‘What’s up? Is he not well? Between the garage and doing up his house, he works too hard. He was complaining the other day that he didn’t have time to undertake all the changes I suggested. I can help with the painting and decorating. In the meantime, I’ll make a few new cushions for his living room.’
‘I don’t think paint or cushions are going to help, love.’ Brenda’s eyes hardened. ‘But it’s nothing we can’t handle. He’ll be all right, eventually. I’ll make sure of it.’
None the wiser about what was the matter with her friend, Cassie bid Brenda goodbye, and spent an hour doing her admin at Bluebell Cottage. She made a cup of tea and studied her diary.
The only item that stuck out was the review meeting with Piers the following Friday, which she had scribbled in big red letters, and she spent the following hour searching through her files for the relevant timesheets to cover the past few months, cursing when some were missing – Sophie had probably forgotten to file them before she left for Manchester – and organising those she had in chronological order. She would have to visit every cottage before Friday to take photos of the comments in the guestbooks with her phone, in case Piers’s secretary hadn’t taken care of that herself.
She could only hope Piers wouldn’t try to renegotiate her contract to bring her fee down. Why was this review even necessary, and why should her work matter to Gabrielle Ashville, even if she was suddenly taking an interest in the running of the estate?
She dropped the papers on the kitchen table and blew out a loud breath. Of course! She should have put two and two together before. Mason must have heard that Gabrielle was coming back… Poor Mason. No wonder he was distracted.
She checked her watch. Salomé’s must be open by now. She would buy some buns for Stefan’s breakfast before driving to Belthorn.
Half an hour later, her red van bumped along the road towards Wolf Pass Road. It was good to have it back at last. Mason – or perhaps Shaz – had even given it a valeting. The wooden dashboard gleamed, the carpets were grit and mud free and a fresh scent lingered in the cab, mixing with the blissful smell of fresh cinnamon buns.
Belthorn Manor’s chimneys appeared on the line of the horizon, dark grey against the overcast sky. Although her fear had lost its sharp edges in the past weeks, the place still made her uneasy, especially in the run up to Christmas and the anniversary of the most horrible night of her life…
Lambert’s Range Rover stood in the drive and lights shone from a couple of windows both downstairs and upstairs. Stefan was in, but the odds were that as usual he would hibernate in the library and only make one brief appearance to make himself some coffee, or he would grab his coat and his keys as soon as she arrived after grunting a vague greeting – and that’s if he was in a good mood. He obviously reserved his charm and witty conversation for long-legged Sadie…
She rang the bell, waited for a minute or two, and then let herself in. She put her shopping bags down and took her hat and her coat off.
‘Hello? Is anyone home?’ she called.
Stefan appeared at the top of the stairs, barefoot and wearing grey sweatpants and a khaki T-shirt. He looked out of breath, as if he’d been working out. Cassie’s pulse started racing and her heart skipped another beat as she tried not to gawp at his broad shoulders, or his tanned, muscled arms.
‘I wasn’t expecting you so early,’ he said in lieu of greeting.
‘And a good morning to you too,’ she muttered. No matter what Brenda said, the man was crabby and unpleasant, and right now she couldn’t think of any reason why just being close to him should turn her into this hot, clumsy, breathless mess.
She lifted the shopping bag with Salomé’s bakery logo on. ‘I thought I would surprise you with breakfast to celebrate getting my van back at last, and I bought cinnamon buns from Salomé’s. I’ll put the shopping away and make you some coffee.’
He walked slowly down the stairs and stopped halfway. The grey morning light filtered through the stained glass insert on the front door and shone directly on his face, turning his eyes a bright, and very cold, gold.
‘Leave the bags. I’ll sort out the shopping later, and don’t bother locking the front door behind you. I’m going out soon.’
He turned round and walked back up, leaving her holding the bag of pastries, and feeling thoroughly dismissed, and a complete fool.
Chapter Nineteen
He wasn’t sure how long he could stand so he gritted his teeth against the pain and attempted to walk back up the stairs. It had been stupid to push his body so hard these past few days. He may have wanted to banish the ghost of Vaillant’s hopelessness and despair – and his own ghosts and inadequacies too, but he was paying the price now.
He fully expected Cassie to slam the door as she left. That was why he had been so rude after all.
Instead her voice rang behind him. ‘I’m not going anywhere until I have tidied the house, done the dusting and vacuum cleaning and prepared a hot meal for you. If you don’t want any breakfast, then I won’t make you any coffee and I’ll leave the buns in the kitchen for you to eat later.’
Why couldn’t she leave him alone?
Very slowly because his back was killing him, he turned to face her. ‘The house doesn’t need tidying every day, and you can forget about the cooking because I’m planning to eat out again today,’ he lied.
She still didn’t move, but stared at him, frowning. He clearly hadn’t been obnoxious enough. ‘Damn it, Cassie, surely it’s not that hard to understand that I want to be on my own and don’t need you buzzing around with your cleaning spray and your feather duster every bloody day.’
Suddenly his back seized up and the pain was too much to bear. With a gasp, he grabbed hold of the banister, gripped the wooden handrail hard and slowly lowered himself onto a step.
Cassie leapt up the stairs, knelt down in front of him, and put a hand on his knee. ‘Stefan… What’s wrong? Do you need a doctor? Is it your back again? Wait… I’ll get a cushion for you to lean against.’
It reminded him of the way she had fluttered around her grandfather and pushed a cushion behind his back at Patterdale Farm.
‘I don’t need a bloody cushion. I must have pulled a muscle when I was training, that’s all.’ He tried to sound dismissive but his voice came out weak and hoarse.
She moved up one step to sit right next to him. Her hand slid up and down his thigh as if he was a child who needed comforting. But he wasn’t a child and far from comforting him, her caresses were having an altogether different effect. Did she even realise what she was doing? Perhaps he should be glad. At least focussing on keeping his body in check took his mind off the pain clawing at his back.
‘Can I help? Tell me where it hurts,’ she said in a soothing voice, rubbing and patting his thigh in turns.
‘It’s not my leg but my back that’s the problem,’ he muttered between clenched teeth.
She leant closer, so close her lemony fragrance filled his senses, wisps of silky blonde hair tickled his cheek and her breasts pushed against his arm. He pulled away slightly to gaze into her limpid grey eyes. Today they were the colour of rain clouds.