by Marie Laval
She didn’t kiss him. Instead, she lifted a hand to the side of his face and brushed his cheek with her fingers. A piece of pink paper spiralled to the ground. She took a step back and smiled. ‘That’s better. We can’t have you walking around with pink paper stuck to your beard, can we? That would spoil your manly demeanour.’
She turned round and busied herself with tidying the scissors, the balls of string and ribbons, the glue and the sticky tape, and he stood there with his heart drumming too fast. He was an idiot. Of course, she was never going to kiss him.
The following two days were more or less the same, with Cassie feeding him, fussing and giving instructions, tweaking the design or completely changing her mind about where she wanted the lights, the masks, the balloons…
She never stopped talking as she cut, glued, and made intricate paper flowers. She chatted about the village, about her grandfather, or about her work.
‘The worst are the people who talk to me very slowly as if I am stupid; the couples who spend thousands of pounds on luxury holidays abroad but quibble my invoice every single month; the women who talk about their marital problems and their husbands’ quirky bedchamber habits, or those who fantasise aloud about having an affair with the postman, the gardener or their gym instructor – or the three of them at once – and then blank me when I meet them in the village.’
She looked at the flower necklace he had just made and frowned. ‘There’s too much pink in that one… Anyway,’ she added, ‘thankfully most of my regular clients are lovely – my elderly ladies especially. We always have a chat and a cup of tea before I start work. I am worried about a couple of them who seem constantly sleepy and forgetful at the moment… a bit like my granddad, actually.’
Silence and Cassie didn’t go hand in hand, but he soon worked out that she didn’t expect him to venture an opinion or even answer with anything else other than a grunt or a mumble.
Being at the campsite gave Stefan the opportunity to keep an eye on Morse, who seemed busy shovelling snow, gritting paths, or carrying tools and equipment.
‘He’s all right for basic stuff like moving things around and cleaning,’ Patrick said when Stefan asked for his opinion about Darren, ‘but he’s not much good at anything else. It’s a wonder he managed to get a caretaker job at a posh retirement complex in Manchester, or at some of the top campsites in the country like Wizard’s Point in Devon or King’s Forest in Yorkshire.’
On Thursday afternoon, Cassie arrived with yet more cakes from Salomé’s. ‘Wow, it looks wonderful!’ she exclaimed, looking at him as if he had completed a heroic feat when all he’d done was inflate some banana shaped balloons and affix them to the foliage. Nevertheless, his chest puffed with pride so much he had to give himself a mental shake.
Damn. He had it bad. Real bad.
‘There isn’t much left to do now, and it’s all thanks to you,’ she added, blowing a strand of hair off her face. She knotted her red bandana scarf as a headband, and flicked open the notebook in which she had drawn her plans and written her lists. ‘We just need to put up the lights and we’re ready, one day ahead of schedule!’
For the following couple of hours, they hung lights around the room, interweaving them with the netting that supported the foliage and the giant colourful flowers he had made. When the last box was empty, Cassie declared that they should pack up for the day.
‘Kerry had better give you an extra large piece of wedding cake on Saturday. I could never have done all this without you.’
‘I’m glad I could help,’ he said as she locked up the clubhouse. ‘You’re good at this, especially considering the short time and the limited budget you had to work with. It’s a shame you don’t want to show your sketches to Charlie’s sister.’
‘I would never dare,’ she said, pensive as they made their way to their respective vehicles in the deserted car park. The sky had darkened and a blue grey line ran along the ridge of the snowy peaks.
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t want her to laugh at me and tell me to stick to mopping floors and scrubbing bathrooms.’
‘Gabrielle would never say anything of the sort.’
She shrugged. ‘Yes she would. You said you didn’t know her very well, but she isn’t a very nice person. I am flattered that you like my ideas but I enjoy being a cleaner and it’s what I’m good at.’
Her phone rang from the depth of her handbag. She fished it out and put it against her ear. ‘Rachel? What’s up?’ She gasped. ‘No… when did that happen? Oh no. Poor Louis… how is he? What…?’
She glanced at Stefan and frowned. ‘I’m on my way. Don’t worry. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
She put her phone back into her bag. ‘Louis broke his arm in PE this afternoon. He is at Kendal Royal Infirmary with Rachel and they need a lift home. Tim is in Carlisle and my granddad is babysitting Will and Ollie, so I’ll have to go and get them.’
‘Poor kid. Is he in much pain?’
‘Rachel said he was being very brave. I am sorry to leave you in the lurch, but I promise I’ll come by later.’
He frowned. ‘Don’t even think about it.’ He couldn’t help his abrupt tone of voice. No matter how many times he told her he could take care of himself, the woman insisted on treating him like an invalid.
‘In that case, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.’ She unlocked the van, slid the back door open and started fumbling with the back seat, which was folded to one side. ‘Oh, bother! I’ve had that seat folded for so long it’s stuck.’
‘Let me have a look.’
He tried to manoeuvre the seat back into position, but it wouldn’t budge. After ten minutes, he had to admit defeat. ‘I can’t move it either.’
‘What am I going to do? I can’t have Louis and Rachel both sitting in the front with me, it wouldn’t be safe.’
‘Why don’t I take you to the hospital in the Range Rover and drive Louis and Rachel back to the farm afterwards?’
She looked at him. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘Of course, I’m sure.’
‘Then, I accept. Thanks.’ Her lips stretched into a tentative smile, and she added, ‘It seems that I’ve had a lot to thank you for these past few days. How can I ever repay you for all your help?’
He opened the passenger door of the Range Rover for her. ‘Make me another of your steak pies and we’ll call it quits.’
She laughed. ‘It’s a deal!’
The traffic was so bad it took over an hour to reach the hospital. He found a parking space and they hurried to the reception desk where Cassie gave the clerk on duty her cousin’s name. The woman typed the name on her computer, and looked up.
‘He’s in the treatment room.’ She smiled and gestured to the waiting area. ‘You can make yourselves comfortable over there.’
Cassie sat on one of the brightly coloured plastic chairs, took her phone out and typed a message. ‘I’ll let Rachel know that we’re here.’
Looking around, he spotted a newsagent and a coffee bar.
‘Tea or coffee?’ he asked.
‘You don’t have to get me anything.’
‘I want a coffee, so I might as well get something for you.’
‘Then I’ll have a coffee too, please.’
He ordered two coffees and a blueberry muffin for Cassie, and scanned the shelves at the newsagent’s for a magazine she would like. Celebrity gossip. Golf. Women’s fashion. Gardening. An interior design magazine caught his eye. He bought it and made his way back to the waiting area.
‘I hope we don’t have to wait too long, and most of all I hope that Louis is all right. He acts tough but he’s only a little boy, and Rachel sounded dreadfully upset.’ Cassie’s voice trembled as if she was about to cry herself.
He ripped the sachets of sugar and poured the sugar into her coffee and stirred it in, then handed the cup over together with the muffin.
She smiled at him, and whispered a thank you.
Time seemed
to stand still. People were coming in and out – patients and their families, paramedics, nurses – and still there was no sign of Rachel or Louis. When they finished their coffee, he showed her the magazine he’d bought. ‘Why don’t you read this? It may help the time pass more quickly.’
‘I love that magazine,’ she said, reaching out for it. ‘My granddad buys it for me every month, but he lost the latest issue.’
She put the magazine on her knees and started flicking through it.
Suddenly she stiffened, let out a gasp, and brought the pages closer to her face. ‘I don’t believe this!’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cassie stared in disbelief at the photos of a bedroom with walls painted in sunny yellow with white and pale lavender stripes and furniture consisting of a Provençal style chest of drawers, a tall wardrobe and a cherry wood double bed covered with a white quilt and cushions matching the wallpaper.
Her fingers clasped the magazine more tightly as she examined every detail. It was no wonder she recognised the room. It was almost identical to the sketches she had presented to Nathan two years before, down to the embroidered counterpane, the delicate lace curtains that created enchanting patterns on the wooden floor as sunlight streamed into the room, and the bouquet of lavender sprigs standing in the clear glass vase on the bedside table.
According to the captions they featured a bedroom in the five star London boutique Maritel Hotel. How could this be possible?
Her throat tight and her brain fuzzy, she read the interview with Maritel Hotels’ director, then read it again.
‘Nathan Hardman’s delightful Provence-inspired designs for our London hotel won him the commission for the refurbishment of the whole of Maritel’s UK hotel chain. We want him to replicate what he achieved in our flagship London hotel. His ideas are the mark of his incredible talent. He has managed to capture the very essence of our brand and the comfort, luxury and escapism that we want to offer to our guests.’
Alongside the article was a photo of Nathan standing next to his drawing board, looking his usual sharp and handsome self in a navy three-piece suit, crisp white shirt and dark plum silk tie, his dark hair artfully ruffled, and his dark brown eyes moody and thoughtful.
‘The best ideas are often the simplest,’ he was quoted as saying. ‘Provence will never be out of fashion, because it represents the ultimate nostalgia – a dream, a fantasy, of sharing simple, delicious food in the sunshine with friends and family, listening to the woody call of cicadas in the heat of a lazy summer afternoon, breathing in the scent of aniseed and lavender drifting in the air, and drinking a glass of chilled rosé wine or homemade lemonade.’ That was beautifully put – a lot better than she could ever have described the concept behind her designs, but then again Nathan was better educated and had been in the business for years.
According to the article, the hotel refurbishment had been completed a couple of months before and Nathan had travelled extensively to France then the US. Was that the reason why he hadn’t been in touch to tell her he had used her ideas? Did he want to surprise her with the finished project before telling people that the whole Provence concept was originally hers?
A queasy feeling spread in the pit of her stomach. What if he had presented the Provençal scheme as his own and had no intention of giving her any credit for it? She dropped the magazine on her knees. No! Nathan would never do anything so dishonest… Then why had he not contacted her?
‘This reminds me of a farmhouse in the South of France I once stayed in as a child,’ Stefan said, pointing at one of the photos. He glanced at her, looking puzzled. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you like the photos?’
‘I do. It’s just that…’ She might as well tell him. ‘These were actually my designs – or at least, they very much look like my designs. I had no idea they had been used. Last time I saw them, Nathan… that’s him, there… he told me they weren’t good enough, but now, it seems he used them anyway.’
‘Without asking you?’
‘There must be an explanation. He is a very creative person, a wonderfully talented and innovative designer, but always very busy – too busy to get in touch with me, no doubt.’
‘How well do you know the guy?’
‘I cleaned his office in Ambleside for years. He inspired me to study for a diploma in interior design.’ Her voice mellowed as she recalled the charming, seductive man she used to have a terrible crush on… Not any longer. He was still terribly handsome, and stylish, and he looked as moody and brooding as ever, but all she felt now as she peered at Nathan’s photo was confusion.
‘I see.’ Stefan lifted his cup to his lips to drink, but must have tipped it too fast, and some of his coffee spilled onto his pullover and his trousers. He muttered something in French and took a paper napkin from the table to pat the stains dry.
‘Cassie!’ Rachel called from the doorway to the waiting room. She looked pale and worn out. Her handbag and Louis’s rucksack hung from her shoulder, and she carried her son’s anorak and school sweatshirt on top of her own bulky coat.
Next to her, Louis toddled in, sporting a bright blue and red splint on his arm. ‘Look, Cassie. I have a spit on my arm,’ he shrieked.
‘It’s called a splint,’ Rachel corrected, almost stumbling under the weight of the coats and the bags, ‘and remember what the doctor said. You’re not supposed to mess with it and you have to keep it still.’
Cassie forgot all about Nathan and Maritel Hotels and jumped to her feet, followed by Stefan. Hurrying to Louis’s side she gave him an awkward bear hug, taking care not to touch his arm. ‘How are you, darling?’
Louis nodded. ‘I’m all right now, but I’ll have to come back for another test.’ Turning to Stefan, he added, ‘I was scared and I cried at first, but then I thought about you and how much you must have hurt when you broke your face, and I decided to be brave.’
‘Crying is allowed, even when you’re brave,’ Stefan said, crouching in front of Louis and ruffling his hair. ‘I cried too when I… broke my face.’
Rising to his feet, he reached out for the coats and Louis’s rucksack Rachel was carrying. ‘Let me take those for you.’
Rachel let out a sigh of relief as she unburdened herself of the coats and bag. ‘Thank you, and thanks for coming too. I’m sorry I dragged you all the way here, but I didn’t know who else to call.’
‘Don’t be. It’s no problem.’ He draped Louis’s anorak on his shoulders, and made a show of pulling a face as he lifted his rucksack. ‘What do you have in there? It weighs a ton – it’s almost as heavy as my army bag.’
Louis looked up. ‘Really? What do you have in your bag? Weapons?’
‘No weapons, only tools and radio equipment, which are much more cool.’ Stefan let out a low, rumbling laugh that gave Cassie shivers all over.
‘I wonder what they are talking about,’ Cassie mused as man and boy walked towards the exit, talking and laughing.
Rachel linked arms with her and tilted her chin towards Stefan’s back. ‘He’s really nice, not at all the Grinch you’ve made him out to be.’
‘He can be very short-tempered, believe me, but he has been brilliant this week. I could never have finished the clubhouse for Kerry’s wedding without his help.’
Stefan had been more than brilliant. He had been kind, attentive and patient, following her instructions to the letter, and not getting frustrated if she asked him to take something down and put it up somewhere else in the room, then changed her mind again. Her heart had almost melted when earlier on at the clubhouse he had showed her the last of the paper flowers he had stuck to the walls and the banana balloons he had inflated, looking very pleased with himself.
Rachel gave her a nudge. ‘So is he going to dress up – or down – as Tarzan to make the jungle décor more authentic?’
Cassie made a pretend gasp. ‘Rachel Merriweather, you are incredible! Your son just broke his arm, you’ve spent hours in hospital, and all you can think about—’
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‘Is the body of the fit man my favourite cousin has taken a shine to,’ Rachel finished. ‘Tell me, has Tarzan tasted your lovely trifle yet?’ She laughed and nudged Cassie again.
‘Sshh now,’ Cassie scolded, her face burning, as they reached Stefan’s car. Rachel seemed bent on embarrassing her. Thankfully, Stefan was walking ahead with Louis so he hadn’t heard her.
He lifted Louis into the back seat and strapped him in. Rachel winked at Cassie and sat next to her son, and Stefan held the passenger door open for Cassie.
Louis fell asleep almost as soon as they started on the road to Red Moss, and nobody spoke much during the drive back to Patterdale Farm, except for Rachel checking her phone and giving regular updates on Tim’s journey back from Carlisle.
Stefan decided to drive straight to the farm. Cassie could always pick up her van from the campsite later. It was very late and snowing by the time they arrived at Patterdale. Stefan carried a sleepy Louis out of the car and into the farmhouse. Rachel asked him to take the boy straight to his bedroom so that she could put him to bed and led the way to the first floor, picking disregarded socks and toys off the stairs.
Cassie took off her duffle coat and hung it up in the hallway. The farmhouse was quiet, which meant that Ollie and Will must be in bed already, and her granddad had probably dozed off in front of the fire.
She pushed the door to the living room open and held her breath. Her grandfather sat snoring on the sofa – that she had expected – with Ollie and Will curled up on either side of him, asleep in their pyjamas. A storybook lay open on her granddad’s knees.
She tiptoed into the kitchen. Plates smeared with tomato sauce and enough cutlery for a dozen people were stacked in the sink. On the table were dirty glasses, a bottle of blackcurrant cordial, and a half-empty packet of custard cream biscuits, her granddad’s favourites.
Cassie couldn’t help but smile. Her granddad may have left a mess in the kitchen, but at least he had fed the boys, got them ready for bed and read them a story. Being at Patterdale was good for him. Feeling needed was good for him. Hadn’t Rachel said that he had displayed no signs of confusion or forgetfulness since he’d been at the farm? Perhaps living at Bluebell Cottage didn’t suit him any longer. After all, she worked most of the time and unless he went to the community centre for a game of cards or dominoes, he had no one to chat to during the day… except Doris’s cat and Darren Morse.