Pennyroyal (12 page)

Upstairs were seven bedrooms, one of which had been converted to a bathroom with the biggest bath tub Cassy had ever seen…an Edwardian bath standing firmly on four fluted iron legs edged with porcelain flowered tiles.

“This could be a magnificent bathroom, the last word in luxury,” said Cassy with enthusiasm. “You must keep the bath. They don’t make them that size these days.”

“I’m not making any decisions about Kettlehulme,” said Jake. “I’ve quite enough to do without being saddled with this headache.”

She knew she was being foolish but it would be wrong to let Jake leave Kettlehulme, without some feelings of hope.

“I can see that it would cost a lot of time and money to make Kettlehulme habitable again, but it would be worth it, Jake. It’s such lovely old house. Even if you didn’t live in it yourself. It would make a smashing holiday home for children from the cities, or handicapped children. There are so many uses it could be put to, instead of just letting it decay into a ruin.”

“Hold on, Miss Ridgeway. There’s the little question of capital. Where am I supposed to get that from?”

“Surely you could get some kind of National Trust grant. It is an old house. It might be protected.”

“I doubt it. Various owners have changed and added to the original building before the days of getting permission. I doubt if it would be classed as a genuine graded building.”

“It would be worth a try. Well, thank you for showing me Kettlehulme. It makes Ridge House look like a doll’s house.”

“Give me a warm, clean doll’s house with a rateable value that doesn’t bankrupt the owner,” he said cryptically.

As they were leaving Cassy happened to glance upward to the stone mantel over the porch. The carving was almost obliterated by creeper, but in the centre Cassy could see a medallion within which was the carving of a plant with very small flowers and hairy leaves.

“What’s that?” Cassy asked.

“I’ve no idea,” said Jake. “Flowers are not my scene.”

“It looks like a wild flower.”

“Okay, it’s a wild flower. Don’t expect me to know.” He took her arm. “We’ll have to make a run for it.”

The strength of the sudden squall nearly knocked Cassy off her feet. A blustery wind threw handfuls of crystal rain into her face, almost blinding her. Jake caught her and guided her to the Land Rover, using his bulk to shield her from the force of the wind. It had risen so quickly, taking them both by surprise.

“Come on,” Jake yelled, his words whipped away.

“I.…am…coming on,” she gasped, sweater plastered to her body, her hair streaming.

All their problems vanished in the exhilaration of the struggle through the downpour. They splashed into puddles like children, stamping and shouting, rain drenching them to the skin, the wind tugging against their strength.

Cassy had never seen this Jake before. He was like a young giant, hair plastered to his head, rain dripping off his nose as he threw back his head laughing, his teeth strong and white. Where had that carefree youth gone?

This was another person; Jake had shed whatever was troubling him and was simply enjoying the exhilaration of combat with the elements. He spun her round at the side of the Land Rover and crushed her into his arms with fierce abandon. The soft curves of her body were tantalisingly revealed by the clinging clothes and he could resist her no longer.

“Cassandra…darling,” he urged huskily. “I want to hold you, feel you close to me. Just once, without fear or hate. Let me, dearest girl…I can’t pretend to ignore you anymore.”

She could hardly believe what she was hearing, but it was Jake’s voice, saying things she had only dreamed about.

Cassy felt glorious sensations of love and happiness soar with the longing of her body. She sought to find his mouth, giving herself into his arms and hands, her lips parting tremulously. Her height was nothing against his superior size, and she curled into the broad expanse of his chest, slipping her arms under his jacket. Their mouths clung eagerly, glorying in the growing demands that they were too honest to deny.

“You know that I want you, don’t you, Cassy? I want you so much I can’t see straight. I’ll never let anything hurt you. I don’t want to wait but I will, if you say I must.”

“Jake… I don’t know,” she breathed. “I don’t know anything anymore, only that I do want you. I do. I do.”

The wanton words fell from her lips without heed; she did not recognise herself, this brazen woman flinging herself at a man with undisguised desire. Jake was the one man she wanted; it was without question the first time that a man had stirred such a deep and passionate response.

“Cassy…we’re crazy! What’s happening to us?” His laugh was rich and deep.

“No, it’s not madness. It’s something wonderful and special. I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Jake. We’ve been fighting each other for days, but I felt there was always something beneath that antagonism…”

“Don’t let’s fight anymore, Cassy,” said Jake urgently. “We’re two of a kind, determined not to be dependent on anyone for happiness.”

“But not anymore, not anymore,” Cassy said, her hair streaming across her face.

“Not anymore, darling girl,” said Jake, before covering her lips in a ruthless kiss that went on and on. But beneath the passion that made her senses swim, there was a gentler, more subtle persuasion that made it difficult for her to resist a complete surrender. But it was not common sense that finally doused their passion. It was the weather.

“You deserve better than this,” said Jake at last, with a masculine tenderness. “Rocks, then rain…it isn’t fair. Let me take you back to the Inn.”

Chapter Seven

But they returned via Ridge House and that was a mistake. Jake found an urgent message waiting from his office. He was needed at a pit in Nottingham where a problem over a new working had arisen.

Jake drew Cassy aside, but she could see his mind was already busy elsewhere. His hand stroked her arm absent-mindedly.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said. “The sooner I go, the sooner I can get this settled.”

“Do you have to go?”

“Yes, they sound as if they’re in trouble. Now, get out of those wet clothes before you drive me out of my mind.”

“What shall I do without you?” said Cassy, amusing herself with the naivety of the question. She sounded like a love-sick teenager, but that’s exactly how she felt. A teenager deeply in love for the first time. Jake had not said that he loved her, but there had been no mistaking his hunger during those moments of passion at Kettlehulme.

Jake smiled down at her, his flinty eyes dark and gentle.

“How about learning to cook?”

“That’s a sexist remark,” she challenged, sparkling, pulling him close to her.

“We’ll argue about it when I return,” he said, planting a firm kiss on her mouth. “Take care of yourself and don’t do anything silly.”

Cassy bit back a retort. He was showing a brash protectiveness and concern for her well-being. Her grandfather had been the only other person who cared. He had never stopped warning her about leaving electric plugs on, or jumping off moving buses.

“You too,” she said sweetly. “No breaking speed limits or parking on double yellow lines.”

“I’m not blind—” he broke off, suddenly realising that Cassy was making a point. “I guess it’s going to take me a little time to adjust to your brand of independence. You have my permission to hit me every time I step out of line.”

“Can I have that in writing please?”

“I’ll get it photocopied and you can paper a wall.”

Mrs. Hadlow came bustling into the hallway. She had noticed immediately the way they were looking at each other when they came in, and had kept out of sight so that they could say goodbye in private, but she could contain herself no longer.

“Now, Miss Cassy, just you get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death and I’ll dry them off.” She turned to Jake Everand. “I suppose it’s no good telling you to put some dry things on your back?”

“No sooner said than done, Mrs. Hadlow.” He grinned seriously. “Take care of this young woman for me. I’ll be back for her soon.”

In five minutes he had dried off, changed and was roaring down the lane. Cassy stood on the farmhouse porch, bereft and lonely, an awesome ache in her heart. A little part of her died as he left.

“He’s gone, Mrs. Hadlow,” she said.

“I’ll run a hot bath for you,” said Mrs. Hadlow in a practical voice. “Now, come along, Miss Cassy. The world hasn’t come to an end.”

Cassy followed her meekly. She would be glad to get out of her wet clothes, though they were drying from her body heat. As she soaked in the bath, she tried to make plans, but a tired confusion made it difficult. Netherdale was a million light years away from her life in London. She knew she ought to return; she could not give up her modelling work until the Cassandra Agency was established and ready to open its doors. It was more important than ever to keep contacts, and make fresh ones.

And now there was Jake Everand…A broad smile lit her lovely face and she ducked under the water, coming up with it streaming down her neck and shoulders in a warm, sweet-smelling cascade.

She wanted to be here when he returned. Perhaps it was time to move out of Castle Inn and accept Mrs. Hadlow’s invitation to stay at Ridge House. Her old room was ready, just along the landing from the room Jake Everand was using.

A tingling sensation shot through her body at the thought of Jake Everand’s close proximity in such a situation. Even though he was already miles away, a sensual awareness was unbalancing her commonsense. It would be more sensible to keep the relationship strictly business. But she was past heeding any warning; it was too late to remove Jake Everand from her life.

Mrs. Hadlow was delighted. “I’ll get your bed aired while you settle up with Bert Armstrong. It’ll be really nice to have someone to look after. I miss having your grandfather to fuss over.”

“Not too much fussing, Mrs. Hadlow, please,” said Cassy, “I’m not used to it. And don’t try to fatten me up.”

“A few decent meals won’t come amiss,” said Mrs. Hadlow. “When was the last time you had a home-made apple pie, with cloves and cinnamon and real flaky pastry?”

“I can’t remember. The last time I was here, I suppose,” said Cassy.

“Before you stopped coming to see your grandfather,” said Mrs. Hadlow, unable to resist another dig.

“There was a reason, a good reason,” insisted Cassy.

“No reason could be good enough for hurting your grandfather when he loved you so much.”

Cassy turned away to hide the smarting tears. She could not explain; her mother’s dying request now seemed like a dream. Alician had not been delirious, despite the fever, and the promise demanded had been so important to her peace of mind. Cassy longed to know why.

As she drove the Daimler into Netherdale, she turned what she knew over and over in her mind, wondering if she had missed anything. There must be some clues somewhere.

Bert Armstrong was not surprised that Cassy was leaving. “No sense in you paying out good money, Miss Ridgeway,” he said, “when there’s a bed for you at Ridge House.”

“I’m really sorry, because I have been most comfortable,” said Cassy.

When she paid her bill, she added a generous tip and promised to be back soon.

The sunshine was weak and intermittent as she piled her luggage into the boot, reminding Cassy that she had some shopping to do; provisions this time. She would not arrive an empty-handed guest. She bought orange juice, fruit, cheese and whole wheat bread in an effort to deter Mrs. Hadlow from filling her up with calorie-laden cooking.

As she walked round the well-kept, triangular village green, Cassy was aware of the tower of St. Boniface, the garrison church of the castle, chiming the hour. This was where her grandfather had been lain to rest; she felt ready now to visit him. She pushed open the creaky lych-gate and walked along the weedy paths searching for the family plot. It was not difficult to find the Ridgeway headstone:

CASSANDRA RIDGEWAY

died in childbirth 4 October 1931

and below the moss-curtained words, was a new carving, the stark announcement as cutting as the plain, stone-edged name:

THOMAS RIDGEWAY

1910—1987

Cassy stood staring at the name; her own name given her to remember the grandmother she had never known. The other, the grandfather she had loved so dearly. She was deeply moved by the long span of time he had spent alone since the death of his wife, almost a lifetime in itself. How lonely he must have been. Tears welled in her eyes.

Alician was not buried here. She and her husband, Dr. Svenn Sjaarstad, had not wanted to return to Derbyshire, ever.

“Sorry, Grandfather,” she said.

She turned away, wondering if she would hear his chuckle somewhere at her side. But there were no sounds other than faltering flurries of wind racing down from Winnats Pass.

It had not occurred to Cassy to look at any other headstones. Her thoughts were fully occupied with Thomas Ridgeway and the long forgotten Cassandra, when another name came abruptly into focus.