She shook her head and her blonde fringe fell into her eyes. She flicked it aside. ‘There’s no landline at Belthorn, no mobile phone signal either… and no television or Wi-Fi here. The only concessions to modern life are the electricity and the central heating, although neither is very reliable. The previous Lord Ashville wasn’t interested in modernising Belthorn. He used this place as a retreat from his busy London life, and his son hasn’t made any changes either.’
She cocked her head to one side and her fringe fell into her eyes again. ‘You said you were a friend of Charles Ashville’s. Have you known him long?’
‘We have worked together on and off for years.’
‘So you’re a doctor too?’ Another smile lit her heart-shaped face, and dimples appeared on her cheeks. He couldn’t help but notice that she had a very nice smile. Her pale grey eyes, the colour of misty mornings, and her mop of blonde hair tied back with a red bandana were rather nice too.
She was looking at him, waiting for his answer.
‘No. I am…’ He shrugged, trying to ignore the pain in his back and shoulders, and corrected, ‘I was a helicopter pilot in the French army but often worked with Inter Medics on rescue missions, most recently in Mali.’
‘That’s interesting. Are you here on holidays?’
‘Sort of.’ It wasn’t really a lie.
‘If it’s quiet you’re after, then Belthorn is perfect. As you have seen, the house is very isolated.’
‘That’s fine by me.’ Silence, oblivion, forgetting about the world, and the world forgetting about him, was what he craved, especially with Christmas coming up.
‘Won’t you mind being alone here?’ She pulled a face as she looked at the manor house’s stone façade and mullioned windows, and the strange round chimneys rising from the roof.
Suddenly, exhaustion made his body ache all over and his mind yearn for silence and sleep. ‘Right now, being alone is my idea of heaven. Listen, I don’t mean to be rude but I’ve had a long journey. I’m tired and—’
‘And you need a cup of tea, of course! What was I thinking of?’ She turned away, picked up her bag and strode into the house before he could say he didn’t like tea and what he needed was for her to climb back into her van, with her feather duster and over-cheerful personality, and leave him alone.
Instead, he followed her into the house and closed the heavy oak door behind him.
Chapter Two
‘Have you explored the house yet?’ She took off her red duffle coat and hung it on the old-fashioned stand in the corridor.
‘No. I’d only just got here when you arrived.’ He gestured to the large khaki holdall that he had dropped at the foot of the stairs.
She flashed him a smile. ‘Then why don’t you take a look while I make you that hot drink? I’ll call you when it’s ready.’
She turned away and strode down the uneven stone-flagged corridor in her baggy dungarees and Doc Martens boots, the bright red bandana scarf tied in her blonde hair making a splash of colour in the winter afternoon’s dim light.
He might as well do as she said. It didn’t look as if he had much choice anyway… With a resigned sigh, he pushed the first door to his right and entered a spacious drawing room dominated by a stone fireplace. A large leather armchair stood next to it. A sofa covered with faded chintz fabric, a couple of antique looking glass-fronted cabinets displaying trinkets, and paintings of misty landscapes and a ruined castle – or was it a ruined abbey, like the one that stood on the grounds of the manor house? – completed the old-fashioned décor.
Not what he was used to, certainly, Stefan thought with a grim smile, recalling the spartan interiors of the successive army barracks where he had spent most of the past twenty years, or the barely-furnished Paris apartment where he crashed when he was on leave, and where he had spent the last few weeks since coming out of hospital.
The next room down the corridor was a huge, dark oak-panelled dining room with equally dark and dismal furniture. He grimaced, closed the door and carried on. Further along was a music room with a grand piano that cast a large, menacing shadow on the wall. The last door he tried opened into a library, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a massive desk and an art deco cupboard he immediately recognised as a drinks cabinet.
Flipping the top open he took out a crystal tumbler and a decanter filled with amber liquor. This was more like it. Brandy. Better than tea any time. He poured some in a glass and drank it all in one gulp before walking to one of the patio doors framed by thick brown curtains. Blue grey mist bathed the garden where rhododendron bushes ran wild and the outline of the mountains now disappeared in the shadows.
All he could hear was silence.
Charlie was right. This place was perfect.
‘Tea’s ready!’ the woman called.
Or it would be once he was alone.
He would give Cassie Bell five minutes to show him around then he would ask her to leave. He had done enough socialising for one day. No, make that a month.
‘How do you like your tea?’ she asked when he came into the kitchen.
‘I don’t.’
She gave him a puzzled look. On the table were two mugs of steaming hot tea, a jug of milk, a bowl of sugar, and a plate with an assortment of biscuits.
‘I usually drink coffee,’ he explained.
‘You should have said. There’s some instant coffee too.’ She turned to open a cupboard.
‘Leave it. It’s all right. I’ll drink the tea… Thank you,’ he added in a softer tone, attempting the impossible task of making his voice sound less raw.
She sat down, took a small pad and a pen out of one her dungarees’ many pockets, and looked at him. ‘My colleague – make that former colleague, since she just resigned…’ annoyance flashed in her eyes and she tapped her pen on the cover of her notebook ‘… well, Sophie used to come here twice a month to keep the place clean, but with you arriving early, I need to do a big shop in the supermarket in Keswick tomorrow, so we should make a list. I’ll take care of your Christmas shopping too.’
She flipped her notebook open and looked at him. ‘What would you like?’
He blinked. ‘Christmas shopping?’
Her grey eyes sparkled. ‘I promise I shall do my best to help you have a good Christmas. I do love Christmas, don’t you?’
His whole body stiffened, and he gripped the handle of his mug so tightly his knuckles became white. How could he tell her that the mere mention of Christmas made him want to punch the wall? That it reminded him of what he had done – and who he had failed.
‘My granddad often says I must be an elf in disguise,’ Cassie Bell carried on. ‘He even bought me a hat so I can look like one. Anyway, you’ll need a tree, of course. Christmas isn’t really Christmas without a tree, don’t you think?’
What was this nonsense about elves and hats and Christmas trees, and did the woman have to talk so much, and so fast? Did she not need to breathe once in a while?
He raised a hand to stem the flow of words. ‘Hang on a minute, Miss Bell…’ Or was it Mrs? There was no wedding ring on her finger, but that didn’t mean anything.