Piers raised his glass. ‘Let’s have a toast. To us and a long and enjoyable relationship.’
What was he playing at? One minute he had more or less accused her of theft and deception, and the next he was treating her to champagne. All through the meal, he was charming and attentive, and it was hard to determine if she was reading too much into his words and the way he looked at her, or if he was back to his old tricks and flirting with her again.
‘Damn, the bottle is empty,’ Piers said as he poured the last drop of champagne into his glass. ‘Shall we have another?’
She shook her head. ‘Not for me, thank you.’ She’d only had a glass, but whether it was because she wasn’t used to it or because Piers was making her uncomfortable, it tasted like acid and had given her stomach cramps.
Leaning across the table, he grabbed hold of her hand before she realised what he was doing and turned it over to stroke the inside of her wrist. ‘Lovely, sexy Cassie.’
She pulled her hand back in shock. ‘What are you doing?’
He sighed and combed his fingers into his mop of light blond hair, once again giving her his trademark boyish grin. ‘You need to loosen up, darling. Nobody likes a girl who can’t enjoy a bit of fun. In business, like in personal relationships, you have to be flexible to succeed. A little “give and take” goes a long way. Now about the small matter of Bluebell Cottage…’
He stopped talking as a waitress was bringing them coffee and chocolate truffles. ‘Where were we? Ah yes, as you know Gabrielle Ashville is breathing down my neck about the estate not being as profitable as she had hoped, and I need to find extra sources of revenue. Bluebell would bring a lot more money as a holiday cottage, so I’m afraid I am going to have to terminate your grandfather’s lease in the spring… unless he agrees to a substantial increase in rent.’
‘How substantial?’
‘With the cottage being on the large side and located in the centre of the village, I think I can ask for at least two thousand pounds a month.’
Cassie had been expecting it, but her disappointment was still acute. ‘There’s no way my grandfather can come up with that kind of money. It’s almost triple what he’s been paying so far.’
Piers shrugged. ‘I’m afraid it’s only what Charlie and Gabrielle would expect.’
‘But my granddad has lived in that house for over forty years!’
‘Perhaps it’s time for him to move… and for you too. It can’t be fun to live with the old man, however entertaining he is. However…’ He popped a truffle in his mouth, leaving a dusting of cocoa on his lips. ‘There is another possibility.’
‘Oh?’
He licked the cocoa powder from his lips, and looked at her. ‘It’s no secret that I’ve always found you attractive. I booked a room here for the afternoon. Come up with me and we’ll talk no more about the lease for your grandfather’s house.’
Cassie recoiled in shock. She had been right to be wary… A wave of nausea rose inside her, but she took a few deep breaths and tried to remain calm. Her hands shaking, she folded her napkin on the table, picked up her handbag from the floor and stood up.
‘You can stick your room and your champagne,’ she said in a quiet but clear voice. ‘I wonder what Gabrielle would think about your “give and take” approach to business. I bet she wouldn’t take too kindly to her estate manager blackmailing women employees into sleeping with him.’
His grin froze and his eyes became hard. ‘It’s your word against mine, Cassie. You are making a big mistake by threatening me. Don’t you know what is at stake here for you?’
‘I do.’ And it was making her sick with worry, but the alternative was even worse. ‘Goodbye, Piers.’ Without warning he grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her towards him. He was a big man, and his fingers held her in an iron grip.
‘You led me on,’ he said between clenched teeth. ‘All this time, you smiled and teased, and let me touch you, you little bitch.’
She swallowed hard, a feeling of guilt and self-loathing almost overwhelming her. He was right, in a way. She should have been more assertive, should have pushed him away before instead of tolerating his behaviour and hoping that he would stop by himself.
‘You’re hurting me,’ she said in a stronger voice, although she felt anything but strong inside.
‘Consider yourself fired,’ he spat and let go of her so suddenly she stumbled backwards, attracting glances from people at nearby tables.
Holding her bag tightly, her eyes swimming with tears of shame and rage, she hurried across the restaurant to the lobby where she retrieved her duffle coat, and rushed out of the door.
Once outside, she ran into the deserted park, crying and gagging and heaving, bent double and was sick behind a bush.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘Come in, my dear.’ The woman peeled her gloves and beret off, patted her curly grey hair back into place, and gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen.
‘You were very kind to give me a lift. I don’t know what I would have done without you… You’re that nice young man who is staying at Belthorn, aren’t you?’
Stefan smiled. ‘I am indeed staying at Belthorn, but it’s a while since anyone called me young or nice.’ Although thanks to Cassie, that morning he felt relaxed, happy and carefree for the first time in ages.
He pointed at the woman’s shopping bags he was carrying. ‘Where do you want these?’
‘Put them on the table and sit down while I make us a drink. You must be hungry too. I have some shortbread biscuits from our village bakery. The girl may come from Spain, but she knows how to bake proper shortbread.’
He pulled out a chair and sat down as she busied herself making tea. He didn’t dare tell her that he wasn’t keen on tea. He’d just have to smile and drink up.
‘Here you are,’ she said a moment later as she placed a plate of biscuits and a mug of hot tea in front of him.
‘I realise I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Gwendolyn Parker.’
He stood up to shake her hand. ‘Stefan Lambert.’ Her name was familiar. ‘Are you the primary school head teacher, by any chance?’
She took a shortbread finger and bit into it. ‘Retired head teacher, thank heavens. I didn’t realise my notoriety had spread all the way to France.’
He smiled. ‘It hasn’t, but Mason Austin mentioned your name a couple of weeks ago. He said you were a gold mine of information about the village.’
Stefan drank a sip of tea and repressed a grimace. It was strong and bitter, despite the milk the woman had poured in. ‘I was hoping to talk to you one of these days about a diary I found at Belthorn.’
Curiosity shone in her eyes. ‘A diary? Tell me about it.’
‘It’s the diary of a French pilot who stayed at Belthorn for a few months in 1919. His name was—’
‘André Vaillant.’ She looked at him. ‘Am I right?’
He nodded. ‘You heard about him.’
‘Indeed. His love affair with a local girl created a scandal at the time, all the more when it ended in terrible tragedy.’