A Perfect Cornish Escape

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘I never said I hated it.’

  ‘I think the words: “I’d rather watch every episode of Hollyoaks than waste my time on some of that modern crap” were used.’

  ‘Shh.’ He glanced around him. ‘I was being ironic.’

  She raised an eyebrow while trying not to laugh. ‘So, what were you doing in the Quayside Boutique yesterday? Interested in their new range of Kurt Geiger mules? Or was it the Melissa Odabash bikinis that arrived last week? Anyone would think you’d been stalking me.’

  ‘Erm … oh, screw it. I wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘Aha, I see.’ She eyed him critically. ‘Then why didn’t you?’

  He opened his mouth to retort then huffed. ‘OK. I surrender. I’ve wanted to talk to you about what happened after the lifeboat drill for ages but I chickened out at the café and again in the boutique.’ He paused before going on, almost as if he was plucking up courage. ‘Here goes. Do you think you could find it in your heart to forgive what I said to you?’

  Tiff raised her eyebrows in genuine surprise. ‘Well now. That would depend on whether I actually have a heart, which you strongly implied I didn’t.’

  ‘I was harsh, and I made some sweeping assumptions. But I’d like the chance to know you better. To know the real Tiff.’

  ‘You took your time about it. You could have knocked the door or texted. WhatsApp, a call?’

  ‘There never seemed to be a perfect moment. Or I didn’t know how to say what I want to say to you. I never know what your reaction’s going to be.’ He lowered his voice further, struggling to keep the frustration out of it. ‘Look, I know I infuriate the hell out of you, but I also really like you. You make me laugh, you keep me on my toes, and you make me think. I think about you all the time.’

  Tiff suppressed a shiver. A good shiver that made her toes curl in a delicious way. She whispered in his ear, drinking in the wonderful scent of him. ‘I never think about you.’

  He smiled. ‘Of course you don’t … but I can’t get you out of my mind. You’re there every moment. Well, not when I’m on a shout, obviously …’ He grinned. ‘But most of the rest of the time. I would really like it if we could call a truce and simply behave like two adult human beings who want to take things further than a sophisticated playground sparring.’

  Her Prosecco glass wobbled. He didn’t have to touch her to ignite a fire deep inside her, the words were enough, uttered in that deep, delectable accent.

  ‘I’d love it if we could get out of here now and negotiate a ceasefire.’ He was right by her ear. ‘Preferably in bed.’

  ‘Mmm …’ She couldn’t wipe the grin off her face. Dirk’s words were the equivalent of warm honey being drizzled over her naked body. God, what was she thinking? She’d gone full-on E L James and what’s more she didn’t care that people were only feet away. If they’d had the infra-red camera on her, she’d have been glowing white from head to toe. Evie Carman caught her eye and Tiff smiled back.

  ‘Bear with me. I’ll see what I can do,’ she said, then whispered, ‘Meet me outside Gabe’s restaurant in five minutes.’

  With that, she left him and sashayed over to the artist, thanking her for the invitation and promising to write up the feature, which would appear in the September issue of Cream of Cornish. She avoided making further eye contact with Dirk or even looking in his direction. She only hoped he was suffering the molten, naked desire that she was.

  She left the gallery and walked onto the quayside, stopping by the Net Loft where she pretended to study the menu board. It could have offered roasted tarantula for all she knew, because her mind was on the delicious prospect of having Dirk Meadows for supper, as a nightcap and for breakfast.

  It was actually nearer ten minutes before he joined her.

  ‘What kept you?’ she said, curling her fingers so he wouldn’t see that they were shaky.

  ‘Evie spoke to me and I didn’t like to rush off. I had to put on a good show.’ He grinned. ‘Why? Thought I’d changed my mind?’

  ‘I was about to go home, actually,’ she said haughtily.

  ‘Sure you were.’ He grinned. ‘My place, I assume?’

  ‘I think so. I love Marina to bits, but this is one occasion I don’t want to share.’

  She’d never climbed the steps up to the cottages so fast. She hadn’t realised she could go that fast, but months of practice had made her fitter than she had been for years. Not to mention she was also fuelled by the desire to rip Dirk’s clothes off, and he even gave her a hand once they were out of sight of the gallery.

  Out of breath but laughing, they almost fell through the cottage door and into the sitting room. She wasn’t sure who pulled who down onto the sofa, but clothes were being ripped off. A shirt button pinged against the hearth and Dirk swore but didn’t pause.

  ‘Bloody cuffs,’ he said, laughing while trying to pull his shirt off in the semi-darkness.

  Tiff dealt with the buttons on his jeans. Once they were free, everything came off or down swiftly and she had his beautiful body against hers, his hands, a little roughened by work, gently exploring her. She closed her eyes and gave him everything.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Marina had been wrong about Lachlan – she’d wondered if he’d changed his mind about asking her to dinner, but he called her the very next day after their talk with an invitation to Gabe’s restaurant later that week.

  During the meal, they caught a few curious glances from local people. Marina nodded to a few but she tried to focus on her dinner companion. They talked more about Scotland, about her college job and his new business with Aaron, about the food … it was all light and friendly talk, which made a refreshing change from their previous intense conversations.

  No one bothered them and it was a relief to simply focus on a relaxed evening out with a friend … maybe this was the moment when their relationship might become more?

  After their dinner, they strolled up to her cottage and stopped outside. Lachlan surprised her by immediately asking, ‘Could I tempt you to a wee dram? Unless it’s too late?’

  ‘Well, it’s a school night … but a very wee one won’t do any harm, so why not?’ Marina said, more than happy for the evening to go on longer, even if she did have an early lecture in the morning. Being invited inside Lachlan’s own place, which must be his sanctuary when the outside world got too much, also felt like a leap forward.

  There was no light on in her own cottage as they passed so she concluded Tiff was out and followed Lachlan through the soft green door into his place. She hadn’t been inside that particular cottage since it had been sold by the previous owner, a Porthmellow local, and turned into a long-term let. It was one of the smallest in the whole row; a one-bedroom mid-terrace painted the colour of clotted cream.

  He showed her into the sitting room, which was neat and tidy. He made her a coffee and fetched a bottle of single malt and two glasses and a small jug of water. Marina had only had a spritzer at the bistro and Lachlan a glass of red wine; they’d stuck to soft drinks after that with a mind on work in the morning, so she didn’t think a small one would do any harm now.

  He brought out two engraved crystal tumblers that might have been a gift from his comrades in the RAF, but she didn’t comment. Leaving the service must have been painful for him – but was it less painful than staying?

  ‘It’s very cosy in here,’ she said, thinking of the impact Lachlan’s appearance had had on her from the moment he’d walked out of the sea like a Scottish Daniel Craig. ‘I mean, it’s lovely, of course. I haven’t been in for years. Er … how are you finding it?’

  He seemed amused so at least her awkwardness had broken the ice.

  ‘The cottage is big enough … some of the neighbours are scary though,’ he said, deadpan.

  She laughed. ‘I see what you mean. Deffo the neighbours from hell.’

  He poured a measure of whisky into her glass and offered her a jug of water.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said as he adde
d a splash to her tumbler, leaving his own neat.

  ‘What made you choose Porthmellow and this cottage? Was it all because of Aaron?’ she asked.

  ‘Mostly … his offer came up at the right time. Or at the wrong time, because I can’t say I was in a happy place at the time he mentioned it. Aaron’s a great bloke though. I’d trust him with my life. Once I’d decided to come down here, I wanted to move straight away and this cottage came up for rent at short notice. I’m used to military accommodation, so I don’t mind it being small.’

  ‘It looks a lot bigger than I remember it. The previous owner was obsessed with Marvel action figures and memorabilia and they took up every nook and cranny.’

  ‘Really? Wow. I can’t imagine it stuffed with Avengers figures.’

  ‘There was a lifesize Incredible Hulk in the kitchen.’

  ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘Yes … there were hundreds of smaller figures though. Mr Rees was a very weird guy. He was only in his thirties, but he used to wear a tweed suit to the pub, complete with a watch on a chain. He was an undertaker … the kids used to think this place was haunted.’

  ‘Really? Maybe I should charge people to look round, then,’ he said, deadpan.

  She laughed, wondering if Lachlan did plan on personalising it in any way, or whether he was content to leave it neutral. It certainly didn’t have any trace of his personality yet, but maybe the neatness was a hangover from being in the military. If moving to Porthmellow was wiping the slate clean, this place was the natural embodiment of it.

  Then again, it could simply be that he didn’t plan on staying long-term.

  Pushing away that thought, she focused on enjoying the moment. She was facing the window and the sky outside was indigo blue. Lachlan sat on the sofa, one arm flung along the back, his leg crossed over the other. Marina sank back into the armchair, and let her tensions ebb away. It was the most chilled out she’d seen Lachlan and the most relaxed she’d felt in his company.

  He sipped his whisky and a stillness descended between them. Marina sensed he was bracing himself to talk.

  ‘A while back, you asked me what happened back home and why I came here,’ he said, his eyes on the amber liquid in his glass. ‘The truth is that I was trying to get as far away from the mountains as possible and live a quiet life. Not because of these.’ He touched his face. ‘I don’t care about how I look. I left because of issues that went way more than skin deep. I suppose some of my mates and even my family might call it running away, but I prefer to call it self-preservation. This is my fresh start.’

  Marina thought carefully before replying, eager to hear more. ‘I’m glad you chose Porthmellow, even if the reasons behind it aren’t happy ones.’

  ‘I feel I owe you the full story.’

  ‘You don’t owe me anything, Lachlan, but I’m ready to listen.’

  ‘Well, you deserve to hear it …’ He managed a small smile. ‘When I was in the RAF military police, I was in charge of security on the base. I’ve grown up in the mountains and loved climbing so it was natural for me to volunteer for the local search and rescue team near the base. In fact, I was acting as leader that day.’

  ‘Was this last winter?’ she asked, afraid to shatter the bubble of his confidence.

  He sipped his drink. ‘Late February last year. The twenty-fifth, to be precise. We were called out on a shout to look for two students who’d climbed Ben Daurrig and hadn’t come down to their youth hostel by afternoon. Their mates couldn’t raise them, so they alerted the mountain rescue.

  ‘The helicopter picked us up from the base and dropped us above the snowline so we could reach the casualties faster because it was going dark and snowing heavily. We found the students and the helicopter evacuated them to hospital. They were taken off safely and the team started to walk down and I slipped in the dark on the icy path.’ He shook his head. ‘Stupid, really. Classic error. I’d stopped paying attention after the adrenaline of the rescue was over; I was joking with some of the team and lost my footing. I came off the path and down the mountainside.’

  She gasped. ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘Fortunately for me, there was a narrow ledge about fifteen feet down which broke my fall and prevented me from ending up at the bottom of a cliff, but I heard the snap, and knew I’d broken my ankle.’

  Marina winced.

  ‘I don’t mind admitting that I almost passed out with the pain and by then it was snowing hard and Catriona – the medic who was with the team – said we couldn’t wait for me to be carried down because conditions were worsening, so she called the helicopter back.’

  ‘It sounds horrendous.’

  ‘I was suffering, but I didn’t want the helicopter to come out for me because I knew its crew would be at its limits in that weather. I can’t help but think that they only risked it because I was one of their own. I caused them to come back again. If I hadn’t slipped, they wouldn’t have had to take that risk. Conditions were bad enough on the first rescue, but when they came back they were the worst I’d ever experienced, with massive downdraughts, snow swirling in the high winds and almost no visibility. They should never have taken off again from the base, not for anyone.’

  Especially not him? Marina wondered if that was what he meant.

  He flexed his fingers, and she noticed the tremor in them. Dredging up bad memories was painful and traumatic, it sucked your energy, but sometimes, you had to get those fears into the open.

  ‘By the time we reached the base, the blizzard was at low level, and the winds were horrific. When we came to land in the valley at the base, a gust caused the pilot to lose control and we hit the ground. I was woozy from the meds, so my recollection’s hazy but I remember the impact and the explosion. It felt as if my eardrums had shattered. There were shouts and someone was trying to unclip me from the stretcher …’ He gazed into his glass but didn’t drink.

  He paused so long, she had her doubts about whether he’d continue.

  ‘The next thing I remember I was on my own and crawling through the snow on the tarmac. The ground was freezing, I was soaked, but at my back, was this tremendous heat. I think my clothes were on fire and the smoke was blinding and choking me. There was another explosion and I couldn’t crawl any more. I lay there waiting to die.’

  He paused and took a breath. ‘Next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital, thrashing about and shouting.’

  She hid a shudder. He needed gentle encouragement, not shocked reactions. ‘What happened to the others?’

  ‘I only know what I was told because most of that night has vanished. It’s a hole, a nothingness, and, no matter how hard I try to remember what happened, I find a vacuum. I must have been unconscious for a time, or I’ve blanked it out, or both.’ He sipped his whisky. ‘Three of the crew managed to escape with minor injuries, but not Catriona. She was the one who stayed, undid the straps on the stretcher and helped me to the door. I heard later that she went back to check the pilot had got out safely. I guess in the smoke and chaos, she wasn’t sure. The helicopter exploded while she was inside and …’ He had to stop. He rested his glass in his palm. ‘She died instantly.’

  ‘I’m so very sorry,’ Marina murmured.

  ‘She was a fantastic woman; her death was a terrible loss for her family and for all of us. She was engaged to be married to another member of the MRT team …’

  So, here it was; the deeper grief he’d been hiding all this time and the thing that was keeping him from moving forward. She had been afraid to hear the truth but had needed to. ‘I’m very sorry … But you can’t blame yourself.’

  He looked at her as if she’d asked him if the earth travelled around the sun. ‘Of course I blame myself. At the end of the day, it was my fault we were in the helicopter at all – my carelessness. If I hadn’t fallen, the crew wouldn’t have had to come back for me. No one can tell me otherwise, and they have tried. Time has gone by and I’ll accept it one day, so they tell me.’ He met her gaze. ‘Maybe I al
ready am starting to look at things through new eyes. Like you say, the “what ifs” are pointless, and they can never bring Catriona back, but I’m only so far down the road.’

  ‘You’ll get there … or most of the way.’

  ‘Aye.’ He knocked back the remains of his whisky. ‘Whatever happens in the future, all I know is that I’m finished with the RAF and Mountain Rescue. Once I’d recovered physically, I went back to work, but I couldn’t stand being around the base every day. So I ran away.’

  Marina had lost the taste for her drink, however nice it was. All her focus was on listening to Lachlan.

  ‘It’s very tough to stay in a place that’s caused you such heartbreak,’ she said.

  ‘And yet you stayed here in Porthmellow. You even chose to open the station overlooking the scene of Nate’s disappearance. You didn’t run away.’

  ‘That was my way of making sense of what happened. Believe me, some people thought it was the wrong thing to do, macabre even. My parents worried I was fixated on his loss and on that spot in the cove. I probably was – possibly still am – but that was my way of dealing with it. Except it wasn’t a loss, not really. There was never closure – until I opened the station. Ironically that gave me comfort and helped me to accept that he could never have survived being out in that sea for long.’

  He gave a nod of shared understanding that she found comforting. ‘There was no chance of Catriona coming back. I knew she’d gone forever. After I returned to the base, every time I saw or heard the helicopters, I’d break out in a sweat and I couldn’t face going back to the MRT. Before Christmas, I begged the CO for a medical discharge and eventually, she agreed. So –’ he held out his hands ‘– here I am at the other end of the UK. Thanks to Aaron, that is.’