It was snowing by the time she drove over the cattle grid and climbed the lane up to Belthorn. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and the usual knot hardened in her stomach as images from her nightmare flashed into her mind, mixing with the images from that night, ten years before…
It was only to be expected if she was nervous. After all, this was only the second time she’d been to Belthorn on her own. Her mother had always been with her when Charles Ashville’s father was still alive, and when her mother had retired and Cassie had taken over her small housekeeping business, it was Sophie who had taken on the twice-monthly visits. Cassie would get used to coming there alone – she had to…
Mason had been true to his word. Lambert’s Range Rover was no longer near the Sanctuary Stone but parked in front of the manor house. Her spirits lifted a little. Lambert may not be the most agreeable of men, but at least she wouldn’t be alone in the old house.
Even though she had keys, Cassie rang the bell, and unloaded the shopping as she waited for Lambert to come to the door.
There was no answer so she let herself in.
‘Hello!’ she called a few times, but her voice was met with deep silence, and her heart sank. The Frenchman must have gone for a walk, and she was alone after all…
‘It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine,’ she whispered to herself in a singsong voice even though she felt anything but fine.
Her footsteps echoed on the stone-flagged floor as she walked down the corridor, opening doors and flicking old-fashioned light switches on in a bid to banish any lingering shadows.
In the kitchen the only clues that Lambert had been there were the mug, soup bowl, spoon and saucepan washed and arranged neatly by the side of the sink. It was probably his way of telling her that he could clean after himself and didn’t need her.
She put the shopping away and made the steak pie for Lambert’s evening meal, before tackling the housework she should have done the day before, trying not to jump every time the floorboards creaked, the pipes gurgled or the wind tapped on the window panes.
It was no wonder Charles Ashville and his sister Gabrielle rarely spent any time there since their father’s death. And yet, Cassie thought as she surveyed the drawing room’s faded wallpaper, the oak beams criss-crossing the ceiling and the dark oak furniture… With a colourful throw or two on the sofa, plenty of soft cushions, some fairy lights along the mantelpiece to soften the lighting, and a fire in the fireplace, the room could look almost cosy and welcoming.
She would start the transformations straight away. She slipped her coat back on, extracted a pair of secateurs from her bag and went in the snowy garden to cut sprigs of pine and spiky branches dripping with pretty red berries from the holly bushes growing near the gates. She walked back into the house, shook the snow from her coat and spent time arranging the foliage in bouquets in the hallway and the drawing room.
His heart pumped hard, his breath grew ragged and his legs ached. He tilted his head up and thick snowflakes touched his face. The weather was turning and it was getting dark. He may not make it to the top of the hill, but he hadn’t felt this alive for a long time.
He turned round and started on the way back at a good pace. The house soon appeared at the turn of the path. From his vantage point high up on the fell, the ruins of the abbey seemed a lot more extensive, and closer to the manor house, than he’d thought. For the first time he noticed that both the abbey and the manor house appeared to be built from similar stonework. It might be interesting to dig up some facts about the place and learn about the history of Belthorn Abbey and its links to Charlie’s family. Perhaps he would pay Miss Parker a visit, and ask her if she knew anything about André Vaillant too…
As he proceeded further down the hill, he spotted Cassie Bell’s bright red van on the drive. He let out a resigned sigh. His own personal dust buster fairy was back.
He reached the small mountain lake, marked on the map as Wolf Tarn. Round and grey, with a smooth, glassy surface, it looked like a giant eye staring back at the sky. Snowflakes floated down like feathers and dissolved as they touched the water.
As he followed the path around the tarn, he saw a white car drive slowly up the lane and stop at the gates. A tall, gangly man got out, the hood of his anorak pulled down over his face and his shoulders hunched against the snow and the cold wind, and walked to Cassie’s van. He bent down as if checking the tyres, then straightened up and stalked to the kitchen door.
Stefan’s skin prickled at the back of his neck.
It was probably nothing. Cassie could have called someone to service her van or make a delivery, but he didn’t like the man’s furtive manner. He didn’t like it at all. Instinct kicked in, and he started running.
The kitchen door squeaked open, and Cassie let out a relieved sigh. At last Stefan Lambert was back. She tidied the vacuum cleaner away, hurried to the kitchen… and stopped dead. Darren stood in the kitchen, flicking through the notebook she had left on the kitchen table.
Her mouth opened in shock. ‘Darren… What are you doing here?’
He flipped the notebook shut and looked at her. ‘I knocked but there was no answer, so I came in.’
She hadn’t heard any knocking. Then again, she had been dusting and vacuuming.
He unzipped his anorak, and pulled a bottle of wine out of his inside pocket. ‘You forgot this in your shopping trolley, so I thought I’d bring it over.’ He put the bottle on the table.
Cassie frowned. ‘Did I? I’m sure I put away four bottles.’
‘There was a bottle left,’ Darren insisted. He gave the kitchen an appraising look. ‘Wow! This is a massive kitchen. I could fit my entire mobile home in here.’
She forced a smile. ‘Yes, it’s really big. Listen, Darren, it was kind of you to drive all this way and bring the wine, but you can’t just walk in here.’
‘I said I knocked.’ Even though he spoke quietly, his voice had taken a stubborn edge. ‘Where’s the French guy who’s staying here?’
‘I think he went out for a walk.’ She sighed as worry gnawed at her again. Where had Lambert gone? What if he got lost as night fell?
‘Good. Then you can give me a tour of the house. I’ve wondered what Belthorn Manor was like inside for ages.’ He took off his anorak and draped it on the back of a chair.
She swallowed hard. ‘No. Sorry, I can’t do that. It’s not my house.’
He shrugged. ‘Who’s to know? After all, the owner isn’t here, and you just said that the guest is out. I meant it, you know, when I said I wanted to help. It’s an old house and there must be lots of things going wrong. I am always happy to fix things.’
He may be happy to fix things but it didn’t mean he was any good at it, a little voice whispered in her head. Immediately she chastised herself for that uncharitable thought.
‘We’ll see…’
‘Any chance of a cup of tea? It’s freezing today and the heating in my car isn’t working. I got really cold driving up here.’
He rubbed his hands together, and she felt guilty again. After all, a cup of tea was the least she could offer him when he’d driven all this way to bring her the bottle she had forgotten.
‘Sure.’ She filled the kettle and reached out for cups on the dresser’s top shelf.