‘Leave me here,’ he said. ‘I’ll walk the rest of the way.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’ll drive you back.’
‘It’s only three or four miles at the most from here. I’ll walk.’
She slowed down as they approached the turn for Belthorn. ‘But, it’s cold and dark, and you’re not…’
Pride punched his stomach. ‘Not fit enough. Is that what you were going to say?’
She sighed. ‘I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed in pain earlier.’
‘I feel much better now,’ he lied. ‘In fact, the walk will do me good, and it will clear my head too.’
She bit her lip. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’
She brought the Land Rover to a halt. ‘It’s a shame I missed you when I called at Belthorn this morning. There’s some steak pie and vegetables left in the oven, and I put enough logs in the drawing room so you can make a fire tonight.’
‘You shouldn’t have.’
‘It’s all right. It’s—’
‘It’s all part of your job. I know.’
She smiled. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Sure,’ he replied, even though he had no intention of being at Belthorn when she came. The woman brought far too many temptations.
He let himself out and stood watching as she drove off. Soon, the tail lights of the Land Rover disappeared and he was alone, with only the silver glow of the stars and the moon to light the way.
He had lied when he said that he was feeling better. If anything, his body ached even more after the bumpy car journey. He stumbled on lumps of icy snow, the rucksack hanging from his shoulder weighed like a ton of bricks, and it hurt just to breathe. Thank goodness there was nobody around to watch him amble his way up the lane like an old man.
Walking past the Sanctuary Stone at last, he calculated that he only had another two miles to go – another hour’s walk, at the snail pace he was going – and distracted himself by dreaming about a steaming cup of coffee, a slice of Cassie’s steak pie, and memories of the young woman’s sunny smile and sparkling grey eyes.
The walk up the lane took so long that he lost track of time but at long last the dark shapes of Belthorn and the abbey emerged against the starry night sky. He wasn’t easily spooked but he had to admit that there was a certain atmosphere about the place. It was no wonder it had given rise to scary stories.
What had Cassie experienced there that was so terrifying that years later she was still reluctant to talk about it? Was it anything to do with that ghostly Grey Friar Rachel talked about? Charlie had never mentioned any weird story about the place, but then again his friend hardly ever talked about Belthorn…
He fished his keys from his pocket with fingers numb with cold despite the gloves, unlocked the front door and with a sigh of relief made his way to the kitchen to warm up that steak pie he had been dreaming about during his long trek back.
Later in the evening, he poured a dash of brandy into a mug of hot coffee and brought the drink to the drawing room. Cassie must have been sewing again, because there was a new cushion on the armchair, this time with a colourful patchwork design.
A blue Post-it stuck to the mantelpiece attracted his attention. Another joke, no doubt.
‘What is Father Christmas’s cat called?’ He turned the note over, and couldn’t repress a smile. ‘Santa’s Paws.’
Shoving the note into his trouser pocket, he looked around. Cassie had filled a wicker basket with logs, newspapers and kindle. It would be a shame not to make a fire when she had gone to so much trouble.
Kneeling down in front of the fireplace, he scrunched up sheets of newspaper in the grate, snapped a few twigs and added a couple of logs before lighting the fire. Soon, flames danced, hissed and crackled, warming him and soothing his body and soul.
He sat down in the armchair with André Vaillant’s diary on his knees.
How uncanny that Ruth Merriweather should be Cassie’s great-great-aunt, and that Patterdale Farm belonged to her family… What must it be to have roots that went so deep, to live and work on a piece of land your family had owned for generations?
His family had lived on military bases around the country as he was growing up, and for the past twenty years he had himself moved around a lot. His Paris flat had been meant as an investment and wasn’t somewhere he really wanted to return to. Perhaps he should sell it, and find something else.
He still had time to consider his options, but whatever he chose would probably be a complete change from the life he’d known so far, and that scared the hell out of him.
Ever since he was a child, being a helicopter pilot for the army was all he’d ever dreamt of, and nothing had deterred him from his goal. Not the fact that only ten per cent of applicants were successful, or the physical demands of the gruelling four year training, followed by a further two year course as a Puma, Cougar and Caracal helicopter pilot.
He would never forget the thrill of his first rescue mission… and the horror of his last.
He looked away from the fire and opened Vaillant’s diary. What had become of him? Had he found happiness with sweet Ruth Merriweather or had he returned to France alone? Perhaps he could ask Cassie. She might know the full story.
Stefan turned the pages until he found the last entry he had read.
Chapter Fifteen
Cassie checked the time and switched on her laptop to Skype her mother. It was the second time that week, which immediately prompted her mother to ask her if everything was all right.
Cassie forced a smile. ‘I’m fine, Mum, but with Granddad at Patterdale Farm the cottage is very quiet.’
‘Why don’t you fly over for Christmas? It would be lovely to have you here with us.’
‘Granddad will never leave Red Moss during the festive season, not when he has the Comedy Night to look forward to. It’s his last one too.’
‘You could always come on your own.’
Cassie shook her head. ‘I can’t let my regular customers down. It’s not just the cleaning, Mum. My elderly ladies look forward to my visits. We have a cup of tea and a chat, not to mention Granddad’s jokes, which always cheer them up. The festive season can be really hard on those who have no family around. Besides, some of them feel scared and vulnerable because of the recent burglaries in the village, and me calling on them reassures them.’
‘But, my darling, you’re a cleaner, not a miracle worker! You’re not responsible for other people’s happiness. Actually, what about making me happy for a change? I haven’t seen you in months.’
Cassie sighed. ‘I know, Mum. I’m sorry, but besides my elderly clients, I also have the holiday cottages to look after too and the bookings are picking up now for Christmas and the New Year. And, of course, there’s Charles Ashville’s guest at Belthorn.’
Her mother pulled a face. ‘I had forgotten about him. How are you getting on? I know how much you hate it there.’
‘I’m slowly getting used to it.’
‘And what about the guest? Has his mood improved at all?’
Cassie looked away from the screen. The picture on the screen might be a little blurry but she couldn’t take the risk of her mother noticing that the mere mention of Stefan was enough to make her blush.