She nodded. ‘He was at a client’s house last Saturday, but you are wrong about him having… feelings… for me. He didn’t look happy to see me at all. One thing is certain. I won’t be asking him to mend anything around here ever again.’
He arched his eyebrows. ‘Why is that?’
‘Nothing he fixes ever works. Sometimes I wonder how he got the caretaker job at the campsite. He certainly is rubbish at maintenance.’ She frowned as if trying to remember something and muttered. ‘His hands… there’s something about his hands…’ She shrugged and locked the door. ‘Never mind. I can’t remember.’
On the road to Keswick, Cassie hardly paused for breath as she pointed to local landmarks and told him about the villages they drove through, and the fells rising around them like benevolent giants, snow caps gleaming in the bright sunshine. A few weeks ago, he would have been irritated by her constant chatter, but not today. Today she made him smile, and her stories were a distraction from his usual brooding thoughts.
‘Castlerigg is always crowded in summer, but it should be quiet today,’ Cassie said as he drove up the hill, and followed the brown tourist signs to the stone circle.
She was right. The Range Rover was the only car in the car park. Cassie put her pom-pom hat on and slipped her hands into her gloves. The sun may be shining but it was exposed up on the hill, and the icy wind pricked his skin and made his eyes water.
He pushed the wooden gate open onto a field where snow-tipped stones formed a circle in the frozen landscape. His boots bit into the snow and his breath steamed in front of him as he strode across the field. The air was so pure and sharp he could taste the frost on his lips.
Cassie pointed to mountains in the distance. ‘That’s Skiddaw over there, the highest fell in the Lakes. And this is Blencathra.’
‘This is amazing.’ He stood at the centre of the circle and turned slowly to take in his surroundings.
‘There are thirty-eight big stones and four smaller ones,’ Cassie carried on, her cheeks now as red as her coat.
‘When I was a little girl, my grandma told me that the stones were the ancient people’s tool to communicate with their gods and loved ones – a bit like a telephone or a walkie-talkie, if you like.’
Her pink lips stretched in a wistful smile. ‘I loved the idea that my father could hear me if I whispered very close to that stone, over there.’
She pointed at one of the bigger stones at the far side of the circle. ‘He died when I was little and I don’t remember him much. Of course, I realised later it was all nonsense, but I still came back over and over again to whisper my worries to the stone, and I always felt better afterwards. People say that talking is part of the healing process when you go through sad or traumatic times and…’
She left her sentence unfinished and gave him a searching look. ‘You looked upset earlier about the photo on your phone. I want you to know that you can talk to me if you like…’
His heart thumped in his chest. He looked down. ‘Talk to you? About what, exactly?’
She put her gloved hand on his forearm. ‘About your friend in the photo, or about whatever troubles you.’
‘Why should you care?’ He couldn’t help the bite in his tone.
Her cheeks turned a deeper pink. ‘I know it’s none of my business, but it’s obvious you have been through terrible times, and if you feel like talking, you can trust me. I will listen and not say a word. In fact, I will be as silent as the standing stones.’
In this glorious setting, with the winter sun sparkling on the snow, the hills and the stones standing all around them like silent witnesses, the memories of the crash and the bloodbath he had caused were like gruesome, nightmarish ghouls. Worst of all was the pity in Cassie’s eyes.
His mouth twisted into a sarcastic smile. ‘You really take your job to heart, don’t you?’
‘My job?’
‘Bluebell to the Rescue… Dirt, gloom and bad memories – you think you can make them all vanish with your Christmas jokes and your feather duster, but there are things that nobody – and not even you – can sort out.’
Her eyes widened in shock. ‘It’s got nothing to do with my job. I just want to help.’
‘Thanks for the offer of a counselling session. I’ll bear it in mind.’
He looked down at her, and felt even more rubbish when he saw her lips tremble and tears glisten in her eyes. It had only taken a few bad-tempered words to kill her smile.
She pulled a tissue from her coat pocket and blew her nose. They resumed their walk but didn’t talk any more. He should apologise, of course. In fact, he should apologise for the way he’d been ever since he’d arrived – for being rude and bad-tempered, when she only offered kindness and support, and never mind if it was only because it was in her job description.
He opened his mouth to speak but she beat him to it.
‘I’d like a few minutes alone, if you don’t mind,’ she said without looking at him.
He nodded and went back to the car. From behind the wheel he watched her touch the large stone she had pointed to before, and his heart did that funny thing again. Was she thinking about her father and telling him what a miserable brute Stefan was for making her cry?
Suddenly there was no more bitterness, no more hurt pride, self-pity or anger, only overwhelming tenderness for the young woman who believed that her dead father was listening to her troubles and would make everything better…
Chapter Twenty-One
‘The edges of the lake are frozen,’ Stefan remarked as they reached the end of the path and stood side by side looking at the island at the centre of Derwent Water.
These were the first words he’d spoken since they had left Castelrigg. Cassie slipped her hands into the pockets of her coat to keep them warm. She had left her gloves in the car – an oversight she sorely regretted now.
It wasn’t the only thing she regretted. She shouldn’t have been so pushy earlier. Whatever ailed Stefan beside the physical pain must be linked to the woman in the photo. She wore a military boiler suit and stood in front of a helicopter. It was fair to assume that she must have worked with him.
It had been insensitive to ask him to talk when it was obvious the photo had brought back painful memories, and he had every right to be annoyed with her. She was no psychologist or counsellor. She wasn’t even a friend.
There was only one thing to do. She had to apologise. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him, only to find that he was looking at her.
‘Listen, Cassie…’ he started.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she blurted out at the same time.
A half-smile stretched his lips. ‘Sorry? What for? I’m the one who needs to apologise. I was rude… again, and there was no need for it. I know you mean well, and it’s nothing personal, but there are things I don’t want to talk about – ever.’
‘No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to interfere. I promise never to pry or ask awkward questions again. Friends?’
She extended her hand. He looked down, winter sunlight caught his eyes, turning them pale amber. She could stare into his eyes for hours, and still find different shades of gold, brown and green. She held her breath. Would he rebuff her and tell her to mind her own business, or would he accept her offer of peace?