‘It’s a pudding,’ her granddad explained. ‘Layers of sponge soaked in sherry, custard cream, jelly and whipped cream. It’s pretty, soft, and sweet, like our Cassie.’
Cassie’s face now burnt so much it hurt. What was wrong with her grandfather today? Why was he hell-bent on humiliating her in front of their guest?
‘Oh. Hmm… Right. I know what it is, but I can’t say I’ve ever eaten any.’ Stefan Lambert’s expression was unfathomable.
While everybody was busy fussing, getting him a plate, a glass and some cutlery, he turned to her and asked in a low voice, ‘What did Mason say about the tyres?’
‘That I had been very unlucky and promised to order new ones tomorrow. In the meantime he lent me his old Land Rover.’
Stefan looked puzzled. ‘Bad luck had nothing to do with it. Didn’t you tell him it was Darren Morse who—’
‘I know that’s what you think.’ She remembered that he had called her naïve the night before – but she knew he meant ‘stupid’. ‘But you’re wrong about Darren. I didn’t tell Mason anything. I didn’t tell my granddad either, so please don’t mention it. He would only worry.’
Stefan’s eyes turned dark and stormy, but before he could speak, Tim placed a glass of brandy in front of him, Rachel put a large slab of cake onto his plate, and her granddad asked him if he had enjoyed his walk.
‘Very much so,’ he replied. ‘The paths from Belthorn are in good condition, and well signposted.’
That sparked a general conversation about the erosion of tracks, the unpredictability of the weather, and dangers run by ill-equipped walkers who set off in flimsy clothes and flip-flops to climb the fells, or relied on apps on their mobile phones to find their way instead of planning their walk using ‘good, old-fashioned common sense,’ Tim said, shaking his head.
‘You wouldn’t believe the number of folks who call here, weak and exhausted because they misjudged the distance or the terrain, didn’t look at the weather forecast, and don’t even have a map or a compass.’
He turned to Stefan and smiled. ‘I bet you set off well prepared for your walk this morning.’
‘Charlie’s sister gave me several maps of the area when I picked up the keys to Belthorn Manor at Charlie’s London flat.’
‘You know the family well, then?’ Rachel asked.
Stefan nodded. ‘I can’t say I know Gabrielle very well, but Charlie’s a good friend.’
‘Gabrielle Ashville always thought she was too good for us lowly peasants,’ Rachel remarked with a shrug, ‘but Charles is nice. Cassie said you worked with him in Africa.’
Something flashed in his eyes – regret or pain, it was hard to tell – but his face remained stony. ‘That’s right.’
Cassie burned to ask him what exactly had happened, but the tone of his voice didn’t invite any questions.
‘It’s a shame he rarely comes here,’ Tim remarked. ‘It would be good to see a member of the Ashville family at Belthorn Manor from time to time. At the very least, it would stop Piers Hardy behaving like he owns the estate. That man is a bully and it’s high time he was put down a peg or two.’ He clenched his fingers around his glass and shook his head.
‘Last time we saw Charles and his sister was at their father’s funeral,’ Rachel said. ‘They both looked as if they couldn’t wait to get away, which is understandable given the circumstances, I suppose. And of course there is the small matter of the curse.’
Stefan frowned. ‘What curse?’
Cassie turned to Rachel and rolled her eyes. ‘Please don’t start with this old story.’
But Rachel ignored her and said in a gloomy voice, ‘The curse of the Grey Friar pursuing his terrible revenge on the Ashville family.’
She turned to Cassie. ‘You saw the Grey Friar, didn’t you? You should tell us about your nightmare Christmas party. It’s a long time since I heard the tale.’
Cassie’s throat tightened. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever.’
‘Come on, Cassie. It’s a good story, and surely you want Stefan to know about the strange things that may happen while he is all alone at Belthorn?’ Rachel’s cheeks were flushed, probably because of the three glasses of sparkly wine she had enjoyed at lunchtime.
‘No, I don’t want to talk about it,’ Cassie warned, but her cousin only giggled and turned to Stefan. ‘Cassie and her friends made a campfire near Wolf Tarn, and while the others were enjoying themselves Cassie wandered off and some horrible spectre of doom appeared on the—’
‘Rachel, please,’ Cassie cried out. Why was everyone in her family trying to annoy her and make her look stupid today?
Rachel glanced at her and shrugged. ‘As you wish, but it’s a good story.’
‘It wasn’t a story. It was real.’
Rachel shrugged. ‘You may say so, but the police didn’t find anything.’
‘Cassie always had way too much imagination where Belthorn was concerned,’ her grandfather cut in. ‘Cassie’s grandma – my Elsie – was exactly the same. She was always claiming some lost spirit or other was talking to her. When it wasn’t her aunt Ruth, it was some long-forgotten Ashville lass pining away for her sweetheart, or that grey-cloaked friar that lurks in the ruined abbey to cause mischief.’
Cassie noticed that Stefan frowned when her granddad mentioned Ruth, as if he recognised the name, but she immediately dismissed the thought. How could he know about Ruth Merriweather?
Her granddad sighed and a wistful smile stretched his lips. ‘My Elsie sure kept me awake many a night with her silly tales.’
‘They weren’t all silly tales, Granddad,’ Cassie protested. ‘Grandma used to say places keep imprints of the past, and I for one believe she was right. I don’t care if you all think I’m crazy, or stupid, or both. I know what I saw, heard and felt that night. And before you say anything, no, I didn’t have too much to drink.’
Her granddad raised his hands in a calming gesture. ‘Don’t get yourself all upset, pet. Nobody is calling you crazy.’
He yawned and rubbed his eyes. He looked old and tired suddenly.
‘Are you not feeling well?’ Cassie asked, concern replacing her bad mood.
He yawned again. ‘I’m a little sleepy, that’s all. It must be Rachel’s good food and that sparkly wine I drank at lunchtime.’
‘Then why don’t you have a rest while Rachel and I make some coffee?’ Cassie stood up, picked up a cushion from the sofa and put it on the armchair near the fireplace. ‘Come and sit here, you’ll be nice and warm.’
Rachel grumbled that she’d rather have another glass of Prosecco than coffee but dutifully got up and went into the kitchen to make a pot, and Cassie followed to help as soon as her grandfather was settled in his armchair.
‘I’m sorry I upset you before,’ Rachel said after she closed the door. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
Cassie sighed. ‘It’s all right, but I don’t want you to ever mention that night again, especially in front of guests.’
Rachel measured scoops of ground coffee for the coffee machine. ‘Talking about guests, once you get used to the scars on his face, I find Stefan Lambert very attractive, in a rough and rugged kind of way.’