It was altogether a rather quiet day, which was lucky as she couldn’t stop yawning and rubbing her eyes. Ruth’s tragic love story, and even more tragic death, had preyed on her mind and kept her awake for a long time. When she’d finally fallen asleep she had dreamt about Belthorn, but a very different Belthorn. In her dream the abbey was still standing, and the sound of bells ringing echoed in the night and bounced against the hills, a slow and solemn call – a warning, perhaps. Someone, or something, was waiting, and watching, on the shore, whilst on the surface of Wolf Tarn a shadow spread until the whole lake was as smooth and black as a pool of ink.
She had woken up shaking, with her heart beating hard and the sheets tangled around her body. It had been a while since she’d dreamt about Belthorn – and about that night…
Falling asleep again was out of the question, so she had switched on her bedside lamp, retrieved her sewing basket and finished a new cushion cover for Mason’s living room. It didn’t take long, so she looked through her fabrics bag and selected strips of red and green felt to make another cushion, for Belthorn this time. Stefan Lambert may not want any Christmas decorations, but he hadn’t said anything about new cushions.
Of course, it would take a lot more than new soft furnishings to cheer the old hall up and bring a smile to Lambert’s lips. It would take a whole makeover for the hall… and possibly a personality transplant for the Frenchman.
When she finally put her handiwork away and tried to fall asleep again, it wasn’t only her nightmare or Ruth’s letters she was trying to forget. Someone else had been on her mind. Someone with broad shoulders and a rotten temper, and with eyes like burnished gold and a voice so deep the memory alone was enough to give her goosebumps.
And that morning too, as she spread a thick layer of strawberry jam onto her toast, she still couldn’t help thinking about Stefan Lambert. Had his first night at Belthorn been comfortable? Had he enjoyed the peace and quiet or had he felt lonely? How would he react when she saw him later on that afternoon?
One thing was certain. She wouldn’t put up with any more rudeness. She would keep out of his way if that’s what he wanted, but she had a job to do, whether he liked it or not.
She finished her breakfast, washed up, and went up to her room to shower and get dressed. It didn’t take long since she wore the same sensible clothes day in, day out. She put on a long-sleeved grey T-shirt, denim dungarees and gave her shoulder-length hair a quick brush through before twisting it into a bun that she secured with a bandana scarf – a blue one, today. Her friends and family jokingly said that she’d been stuck in a time warp since her Bandanamama days, but there was nothing wrong in being faithful to a look, especially when it was practical for her work, was there? Just like there was nothing wrong with being faithful to her family, her job, her clients…
She was about to run downstairs when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. A little make-up would hide her pale cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. She reached out for her make-up bag, and applied a coat of mascara, some blusher and pink lip gloss.
Her granddad was pottering about in the kitchen when she came down. He pointed at her face. ‘Why are you wearing make-up to go cleaning houses?’
Cassie let out a sigh. His memory may be faltering, but there was nothing wrong with his eyesight.
‘Are you meeting some young man you haven’t told me about?’
‘Of course not. And it’s not really make-up, only a little lip gloss.’
‘Where did you say you were going today?’
She told him her schedule for the day.
‘So you’re going to Belthorn again,’ he said.
‘I told you, I have to go there every day. I’ll drive up there in the afternoon after shopping at SuperSaver in Keswick. Charles Ashville’s guest needs food. Perhaps that will make him less grouchy.’
‘Get him some real coffee, not that instant rubbish. French people love their coffee, don’t they? And buy some smelly cheese, some of those baguette bread sticks, and plenty of good red wine, of course.’
Cassie laughed. ‘Coffee, cheese and wine? That’s not proper food!’
Her granddad nodded. ‘It’s a start.’ He scratched his head and broke into a smile. ‘Why don’t you make him your steak pie? If he doesn’t like it, you can always bring it home for me. You know it’s my favourite.’
She bent down to kiss his cheek, breathing his comforting scent of pine soap and shaving foam. ‘I’ll make a pie just for you as soon as I have a bit of time, I promise, Granddad.’
She took her keys from the key rack and was about to leave when she remembered what Darren Morse had told her in the pub the night before.
‘By the way, what’s wrong with the back door?’
Her granddad shrugged and looked at her with a puzzled expression. ‘Nothing’s wrong with it. Why do you ask?’
‘Darren mentioned that you’d asked him to fix a new lock or something.’
His blue eyes took on the vague, slightly lost stare she had noticed more and more these past few weeks. ‘I don’t recall asking him anything, unless…’ His lips relaxed into a smile. ‘Ah yes… He said something about the back door sticking when he came yesterday to fix the leak in the radiator upstairs.’
‘Is it leaking again? I thought he mended it last week.’
Her granddad nodded. ‘That radiator is giving him trouble. Anyway, he came through the back door because he didn’t want to put muck all over the hall, and that’s when he realised that the latch was catching. Is he coming today then?’
‘I’m not sure. He was in the pub last night. Didn’t he talk to you after I left?’
He shook his head. ‘I was with the lads. He probably didn’t want to disturb us. I think he’s a bit shy.’
‘Shy or not, he seems to be around here fixing something or other every other day. And when I say fixing, I’m being kind. The television aerial is still playing up, the bath taps drip constantly and the radiator in the back room is still leaking. I’m going to have to call a proper plumber.’
‘Don’t be so harsh on the lad. It’s good of him to come round to old folks’ houses and give them a hand with repairs and stuff. Apparently Doris Pearson is so chuffed with him she recommended him to all her friends at the community centre.’
‘Doris as in “the angry cat woman from across the road”?’
Her granddad laughed. ‘Now you’re being mean. She may be a bit obsessed with her Fluffy, but that’s because she’s lonely. Anyway, she is full of praise for young Darren.’
‘Maybe he does a better job at her house than he does here. I must dash. See you tonight.’
‘Fasten up your coat, and don’t forget your hat. You don’t want to catch a cold.’ Her grandfather handed her the red and green pom-poms hat she had deliberately left on the hallway peg.
She repressed a grumpy reply. How old did he think she was telling her what to wear, and why did he force her to wear that ridiculous hat? But she immediately felt mean and petty. He was only looking out for her. So what if she looked like a crazy, jumbo-sized elf?
She said nothing and put the hat on. She took the bag in which she had stuffed her new cushions, waved him goodbye and walked out into the cold, grey morning. The chilly wind stung her cheeks, and the air smelled of wood fire, coal smoke and snow as she walked to Salomé’s bakery.