He gave her a patronising smile. ‘You’re a cleaner, not a designer. It’s not your job to give houses makeovers… Anyway, this wasn’t the only complaint.’
He looked down. ‘Very disappointed with our stay at The Brambles. We didn’t like the biscuits on the welcome tray. We found spiders in the bath when we arrived, and the overpowering smell of lemon in the cottage made my wife sneeze all week.’
‘This couple is demanding compensation or they will write a bad review on a number of holiday internet sites,’ Piers added.
Cassie blew a frustrated breath. ‘I can’t help it if people don’t like Salomé’s biscuits. I always buy the same ones – the ones you agreed to, if I remember correctly. And if this gentleman’s wife was allergic to my cleaning products, they should have put the diffusers outside and told us about it immediately. I would have freshened up the house and cleaned with another product. As for spiders, this is the countryside and I can’t do anything about them.’
She smiled. ‘You know very well that some people will try anything to get a refund. Remember the woman who claimed there were too many Spaniards in Spain and the sand on the beach was too hot?’
Her smile faltered in front of Piers’s stony face.
‘What about all the lovely things people have written about the cottages?’ She opened her file and showed him the printed photos of the guests’ comments praising the clean, friendly feel of the cottages, and the delicious treats on the welcome tray.
Piers didn’t even look down. ‘Bad reviews count more than good ones, you know that. Besides, there is something else. Something a lot more serious.’
He pulled out another sheet, which looked like a list. ‘I had an inventory made of a couple of cottages this week and found discrepancies between what should be there, and what was actually there. Several pieces of equipment appear to be missing. Cast your eyes down the list and tell me what you think is happening here.’
He pushed the paper towards her. She tried to make sense of what she was reading but her heart was beating too fast now, and the words and figures swam in front of her eyes. Was Piers accusing her of theft? It sounded like it. She urged herself to focus on the list of items missing from the cottage inventory: one digital radio, one hairdryer, a luxury blender and juicer, a Bluetooth speaker, and a pair of binoculars.
She frowned and looked up.
‘And that’s just for Riverside and Lakeview,’ Piers said. ‘Who knows how much is missing from the other cottages?’
She pushed the paper back and tried to straighten in the armchair, but it was very deep and she was too small, and it made her feel like a naughty pupil summoned to the head teacher’s office.
‘That is indeed worrying. From what I remember, these cottages haven’t been rented since last October. I haven’t been there for weeks.’
He arched his eyebrows, reclined on his chair and crossed his fingers on his stomach. ‘Still. I would like to hear your views.’
She took a deep breath. ‘What exactly do you want me to say, Piers? Perhaps the inventories weren’t properly recorded after the last rentals.’
‘Or perhaps someone has been helping themselves to the equipment and selling them off in pawn shops, hoping nobody would notice.’
She would not take the bait. If he wanted to accuse her of theft, then he would have to be straightforward about it. ‘That sounds unlikely. I mean, this kind of stuff is hardly going to sell for much.’
He directed one of his innocent baby blue stares at her and arched his eyebrows. ‘You tell me.’
Silence stretched between them.
‘Anyway, we’ll talk about this again in the New Year,’ he said at last. ‘By the way, I had an email from Charlie asking how you have been getting on with Lambert at Belthorn. Having seen the man myself the other day, I gather it can’t be that easy to be around him every day. He is so ugly and battered I bet he gives you nightmares.’ He chuckled.
Anger flashed inside her and she jumped to her feet. ‘How dare you make fun of a brave man who nearly lost his life trying to save people?’
He arched his eyebrows and whistled between his teeth. ‘I had no idea you had taken such a shine to the man.’
‘Stefan is a wonderful man, and it is true that I do… like him very much.’ She loved him, but she couldn’t tell Piers that – couldn’t tell anybody – perhaps not even Stefan.
‘It is true that you seemed to get along quite nicely in the pub the other day.’ Then he smiled and let out a loud breath. ‘Of course, I get it. It’s the bonus!’
‘Sorry?’
‘I should have thought of it before. You’re cosying up to the guy to make sure you get your bonus at the end of January, aren’t you?’
‘What?’ This time, shock rendered her speechless.
He checked his watch, and rose to his feet. ‘I booked a table at the Troutbeck Hotel for one o’clock. We still have a few things to discuss, including the increase in the rent for Bluebell Cottage.’
Her chest tightened. ‘You never mentioned any rent increase before.’
‘Let’s go for lunch. Talking business will be more pleasant in a less formal setting.’
‘Formal is fine by me.’
‘But you were late and I’m hungry. I can’t talk business on an empty stomach.’ He gave her one of his boyish smiles, patted his belly, and said in a low voice, ‘You know me. I’m a big boy, with a large appetite.’
‘I’m not dressed smartly enough for the Troutbeck,’ she objected, pointing to her dungarees and Doc Martens boots.
‘You look fine. In fact, you’ve never looked more… appealing.’ His gaze travelled from her face down to her boots and back up again, lingering a fraction of a few seconds longer than necessary on her chest.
‘Shall we go?’
She didn’t want to, but what choice did she have?
‘Are you not taking your paperwork?’ she asked.
‘No need. I have all the facts in here.’ He pointed to his forehead.
She pushed her own file back into her bag, slipped her duffle coat on and followed him into the street. The Troutbeck was an upmarket establishment overlooking the park. A waitress welcomed them, led them to a table tucked away in an alcove, and asked them what they wanted to drink.
‘Two glasses of Mumm Champagne,’ Piers told her, without consulting Cassie. ‘Actually, sweetheart, make it a bottle.’
‘I won’t be drinking, Piers. I’m driving.’
‘Nonsense. I bet you don’t drink good champagne very often.’ He sighed and looked around. ‘It’s nice here, isn’t it?’
She nodded, but felt too preoccupied to appreciate her surroundings. ‘Very nice. So, what were you saying about Bluebell Cottage?’
He laughed and raised his hands in front of him. ‘Slow down, Cassie. Let’s enjoy this meal, and each other’s company, first. We have time to talk business.’
A solemn-looking waiter placed an ice bucket on the table and proceeded to uncork a bottle of champagne. There was a discreet popping sound, and he poured some wine into Piers’s flute.
He nodded. ‘Perfect.’ And the waiter filled their glasses.