the lobby.’
A few minutes later, Salomé came back with Cassie’s handbag and duffle coat. Cecilia was already wrapped up against the cold. She gave Cassie a comforting hug and a kiss on the cheek.
‘I’m sorry to spoil your evening,’ Cassie told her. ‘You were so kind to lend me this gorgeous dress, and now it’s all wrinkled and it’s got tear-stains all over the front. You did my hair and make-up too, and look at me now, I ruined everything.’
‘Rubbish! The one who ruined everything is Stefan Lambert who believed Piers over you,’ Salomé remarked in a serious voice. ‘Then again, what else could you expect from a friend of Charles Ashville’s? Come on, girls, let’s go and eat cake. Cake makes everything better.’
Salomé’s house was only a couple of miles down the road and Cassie felt well enough to drive, especially with her friends in the van with her, squashed together on the passenger seat with a seat belt round them both. Luckily it only took five minutes and once there, Salomé lit the stove, opened a bottle of red wine, laid out a selection of tapas, breadsticks and dips on a brightly coloured platter, and cut thick slabs of chocolate and ginger cake.
‘Now, start the story again, from the beginning this time,’ Salomé instructed as she put the food on the table and the three women snuggled on the sofa.
Cassie told them about her meeting with Piers, and how he had more or less accused her of not doing her job and stealing items from the holiday cottages, and how he had used the lease on Bluebell Cottage to try to blackmail her into sleeping with him, and told her she was fired when she refused.
‘The man is vile.’ Cecilia clenched her fists in anger. ‘You must expose his disgusting blackmail.’
‘Who can I complain to? Charles Ashville is somewhere in the Sahara Desert. Gabrielle is busy with her theatre in London, and whatever Stefan says about her, I never found her to be the most approachable and friendly of women. I told you how she treated poor Mason years ago…’
Her friends muttered disagreeable comments about Charles’s sister, and she carried on, ‘It’s the lease on Bluebell Cottage I’m worried about too.’
‘Perhaps it is time for your granddad to move,’ Cecilia remarked. ‘Would he be happy to live at the farm with Rachel, Tim and the boys? You always say that he loves it up there.’
Cassie nodded. ‘He might be. The farm is certainly big enough, and I think he is a bit lonely at the cottage.’
‘What about you? Where would you go?’ Salomé asked.
She lifted her shoulders in a weak shrug. ‘I’ll have to move too… which brings me to the other thing I wanted to tell you.’ Cassie told her friends about Nathan submitting her sketches to the hotel design competition, and about him offering her a trainee position in his practice to make it up to her.
‘He is waiting for me right now, actually. I must text him and tell him I won’t be coming. He wanted us to talk, but I was a bit uncomfortable with being on my own with him in his holiday cottage anyway.’
‘Hang on a minute.’ Salomé frowned. ‘Were you actually going to accept his offer e
ven if it meant not getting any credit for your own designs?’
‘You think I’m being a pushover, don’t you?’ Cassie put her plate with her half-finished piece of cake on the coffee table. ‘You would be right, of course, but this is the chance to do the job I’ve always dreamed of, the chance to prove to myself, and others, that I can be more than just a cleaner.’
‘You already did that when you took over from your mum and set up Bluebell Cleaning,’ Salomé said. ‘I understand what you’re saying, about snatching the chance to work for an established interior design practice, but you don’t need to accept Nathan Hardman’s measly trainee position, and even less his non-disclosure agreement. You are incredibly talented. Look at the great job you did for me in here. This room, the colour, the artefacts… it’s so me it’s uncanny!’
She gestured to the South American tapestries hanging on the terracotta walls that contrasted with the dramatic black and white photos of iconic Flamenco dancer Antonia La Singla who Salomé idolised, and the quirky pieces of pottery dotted around the room. Cassie had had lots of fun designing the room and sourcing artwork for her friend.
‘You helped me redesign my aunt’s shop and turn it into a terrific, bright and modern space,’ Cecilia added.
Salomé dipped her breadstick into some salsa sauce and munched on it for a while. ‘Perhaps it’s not too late to claim credit for the hotel competition. You must have some drawings that prove the designs were your original ideas.’
Cassie nodded. ‘I gave Nathan the final sketches, but I kept most of my drafts. They’re somewhere in the loft at the cottage.’
‘Then go to London and show them to the manager of the hotel company,’ Salomé said. ‘And stuff Nathan and his trainee position!’
‘I wouldn’t trust him anyway,’ Cecilia said as she picked up a handful of green olives from the tapas platter. ‘Who’s to say he wouldn’t steal more of your ideas, or even fire you in the next few months?’
‘Why did he need to see you on your own at the holiday cottage tonight anyway?’ Salomé asked. ‘It sounds like a trap to me. From what I saw of him earlier, he is a very smooth and slick guy – the type who thinks he can charm a girl into doing or saying anything.’
‘I used to have such a massive crush on him, but that was before… before I met Stefan, and before I realised Nathan used me,’ Cassie said. ‘Now not only does Stefan think I faked everything between us because I was after Charles Ashville’s money…’ Her voice broke, and she wiped the tears that had started falling again. ‘But he probably believes that I was going to sleep with Nathan to make sure he gave me a job.’
‘If he believes that of you, then I’m sorry, but he doesn’t deserve you,’ Cecilia said in a pensive voice. ‘Yet after yesterday, I was sure he had feelings for you – very strong feelings.’ She shrugged.
‘What do you mean?’ Cassie asked, but before Cecilia could reply, she hiccupped and poured the last of the wine into her glass. ‘Oops, it looks like the bottle is empty.’
‘I’ll get another one,’ Salomé said. ‘I agree with Cecilia. If he truly loves you, your Tarzan will realise he’s got it all wrong and he’ll come back to you, swinging from tree branches… even if he’d be better crawling on his knees and asking you for forgiveness.’
Cassie slumped on the sofa and closed her eyes. ‘I want to sleep for a hundred years and forget about cleaning and interior design and Tarzan…’ She hiccupped again. ‘Especially about Tarzan… and love.’
‘No problem,’ Salomé said. ‘I’ll make up the futon in the spare room for you.’
Did the sun have to shine so brightly, and did Salomé have to bang about the house so much? Cassie’s mouth was parched. Her stomach was doing somersaults, and her back ached from sleeping on the futon’s thin mattress. And her head! Heavens, her head hurt so much…
She put the pillow over her head with a groan. The pounding came from inside her skull, not from the house. Why did she drink so much wine the night before?
The door creaked open. ‘Good afternoon, sleepyhead,’ Salomé called in a voice far too loud and cheerful. ‘I’m bringing tea and fresh croissants, even if it’s a bit late for breakfast.’
‘What time is it?’ Cassie asked from under the pillow.
‘Just after two…’
She groaned. ‘Already? I promised Patrick I would clear the clubhouse today. Stefan was going to help me.’ She moaned again. ‘I feel terrible. There’s no way I can get up.’
‘You certainly won’t be able to get up with that pillow on your head. Come on. Sit up and have something to drink. It’ll help you feel better.’
Cassie lifted the pillow off and sat up, and winced as shards of light pierced her skull. ‘I am sorry to have spoilt your and Cecilia’s evening… and most of your Sunday, by the looks of it.’
‘You didn’t spoil anything. You were having a terrible time and needed your friends around you. As for today, I left the bakery in the capable hands of my new baker whose croissants you are just about to sample.’
‘What new baker? I didn’t know you were hiring staff.’
Salomé gave her a mischievous look. ‘I couldn’t cope with baking, running the shop and making deliveries on my own any longer. His name is Max – or Maximilien, to use his full name – and he is absolutely gorgeous. He arrived yesterday morning and I put him to work straight away.’
Cassie drank the hot, sweet tea, but could only grimace at the plump, golden croissants, the pot of strawberry jam and the curls of butter in the small white dish. ‘I’ll pass on the croissants, if you don’t mind.’
‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell Max.’
Two cups of tea later, and Cassie felt strong enough to get up. As she had taken off the dress Cecilia had lent her before going to sleep, and was only wearing her underwear, Salomé lent her a jumper and some leggings, so that she could at least go home, shower and change before going to the clubhouse.
Her heart hammered in her chest and she felt sick as she drove to the campsite one hour later, but this time it had nothing to do with having a hangover. Would Stefan be there? Would he still be angry with her? And how was she going to convince him that her feelings for him were sincere?
But Stefan wasn’t at the campsite. The only vehicle in the car park was Darren’s white Fiesta. A light was on in the office, so she went in to get the key to the clubhouse, and found Darren sitting in Patrick’s chair, his booted feet on the desk, with a cigarette in one hand and his mobile in the other.
Darren’s eyes widened when she walked in. He immediately took his feet off the desk, shuffled a few papers, and slipped his phone into his pocket.
‘Hi, Cassie. I wasn’t expecting you today.’
He looked embarrassed, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, but Cassie couldn’t see anything amiss – apart from perhaps the cigarette, since there was a big ‘No Smoking’ sign on the wall.
Standing up, he slid the window open and threw the cigarette outside.
‘Is there anything I can help you with?’
She told him she had come to get the keys to the clubhouse and tidy the room up.
‘You’re too late. The French guy already did it. He took everything down and boxed everything up. It took him all morning. All the stuff is now in the stockroom. He said you would decide what to do with it all.’
‘Stefan was here?’
‘He banged on the door of my caravan at eight o’clock. He looked rough. Really rough. Mind you, he looked even rougher after working for four hours solid.’
Cassie’s heart tightened. Things were going from bad to worse. Stefan must have expected her to come and help, and when she didn’t, he must have thought that’s because she had been too busy cavorting with Nathan.
‘Didn’t you offer to help?’ she asked in a choked voice.
Darren shrugged. ‘I couldn’t. I was on duty here all day. I’ve been busy.’
From the way he had been sitting when she came in, she ver
y much doubted he’d been that busy, but who was she to talk? She should have been there. Tidying up the clubhouse after the wedding was her responsibility, not Stefan’s.
‘I’ll pick up the boxes another day,’ she said, ‘but I’d like to take the flamingo now.’
‘No worries. I’ll take it out of the store room for you.’
As he opened the door, a draft of cold air blew into the office and lifted the papers off the desk.
‘Watch it!’ she called. ‘All your papers are flying away.’
Darren started towards the desk but Cassie was closer and she caught them before they scattered on the floor. She looked down. It was a CV, with Darren’s name on it.
She glanced at him. ‘Are you thinking of leaving?’
‘I’m not sure.’ He didn’t look at her, and his usually impassive face looked flushed as he grabbed hold of the papers and quickly put them back on the desk. It was cold in the office, but Darren’s forehead seemed damp with perspiration. She looked at the angry red marks slashing the back of his hand. She was no doctor, but the scratches looked infected, and his hand appeared swollen too.
He stretched his fingers in front of him and flinched. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him he should put some disinfectant on his hand or even perhaps see the GP, but she remembered how curt he had been when she’d suggested that at Barbara’s house a few days before.
‘I’ll get the bird out of the store room now,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’
Once the flamingo was safely loaded into the van, Cassie drove to Cecilia’s house. ‘Thanks for returning it,’ Cecilia said. ‘Do you want to come in for a drink? Although I drank enough wine yesterday to put me off for at least a full month,’ she added quickly.
‘Make it a full year,’ Cassie retorted. She promised to get the grey dress dry-cleaned, and said she was going home to sleep.
But first she had to see Stefan, and tell him she didn’t care about the bonus – in fact, she would email Charles Ashville this very evening and tell him she didn’t want it any more. She would also tell Stefan she didn’t care about Nathan’s job offer. More importantly, she wanted to tell him what she should have told him before – that she loved him.
