He nodded, even though rescuing him from his gloom would take more than a few jokes, and read the first Post-it. ‘What did Father Christmas say to the elves when they visited the honey factory? Be Hive yourself.’
He put it down and read the other one. ‘What did the Zombie get when he bit the snowman? Brain Freeze.’
He looked up and she gave him a sheepish smile. ‘You don’t have to say anything. I know they’re a bit corny.’
He smiled back. ‘I like them.’
Her face lit up. ‘Really?’
‘I don’t usually say things I don’t mean.’ Glancing at the table, he asked, ‘Why is there only one plate? Are you not eating with me?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m here to make your meals and clean the house, not to eat. What’s more, my granddad is waiting for me at home. Please sit down.’
If the nap and the painkillers had done him good, he felt even better after a slice of Cassie’s steak pie and a small glass of red wine, even if the woman’s non-stop chattering made him a little dizzy. She was a whirlwind of activity, dashing around the kitchen to wipe the worktops, tidy up and put utensils away, and talking all the time.
He lost count of the questions she asked, her first being why was his English so good? He told her about his uncle marrying an Englishwoman and the holidays he had spent with them and his cousins in their house in Kent. Cassie then wanted to know if it was his first visit to the Lakes, and how long he intended to stay. More questions followed. Did he enjoy hiking? Sailing? Rock climbing? Eating out? What was his favourite dish, and his least favourite dish?
‘I need to make sure I cook what you like,’ she said.
‘You don’t need to worry. I’m not fussy.’
She laughed. ‘Please don’t say that… You don’t know what horrors I am capable of!’
She asked him about Christmas in Paris. Did the Eiffel Tower really sparkle at night? And what about the fireworks, were they as spectacular as on television?
She didn’t seem to notice that his replies had become monosyllabic, then barely civil grunts. Suddenly, he’d had enough. He put his knife and fork down and glanced out of the window. Night had fallen and it was still snowing.
‘You should go home before the weather gets worse,’ he said, interrupting her flow of words.
She turned to look at him, shook her head and carried on scraping the pie dish, sending washing-up foam everywhere. ‘I have to finish this first.’
‘Leave it. I’ll do it later.’
She scrubbed harder. ‘No you won’t. It’s my job.’
There was a steely edge to her voice that told him there was no point arguing. The woman was as stubborn as she was chatty.
He could be stubborn too. He stood up and put his plate, glass and his cutlery into the sink. ‘Then I’ll follow you to the village as soon as you’ve finished. I don’t want you risking an accident in that old van of yours.’
This time a mischievous glint appeared in her eyes. ‘My Bluebell van may be old but it’s perfectly safe.’
‘The road is slippery and dangerous. I’d rather be with you, just in case…’
She arched her eyebrows. ‘I’m used to driving in the snow and had special tyres fitted. Beside, I’m not the one who drove my car into a ditch.’
Her quick retort almost made him smile. ‘Actually, there’s another reason I want to follow you to Red Moss. I arranged to meet Mason Austin in the pub. I owe him a pint for helping me out this morning. I don’t want to get lost and I need you to point me into the right direction.’
That was the best excuse he could think of.
This time she nodded. ‘Ah… all right. You’ll have a great evening. The Eagle and Child is a friendly pub, and Mason is a great guy.’
She may be right… Here at Red Moss there was no risk of bumping into anyone he knew and having to answer endless questions about the accident, deal with sympathetic comments about his injuries, or lie about how he was coping with civilian life.
Chapter Nine
Cassie may not want to admit it, but she was glad Lambert was following her to the village in his Range Rover. Even with the snow tyres Mason had fitted at the beginning of winter, the van kept skidding and the Range Rover’s headlights shining in her rear-view mirror were a reassuring presence.
She wasn’t fooled by his excuse. There was only one pub in Red Moss, and it was in the centre of the village. He couldn’t have missed it. The truth was that he was worried about her and wanted to make sure she got home safely… and that gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.
She slowed down when she reached the Eagle and Child, beeped her horn and waved him goodbye. As she parked in front of Bluebell Cottage, she couldn’t help but wonder what the locals would make of the Frenchman’s surly temper, of his rough voice and battle-scarred face.
Long-legged Sadie would no doubt find him very intriguing. She would also notice his broad shoulders and moody eyes, and probably waste no time in fluttering her eyelashes at him.
‘I’m back!’ She hung her coat on the rack and popped her head into the living room. Her grandfather sat in his favourite armchair next to the gas fire, his legs stretched out in front of him, his feet encased in his carpet slippers.
He lifted his eyes from his paper and smiled. ‘Hello, love. You look shattered. Was it a hard day?’
‘It wasn’t too bad. Sorry I’m a bit late. I’ve been to Belthorn.’
He frowned. ‘What was it like to be back up there, and was that Frenchman still cantankerous today?’
She pulled a face. ‘I’ll get used to it – and to him. Eventually. Actually Lambert insisted on following me back to the village. He said he was meeting Mason at the pub, but I think he was worried about me driving back on my own in the snow.’
‘That was good of him.’
‘Yes, it was.’ She thought back at the determined look in Stefan’s eyes when he had marched into the kitchen and saved her from Darren’s unwanted attentions, at the mix of pride and vulnerability etched on his face when he refused to admit he was in pain… at the heat of his body when she tried to wake him up and he yanked her to him. The memory alone was enough to make her dizzy.
But she’d better get on with making the tea rather than reminisce about Stefan Lambert’s hard chest and strong arms. She took the bags of frozen chips, peas and fish fingers out of the freezer and switched the grill on.
‘What did you do today, Granddad?’
Her grandfather immediately proceeded to recount the events of his day. The newspaper had been delivered late and he had complained at the newsagent’s.
‘While I was there, I picked up your magazine – the one you like, about fancy houses and expensive wallpaper. Where did I put it? I swear it was on the worktop earlier.’ He fumbled through the piles of letters and papers, getting agitated and muttering to himself.
Her heart sank at his new memory lapse. ‘Don’t worry about it. It will turn up. Tell me what else happened today.’
‘Not much.’ He scratched his head, leaving his white hair all fluffed up. ‘Except that there has been another burglary in the village – that’s the fourth in as many weeks.’