Cassie opened the front door. Immediately, a large ginger cat shot out of the house and curled around the old woman’s legs with loud meows.
‘My poor Fluffy darling.’ The woman bent down to stroke the cat but it lashed out at her hand and darted across the street before disappearing between two houses. She stared at the red scratches on the back of her hand and cast Cassie a reproachful glance before marching back to her cottage, muttering and waving her stick.
Cassie pulled a face. ‘Doris is really mad at me now. Let’s hope her cat comes back soon.’
‘I’m not sure I would if I were him,’ he remarked. ‘She is one scary lady.’
‘She’s lonely, that’s all. Her husband died years ago, and her children rarely visit. Fluffy is all she’s got.’ Her eyes, her voice, were sad. Did she really not mind that the old woman had just been rude to her and threatened her with the police?
‘I hope Fluffy hasn’t made too much of a mess. Last time he sneaked in, he broke my bedside lamp, messed up all the fabrics and threads in my sewing basket, and scattered paperwork all over the floor in the back room upstairs – not to mention almost gave me a heart attack.’
He followed Cassie into the kitchen, and she gestured to a chair. ‘Please sit down,’ she said. ‘I’ll run upstairs and check the windows are shut properly. I don’t want Fluffy sneaking in again.’
A sketchpad and boxes of artist’s pencils and crayons were spread out on the kitchen table. Curious, he pulled the sketchpad towards him and lifted the cover. The first sketch made him catch his breath. It was Belthorn’s drawing room, but not as it was now. In fact, the only recognisable features were the fireplace, the elaborate ceiling and cornices and the tall windows. Cassie had given the walls rich cream and mushroom shades, and the sofa and armchairs a re-upholstered look in striking plum and lime green. Curtains in similar colours framed the windows, and interior shutters let sunlight filter into the room.
He flicked through the pages, each depicting various rooms at Belthorn. He knew nothing about interior design, but Cassie’s ideas were at the same time quirky and elegant, and full of sensitivity to the manor house’s character. Gabrielle and Charlie would love them.
Why was the woman wasting her time cleaning houses and babysitting him when she could do something infinitely more creative and rewarding, not to mention better paid?
He recalled his conversations with Sadie and Brenda at the village pub on Saturday night. Neither woman had needed much prompting to talk about Cassie.
‘She’s hardly done anything with her interior design diploma,’ Brenda had said.
‘That’s because she’s been too busy running Bluebell Cleaning,’ Sadie had added.
‘And looking after her granddad,’ Brenda had added. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Joseph is a lovely man, but he does rely on Cassie far too much.’
Brenda had explained that Cassie’s father – Joseph’s son – had died when Cassie was a toddler. Her mother had remarried when Cassie finished high school. ‘When Keith retired from the police two years ago, they sold their house and bought an apartment in Tenerife. Cassie took over Bluebell Cleaning and moved in with Joseph to keep an eye on him. She hasn’t had much time to herself since, poor love.’
Stefan had steered the conversation onto Morse but unfortunately, neither Sadie nor Brenda had been able to tell him much. Morse rarely spoke to anyone at the pub, never drank more than a couple of pints, and generally kept himself to himself. ‘Having said that, he is popular with the village’s elderly folks,’ Sadie had added. ‘He does odd jobs for them, so I guess he must be a nice guy.’
Stefan’s mobile pinged as he was thinking about the best way to find out information about Morse whilst still flicking through the sketchbook. He did what he had carefully avoided doing for weeks. He took the phone out of his pocket, and opened the message without looking at the sender’s details.
He stared at the screen, and it felt like there was not enough air to breathe. A photo of Isa and himself standing in front of a Cougar helicopter filled the screen. He remembered the day perfectly. It was her first mission as co-pilot, two and half years before. After a short flight to survey the area surrounding the base, they had spent time in the control room working on flight plans for the following days before having lunch and a game of table football with other personnel in the canteen. They had clicked from that very first day, had worked together on more missions than he could remember and had become friends as well as colleagues. She had told him about her family, her hopes for the future, and about the terrible times she’d been through when as a young recruit she had been the victim of a vicious, manipulative stalker and had almost resigned from the army…
He read a few words before the lines blurred on the screen. ‘We know how highly Isa thought of you. She would want you to have this.’ He scrolled down to the name at the bottom of the email. Carole Bertier. Isa’s mother.
He put the phone on the table, closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. Isa had trusted him with her life and he had let her down.
‘The cat didn’t make too much of a mess this time, but I still have no idea how he got in…’ Cassie said as she came back into the kitchen.
He opened his eyes to find her staring at him, then at the photo on his phone.
‘Are you all right? Did you have bad news or something?’
He slipped the phone back into his pocket. ‘I’m fine. Just fine.’ He blinked. ‘What were you saying about the cat?’
She frowned as if she didn’t believe him, but didn’t insist. ‘All the windows upstairs are shut. Fluffy must have sneaked past me as I went out this morning. I swear that cat must have an invisibility cloak! I am really sorry for dragging you here, and for that unpleasant exchange with Doris.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
She fastened her coat and picked up her handbag. Only then did she notice the sketchbook open on the table, and her eyes widened in shock. ‘You looked at my drawings?’
He didn’t bother apologising. ‘I like your sketches of Belthorn. More to the point, I think Charlie would like them too.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
He nodded. Her eyes sparkled, the dimples on her cheeks deepened, and a soft, mellow sensation spread through his chest. He could get used to Cassie looking at him this way. After the shock of receiving the photo and the email from Isa’s mother it was like a warm, soothing balm on his aching heart.
Cassie’s smile died down almost immediately and she let out a deep sigh. ‘I have no intention of showing Charlie, or anyone, my designs. I don’t want to hear again that I should stick to what I do best – cleaning.’
Her shoulders sagged, her eyes misted and she closed the sketchbook and placed the boxes of pencils on top. It wasn’t like her to be so defeated. He hated seeing her so sad. He hated even more the urge to reach out and cradle her in his arms to comfort her.
‘Perhaps you should try anyway,’ he said in a gruff voice, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.
She slung her handbag on her shoulder. ‘Forget it. Shall we go?’
There was no point insisting, so he followed her out. ‘By the way, have you seen any more of Morse?’