Cassie nodded. ‘He might be. The farm is certainly big enough, and I think he is a bit lonely at the cottage.’
‘What about you? Where would you go?’ Salomé asked.
She lifted her shoulders in a weak shrug. ‘I’ll have to move too… which brings me to the other thing I wanted to tell you.’ Cassie told her friends about Nathan submitting her sketches to the hotel design competition, and about him offering her a trainee position in his practice to make it up to her.
‘He is waiting for me right now, actually. I must text him and tell him I won’t be coming. He wanted us to talk, but I was a bit uncomfortable with being on my own with him in his holiday cottage anyway.’
‘Hang on a minute.’ Salomé frowned. ‘Were you actually going to accept his offer even if it meant not getting any credit for your own designs?’
‘You think I’m being a pushover, don’t you?’ Cassie put her plate with her half-finished piece of cake on the coffee table. ‘You would be right, of course, but this is the chance to do the job I’ve always dreamed of, the chance to prove to myself, and others, that I can be more than just a cleaner.’
‘You already did that when you took over from your mum and set up Bluebell Cleaning,’ Salomé said. ‘I understand what you’re saying, about snatching the chance to work for an established interior design practice, but you don’t need to accept Nathan Hardman’s measly trainee position, and even less his non-disclosure agreement. You are incredibly talented. Look at the great job you did for me in here. This room, the colour, the artefacts… it’s so me it’s uncanny!’
She gestured to the South American tapestries hanging on the terracotta walls that contrasted with the dramatic black and white photos of iconic Flamenco dancer Antonia La Singla who Salomé idolised, and the quirky pieces of pottery dotted around the room. Cassie had had lots of fun designing the room and sourcing artwork for her friend.
‘You helped me redesign my aunt’s shop and turn it into a terrific, bright and modern space,’ Cecilia added.
Salomé dipped her breadstick into some salsa sauce and munched on it for a while. ‘Perhaps it’s not too late to claim credit for the hotel competition. You must have some drawings that prove the designs were your original ideas.’
Cassie nodded. ‘I gave Nathan the final sketches, but I kept most of my drafts. They’re somewhere in the loft at the cottage.’
‘Then go to London and show them to the manager of the hotel company,’ Salomé said. ‘And stuff Nathan and his trainee position!’
‘I wouldn’t trust him anyway,’ Cecilia said as she picked up a handful of green olives from the tapas platter. ‘Who’s to say he wouldn’t steal more of your ideas, or even fire you in the next few months?’
‘Why did he need to see you on your own at the holiday cottage tonight anyway?’ Salomé asked. ‘It sounds like a trap to me. From what I saw of him earlier, he is a very smooth and slick guy – the type who thinks he can charm a girl into doing or saying anything.’
‘I used to have such a massive crush on him, but that was before… before I met Stefan, and before I realised Nathan used me,’ Cassie said. ‘Now not only does Stefan think I faked everything between us because I was after Charles Ashville’s money…’ Her voice broke, and she wiped the tears that had started falling again. ‘But he probably believes that I was going to sleep with Nathan to make sure he gave me a job.’
‘If he believes that of you, then I’m sorry, but he doesn’t deserve you,’ Cecilia said in a pensive voice. ‘Yet after yesterday, I was sure he had feelings for you – very strong feelings.’ She shrugged.
‘What do you mean?’ Cassie asked, but before Cecilia could reply, she hiccupped and poured the last of the wine into her glass. ‘Oops, it looks like the bottle is empty.’
‘I’ll get another one,’ Salomé said. ‘I agree with Cecilia. If he truly loves you, your Tarzan will realise he’s got it all wrong and he’ll come back to you, swinging from tree branches… even if he’d be better crawling on his knees and asking you for forgiveness.’
Cassie slumped on the sofa and closed her eyes. ‘I want to sleep for a hundred years and forget about cleaning and interior design and Tarzan…’ She hiccupped again. ‘Especially about Tarzan… and love.’
‘No problem,’ Salomé said. ‘I’ll make up the futon in the spare room for you.’
Did the sun have to shine so brightly, and did Salomé have to bang about the house so much? Cassie’s mouth was parched. Her stomach was doing somersaults, and her back ached from sleeping on the futon’s thin mattress. And her head! Heavens, her head hurt so much…
She put the pillow over her head with a groan. The pounding came from inside her skull, not from the house. Why did she drink so much wine the night before?
The door creaked open. ‘Good afternoon, sleepyhead,’ Salomé called in a voice far too loud and cheerful. ‘I’m bringing tea and fresh croissants, even if it’s a bit late for breakfast.’
‘What time is it?’ Cassie asked from under the pillow.
‘Just after two…’
She groaned. ‘Already? I promised Patrick I would clear the clubhouse today. Stefan was going to help me.’ She moaned again. ‘I feel terrible. There’s no way I can get up.’
‘You certainly won’t be able to get up with that pillow on your head. Come on. Sit up and have something to drink. It’ll help you feel better.’
Cassie lifted the pillow off and sat up, and winced as shards of light pierced her skull. ‘I am sorry to have spoilt your and Cecilia’s evening… and most of your Sunday, by the looks of it.’
‘You didn’t spoil anything. You were having a terrible time and needed your friends around you. As for today, I left the bakery in the capable hands of my new baker whose croissants you are just about to sample.’
‘What new baker? I didn’t know you were hiring staff.’
Salomé gave her a mischievous look. ‘I couldn’t cope with baking, running the shop and making deliveries on my own any longer. His name is Max – or Maximilien, to use his full name – and he is absolutely gorgeous. He arrived yesterday morning and I put him to work straight away.’
Cassie drank the hot, sweet tea, but could only grimace at the plump, golden croissants, the pot of strawberry jam and the curls of butter in the small white dish. ‘I’ll pass on the croissants, if you don’t mind.’
‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell Max.’
Two cups of tea later, and Cassie felt strong enough to get up. As she had taken off the dress Cecilia had lent her before going to sleep, and was only wearing her underwear, Salomé lent her a jumper and some leggings, so that she could at least go home, shower and change before going to the clubhouse.
Her heart hammered in her chest and she felt sick as she drove to the campsite one hour later, but this time it had nothing to do with having a hangover. Would Stefan be there? Would he still be angry with her? And how was she going to convince him that her feelings for him were sincere?