She blew a frustrated sigh. ‘No. I said he was mistaken.’
‘Ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away.’
‘Who said there was a problem?’
‘Your grandfather said that the man has a crush on you.’
She let out a frustrated sigh and shook her head. ‘I don’t believe Darren has a crush on me at all, but even if – and that’s a very big if – that was the case, having a crush on someone isn’t a crime, or else half the world would be behind bars at some point.’
She gestured towards the crossroads at the centre of the village. ‘Take a left here, please. Bluebell Cottage is at the end of the street.’
He followed her instructions, and she turned to him as soon as he’d stopped the car in front of the house.
‘Thank you very much for the lift. I shall see you in the morning.’
‘How will you get to Belthorn now your van is out of order?’
‘Mason will lend me one of his old cars if he can’t fit new tyres on my van tomorrow.’
She pulled her hat on, bent forward to retrieve her bag and the torch at her feet just as he leant forward too. His shoulder brushed against her cheek. Their fingers met on the torch. His face was only a couple of inches away, so close she felt the warmth of his breath on her face.
He looked at her. The light from the lamppost in the street reflected in his eyes, made shadows on his face and outlined the contour of his mouth. The air seemed to crackle and sizzle around them. Frissons danced on her skin, and the same warm, tingly feeling she’d experienced earlier when he’d pulled her on top of him hummed inside her, making her heart beat faster. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, and for a moment they just stared at each other, until a cat meowing nearby broke the spell.
Stefan reached out for the torch and handed it to her. ‘Here it is,’ he said in his rough voice as they both straightened up.
‘Thanks.’ She slipped the torch inside her bag, opened the door and climbed down. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
She hurried up the short path and opened the front door.
‘Why are you so late, Trifle, and where is your van?’ her grandfather said from inside.
Cassie watched the Range Rover drive off and closed the door. ‘I’ll tell you all about it over a cup of tea. I need to put my feet up. It’s been a long evening.’
There were, however, two things she would keep to herself: Stefan’s ridiculous statement about Darren Morse stalking her, and the no less ridiculous pull of attraction she was feeling towards him.
Chapter Twelve
The manor house loomed at the end of the track, its chimneys rising like masts against the night. He drove slowly, but the slippery lane wasn’t the reason why his fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly and his shoulders tensed up.
Cassie Bell was, and the way she had brushed off his suggestion that Morse may be stalking her. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the man had checked her wheels in the afternoon then happened to drive past late at night to offer her a lift home when she had flat tyres. What were the odds of having two flat tyres at once?
He shook his head and let out a long breath. Why did he care so much anyway? After all, he had come to Belthorn to be alone, not to take an interest in anybody else’s problems, or worry about the woman Charlie had hired to babysit him. It didn’t help of course that Cassie’s grandfather had more or less entrusted her to him, and that for some unexplained reason he now felt responsible for her. He didn’t need a shrink to tell him he was overcompensating for his past failings, but there was something more – something that was a very, very bad idea…
He was attracted to her.
It had taken all his self-control not to wrench her away from Morse’s car earlier, and hold her in his arms to keep her safe. But that was nothing compared to what he had felt as he pulled up in front of Bluebell Cottage. The urge to kiss her, and feel her soft lips under his, had been almost too strong to resist. Thank goodness for that stray cat that had shaken him back to his senses.
He unlocked the front door and stomped his boots onto the mat to get the snow off before hanging his coat on the rack and pushing open the door to the drawing room. What had happened there?
The room looked different, felt different. It even smelled different. And yet, nothing much had changed… The furniture had been rearranged. Pine sprigs, holly and red winter berries made a splash of colour on the mantelpiece. Several boxes of chocolates were piled up on the coffee table next to Vaillant’s diary, and a huge cushion in festive colours sat on the sofa – probably Cassie’s handiwork, if her grandfather was to be believed. As he breathed in the fresh scent of pine mingling with Cassie’s lemon fragrance, the tension in his shoulders ebbed away, and he couldn’t help the smile forming on his lips.
Not only did Cassie clean and cook for him, but she struck a bit of her Bluebell fairy magic to make Belthorn a nicer, more comfortable place… He pictured her grey eyes, in turn sparkly or limpid, the dimples that appeared on her cheeks every time she smiled, and her hair the colour of sunshine, and his chest tightened.
Being attracted to Cassie was a very bad idea, and he’d do well to keep away from her as much as possible…
He made some coffee, picked up André Vaillant’s diary and went up to bed where he read until the writing blurred and danced on the page and he couldn’t focus any longer. For the first time in weeks, he fell asleep straight away and didn’t dream of anything until the grey light of dawn filtered through the curtains and woke him up the following morning.
He made a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches, filled a bottle of water, grabbed a banana and a handful of chocolates and stuffed everything in a rucksack. It looked cold so he zipped his parka up, wrapped his scarf tightly around his neck and pulled down his woolly hat before locking the door.
Taking a deep breath of crisp, clean air, he glanced up at the soft blue sky. A faint crescent of moon and a few stars still shone over the ragged peaks to his right, but the snowy fells already sparkled under the pale morning sunshine that peeped over the summit. A ribbon of mist captured the sun’s golden rays and floated halfway up the mountains. Trees stood still and fluffy with frost. It was a picture of beauty, peace and serenity.
Charlie once told him that some valleys were so narrow they didn’t get any sunshine at all during winter months. The thought made him shudder. He couldn’t imagine spending months trapped in the shadows…
He started on the steep path behind Belthorn Manor. He had worked out a circular route that would take him to Patterdale in the next valley then back to Belthorn Manor. He hadn’t chosen the walk at random. He wanted to see the farm André Vaillant mentioned in his journal, if it still existed. It was the farm Charlie’s great-grandfather had owned and tenanted to Ruth Merriweather’s family and where young Ruth had taken André one sunny summer’s day.
Because of André’s injuries, the couple had walked on the path that meandered at the bottom of the dale. He, on the other hand, would try to ascend the fell and walk down into the next valley.
As he started on the trail, Stefan recalled the words the convalescing pilot had written after his first visit to Patterdale – words of hope that were etched into his mind.