She glanced down at her hands clasped round the now cold cup so that he would not see the sudden tears.
Loneliness was drowning her like a relentless North Atlantic roller. Would she regret this moment in the years to come? Would she look back on this meeting with Jake Everand and know that she had passed up a chance of finding happiness, even if not permanent happiness?
He came over and took the cup away from her, putting it back on the tray. Then he fitted her palm against the facing palm of his own hand. It was a gesture of such sweetness that Cassy was deeply moved. His face was near, strangely guarded as if he were afraid that he might betray himself.
“I never fight with ladies when it’s nearly midnight,” he said. “Good night, Miss Bristling Independence. Let me know when Cassandra Ridgeway rejoins the human race. I’d like to be around, show her a good time.”
Her spiky tear-studded eyes widened with alarm, but he was only laughing at her once more. He kissed the tip of her finger and with a slight, mocking bow, left the room.
Cassy tucked the same hand under her arm, close to her wildly beating heart, hardly able to believe the powerhouse of emotion that gentle, subtle touch had fired. She was falling blindly, irrevocably, in love. She would have to escape first thing in the morning, pack and leave, forget Pennyroyal, forget High Rake, and most importantly, forget Jake Everand.
All at once a new, prickly feeling raced along her spine. Was that why Grandfather had left her the Pennyroyal? Did he know somehow that Jake Everand would walk into her life and tear its careful construction apart? Troubled and scared, Cassy sat thinking, letting the fire go out before eventually going to bed and falling into an exhausted sleep.
Chapter Six
Five days later Cassy received a meticulously detailed report on Pennyroyal. She read it carefully, appreciating that Jake Everand had kept the technical terms to a minimum for her benefit. The conclusions were clear. The mine was worked out; there was not enough lead ore in it to make reopening a viable proposition. Jake recommended that the mine should be sold off as a novelty, perhaps to be featured as a tourist attraction.
“It is structurally sound,” he had written, “and would take very little adapting to become an interesting day trip for visitors to Derbyshire.”
It was a final insult.
Cassy almost threw the bulky report on the floor. A novelty. A tourist attraction. He was suggesting that her beautiful, awesome Pennyroyal should be gawped at by tourists who paid fifty pence at the door and chucked litter everywhere. No, thank you; it was a lead mine, not Disneyland.
Even as she dismissed his suggestion, a small part of her remembered the thrill and excitement of going underground for the first time, and the strange, eerie boat ride through the dimly lit canal. It had been an unforgettable experience. Then the utter blackness of Dove Hole Cavern. Oh yes, it was tailor-made for day trippers.
“Finally, I would suggest that the mine is put on the market immediately,” Jake Everand concluded. “This should avoid any speculation. A good mining broker could handle this transaction for you, and I would be happy to recommend a reliable firm to act on your behalf. I would estimate the value of Pennyroyal in its present inactive state to be in the region of £30,000.”
Thirty thousand pounds. The amount rocketed through Cassy’s mind, sending shooting stars in all directions with the word “Cassandra” lit up in neon lights. This was the capital she needed to start her agency. She did not stop to calculate if it was sufficient for a year’s rent, for publicity, for employing a staff, for paying the telephone bill, which would be enormous. Cassy knew she ought to do a few sums first; but she was afraid to in case they might deter her from making that first big step towards total independence.
As her mind whirled round in excitement, another thought crept in, nagging and refusing to go away. She did not want to lose Pennyroyal. It meant a great deal to her. It would be like selling off her grandfather.
Perhaps this was what he intended? That she should sell Pennyroyal and the capital to give her security and independence. If only she knew what he had been thinking, it would help her make up her mind.
She pulled on the big, white, cable-stitch sweater and adjusted it over her white jeans. She drove the now familiar couple of miles to Ridge House. She wanted to talk to Jake Everand before he left Netherdale. He was returning immediately to Cornwall. She had seen little of him in the last few days, a fact which had allowed her to regain her usual cool composure.
Mrs. Hadlow was pleased to see Cassy; the kettle was on the boil before Cassy was halfway out of the car.
The Land Rover was not in evidence and Cassy wondered if she was too late.
“No, Miss Cassy, he’s not gone yet. But he’s planning to leave after lunch. He’s gone to pay Albert his money.”
“Ah, the reticent Albert,” said Cassy.
“You seem to be determined to make a mystery out of this, Miss Cassy,” said Mrs. Hadlow with a slight air of disapproval. “The mine ran out of lead so your grandfather closed it. It was as simple as that.”
Cassy remembered the disarray in the mine office, the abandoned work sheets and accounts, the tea mugs and muddy shoes. It gave every appearance of being left in a hurry. If the mine had been closed in a normal manner, Cassy felt sure her grandfather would have put everything in order first. It was not his orderly way to shut the door on chaos.
“I’d like to look round Grandfather’s study again, if I may,” said Cassy.
“You know you don’t have to ask here,” said Mrs. Hadlow, thawing, but still a bit sniffy.
She did not enjoy looking through Grandfather’s desk but it had to be done. There were a lot of papers kept methodically in files and big brown envelopes, going back to the year dot.
She tried to ignore the photos of herself smiling down from the walls and wandered over to the mantelpiece. The beach photo had slipped in its frame and she took it down, intending to replace it in the centre of the mount.
As she unfastened the clasps on the edge of the frame and removed the backing, she expected the photo to slip out, but instead another photograph faced her. It had been printed on thick board, turned in the frame and used as a filler.
Cassy looked at it curiously. It was a wedding group. Eight people standing outside Netherdale church, caught forever in rays of pale sunshine; a bride and groom, best man and bridesmaid and two other couples. It was not easy to date…the bride wore a conventional, long, white satin dress and held a large, overpowering bouquet of carnations. She was a slim, dark-haired woman with a pleasant, not unattractive, face. Cassy did not recognise her.
But she did recognise the best man. It was her beaming grandfather, Thomas Ridgeway in his late thirties, already stocky, but smartly turned out in his best suit; Cassy gazed at him with love and tenderness. He looked so proud and happy. She guessed the photograph had been taken about 1949.
Her glance went to the other faces in the photograph and it was with a slight start that she paused at the bridesmaid, recognising the winsome, fairy-like creature in tulle and rosebuds as her mother, Alician.
The faces in the wedding group were all smiling, except one. Alician’s face was expressionless, her eyes like glass. Cassy wondered if the ceremony had been too much for the young girl; perhaps she had been petrified with nerves.
Cassy was about to return the photograph to the back of the frame when she caught sight of a small, disturbing detail. Alician’s hands were clenched round her posy as if she meant to crush the life out of the stems. The intenseness of the young bridesmaid was strangely at odds with the obvious joy on the faces of the newly married couple.
“I wondered where that photo had got to,” said Mrs. Hadlow, coming in with a cup of tea. “Where did you find it?”
“Behind this other photograph.”
“That would be your grandfather. He couldn’t bear to throw it away but on the other hand he didn’t want to see it.”
“I don’t understand,” said Cassy,
peering more closely at the wedding group. “They all look so happy.”
“Perhaps that’s why. Your grandfather was so proud and pleased that day, he nearly busted his waistcoat buttons. He and Lewis had been friends since boyhood; they were more like brothers though Thomas Ridgeway was six years older. He’d taken care of Lewis since the days when they both fell out of trees.”
“Lewis?” Cassy remembered her mother’s words. He didn’t believe Lewis. She looked at the tall, dark-haired groom and something twisted in her heart. “Is this Lewis?”
“That’s right. Miss Cassy. Lewis Everand, your grandfather’s best friend and Jake Everand’s father. I suppose you didn’t know that?”
It was a shock because Cassy had not expected it. She searched the man’s face, finding a fleeting resemblance to Jake. The powerful shoulders were the same, and the set of stubborn jaw. “No, I didn’t know that. Grandfather never mentioned him, nor Jake. But why? If they had been like brothers, if they were such pals, why did Grandfather hide the photograph?”
Mrs. Hadlow bustled around, tidying the desk, her face set.
“Because of your mother, of course.” Mrs. Hadlow shut the drawers of the desk as if dismissing the subject. “After she died, the photos were too hurtful.”
Cassy sensed that was only part of the reason. “And why does my mother look so tense? Did she drop the bride’s bouquet?”
“Something like that. I don’t quite remember.”
Cassy did not believe her, but did not press the matter. She had the feeling that she had found a small breach in the mystery that surrounded Pennyroyal, and if she probed carefully she would find out what she wanted to know.
“She looked very pretty,” said Cassy.
“Oh yes, Alician always looked a picture.”
Both women heard the Land Rover arriving in the yard. The door slammed and then the side door opened and Jake Everand came into the house. Cassy smoothly slipped the wedding picture back into the frame and fastened the clasps. For the moment, she thought, she would not let Jake Everand know that she had discovered some of the family history, though she longed to ask him why he had never mentioned that the two men had been friends.
“Hello,” he said. “Did you get my report?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Cassy. “It was very interesting.”
His overwhelming size filled the small study. Cassy felt claustrophobic and her brains seemed to have scrambled.
“Ah, interesting,” he repeated, picking on the inadequate word. “I’m glad. Have you come to any decision?”
Cassy hadn’t. But in that split second she did.
“I’m going to sell Pennyroyal,” she said. “It seems the wisest move. The money will be useful capital for setting up a modelling agency I’ve always dreamed about.”
Mrs. Hadlow removed herself hurriedly from the room, the habits of a housekeeper still ingrained.
“Would you like me to make the necessary arrangements?”
“Yes, please.”
He nodded and opened his briefcase. “Perhaps you would care to tell me your real name. It can’t be Ridgeway if your mother was legally married.”
Cassy chose to ignore the offensive remark. “Cassandra Ridgeway is the name I use for my work. My real name is Cassandra Sjaarstad, somewhat of a mouthful for a model. My father was Svenn Sjaarstad, a Norwegian doctor.”
“But the sale will have to made in your legal name, Cassandra Sjaarstad,” he said, making a good stab at the pronunciation. “Unless you wish to remain anonymous.”
Cassy shrugged. “I’ve nothing to hide,” she said pointedly.
He made some notes and, for the first time, Cassy noticed that he was left-handed, writing a bold scrawl with the pen held awkwardly above the line of script.
“And you agree to the valuation as a selling price?”
“Of course. I’m paying you for your advice. Why shouldn’t I take it?”
Her green eyes were like emeralds, deep and luminous, and for a moment Jake was lost in their depths. She had no right to look so lovely when she was being waspish.
“I’m going over to Kettlehulme as soon as I’ve finished here,” he said on an impulse, his gaze quietly smouldering. “Would you like to come with me? It’s an interesting, old place.”
“Ah, the ancestral home? Mrs. Hadlow told me you once lived around here,” said Cassy, more than a little curious.
“Not exactly. My mother took me back to Cornwall soon after I was born. Kettlehulme hasn’t been habitable for years. I believe my father was never able to raise enough money to repair the house. It’s just a huge, empty, white elephant.”
“All right. An hour at the zoo would be fun.”
Jake was already beginning to regret his irrational invitation. If he were wise he ought to get out of Netherdale fast. But Cassy was wrapping a shawl round her shoulders.
“Your car or mine?” she asked.
“Mine,” he growled.
Low herds of clouds were racing across the sky bringing their burden of rain, undecided whether to drop their load over Derbyshire or race on to the next county. Cassy hoped they would reach Kettlehulme before the downpour.
They turned off the main road and took a winding lane up into the hills, Jake pointing out various peaks and ridges as if he had lived there all his life. They turned again, passed imposing gates, rusted and creaking, driving along a tree-lined drive, the leaves making a silken canopy overhead.
Kettlehulme Manor Farm lay nestled in the lea of a hill, its grey stone walls sleeping like a lichen-covered giant. Faded linen blinds were drawn across the leaded windows; leaves piled against the heavily bolted oak front door; two pairs of tall Elizabethan chimneys pointed twisted fingers to the sky.
“It’s beautiful,” said Cassy.
She heard his intake of breath. “I had almost forgotten,” he said. “Yes…it’s a beautiful house. I can understand my father’s obsession with its restoration. But he was never a business man. He trusted the wrong people.”
A mist of rain began to sweep across the neglected garden, shrouding the trees in a grey fog and touching the overgrown shrubs with feathers of moisture. Cassy drew the shawl closer round her shoulders.
“I hope you don’t mean my grandfather,” she said.
“I do not. Prickly, aren’t you? I meant his investment advisers.”
“Lewis Everand?”
Jake held back his impatience. “Yes. My father.”
Cassy nodded slowly, as if she understood everything now which she did not. “How sad. It would have made a lovely home.”
“It was a lovely home. My father and his father before him, lived here all their lives. They farmed the land successfully over the years. It’s let out to tenant farmers now. Only the garden belongs to the house.”
Jake seemed oblivious to the rain. He strode about, finding old roots and memories there in the abandoned house and grounds. How strange, thought Cassy; he has an old empty house and she had a disused lead mine. It seemed a funny coincidence, but Lewis Everand had simply run out of money. Perhaps it had been then that Jake’s mother, the smiling bride in the photograph, had taken her baby son away.
She could not take her eyes off the tall man, drinking in his masculinity, longing to be in his arms. But he was quite alone, unaware of her, needing no one. Waves of sadness swallowed her longing.
“This would make a marvellous setting,” she said.
“Marvellous setting? What are you talking about?”
“A modelling assignment…I can see beautiful girls draped all over the place.”
“I don’t fancy Kettlehulme being exploited to sell clothes,” he said, brushing her aside as he strode round the side of the house. “Come and see the walled garden.”
“There’s no harm in using somewhere unusual for a background and this is beautiful.”
The walled garden was a secret and sheltered place made for children, peaches and herbs.
Cassy followed Jake into the weed-
filled garden, the rain sifting through the tangled brambles and showering them with droplets. She was half-dazed with emotion, a ridiculous weakness betraying the effect Jake had on her body.
“Modelling is like acting,” she said in a rush to cover her feelings. “A model working here at Kettlehulme would take on the ambience of the house; she would absorb the right mood of the designer and the clothes she was wearing.”
“So there’s more to modelling than being skinny,” Jake mocked.
“Surveying is not just wearing a hard hat, is it?”
“No,” he said with thinly disguised impatience. “It takes a graduate in engineering, metallurgy and chemistry. Plus a good many practical years working underground.”
She jerked her gaze away. His hostility was as unbreachable as these high walls.
“I don’t understand why someone as experienced as you took on Pennyroyal. Compared with some of the mines you’ve surveyed, Pennyroyal must seem like a rabbit hole.”
“It was the money,” he said, the edge of sarcasm not lost on her.
“Yes, I always pay well,” Cassy retorted.
Their mood had changed rapidly. What started as a pleasant outing had deteriorated. A grim expression settled on Jake’s face; was he thinking about the home his family had lost all those years ago? There was a bitterness in his voice that disturbed Cassy more than his usual arrogance. He looked cruel.
“Can we go inside?”
“I suppose your hair is getting wet,” he drawled.
“Yes, it is, but that’s not the reason.”
“It’s full of cobwebs and soot. Certainly not the ideal place for white gear.’
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