A Perfect Cornish Escape

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘Seventy-five.’ That came from a woman near the lifeboat station. Tiff recognised her as the owner of a local hotel. She’d written a feature on it the week before and the woman was forthright but quite jolly. It might not be too bad working at the hotel for a day – and Tiff was definitely not above cleaning toilets.

  ‘Ninety. I need someone to help me empty the slurry pit at the farm.’

  ‘Now, Trevor, that’s generous but I can’t see Tiff muck spreading, can you?’

  It was at that moment that Tiff caught sight of Dirk, stepping out from the front of the lifeboat station. He was at the back of the crowd but her height on the dais gave her a good view of him. Their eyes locked and his firm jaw might have slightly dropped.

  ‘One hundred!’ Hotel woman shouted and Tiff’s shoulders slumped in relief. She’d decided that working for Joanna was the best she could hope for and smiled at her, willing her to keep bidding. Meanwhile, out of the corner of her eye she could still see Dirk, lurking near the back of the crowd. He must be having an absolute field day.

  The bidding went up, whipped up by an almost breathless Evie. Gabe Mathias offered a hundred and fifty, and Tiff telegraphed him a look of unbridled joy. Working in his kitchen for the day would actually be enormous fun, and she could get a story out of it. This might not be so bad after all …

  ‘Any other bids?’ Evie called; gavel poised.

  Silence, head shakes from the audience.

  ‘Joanna?’ Evie nodded to the hotel owner.

  Joanna shrugged in regret. ‘Out of my league, I’m afraid.’

  ‘OK. Looks like Gabe has won. Thank you for the very generous bid, Gabe. Going once …’

  Tiff’s shoulders sank with relief with the realisation that she wouldn’t be gutting fish or muck spreading.

  ‘Two hundred!’

  Heads turned, twisting around, standing on tiptoes.

  ‘Did you say you’d do anything within reason?’ Dirk shouted from the edge of the audience.

  Despite her layers, Tiff shivered from head to toe. The idea of being at Dirk’s beck and call was both horrifying and worryingly sexy. ‘Within reason,’ she said, hoping her voice wasn’t too croaky. ‘I’m up for a challenge.’

  ‘Any further bids for this wonderful lot?’ Evie asked, raising her gavel. ‘Gabe?’

  Tiff stared at Dirk. His expression was positively angelic. She could kill him.

  Gabe laughed. ‘Two hundred and twenty. It’s for a good cause.’

  Evie pointed at Dirk. ‘Dirk?’

  Dirk stayed silent, keeping his gaze on Tiff while she tried to look amused by the whole situation.

  ‘Well, it’s a damn sight better than thirty quid and cleaning out the slurry pit,’ she joked.

  ‘Going twice!’

  ‘Three hundred.’ Dirk’s voice was strong and clear.

  ‘Wow. Three hundred. Someone must want you very badly, dear,’ Evie said helpfully.

  The crowd laughed and some stared at Dirk. Tiff let out a tinkly laugh but had murder in her heart.

  ‘Gabe?’ Evie said.

  Tiff’s eyes pleaded with Gabe. ‘You can make me peel the potatoes,’ she said lightly. ‘Or do the washing up all day?’

  Gabe smiled. ‘We have machines for both those things and anyway, I don’t want to deprive a mate …’ He nodded at Dirk. The audience buzzed like a swarm of bees; Dirk had made it obvious in the most public way that, for whatever reason, he was interested in Tiff. Only Tiff knew that he was out to humiliate her.

  Evie banged the gavel. ‘Penultimate lot. Tiffany Trescott sold to Mr Dirk Meadows for three hundred pounds.’

  With the banging of the gavel and the applause still ringing in her ears, Tiff jumped off the stage and made her way through the crowd to Dirk. She’d no interest in what her Ed Sheeran lot went for any more; she had to find him.

  She grabbed his arm. ‘Hey, you, what the bloody hell are you playing at?’

  ‘Making a generous donation to the SAR funds.’

  ‘B-but … You bid for me! Why? What could you possibly want from me?’

  ‘Er …’ His composure wobbled for a second – a moment that sent an electric jolt through her. Already pumped with adrenaline, her legs went wobbly. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean I don’t know why you bid for me. Is it to humiliate me?’

  ‘If you think I’d do that,’ he said quietly, ‘you don’t know me.’

  ‘Well, as you’ve just paid to spend a whole day with me, I’ll have plenty of time to get to know you, won’t I?’ Tiff shot back.

  ‘Hmm … although I’m not sure there’ll be much time for talking …’

  Her skin prickled and tingled. ‘What do you mean? What the hell have you got in mind?’

  ‘That would be telling! I presume you have next Sunday off?’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘Come round to the cottage at seven.’

  ‘Seven a.m. on a Sunday? My God, you do want your pound of flesh.’

  He grinned. ‘You’ve got that one right. See you then.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to give me a clue?’

  ‘I think it will be a lot more fun if it’s a surprise.’ A buzzing came from his jeans. ‘Sorry. Must go. We’ve got a shout.’

  And with that, Tiff was abandoned on the quayside as the klaxon on the lifeboat station blared out and women and men rushed past her from every direction.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Westerly wind four to five. Seas slight to moderate …’

  Gareth relayed the weather report to a yacht that was on its way into Porthmellow. Sometimes vessels phoned the station on their own dedicated channel to receive the latest local conditions, knowing they’d be up to the minute.

  Marina was pleased with his progress; he’d lost some of his excitability and was more professional in his responses to radio calls. He’d almost finished his formal training and was approaching the stage where, if she had no choice, he could be left alone in the station. Solo watching was never ideal, and they always aimed to have two of them, but one was better than none. The day that no one was there was the day when disaster was bound to strike.

  Talking of disaster … Marina’s thoughts drifted to Lachlan and his reaction to the helicopter fly-past. She’d spotted him a few times since the fundraiser but, however much she’d wanted to ask him how he was, there never seemed to be a good moment. The first time, she’d seen him outside Aaron’s office in the back streets of Porthmellow when she’d been in her car, and had waved, but he hadn’t seen her.

  She’d seen him yet again as he’d been jogging towards his cottage. He definitely saw her that time but didn’t even smile and rushed inside. She wondered whether to push a note through the door but came to the conclusion he wanted to forget all about the incident.

  Apart from Lachlan’s meltdown, the fundraiser had gone well and the Wave Watchers and the lifeboat crew now had some money in the kitty to help them keep going. Funds had been boosted by the addition of Tiff’s auction lots. A businessman who was on holiday had forked out a grand for the Ed Sheeran package and, after the event, Tiff’s editor friend had come up with two hospitality tickets to an England Test match. They’d sold them on eBay and had raked in another eight hundred pounds.

  Then there was Tiff’s own personal ‘lot’. Marina still broke out in a grin when she recalled the look on her cousin’s face the moment Evie’s gavel had banged down.

  It had taken a stiff G&T and a lot of swear words before Tiff had finally calmed down. Marina wondered what Dirk had in mind: probably nothing, if the truth were known. He most likely wanted to wind up Tiff while making a donation. Still, tongues were wagging all around town. No one could be in any doubt of the chemistry between the two of them, even if it was of the kind that might end in an almighty explosion.

  When the relief crew arrived at the lookout station in the shape of Doreen and Trevor, who were retired hoteliers, Marina trudged home. With Tiff out, she sat down with some tea and open
ed the latest letters from her solicitor discussing her options as the seventh anniversary of Nate’s disappearance drew nearer.

  Even after so long, reading legal language about her loss felt cold and formal. She felt as if she was hammering the final nail in his coffin and it would be a sad day, not only for her but for his few remaining relatives and friends. Filing the latest papers in a ring binder, she reminded herself that application for the presumption of death wasn’t an ending, it was the beginning of the next part of her life.

  It didn’t make any difference to her vow to never forget him, and her love for him would always be rock solid. Maybe, with everything behind her ‘officially’, she would also find it easier to look to the future with fresh hope. It was surely what Nate would have wanted, because he’d loved her too …

  As she had many times before, she resorted to her garden for solace. It was a beautiful evening, with the sun glinting on the harbour far below, where all manner of craft bobbed up and down on the high tide. The evenings were drawing out rapidly and summer was just around the corner. Porthmellow would soon be thronged with tourists, which meant there would be more of a need than ever for the Wave Watchers. It was a constant battle to find enough people, as some had had to give up due to ill health or had moved away. Fresh pairs of eyes were not only welcome but vital.

  She tugged some bindweed from the hedge and watered the tubs she’d planted with Tiff, enjoying the fragrance of the honeysuckle growing up the fence. The salty air wasn’t the ideal environment for some plants, but others thrived in it, like the clusters of agapanthus which had yet to emerge. By mid-July, their stunning blue-violet heads would burst into flower, giving the garden an exotic air.

  She decided to fetch some plant food from the garages and saw Lachlan doubled over outside one of the units. He was in his running kit, breathing heavily and glistening with sweat. He didn’t see her at first so she slowed down her approach so as not to startle him.

  He straightened up and tapped the FitBit on his wrist. Marina decided to call out to warn him she was around, to avoid startling him. ‘Evening,’ she said cheerfully, though inside she was very unsure of the reception she might get.

  He was still out of puff so she spoke for both of them. ‘I’ve come to fetch some Baby Bio,’ she said, in the absence of anything else, and smiled. ‘Don’t worry about replying.’

  ‘It w-would be h-hard to answer t-that anyway.’ His polite smile morphed into a grimace as he regained his breath.

  She turned the handle on the garage door. ‘I’ll leave you to recover,’ she said as he waved an apology at her. She walked inside, finding the plastic bottle in less than a minute and exiting, expecting him to have left, but he was still there.

  He was upright now, hands on hips. ‘Marina? I wanted to apologise for what happened at the fundraiser …’ He paused again, whether to get his breath or be cautious, she couldn’t decide. ‘And for not acknowledging you since then.’

  ‘It’s fine. Don’t worry.’

  ‘I don’t want you to think I’m being an arse or I’ve been avoiding you. You must have been wondering why I freaked out when that coastguard helicopter flew over the harbour?’

  ‘First, I don’t think you’re an arse.’

  He smiled though it was more of a grimace. ‘That’s very generous of you.’

  ‘And you don’t have to explain about the helicopter if it makes things worse for you. Aaron told me you’d been in an accident. I don’t want to invade your privacy.’

  ‘You’ve not invaded my privacy.’ He faltered. ‘You’re one of the people who hasn’t invaded it. People are curious, you see, as to how I came by these …’ He touched his cheek fleetingly. The exertion had made the scars redder and more livid.

  ‘It’s none of my business.’

  ‘But you have wondered?’

  ‘No …’ She checked herself, sensing that polite evasion was probably not what Lachlan was looking for. ‘OK. Yes, I have wondered what happened to you, but you shouldn’t feel forced to tell me or anyone. I know how people can be if they think someone’s an object of curiosity. The outright stares, the whispers in shops, the conversations that stop when you walk into the pub, the pity, spoken and unspoken …’

  He held her gaze. ‘Aye.. The pity. That’s the killer.’ His eyes were beautiful, and she thought she recognised something behind his expression. It was a knowledge that life could never be certain again. ‘You sound as if you know what you’re talking about,’ he added.

  ‘You mean with Nate?’

  He nodded. ‘Aaron told me a little more about the circumstances. It must have been very hard for you, not having any closure.’

  ‘Thanks … it was a long time ago now.’ She went on, trying to sound firm but upbeat. ‘It’s a time I don’t want to dwell on.’

  ‘No.’ His tone softened. ‘I get that … Look, I’d love to ask you round so we can talk some more, and show you I can be a normal – well, partly normal – human being, but I’m in no fit state at this particular moment.’ He wrinkled his nose but Marina didn’t think she’d mind that much and she wanted to hear more about his background to help her understand him better.

  ‘You don’t have to show me you’re “normal”.’ She laughed. ‘Who is, anyway? I like people who are different.’

  ‘That’s good …’ He hesitated. ‘Maybe another time when I’m fit for company and you don’t have your hands full?’ There was hope and apprehension in his voice. She liked that. He hadn’t assumed she was going to say yes but clearly wanted her to.

  ‘Yes. I’d like that.’

  ‘What about next Sunday lunchtime. If you’re free?’

  ‘I have some marking to do early then a Wave Watchers shift but I should be free by half one, if it’s not too late?’

  ‘Not too late! I can do a basic roast? Although I ought to warn you, I’m no chef.’

  ‘A basic roast sounds perfect. I’d probably have made do with a sandwich.’

  He nodded. ‘Great. See you on Sunday, then.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll look forward to it.’

  Lachlan left and Marina strolled back to the cottage with the plant food, trying to look as if she’d merely had a chat with a neighbour and not been invited to lunch with the first man she’d been truly attracted to since Nate. The way she was already willing the weekend to come, she had to admit that Lachlan McKinnon had most definitely made a big impression on her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tiff rocked up at Dirk’s lair early on the Sunday morning, wrinkling her nose at the sky. The weather was a fitting metaphor for the cottage’s owner: the clouds could be in a Turner painting, looming over steel-grey seas topped with whitecaps.

  She hoped her ‘purchaser’ hadn’t got anything too outdoorsy in mind, like laying paving slabs or creosoting fences.

  ‘I’m here, bright and early as requested,’ she trilled when Dirk opened the door. Wearing trackies and a T-shirt and unshaven, he had the rumpled look of someone who had just tumbled out of bed. Tiff tried not to speculate too much and saluted.

  ‘Not sure what my duties are or I’d have brought a mop and bucket, unless, of course, you want to spend the day practising your bow tie knots …’

  She was met with a growl. ‘Oh. Right. You’d better come in.’ To say her reception was an anti-climax was an understatement. She’d expected a sarcastic riposte and to be gleefully informed she’d be learning how to operate a mini digger or fillet a kipper. She’d run through so many scenarios over the past few days that nothing seemed too outlandish.

  ‘Coffee?’ Dirk asked once she was inside the sitting room.

  ‘Um. Why not? It is very early. Are you sure we have time for sitting around drinking?’

  ‘Yes. There’s time. What do you prefer? I have blonde, medium-dark, or Italian.’

  Well, she thought, whatever horrors the day had in store, at least it would begin with a decent cup of coffee.

  He returned with two mugs and a plate with four cr
oissants, which were fresh from the oven, judging by the delicious aroma. ‘Have you had breakfast?’

  Tiff didn’t like to say her stomach had been churning too much. ‘I didn’t have time. Headed straight over here, as commanded.’

  ‘It wasn’t a command.’

  ‘You did say seven a.m. sharp.’

  ‘Yeah … Well, I didn’t think you’d take me literally. Look, would you like a croissant or not?’ he said, offering the plate.

  She reined in her irritation at his apparent lack of enthusiasm. ‘Thanks.’

  Tiff bit into the warm and crumbly pastry, growing more confused by the minute. She sipped the coffee while Dirk checked his watch before vanishing upstairs to have a shave. She was left alone to finish her breakfast, admire the artwork on his walls and rifle through his collection of jazz and classical music, some of it on vinyl. He certainly had some expensive audio tech, she thought, wondering if she should tell him how impressive his Bose speakers were.

  When he returned, clean-shaven and smelling faintly of cologne, she decided to be upfront with him.

  ‘Look, Dirk. I know the auction wasn’t that serious and was all about fundraising,’ she said politely but firmly. ‘However, you have paid three hundred quid for the privilege – or not as the case may be – of having me around for the day. I’d be quite happy to go home and spend the day lying around but you said you had something in mind, so if that wasn’t a joke, then can you please let me know what it is?’

  He stared at her curiously, as if he was weighing up an intricate piece of marine engineering. She half expected him to scratch his head and reach for a wrench but then he sighed. ‘OK,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Come on.’

  ‘Come on, where?’

  ‘Down to the lifeboat station. But don’t say you didn’t ask for it.’

  Flatly refusing to elaborate, Dirk led Tiff down the hill to the harbour. She half regretted goading him into action, but was also fascinated to know what he was up to. When they reached the lifeboat station on Porthmellow quayside, it was a hive of activity. The large all-weather lifeboat was at the top of the ramp inside the boathouse, with a dozen of the crew milling around it. They greeted Dirk cheerfully and seemed to have been expecting Tiff, which was odd when Dirk had had to be forced into taking her down there.