‘That’s not what Grandma told me. She said there was some evil involved in Ruth’s death, and that people were reluctant to talk about her for a long time after she died, as if her name was cursed.’
‘I think it’s more likely that her parents were ashamed. She had broken off a very advantageous engagement to gallivant around with that French airman who had come to convalesce at Belthorn… and you know the rest.’
‘Ruth was engaged? I didn’t know that.’
‘She was betrothed to Gideon Hardy, a rich farmer from Coniston. He was a very good match for her, much better than the Merriweathers could ever have hoped for. No wonder they were very angry when she broke up with him.’
‘Hardy? Was he a relation of Piers, by any chance?’
He nodded. ‘He was his great-grandfather. The family have been landowners around here for generations.’
Her grandfather’s friends came back with the drinks, and the conversation rolled on to the preparations for the Christmas Fair in a few weeks’ time, and the problems the organisers faced to staff Santa’s grotto that year. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to be Santa.
‘Why don’t any of you volunteer?’ Cassie suggested.
‘We’re getting too old for dealing with overexcited children all day,’ her granddad replied. ‘Last time I dressed up as Santa, I got so warm in my costume with that fat pillow on my belly I almost passed out, and I’m not even mentioning the fake beard that gave me a rash for days afterwards.’
‘I fell asleep in the grotto and my snoring scared the children away,’ David Fern added, laughing.
Cassie’s granddad laughed. ‘You had supped too much ale at lunchtime, that’s why you fell asleep, you scoundrel.’
‘I may have to volunteer myself,’ Big Jim remarked as he came round to collect empty glasses.
‘You sure have the belly for it,’ Joseph Bell said and his friends burst out laughing. ‘You won’t need a pillow.’
Big Jim patted his belly with his free hand and smiled. ‘I’ll help if no one else wants to do it. It always brings in good money for the Mountain Rescue Service.’
‘It’s a shame the fair is so late this year,’ David complained.
Big Jim shrugged. ‘It was agreed that the local villages shouldn’t compete too much between one another and have Christmas events on the same days. Our village got the last date in the draw at the council meeting. Last year, our Christmas Fair was one of the first in the area, this year we’re the last. It’s just the luck of the draw.’
As the men talked about the latest village news, Cassie felt a prickly and unpleasant sensation between her shoulder blades, as if a line of ants was crawling up her spine.
She turned round, and caught Darren Morse staring at her from his table in the far corner of the room. He nodded, lifted his pint glass in mock salute, and went back to checking his mobile phone.
As usual the man made her uneasy, even if he spent a lot of time at Bluebell Cottage these days, doing odd DIY jobs for her granddad.
She drained her cider and got up. ‘Gentlemen, I’ll be off now.’
‘Wait a minute, pet, I’ll go to the bar with you. It’s my round,’ her grandfather said, patting his jacket’s breast pocket. He frowned, and looked at her and at his friends. ‘I don’t believe it. I’ve left my wallet at home.’
Not again, Cassie thought. It was the second time that week that he had gone out without any money.
‘Pull the other one, Joseph,’ one his friends said. ‘You’re an old miser, and you’re only trying to get out of buying us a round.’
‘No, no… I’m sure I put it in my pocket earlier.’
Cassie’s heart tightened. He was getting more forgetful with every passing day. Perhaps she should make an appointment with the GP for him – not that he would ever agree to go.
She took her purse out of her handbag and pulled out a twenty-pound note. ‘Here you are, Granddad,’ she said, handing him the note.
‘Thank you, Trifle. I don’t understand where that wallet can be,’ he muttered to himself as he walked to the bar.
It would be rude to ignore Darren on her way out, all the more so when he stood up as she walked past. ‘Hi, Cassie,’ he said in his soft and quiet voice.
She smiled. ‘Hi, Darren. How are you? And how are things at the campsite?’ She tilted her head up to look into his dark brown eyes, which were as usual cold and unfathomable.
He scratched his wispy beard. ‘Quiet now that we’re closed for the winter. There are no annoying kids kicking footballs and trampling all over the bushes, no drunken lads messing up the toilet block, or posh couples complaining that there’s no Wi-Fi or air conditioning in their yurt or that their pod is too small.’
She smiled. ‘You don’t sound like you’re enjoying your job very much.’
‘It’s a job.’ He shrugged and glanced towards the counter where her granddad was buying drinks. ‘By the way, your grandfather mentioned earlier that he needed help fixing a new lock to your back door. Would you like me to call at the cottage tomorrow and take a look at it?’
She frowned. ‘He hasn’t told me anything about it.’ Then again she’d been busy all day, and tonight her mind had been on Belthorn’s new guest and Ruth’s old letters.
What’s more, it wasn’t the first time her granddad forgot to mention a meeting he had arranged or an appointment at the dentist or the doctor. Poor Granddad, she thought as love and worry welled in her chest, he’d always been so witty and sharp-minded. It looked like his memory was failing him.
‘He’s at the bar. Why don’t you go over and make arrangements with him?’ she suggested before saying goodbye and making her escape.
Luckily Piers was busy talking to his rugby pals at the bar. She kept her head down so he wouldn’t see her and heaved a relieved sigh once she was out of the pub.
Chapter Five
At the peak of the tourist season, Saturday meant rushing around, organising her part-time, seasonal staff like a military operation to make sure everybody was at the right place at the right time, kept to the schedule and got through the cleaning of two dozen holiday cottages between ten in the morning and four in the afternoon.
In the wintertime, things were a lot quieter and the reduced workload was easily divided between herself and Sophie. The only problem now, of course, was that Sophie had left and Cassie was on her own. Hiring new permanent help was something she would have to consider when the season picked up at Easter. By then, who knows, Sophie may have grown disillusioned with life in Manchester and come back to Red Moss… And Cassie may have dyed her hair pink like her fashionista friend Cecilia, who ran the village trendy art and clothing shop!
Still in her flannelette pyjamas and dressing gown, Cassie made a pot of tea, slid a couple of slices of bread into the toaster, and checked her notebook to make sure she wasn’t missing anything. She only had one holiday cottage to see to that morning before driving to the Old Gatehouse where Nadine Hartley, the very glamorous wife of a local solicitor and one of her regular clients, had asked her to do a last minute tidy up before the cocktail party she was hosting in the evening. After that, she would go shopping for Stefan Lambert and drive to Belthorn.