The pain bit into him again and he drew in a sharp breath. How long was she going to sit next to him, stroking him and her face a picture of kindness and concern? As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough that he couldn’t even stand, he started shivering. The only burning sensations in his body were those triggered by the pain and by the rubbing and stroking of her hand on his thigh.
He leant away but she shuffled close again. ‘Tell me what I can do to make you feel better.’
That was easy, he almost replied. She could leave her hand exactly where it was, or move it a tad higher. It was proving a great distraction against the pain… He ground his teeth. ‘If you really want to make yourself useful, bring me my painkillers. They’re on the bedside table in my room.’
‘Sure.’ She jumped to her feet and ran upstairs, and was back in no time with the box of extra strong painkillers he kept for emergencies and a glass of water.
He gulped two tablets down. A long minute passed then a couple more. The spasms in his back subsided at last, and the pain was down to a manageable level.
‘I’m all right now,’ he said at last.
She let out a sigh of relief, and put her hand against her heart. ‘Good. You gave me such a fright. You were so pale I thought you were going to pass out. Now let me help you into the drawing room. You can lie on the sofa and put your feet up whilst I make you some coffee.’
She slipped her hand under his elbow to help him stand up.
‘There’s no need to fuss. I said I was all right.’ He disentangled himself from her grasp, walked down the rest of the stairs and picked up her shopping bags. He’d be damned if he let her carry them to the kitchen. He hated having her do jobs for him.
She, however, had other ideas, and tried to snatch one bag from him. He stepped back, out of her reach.
‘You shouldn’t lift or carry anything or you’ll hurt your back again,’ she protested.
‘A few bags aren’t going to make much difference.’ He took the bags to the kitchen, put them on the table and proceeded to take the shopping out. Now that his backache had eased off, he had to do something – anything – to cool the fire her caresses had inadvertently started in another part of his anatomy.
He held out a couple of tins. ‘Where do you want these?’
This time he wasn’t quick enough, and she managed to wrestle a tin of baked beans from his hands.
‘I’ll do it. Now do as I say and sit down, or…’ Her tone was fierce, and her eyes even fiercer. Even though the top of her head only reached up to his shoulder she held the tin of beans up in the air like a weapon.
Tension suddenly uncoiled and loosened inside him. He had to see the comic side of the situation. This five foot one – five foot two at most – woman was prepared to beat him up with a tin of beans if he didn’t do as she said.
‘Or what?’ He smiled and pointed at the tin she was still gripping tightly. ‘Will you smash it against my skull? That would be a way to help me forget my backache.’
Her cheeks blushed deep pink and she dropped the tin down on the table. ‘Sorry… I don’t want you to be in pain again, that’s all. Why don’t you sit down while I unpack?’
He crossed his arms on his chest. ‘Only if you have breakfast with me. I’m not used to being waited on. And don’t tell me you’re only doing your job.’
She sighed. ‘All right, then. I haven’t had any breakfast, and I would have to be mad to turn down one of Salomé’s pastries.’
As soon as she had put away the tins, jars and various items of groceries she had brought, Cassie switched the oven on and made the coffee while he sat there watching and feeling pretty useless. By the time the coffee had percolated, and she took the cinnamon buns out of the oven, the pain in his back had died down and he felt ravenous. She poured two cups and handed him one whilst he slathered butter on two of the cinnamon buns and started eating.
‘They’re good.’ He poured another cup of coffee and cradled the mug in his hands as he reclined in his chair.
Cassie licked the sugar off her fingers. ‘Salomé won a competition on the television three years ago, you know, and bought the little bakery in the village a few months later with some of her prize money.’
She sighed. ‘Poor Salomé. I’ve always wondered why she chose to settle here. She could have gone back to Spain where she came from, or settled in the South of England. She still isn’t used to the snow and the rain. Two years on, she still wears scarves and thermal underwear even in summer!’
‘Is she Spanish?’
‘She’s English, but was brought up in Spain where her parents own a restaurant. Everybody in the village loves her.’
He arched his eyebrows. ‘What about that “three-generation rule” you told me about?’
She laughed. ‘It doesn’t apply to her. I grant you, people were a bit unsure of her exotic ways at first, but she soon won them over with her lovely personality and delicious cakes… all but one, that is.’
‘Who is that?’
‘Your friend, Charles. Salomé complained that he was terribly unpleasant to her when he came for his father’s funeral last year. Having said that, the poor man probably had a lot on his mind. His father had just died in that freak accident, and he must have been upset, even if…’ She glanced up at him and bit her lip.
‘Even if…?’
‘Well, people say that the two men weren’t close.’
Stefan drank his coffee. It probably wouldn’t be too much of a betrayal of his friend’s confidence to explain the rift between Charlie and his father.
‘Charlie has devoted his life to Inter Medics, but his father believed that charity work wasn’t in keeping with the family’s standing in society. Now that I’m here, I can understand why.’ He looked around. ‘This house. The old abbey. The land. I knew Charlie’s family was well off, but I had no idea they owned all this. He used to describe Belthorn as a decrepit old family house in the middle of nowhere.’
She smiled. ‘Personally, I would agree. I’ve always found this place gloomy and horrid.’
Perhaps this was his chance to satisfy his curiosity and find out why she seemed so scared of the place. ‘What happened to make you dislike Belthorn so much?’
Cassie’s smiled vanished. It was as if the sunshine had been sucked out of the kitchen window and a black cloud had crept inside. She pushed her chair back so abruptly it scraped against the tiled floor as she got up to collect the empty plates and cups and piled them up into the sink.
‘I’ll tell you some other time, perhaps.’ But her tone implied that she had no intention of ever talking about it. Turning the hot water tap on, she squirted some washing-up liquid into the water and proceeded to wash-up.
‘I haven’t had my joke today,’ he said, trying to lighten the mood.
She turned round, dried her hands and rummaged inside her handbag. ‘Sorry. There you are,’ she said, handing him a Post-it note. ‘It’s another winter joke, courtesy of my granddad. Perhaps not his best one, but I’ll let you be the judge.’
Their fingers brushed as she handed him the note. ‘What did the policeman say to the ice lolly thief?’ he read. He turned the paper over. ‘Freeze!’ He smiled. ‘That’s funny.’