A Perfect Cornish Escape

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘In that case, you really had better come in.’ He pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. ‘Actually, I’m Dirk Meadows.’

  Tiff raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you say so right away?’

  ‘Because I thought you were trying to sell me something or make me see the light.’

  ‘As you said yourself, I don’t think there’s much chance of that,’ Tiff replied tartly.

  To her surprise he gave a wry smile that suited him very well. ‘Apologies. I probably was a bit brusque but I’m late for a function due to this bloody thing.’ He waggled the bow tie again.

  His voice had softened, still craggy but not as rough. Tiff hesitated half a second, deciding whether she wanted to be caught or not. She was a little late herself but Marina wouldn’t mind and, besides, there was something about Dirk ’n’ Stormy that was bugging her – beyond the fact he was six feet four of brooding hotness. His comment about not needing loft insulation had been hilariously accurate.

  ‘Um …’

  She stopped, hovering between tottering off and turning around. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Um. You, er … look like the kind of person who knows a thing or two about, er … clothes.’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’

  ‘That you seem to be well, um – turned out – and, er …’ He stepped down into the street in his bare feet, the bow tie thrust out, a plea in his voice. ‘Would you mind tying this damn thing for me?’

  Tiff burst out laughing.

  ‘Please?’ he added. He held out his arm in mock gallantry, and Tiff swept past him into his sitting room.

  The cottage was decidedly not a lair. Simple furniture, mostly scrubbed pine or light oak, an eclectic mix of old and contemporary or re-purposed. In seconds she’d absorbed his possessions and tastes, used to forming an opinion very quickly on what people’s homes said about their penchants and character … or what they wanted you to think about their taste and character. The place was neat and tidy, with quite a few prints of Porthmellow and the sea hung on the whitewashed wonky walls. In fact, the only thing out of place was a pair of black socks abandoned on the coffee table among a stack of magazines about classical music and, unsurprisingly, marine mechanics.

  ‘Actually, an elderly gentleman called Troy asked me to give you this.’ She handed him the bulging envelope. ‘Something to do with the fundraiser day,’ she added. ‘I’m on my way to visit my cousin and I was going past. He and his wife said it would save them walking up here.’

  He took the envelope. ‘Troy and Evie know everyone in this town. Not much gets past them.’ He put it on a dresser by the door. ‘Thanks.’

  Maybe she’d lingered a fraction too long on his sitting room. He had the ghost of a smile on his lips by the time she finally spoke again.

  ‘Would you still like me to …?’ Tiff nodded at the bow tie.

  ‘Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.’ He handed it to her, brushing her fingers fleetingly. He had nice hands and nails for a mechanic, she thought. Big hands but clean, short nails and instead of engine oil he smelled of a subtle woody cologne that, if she wasn’t mistaken, might even be Creed.

  ‘I’d better button up my shirt first,’ he said.

  ‘Probably a good idea.’ She nodded, willing herself to stay cool as those impressive pecs and nipple ring mercifully vanished from sight under the snowy cotton. He fastened the top button and took the tie from her, threading the silk under his collar but leaving the points sticking up.

  Tiff wasn’t short herself – at five feet seven she considered herself on the tall side of average – but she had to reach up to tie the bow tie. She’d done many of them, for student mates, colleagues, boyfriends – and Warner of course. The last one she’d tied had been on New Year’s Eve before they’d both set off for a big political bash. She’d been so happy, so in love – and so naive to ever have believed that he might have felt the same way.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked, a flicker of concern in his eyes – or was she imagining it?

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ She recovered herself and leaned closer to his neck, feeling his warm and minty breath against her cheek. Luckily the tie was long enough, and she secured it first time.

  ‘It’s a lot easier if you think of it as tying your shoelaces, rather than an actual tie,’ she said, tweaking the ends of the bow until it was as good as she was going to get it. It wouldn’t have done to spend too much time in such close proximity to him and it was with relief that she was able to take a couple of steps back.

  ‘There you go. Do you want to check it in the mirror?’

  ‘I trust you.’

  She took a moment to study his face, now an unexpected truce had been called between them. It was as tanned as you’d expect, with lines enough to reflect his outdoor lifestyle and perhaps a fair bit of frowning. When he’d shoved the lock of hair out of the way, he’d revealed grey at his temples, though his hair was still thick and espresso dark.

  Unexpectedly, her ex, Warner intruded into her mind. She’d felt an instant pull of physical attraction to him when they’d first met, too, although perhaps not as powerful as the one she felt for this stranger. Tiff thought she could be in trouble here, if she allowed herself … but she wasn’t going to do that, again, ever. Letting down her guard was what had got her into trouble in the first place and lost her her job, her home and her reputation.

  Letting down her guard was why she was in Porthmellow now, in Dirk’s sitting room, on the way to throw herself on the mercy of her cousin.

  ‘I’d better let you get to the ball, Cinderella,’ she said, moving away from him.

  Dirk let out a laugh. ‘It’s no ball. It’s a fundraising gala dinner for the lifeboats. A necessary evil.’

  ‘Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.’

  ‘It depends on whether you like these sorts of things. I expect you’d be in your element at one.’

  She frowned. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘You’ve obviously been to a lot of black-tie dos.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve been to way more than my share but that doesn’t mean I enjoy them,’ she shot back. Not any more, thought Tiff. In fact, she hadn’t been to a smart do for a while and never wanted to again, but perhaps if she went to one with Dirk, she might change her mind … Immediately, she reminded herself again that post-Warner she should steer clear of any event that involved the company of charming, handsome men. Not that Dirk was charming, but he was dangerously handsome.

  ‘I can’t stand them myself.’

  ‘Come on, you might surprise yourself by enjoying the evening,’ she murmured, unhappy associations cooling her desire to banter with Dirk. She was suddenly weary after her journey and eager to be gone.

  ‘I doubt it … and I must leave now or I really won’t make the dinner.’ He was brisk again; the temperature had dropped by several degrees on his side too. ‘Thanks for tying this,’ he added. Tiff took the hint, and was half relieved, half disappointed at his coldness. They’d been almost flirting but the storm clouds had come back over for some reason.

  ‘No problem,’ she said, deliberately choosing a neutral reply instead of, ‘A pleasure.’

  He showed her out and shut the door with no further words of thanks, and certainly not with a ‘see you around’, which was odd when he knew she’d be staying nearby.

  On the rest of the short walk to Marina’s house, Dirk filled her mind as her suitcase rattled over the stony pavement. She had a good memory for faces and names, honed by twenty years as a reporter and journalist on various regional and London papers and magazines. Even as she’d grown older, she still had the ability to search through her mental filing cabinet when a story or a person triggered a spark of recognition. Often a face would jog a feeling, an emotion, more than an instant name to go with it. She’d picture the person in a situation; tragic, comic, joyous or dramatic … how she had felt when she’d seen
that face and heard or read their story.

  Dirk was definitely sending out tragic and dramatic vibes and they had nothing to do with his amusing nickname. Tiff was convinced she’d seen him before but couldn’t for the life of her think where.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Woohoo. Muscadet. That’s a blast from the past.’ Tiff thrust out her glass as Marina produced a slender bottle sheened in condensation.

  ‘It goes very nicely with the hake I bought from the harbour fish kiosk,’ Marina said, amusement tingeing her voice as she poured Tiff a glass. She’d told Tiff she was ready for some wine herself after her experience with the ‘body’ earlier that day at the cove.

  Tiff savoured the crisp, lemony Muscadet before swallowing it. ‘And it’s very nice. You’re spoiling me.’

  ‘Yeah. You look like you feel guilty,’ Marina replied, pouring a glass for herself. ‘I’ll put the oven on. I got the hake ready earlier. I wrapped it in pancetta … I hope you like it?’

  ‘I love it. Now, you really are spoiling me. It’s lovely of you but I don’t expect special treatment.’

  ‘Good because you won’t get it. I thought you might be ready for a treat after the journey. I’m going to pop it in the oven with the potatoes.’

  Refusing any help, Marina scooted into the kitchen, leaving Tiff alone in the sitting room. She curled up on the sofa, admiring the quirks of the cottage. Nothing was straight; not the thick walls, the floorboards or even the windowpanes. Marina had told her before that it was very old, having been an ale house and a smuggler’s haunt – then again, wasn’t every old cottage in Cornwall?

  Marina and Nate had bought it a year or so after they were married. Tiff had been there only once in the past seven years, while Marina had visited her in London a few times.

  They’d kept in touch regularly by phone, however, and when Tiff had lost her job that horrible day in January, the first person she’d thought to call had been her cousin. Marina was someone she could trust to listen without judging her, while also being unafraid to be honest with her in the purest sense of the word.

  Tiff’s memories of Porthmellow were among the happiest of her life, although she’d never imagined she might actually live here. Her mother and Marina’s father were siblings, and both had been brought up in Cornwall.

  She and Marina shared a love of words: after leaving university, Tiff had got a place at a newspaper training scheme and worked her way up to features editor of the Herald, and Marina had worked hard to get her PGCE and was now an English lecturer at a local HE college. But that was where the resemblance ended. Although they were cousins, they could hardly have looked more different.

  Marina took after their maternal grandmother and wasn’t much above five feet, with blonde curly hair she usually wore in a ponytail, especially when she was ‘on duty’ in her Wave Watchers ‘uniform’ of trousers and sweatshirt.

  Tiff’s DNA was dominated by her father’s side of the family. She was five feet seven in her stockinged feet, willowy, if she said so herself, with hair that her mother insisted on calling ‘Titian’ but Tiff regarded as simply ‘ginger’. Sometimes she spiced it up with a vibrant red or aubergine colour, to annoy her mother even more, and she kept it in a sharp bob. Although that would probably change now she was in Cornwall. She certainly couldn’t afford her favourite stylist at her London salon and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be brave enough to set foot in the Harbour Cutz place she’d passed earlier.

  As for their personalities, it would be too simplistic to say that Tiff was the savvy, hard-as-nails cousin and that Marina was soft and homely. It was true that Marina was innately kind, always putting other people first – to the detriment of her own wellbeing, in Tiff’s opinion – but Marina was no doormat and was straight talking and firm when she had to be. She’d been the first to offer Tiff a home for the summer while Tiff licked her wounds, and had put her in touch with the editor of the local lifestyle magazine.

  Marina was a lovely character but she did care so very much about people. She tended to give them the benefit of the doubt, while Tiff’s first instinct was to naturally suspect and question others’ motives.

  Tiff had always thought that Nate had taken advantage of Marina’s good nature, but Marina had been besotted with her handsome husband and wouldn’t hear a word against him. When Tiff visited, try as she might, she hadn’t warmed to him. He’d sneered at Marina’s enthusiasm for her students and community life and made snide remarks about her appearance, which he’d passed off as ‘banter’.

  Privately, Tiff had longed to tell him what she really thought of him, though she’d tried to be civil for her cousin’s sake. From the looks Nate had given her when he didn’t think she or Marina were looking, she knew their distrust was mutual. He knew that she’d seen through his larky ‘wit’ and that under the tan, the earring and the whole piratical charm crap was a lying git. He was no Jack Sparrow, that was for sure, and one evening, Tiff had seen him round the back of the pub, kissing another woman.

  On the train back to London, she’d agonised over whether to tell Marina. She’d still been wondering whether to reveal it when the news came through that Nate’s kayak had been found washed up on some rocks at the foot of Silver Cove.

  Tiff had dropped everything to come down to try and comfort Marina, and had even told her boss to feck off when they’d wanted her to do a story on the tragedy – which had probably done her no favours, though she didn’t care. She’d stayed for a week, helping to support Marina and the family while shielding her from the press as best she could. How ironic …

  She couldn’t stay forever though, although she kept in touch, and Nate’s body had never been found. Tiff had moved on, and so had Marina. It was hard to believe that the seven-year anniversary of his death was coming up in the summer, and with it, the time when he could officially be declared dead. At least, that would bring financial and legal closure for her cousin, and perhaps be the final piece of the jigsaw in her emotional recovery.

  Marina returned from the kitchen, the aroma of herbs and garlic wafting in from the open door.

  Even though Tiff and Marina hadn’t spent much time together since leaving school, they soon settled into the easy familiarity they’d enjoyed as children and teenagers. Tiff found herself unwinding while she asked how her aunt and uncle – Marina’s parents – were getting on. They now lived and worked in north-east Cornwall so Marina didn’t see them as often as she liked.

  It was therapeutic to focus on other people’s relatively normal lives and Tiff enjoyed hearing about Marina’s college job, the Wave Watchers and local characters. She was intrigued to find out more about the forthcoming joint search and rescue fundraiser with the local lifeboat station, though she didn’t discover much more about Dirk. She didn’t want to appear too interested in him and risk being teased by Marina. They soon moved on to Tiff’s new job.

  ‘It’ll be a change working for the local mags,’ Marina said, sounding positive as ever.

  ‘They pay peanuts but I’m grateful for it, and with the rent coming in from my flat, it’ll cover the bills. I obviously intend to contribute my fair share here.’

  Tiff smiled, feeling a little guilty keeping a couple of titbits from Marina. One of them was that she guessed Marina would find the additional income of a ‘lodger’ useful, even if it was only short-term.

  Her other secret was less altruistic. One of the editors at the Herald’s rival paper had agreed to help her out on the quiet. Tiff planned to string stories for them while she was in Cornwall. Her name might be mud but she could still pass on tip-offs if she found anything of interest in the area. And that, along with writing and editing the local lifestyle mag, would be better than nothing and keep her from going insane.

  ‘What exactly happened, Tiff?’ Marina said gently. ‘It must have been pretty dramatic for you to have been sacked. I know you didn’t want to go into the details until we were face to face, but maybe it would help if you got it off your chest. After
all, you know all my darkest secrets.’

  Tiff was touched. She didn’t have a best friend in London with whom to share her ‘darkest secrets’. She had colleagues and contacts, and rivals – and a lover. Now an ex-lover, who she’d naively thought had become so much more.

  ‘We were going to move in together …’ The words slipped out as an extension of her train of thought.

  ‘You and this politician?’

  ‘He wasn’t a politician himself, just an “adviser” to a Cabinet minister. He even joked about being a lackey. That’s what I liked about Warner: his refreshing lack of ego, his self-deprecation, unusual from someone in his position, I can tell you. Now I know that it was all an act. He’s a massive dick like all the rest of them in that place: women and men.’

  Marina frowned. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had a rough time. What happened, lovely?’

  ‘Marius Woodford-Warner happened. Though he’s known as “Warner” by his friends – or fellow snakes, to be more accurate.’ A memory of some of the snakes sprang to mind. She pictured Warner playing for the House of Commons staff cricket team with a bunch of the other lackeys, most of whom she couldn’t stand. She now regretted every wasted Sunday admiring him in his whites while trying not to nod off and eating curling cucumber sarnies in the pavilion. Most of all, she regretted falling for him so hard that she’d been blind to the real truth; that he’d only been using her.

  ‘Are they all snakes?’ Marina asked. ‘Aren’t some of them trying to do the right thing?’

  Tiff admired Marina’s ability to think well of others. She’d been like that once: believing too much in people. These days she didn’t trust anyone within a five-mile radius of Westminster. ‘A lot of them start out trying to do the right thing. Plenty end up actually doing it, until they decide to climb the slippery pole to high office. It’s fine and dandy to have principles until you have to actually make a choice between country or party or career and then integrity almost always goes out of the window.’

  ‘You don’t usually write about politics, Tiff – I thought you were interested in human-interest stories and women’s page stuff. How did you get involved in this?’