by Marie Laval
But Belthorn was cold, dark and empty, and on the kitchen table was a handwritten note. She didn’t need to read it to guess what was written. Stefan had left. Perhaps for good…
Chapter Thirty-Three
He pulled the collar of his parka up against the blowing gale, dug his hands into his pockets and made his way back to the car. Wizard Point’s in Devon stood windblown and deserted in the bleak winter’s afternoon. His was the only car in the car park. No lights shone at the windows of the chalets and static caravans.
The shop and restaurant were boarded up, and padlocks and chains hung from the doors to the shower blocks and launderette. There was no sign of life in the office either. All that was needed to complete the desolate décor was tumbleweed blowing about and whining harmonica of a Spaghetti Western soundtrack.
The advert claimed that the site was open all year round, but it was obviously not the case. It looked like he wouldn’t find out any information about Morse in Devon after all, but he only had himself to blame. He should have phoned ahead.
He went back to the car and started the engine. Hopefully, he wouldn’t waste his time when he stopped in Yorkshire and Manchester to check out the places where Morse had worked before coming to Red Moss.
He had spotted a teashop in a nearby village on his way to the campsite. He would call there for some food and a hot drink since he hadn’t had anything to eat since leaving London. A tractor trundled along in front and the winding road was too narrow for him to overtake, so he reclined against the headrest and crawled behind.
It had been a frantic few days, but he had to keep busy after Saturday night’s debacle. His mind, and his heart, needed space and time away from Red Moss – and away from Cassie. He was done with hiding. It was time he took control of his life once more…
After clearing the clubhouse on Sunday morning, he had driven down to London where he had spent the night in Charlie’s flat, before flying to Paris first thing on Monday for a medical at the army headquarters, and a review of his case with the officer in charge of Human Resources. Old habits die hard, and he couldn’t bring himself to report at the army headquarters looking like some ‘damned hippy’, as his father had called him, so he’d had his hair trimmed and his beard shaved. When he gave his name to the sentry on duty, he looked, and felt, more like his former self than he’d done in months…
‘The results of your medical are encouraging,’ the officer had said, flicking through Stefan’s various test results. He had looked stunned when Stefan said that he was planning on leaving. ‘You could stay on as an instructor or work in the control room and manage operations from the ground.’ His insistence had surprised Stefan. After the fiasco of his last mission, he would have thought that the army would be glad to be rid of him.
However, nothing the man said could change his mind. He would finish work on the training manual, as promised, but there would be no going back. He was ready for something new, even if he wasn’t sure yet what it was, or where it was.
He had stopped running away from Isa’s parents too. Having finally summoned the courage to read their texts and emails, he had been humbled to find that instead of the accusations he deserved, they only expressed kindness and concern. He had mustered the courage to phone them and they had invited him to visit. It had been an emotionally charged evening, but however much he blamed himself for Isa’s death, her parents didn’t and they had begged him to keep in touch. He was a precious link to their daughter, and would always be welcome at their house.
There was something else he wanted to do whilst in Paris – find out what had happened to André Vaillant. He had spent so long reading the man’s diary that he felt he knew him and he couldn’t believe that Vaillant had abandoned Ruth. He had a contact in the army archives and asked him to dig out Vaillant’s service record and any information he could find on the man. His friend had scanned and emailed the documents to Stefan as he was waiting to board his plane back to London that very morning. The papers confirmed what he’d thought all along. Vaillant was no heartless, cowardly seducer. Something had happened that had prevented him from going back to Red Moss…
Being busy and on the move had stopped him from brooding too much about Cassie, but every time he was alone, images of her tormented him. Her smile and luminous grey eyes; her body stretching on the bed or nestling in his arms; her smile and her kindness…
Cassie… Once the black mist of self-doubt and jealousy had cleared, it had been too late to make amends. Would she ever forgive him for what he’d said to her and how he’d behaved at the wedding reception? He hadn’t truly believed Hardy’s slimy accusations that she’d only been after Charlie’s bonus – he knew her better than that. She was fun, loyal, and kind, and she cared about him, that much he knew.
It was her kindness that had pushed her into his arms, and it was his fault if he had been too quick to believe that there was something between them – that the story of the beautiful swan in love with a hunchback wasn’t just an old folk tale. It was obvious Cassie was still smitten with her swanky interior designer, so smitten in fact that she was ready to forgive him for stealing her ideas and accept his offer of a job.
He owed it to her to help her live her dream, so whilst in London, he had met Gabrielle for a coffee and told her about Cassie’s design ideas for Belthorn and the holiday cottages. Charlie’s sister planned to get more involved in the estate in the New Year, and said she wanted to see her work. Whether Cassie now followed through would be up to her… Even though Cassie hadn’t complained about Hardy, Stefan had also told Gabrielle about the estate manager’s bullish attitude. ‘I did pick up a few bad vibes about him,’ Gabrielle had said before promising to drive up to Red Moss in the next few weeks and meet up with him.
The tractor turned into a dirt road at last and Stefan was able to step on the accelerator. Driving into the village, he was relieved to see the OPEN sign in the teashop window.
He may have wandered the streets of Paris and London without anyone paying him any attention, but there mustn’t be many strangers in December in Wizard’s Point, and as soon as he walked into the teashop, ten heads turned towards him, all conversations stopped and curious female eyes stared at him, from his army boots to his now shorter hair that the sea breeze had ruffled.
‘Ladies.’ He nodded and chose a table near the window, repressing a groan of pain as he sat down. The hours spent driving hadn’t done his back any favours.
A young woman took his order, and he killed time by reading through the local gazette, which a previous customer had left behind. The conversations resumed around him, and from what he could make out, a certain Tony Snell, whose funeral had taken place in the morning, provided the main topic of discussion.
‘He was a mess in the end, poor Tony, and that’s not surprising since he’d been drinking himself silly every single day for the past six months,’ one woman was saying.
‘The poor man was depressed,’ another objected, ‘and who could blame him? He lost everything. Not only did the police think he was involved in the burglaries in and around the village, but his father went doolally and squandered all their money… And then Sandra left him.’
‘Squandered?’ Somebody chipped in. ‘He always said he had no idea where the money went, and if old Will Snell did indeed lose his marbles, it was all very sudden. My niece used to work at the campsite and she said there was nothing wrong with him until she went on holidays last May. When she returned two weeks later, he was confused, forgetful – and a completely different person.’
‘Perhaps it was his medication. It can happen.’
‘Poor man… he buried his only son today, the campsite that had been in his family for fifty years is in ruin, and now he’s on his own at the nursing home.’
The waitress came back with Stefan’s coffee and the pie and chips he had ordered. Something the women said made him pay attention again. ‘What happened to that young man you used to go out with last spring, Bryony, the one who
was so helpful? Nothing was ever too much trouble for him.’
The waitress was gathering dirty cups. She paused. ‘Darren? He went back to Manchester, I think.’
‘You were upset when he left the campsite, weren’t you, love?’
The girl nodded, and sighed. ‘I was, but I knew he would leave sooner or later. To be fair, my nan missed him as much as I did. He was always at her house, fixing one thing or another.’
‘He helped a lot of old folks out with their shopping and things. He was Tony Snell’s right hand man for a while.’
‘Oh yes?’ another woman said. ‘And look where that got poor Tony! Despite all the good things people said about him, there was something I didn’t trust about that Darren. He was a shady character.’
He had heard enough. When the waitress came to his table and asked him if he would like anything else, he smiled.
‘I was wondering if I could have a word with you.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘I’m sorry, Cassie, but I don’t need you any more,’ Sylvia Gasby said in lieu of greeting. ‘There’s only me here, and a cleaner was a luxury I can’t afford.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Cassie smiled to hide her disappointment. Sylvia was the third client that week to finish with Bluebell Cleaning. ‘Would it help if I came less often – every other week, for example?’ she asked in a hopeful voice.
Sylvia shook her head. ‘No, I don’t want you to come at all. Tell me how much I owe you for this month and I’ll pay you now.’
She sounded nervous, on edge. Poor Sylvia. The burglary must have taken its toll on her.
‘Don’t worry about it now. I’ll pop my invoice in your letterbox later this week.’
The woman nodded. ‘All right, but I want my spare set of keys back straight away.’
She extended her hand and Cassie frowned. Sylvia had never been so rude before.
‘Of course,’ she mumbled, pulling a bunch of keys out of her bag, together with a Post-it note. ‘Here is your joke for the week. It’s one of Granddad’s latest. I hope you like it.’
Sylvia stuffed the keys in the pocket of her cardigan and read the note aloud. ‘Why was the podiatrist angry at the traffic warden? Because his car was towed away.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t get it… Ah yes, towed, as in toe.’ A smile shivered on the corners of her mouth, and she slipped the paper into her pocket. ‘Your granddad is a dear, dear man.’
Suddenly she looked about to burst into tears and Cassie stepped forward to comfort her. ‘Whatever is the matter, Sylvia? Can I help at all? You seem upset.’
Sylvia recoiled with a gasp. ‘It’s nothing. Nothing at all. Goodbye.’
She slammed the door shut, leaving Cassie standing in the cold, with her feather duster sticking out of her cleaning bag and an overwhelming urge to cry.
She drove back to Red Moss, parked at the vicarage and gave herself a pep talk. Losing clients was bound to happen some time. It was part of running a business, and she shouldn’t take it personally. Then why did she have the feeling that it was personal? Sylvia had behaved as if she actually disliked her, and she had no idea what she had done.
She wiped her tears, pulled the visor down and rubbed the smudged mascara with a tissue. She even put a bit of lip gloss on and forced a smile. There, that was better. She couldn’t get out of the van looking like an angel of doom when she was supposed to be the good mood fairy! Yet doom was all she felt now Stefan had left…
One of her elderly customers – one of the few she had left – had remarked on how downcast she was. ‘What’s the matter with you, love? You didn’t smile at your granddad’s joke although it was a really good one this week… and you didn’t even finish your cinnamon twist.’
The woman was right. The days merged into one another, bleak, grey and lonely. It hadn’t even been a week since Stefan had left, and yet time seemed to stretch endlessly.
Reverend Bennett greeted her with her usual calm, friendly manner. As Cassie was early, she asked if she wouldn’t mind giving the community centre a tidy up before coming back to the vicarage. ‘The children made Christmas decorations last night and I’m afraid they left the place in a bit of a mess.’
A bit of a mess? Cassie thought when she walked into the community centre. The place looked like a tornado had swept through it – twice! As Cassie picked up plastic cups, empty bottles of cordial and packets of crisps that had been left on the tables, she recalled what Stefan told her about the whirlwinds that blew through the Sahara Desert. They were called ‘chasse-poussière’. How loving he had been when he had said she deserved to be called ‘chasse tristesse’ too because she made his sadness disappear…
She let out a shaky sigh and swept up bits of tinsel, cardboard, felt and cotton wool from the floor, as well as glitter and white dust from the plaster of Paris. She was tipping the contents of her dustpan into a bin bag when three elderly women tottered in, with Doris Pearson leading the way.
Cassie looked at her and smiled. ‘Good morning.’
The women didn’t reply but gave her a harsh look before hanging their coats up. As Doris took her gloves off, Cassie noticed a large bandage on the back of her hand.
‘What’s wrong with your hand, Doris?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t that where Fluffy scratched you the other day?’
Doris nodded curtly. ‘The doctor said it was infected and gave me antibiotics. Fluffy would never have scratched me if he hadn’t been upset about you locking him up in your house.’
‘I did say I was sorry, but it wasn’t my fault.’
Doris’s eyes flashed in anger. ‘What about this morning? It wasn’t your fault again, I presume! I’m in a mind to call the RSPCA and report you for animal cruelty.’
Cassie put the rubbish bag down. ‘What are you talking about?’
Doris waved her walking stick at her. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, Cassie Bell. Not only did you take my Fluffy into your house again, but you used him as a guinea pig for your fancy smelling oils. He came home smeared in some disgusting lemon stuff.’
‘I don’t understand… Are you saying that he was in my house this morning?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’
‘That’s impossible. I checked every single window and door before leaving.’ But she knew it was pointless. If Doris had decided she was guilty, nothing she could say would change her mind. It wasn’t her fault Fluffy preferred Bluebell Cottage to his own house. It was however worrying that the cat had managed to sneak in again.
She carried on tidying up and tried to ignore Doris and the two other ladies who were whispering and staring at her as she wiped all the tables clean with a damp cloth.
‘Are you going to be long?’ Doris asked. ‘Our meeting starts in ten minutes and we have important things to discuss in private.’
Reverend Bennett walked in and smiled. ‘You do exaggerate, Doris. We’re only talking about the rota for the cake stall at tomorrow’s Christmas Fair. It’s hardly top-secret business! Actually, would you mind getting the tea and coffee ready? The others won’t be long.’
Doris cast Cassie one last begrudging look before disappearing into the small kitchen, and the vicar turned to Cassie. ‘I left the vicarage back door open for you.’
‘Thanks.’ Cassie gathered her cleaning things and went into the hallway to put her coat on.
‘You’re far too trusting, vicar, leaving her alone in your house,’ one of Doris’s friends, a woman called Elspeth, said. ‘I hope you locked your cash and jewellery away.’
Cassie’s blood froze, and her heart started thumping so hard it hurt.
‘Nonsense!’ Julie Bennett’s terse reply shot out.
‘Nadine Hartley and Tabitha Sweeney were talking about her in the bakery yesterday and they said it was very odd that all her clients got burgled in the past few weeks.’
‘From what I heard, it’s not all Cassie’s clients, but only a few of them,’ Julie Bennett corrected, ‘and it doesn’t prove anything
at all.’
‘Still, they said—’
‘I’m not interested in what these women have to say,’ Julie Bennett’s voice was sharper this time, ‘and I suggest you ladies concentrate on preparing for the meeting instead of spreading malicious rumours.’
‘You can’t ignore what happened to poor Barbara,’ Elspeth remarked. ‘She said that after Cassie’s last visit, her engagement ring – the one with the big ruby – disappeared, along with some money from her savings jar that she always keeps in the kitchen.’
‘I always thought she was a bit odd,’ Doris agreed. ‘Remember that hoo-ha she made when she claimed she saw a murder up at Wolf Tarn and got the police involved? And all this carry-on with my Fluffy… The girl is trouble, I’m telling you. It’s her granddad I feel sorry for. He’ll be devastated when he finds out what she’s been up to.’
So that was why Doris and her friends had looked at her in that way. They thought she was a thief – not just a cat snatcher, but a burglar too. Cassie exhaled slowly, but anger and shock made her whole body shake. Now the way Nadine had followed her around as she was cleaning her house earlier in the week made sense, as did Tabitha’s last minute cancellation the day before, and the three clients who had decided not to employ her any longer.
And what about Barbara? How could the old lady believe that she would steal her favourite ring and help herself to her savings?
Well, she wouldn’t have it. Nobody would call her a thief!
She squared her shoulders and marched right back into the community centre, right up to Elspeth who was placing cups and saucers on a table.
‘How dare you accuse me of stealing from my clients?’
The woman jerked back with a startled cry. ‘Cassie… You heard… Ahem… I was just…’
