by Marie Laval
How rude! Cassie swung back to scan the crowd to see who had shouted. This time she spotted Nathan. He was chatting to his friends and laughing. She shot them an angry look and turned back to give her granddad an encouraging smile.
His face pale and drawn, he swayed on his feet before taking hold of the mike to start his act. To be on the safe side, she took the Post-it notes out of her bag and put them on the table in front of her.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Stefan had left Manchester well before the Friday evening rush hour, but there had been a string of incidents on the motorway and the journey that should have taken a couple of hours turned out to take twice as long. He would go straight to the Eagle and Child. With luck, he could still watch Joseph’s act.
He could hear the laughter and the clapping as soon as he got out of the car. There were other sounds too – sounds of heckling and booing that he hadn’t expected. He pushed the door to the pub open as Joseph launched into a joke.
Stefan’s first thought was that the man looked ill. His features were pinched, his skin more lined than usual and he appeared to sway on his feet as if he was drunk. He scanned the audience and spotted Tim, Rachel… and Cassie, but she was far too busy flicking through a bundle of Post-it notes to take any notice of him.
‘I went into our lovely village bakery the other day,’ Joseph was saying, hesitation creeping into his voice, ‘and the shop assistant said… ahem… she said that she could hear noises coming from the back room… at night. Ahem…’
He paused, took a handkerchief out of the pocket of his corduroy trousers to wipe his forehead and looked at Cassie. She immediately glanced down at one of the Post-it notes before mouthing a few words.
Joseph nodded, and resumed speaking. ‘“Someone’s hiding in there,” she said, “but who could be hiding in a bakery at Christmas?” “Well, that’s obvious,” I replied, “it can only be a mince spy!”’
He smiled as the audience cheered. Cassie put the note down on the table and leant against the back of her chair but she still looked tense as her fingers flicked restlessly through her notes.
He had expected to see her there, of course, but what he hadn’t expected was the way his heartbeat picked up and his throat tightened, so much he felt he couldn’t breathe.
‘That mince spy could have been in trouble with the police had he been caught,’ Joseph carried on. ‘I love my policemen jokes, as you well know. Here is a brand new one for you, folks. What did the policeman say to the naughty jacket potato?’ Joseph paused. ‘He said, “You’re under a vest…”’
Joseph took a few steps on the stage, paused and frowned as he pulled on his ear, a puzzled look on his face. ‘Can you hear that, folks?’
People in the audience shouted that they couldn’t hear anything, but one man exclaimed, ‘Get your hearing aid fixed if you’re hearing voices, old man!’
Ignoring him, Joseph carried on. ‘I can definitely hear something. It sounds like… a Christmas Quacker! Do you know what that is?’
‘It’s a bad joke, like the ones you’ve been feeding us for the past half an hour!’ the same man shouted again.
It was the stocky man with the horsy face he had sat next to at the wedding reception. Next to him, Nathan Hardman threw his head back to laugh.
Why was he laughing with his friend instead of sitting with Cassie and supporting her grandfather? After all, she said she was going to work for him, and more importantly they had spent the night together the evening of the wedding… and what a night it must have been for Cassie to forget that the wedding decorations at the clubhouse needed to be taken down.
He had tried, and failed, so many times over the past few days not to think about her in Hardman’s arms – in Hardman’s bed. Tried, and failed, not to picture her kissing him, smiling at him with that sunny smile of hers, looking at him with eyes clouded with pleasure… the way she had looked at him.
He realised that his fists were clenched, so he took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to uncurl his fingers.
‘So, any idea what a Christmas Quacker is?’ Joseph quizzed the audience once more.
‘Festive Porridge oats?’ a man’s voice shouted out.
Joseph shook his head. ‘Nope.’
‘A rubbish doctor?’ Cassie’s pink-haired friend suggested.
Joseph smiled. ‘I might as well give you the answer. A Christmas Quacker, folks, is what you get when you cross Santa with a duck.’
There were whistles and hooting as Stefan pushed his way through the crowd towards the bar. At least if he stood near Hardman and his pals he could perhaps stop them from shouting any more nasty comments.
He cut through the crowd and managed to reach the bar just as applause died down and Joseph was speaking again. He made a few more jokes about Father Christmas and elves, some of which Stefan remembered because they were on the Post-it notes Cassie had given him when she came to Belthorn.
‘Last one from me, folks,’ Joseph said. ‘What do you call an impolite elf riding a reindeer? A Rud-elf!’ He slotted the mike back into the stand. ‘That’s all for tonight. Thanks for listening.’
Big Jim climbed onto the stage and gave Joseph’s back a pat. ‘Our distinguished panel of judges will now proceed to the voting and I’ll announce the results shortly.’
‘Thank goodness that’s over!’ Hardman’s friend shouted. ‘I never heard so much rubbish in my life.’
Stefan came right up to him. ‘I think you should show more respect,’ he said in a low voice.
The man opened his eyes wide. ‘Hey, I recognise you. You were at the wedding reception. What’s up? Don’t tell me you enjoyed the old man’s performance. It was awful.’
He guffawed and put his pint glass on the counter. His blue eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed. It didn’t take much to see that he was drunk… and full of himself.
‘Nobody was forcing you to stay,’ Stefan said, ‘so get out or shut up. Which will it be?’
Hardman tilted his chin and stared at him. ‘Hey! It’s a free country. The old man’s completely hopeless. Everybody thinks so but nobody has the guts to say it aloud.’
Stefan narrowed his eyes. ‘It’s Cassie’s grandfather you’re talking about.’
Hardman shrugged. ‘So what?’
The urge to punch the guy was suddenly so overwhelming Stefan had to shove his clenched fists into his pocket. Hardman must have seen something in his eyes, unless it was the set of his jaw, because he stumbled back against the bar and knocked his friend’s pint over, spilling beer all over his trousers.
He swore and looked down at his trouser legs. ‘Look at what you made me do… and all that for an old man who can’t even crack a stupid joke without forgetting his lines!’
Stefan pushed a deep breath down and forced his fingers to uncurl. He had never been a violent man but right now he could easily do something he might regret… or not.
‘What’s going on, Nathan? Is there a problem?’ Cassie asked behind him.
Stefan turned to face her. ‘Good evening, Cassie.’
She gasped, her face became even paler and her eyes opened wide in shock. No wonder she was surprised. She hadn’t seen him without a beard and with short hair before.
‘Stefan? I didn’t see you come in. You look… different.’ She looked from him to Hardman. ‘What’s happening?’
Hardman’s friend pointed at Stefan. ‘Your friend insulted us.’
Cassie frowned. ‘Did you?’ she asked him. ‘Why?’
‘I…’ Stefan swallowed hard, finding it impossible to repeat the nasty comments Hardman had said about Joseph. ‘We had a minor disagreement.’
He smiled a contrite smile. He couldn’t stop gazing at her, and taking in her tousled blonde hair, her beautiful grey eyes and the pretty pink lips set into a pout he wanted to kiss, and kiss again. How he wanted to pull her into his arms, bury his face into her hair and breathe in her sunny scent, and never let her go. He had missed her so much it was almos
t like physical pain.
Hardman cast him a venomous glare. ‘A minor disagreement? I could have you done for affray,’ he sputtered.
Big Jim made his way behind the bar. ‘Affray? Give over!’ He laughed, and his belly shook under his colourful cowboy shirt. ‘You had too much to drink and stumbled against the counter, that’s all. You should go home and change into dry trousers.’
Looking at Stefan, he broke into a smile. ‘I’ve been itching to shut these two up most of the evening.’
Hardman’s mouth gaped open. ‘I have just been assaulted and I’m the one who has to get out? I could have your licence revoked, do you hear me?’
Big Jim wasn’t smiling any longer. ‘Why don’t you try? I don’t think you’ll find anyone here to back you up.’
Hardman surveyed the crowed and sneered. ‘I’m not surprised, actually. It’s full of peasants who stink of sheep dung.’
Big Jim leaned over the counter. ‘Now you’re really asking for trouble. Get out and don’t bother coming back.’
Cassie gasped. ‘Jim… Nathan… Please don’t argue. It’s Comedy Night. We should be happy, not shouting at one another.’
‘Comedy Night? That’s the best joke I heard all night,’ Hardman sneered before looking at Cassie. ‘Actually, I only endured the evening because I wanted to talk to you, but I guess it’s going to have to wait until tomorrow. I’ve given you enough time to decide if you want my job or not. I’ll be at the holiday cottage until ten a.m. tomorrow. Don’t be late.’
He turned to his friend and gestured for him to follow. ‘Come on, let’s get out of this dive.’
Stefan gave Cassie a tentative smile. Hardman wasn’t the only one who wanted to talk. He had a lot to say, and an awful lot to apologise about.
He cleared his throat, which did nothing to make his voice any smoother. ‘How have you been?’
She tilted her chin up. ‘Fine. And you?’
‘I’m all right.’ He leant forward. ‘Listen, I am sorry I left so suddenly. I had to take care of a few things…’
She shrugged. ‘You don’t have to explain anything to me. After all, I’m only the scheming woman who slept with you for the sake of a measly bonus. At least, that’s what you believe.’ She drew in a shaky breath. ‘So that you know, I emailed Charles Ashville that he could keep his bonus.’ Her voice wobbled, and suddenly tears swam in her eyes.
He reached out to touch her arm then thought better of it and let his hand drop by his side and cursed himself for the umpteenth time. He had to apologise, and tell her he had spoken in anger, but to do so he wanted to be alone with her, not surrounded by noise and people.
‘Could we go somewhere quiet for a few minutes? I really need to talk to you.’
She cast him an angry glare and shook her head. ‘What makes you think I want to talk to you? You said more than enough the other night…’ She turned on her heels and pushed her way through the crowd to the ladies’ toilets.
He deserved that, but he didn’t like this feeling of helplessness, this sensation of having rusty nails pushed slowly into his heart. He had hurt her, and if he could never take his words back, at least he had to apologise properly.
Big Jim tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a cup of mulled wine. ‘I wouldn’t take too much notice if Cassie is a bit cranky tonight. She’s had a bad day. The police came to see her about the burglaries around the village. There have been nasty rumours circulating about her, and she lost a few clients.’
‘What rumours?’
‘Some people said that she was involved in the burglaries,’ Big Jim said.
Stefan’s fingers contracted on his glass. ‘She’s done nothing wrong,’ he said in a gruff voice.
‘I know that, but you know what some people are like.’
‘Thanks for telling me. And thanks for the drink.’ Stefan took his mulled wine and walked over to Joseph’s table. He had to tell him about Morse. Then he’d drive to the campsite and confront the man himself. Talking to Cassie would have to wait…
Chapter Thirty-Seven
She wasn’t ready to face her family, not when her heart beat so hard and her whole being was in turmoil… Stefan was back. He said he wanted to talk, but what was the point? She knew what he thought of her. And yet despite it all, she couldn’t stop her feelings for him. Couldn’t stop wanting him. Couldn’t stop loving him.
It had been hard enough going to Belthorn every day – her footsteps echoing in the empty house, her fingers trailing on the clothes he’d left behind that carried his fresh, masculine scent, and her thoughts flowing back to the tender and passionate moments they had shared in his bed, on the sofa, in front of the fire in the drawing room downstairs; her body remembering his heated whispers and caresses, and the way his eyes darkened and his body tensed and hardened as he moved above her, inside her; and her heart remembering his sweet goodnight kisses. He had trusted her with his most traumatic memories. She had told him about her nightmarish events at Wolf Tarn. They had shared more than hot kisses and intimate embraces.
Or so she thought… How could he believe, even for a second, that she had faked all that for the sake of a few thousand pounds?
She let out a resigned sigh. Whatever he had to say could wait until she went to Belthorn the following day.
Big Jim’s booming voice was announcing the results of the comedy contest as she walked out of the toilets. She held her breath and crossed her fingers but she already knew that her granddad wouldn’t win tonight. He hadn’t been his usual sparkling self. He had been hesitant, had forgotten a few lines. He had even resorted to standard Christmas cracker jokes, even though that was against the competition rules. Thank goodness she’d had the good idea to bring her notes to prompt him when he faltered.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Big Jim started, ‘I am delighted to crown our new Comedy Queens – yes, you heard me right, Comedy Queens, the wonderfully talented mimes Chantelle and Neve. Girls, if you care to come on the stage to receive your prize…’
Cassie’s heart sank. She knew it would be hard for her granddad to win again this year, but it was still a shock and she dare not look at him for fear of seeing the sadness and disappointment on his face.
Clapping and cheering erupted as the mimes, still in costume and with their face paint on, hopped on stage, smiling and giggling to receive a bottle of champagne each.
Big Jim waited until the noise had died down. ‘But that’s not all. This year, we are awarding a lifetime achievement prize to a very dear and very special friend – Joseph Bell, our comedy king for the past fifteen years.’
This time the noise inside the pub was deafening, and Cassie’s eyes filled with tears as her grandfather climbed on the stage, helped by Tim and Rachel. Big Jim gave him a bottle of special ale that he clutched against his chest as he took the microphone again.
‘What can I say, folks? Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.’ His voice shook and his eyes were shiny. ‘It has been an honour to perform here every year for so long, but it’s time to bow out.’ He pulled a comical face. ‘I’m getting on in years, and I’m losing my marbles.’
‘Tell us something we don’t know!’ one of his old friends shouted.
Nodding to the two mimes, he added. ‘Ladies, you were brilliant, but you look awfully young to me. Do your parents know you’re mimes, or have you kept that quiet?’
Everybody laughed. He didn’t seem upset by the judges’ decision in the slightest, quite the opposite in fact.
‘Look everybody, I can do miming too,’ he said, making a kind of wiping gesture as if he was cleaning a window.
‘What are you doing, you muppet?’ another of his friends shouted.
‘I’m cleaning windows,’ he replied, ‘which reminds me of a bloke who told me the other day that his wife had left him for the window cleaner. He was a bit upset, as you can imagine, but I told him not to worry. “She’ll be back”, I said, “when she realises that the glass isn’t always cleaner on the other si
de.”’
He bowed to the applauding audience, and, still clutching his large bottle of real ale, sat back at the table.
‘Well done, Granddad!’ She bent down to kiss his cheek. ‘Are you not too disappointed to have lost your crown?’
He gave her a smile. ‘I’m not disappointed at all, Trifle. Those two girls were funny, even if they didn’t say a word. It was high time I passed the baton on. And to tell the truth, I like real ale better than champagne.’ He frowned. ‘Although I may need to drink something stronger than beer after what Lambert told us.’
Immediately, her heartbeat picked up again. Frowning, she looked around, but Stefan was nowhere to be seen. ‘Why? What did he say?’
‘It was about young Darren, and you’ll never guess. Apparently, the scoundrel has been fleecing old folks all over the country.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He makes himself useful to old people, pretending to fix stuff whilst all the time taking money or bank details from them to rob them. Lambert said that he believes Morse even interferes with their medication to make them confused.’
He shook his head. ‘That’s what he must have done to me too, and I never suspected anything. I thought there was something wrong with me for dozing off during the day and not remembering things.’
‘How does Stefan know all this?’
‘He went to places where Darren worked and talked to people.’
‘I see.’ So many things fell into place suddenly.
Her granddad frowned. ‘You don’t seem overly surprised, Trifle.’
‘I am… but everything makes sense now.’ Her grandfather’s money problems, the radiator that leaked no matter how many times Darren came to ‘fix’ it, Fluffy who kept coming in and his paw prints leading to the back door… Darren must have drugged her granddad and snooped through their personal papers for his bank details, for her cleaning logbook, as well as the code for the alarm to Tabitha Sweeney’s house which she had foolishly written down. He must also have kept a key when he fitted a new lock to sneak in and out of Bluebell Cottage when they weren’t there.
