Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun

by Samantha Tonge

  Izzy smiled. But not one of her normal smiles. It had a hint of smugness to it as if she knew something I didn’t. Last time she’d worn it she’d snagged me a party booking, singing at a silver wedding anniversary bash, by praising my talents to one of the customers.

  ‘What?’

  Izzy cleared her voice. ‘Next week. You know I’ve been feeling restless.’

  I nodded. Donuts & Daiquiris earned more than my boss could have ever imagined and now Izzy, being a straight-A student, needed a new challenge. She’d been university material but couldn’t ignore her passion for food and now those grey cells clearly needed stretching some more.

  ‘I’ve decided this place needs a makeover. Plus, I need to take a trip—to get inspired by food. I’m thinking of expanding the menu.’

  ‘Wow. When did you decide all this?’

  ‘A couple of weeks ago. I didn’t want to say much in case I couldn’t book everything in time, but I’ve managed to find a decorator who gets my new concept, and found a last-minute holiday deal online—I’ve booked a gold lodge at a spa resort. Quite a bargain it was, for a summer booking.’

  ‘So, no work for two weeks from next Monday?’

  ‘You’ll get paid of course.’

  My smile widened. ‘Well, that is a good piece of news. It’ll give me chance to carry on looking for a new place and, while I’m disappointed about the Stanley Hotel, I’m determined to find another regular gig. Plus—’

  ‘Or—’ her eyes sparked ‘—come with me, Kate. You deserve a treat. ‘

  I gasped. ‘Izzy, that’s really kind, but I couldn’t possibly afford to share the rent.’

  Izzy folded her arms. ‘When I say a treat, I mean exactly that—my shout. All you’d need is spending money. I’ll drive.’

  ‘Izzy, that is so kind, but—’

  ‘Go on … even if it’s just for one of the weeks. And, if you don’t find a flat in time, when you get back, you can move in with me.’

  ‘I don’t need charity,’ I said and folded my arms. ‘I appreciate the offer but—’

  ‘Kate Golightly! Lose the pride! I’m your friend. You could stay with me permanently for all I care—but a few weeks, that’s not charity, it’s just a mate being a mate.’

  I thought for a moment and then grinned. ‘OK.’

  ‘And you deserve a holiday. We both do. Plus, I’d enjoy the company.’

  We stared at each other.

  ‘It’ll be fun,’ she said softly. ‘Saunas, facials, walks—it’s just what we both need. The outdoor life. Plus …’ Her eyes sparked more strongly, like a poker player who knew his hand of cards couldn’t be beaten. ‘All your Poldark talk got me thinking and I figured there is nowhere more inspiring for food, in Britain, than the South-west, what with pasties, scones, ice cream, fudge, and the White Rocks holiday resort just happens to be really close to … Port Penny!’

  My heart raced. ‘Guvnah! Oh my days!’ A comforting chat with her was just what I needed. We’d not seen each other since Christmas. ‘Oh, Izzy, really?’

  She nodded.

  My mind raced and I clapped my hands. ‘You know what else this means?’

  Izzy chuckled. ‘You seem almost more excited at the prospect of a holiday than me.’

  ‘Yes! Because this break couldn’t have come at a better time. It gives me the perfect opportunity to meet a genuine Cornish Poldark. All it will take is a few days scouting fishing villages or—’

  ‘For goodness’ sake.’ Izzy gave a belly laugh and shook her head. ‘And there was me thinking you were simply so thrilled about going away with a good mate.’

  ‘No. Yes. I mean of course.’ I felt my face break into a huge grin. ‘The best of mates.’

  ‘Here’s the brochure,’ said Izzy and pushed a catalogue across the table.

  I grabbed it and my eyes devoured the photos of cliffs and seashores and romantic skylines. I pictured them in my mind as I drove home, a couple of mock Mojitos later, having phoned my very excited gran.

  The earlier heaviness in my chest had lifted. Good friends meant everything. I was one lucky woman. And hopefully by the end of two weeks in Cornwall, I’d be even luckier and would have bagged one authentic hot guy with dark brooding looks and a killer seductive smile to bring women to their knees.

  CHAPTER 4

  ‘Wow,’ I mumbled, as we drove into White Rocks resort.

  ‘Looks great, doesn’t it?’ said Izzy and shot me a sideways smile from the driving seat.

  I loved her Beetle car, with a bobbing pink rubber flower stuck to the keyboard. Katy Perry blared out from the CD player and a sherbet-scented air freshener swung in time, dangling from the driving mirror.

  I smiled back. ‘Can you tell it’s a while since I’ve been on holiday? These bags under my eyes are because I couldn’t get to sleep last night for imagining coastal walks, pasties and ice creams. Talking of bags, what on earth have you packed? I’ve brought one black Speedo swimsuit, compared to your three fluorescent bikinis. Plus a few pairs of pedal pushers and—’

  ‘No one calls them that any more!’

  I chuckled. ‘OK, three-quarter length trousers, plus some T-shirts and a couple of dresses—how many have you brought?’

  Her cheeks tinged pink. ‘Almost as many as my different pairs of sunglasses.’

  We both laughed and I gazed around the resort. A girlie break in the sunny South-west? Bring it on … Cute lodges. Greenery. A spa signposted in the distance. So far this holiday park was living up to the brochure, except … I peered closer at one accommodation as we drove by. It could have done with a lick of paint. The decking at the front was worn and the surrounding grass needed a mow. Not that it bothered me—I was just grateful for the vacation—but it surprised me, seeing as White Rocks marketed itself as de luxe. And the cars parked outside each lodge weren’t the BMWs and Audis I’d been expecting, but old family saloons and budget hatchbacks.

  We parked up outside reception and a group of parents and young screaming kids bustled past, carrying inflatables and towels.

  ‘I thought this place was for adults only?’ I said.

  Izzy switched off the ignition and gave a big yawn. ‘I know. Weird. It was advertised as luxury online, although I did think the price was a bit low.’ She pulled the brochure out of the glove compartment, turned to the right page and squinted at some small print. ‘Ah.’

  ‘What is it?’

  She shrugged. ‘Something about the possibility of the park being at the beginning of a rebranding period.’

  ‘Who cares—it’s a holiday, right?’

  ‘Absolutely! As long as we still have a hot tub.’

  We jumped out of the car and both stretched as if we were about to compete in the Olympics. Izzy headed off to the reception to check in, whilst I decided to take a look around. She entered a huge white building, with the spa and pool signposted in its right-hand side wing. The left of it housed a restaurant called … I squinted at a sign: ‘Fisherman’s Delight’. Swatting away a fly, I headed up a path, with lodges either side, and eventually came to a nine-hole golf course—at least that’s what the sign said. It should have said rabbit sanctuary, as the sweetest fudge-coloured bunnies hopped around. You could hardly see the putting greens as the grass everywhere was so long it sashayed in the breeze. I gazed into the distance, at dipping and rising hills. A group of swallows swept across, near a flag, and I walked forward to get a closer look.

  ‘’Ey,’ said a loud voice. ‘That area is out of bounds, r-right.’

  Ooh. A strong, sexy Cornish accent. Rolled ‘r’s made me break out in a sweat. And if the loud assistant at the petrol station was anything to go by, Cornish men thought most people were deaf.

  I turned. Out of the bushes appeared a frowning man, around my age, wearing beige chinos and a tight red shirt. Gosh. I swallowed. For some reason his appearance made an impact. Was it the toned arms that held a pair of garden shears as he walked up to me? Perhaps he’d used them on his head, I thoug
ht, as his fawn brown hair was shaved shorter than the hair on my legs. Cheeks hot, I forced my arms to stay vertical, as I experienced a sudden desire to run a hand over his short hair and around the back of his neck. My eyes scoured his solid frame, which looked kind of reliable. Something about his stance, the line of his jaw, shouted that he’d be there for you, in an emergency. And those leaf-green eyes … once I met them I found it impossible to turn away.

  We stared at each other, with intense eye contact. It wasn’t awkward nor embarrassing. And the oddest sensation washed over me. As if I knew this person. Or understood him. Or, somehow had a deep connection.

  I know. Stupid. And, at the sight of me, his expressionless face didn’t look fazed.

  ‘Apologies,’ I said and smiled, finally managing to avert my gaze. I pointed to the sky. ‘I just wanted a closer look at the swallows.’

  ‘Not swallows,’ he said. ‘Try ’ouse martins. Their forked tails are shorter.’

  ‘Ah … and there’s me thinking you only found albatrosses and eagles on golf courses,’ I said, quite proud of my sporting pun and loving the way he dropped that ‘h’.

  Still expressionless, he walked forward and pointed to a sign: ‘Golf course out-of-bounds due to ongoing renovation work’. ‘Those party shoes of yours would cause divets, or dents at least, in the turf. You’ll do better ’ere if you keep to sensible footwear.’

  My cheeks flushed. Party wear? Um, no, these were just my favourite platform sandals of the moment to give my legs a bit of height. I gazed at him, in his soily slim-legged trousers and walkers’ boots, then down at my strappy shoes and baggy patterned harem pants. Our style couldn’t have been more different.

  ‘It just needs a good mow from what I can tell,’ I said, accidentally thinking out loud. I read his name badge: Tremain Maddock.

  ‘And you be an expert on all things ’orticultural?’

  Oh. What a shame. His rudeness quickly overrode his curious wow factor.

  ‘I own indoor plants,’ I said airily. ‘And you don’t need a degree in biology to know how to keep a lawn short. Rabbits alone won’t do the job.’

  ‘Really? And there’s me coming over all Snow White, thinking that birds and critters would do my work.’

  His mouth twitched and I couldn’t decide if that was sarcasm or a joke.

  ‘No. Above all you need time,’ he continued. ‘And that costs money when you’ve lodges to keep clean and entrance ways to keep smart.’ He pointed to a crisp packet on the ground. ‘That yours?’

  ‘Excuse me, I’m no litterbug,’ I said and folded my arms.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘And I resent you—’

  ‘Please. Don’t,’ he muttered, as if … he was already the most resented person in the world.

  He broke eye contact and picked up the packet, before heading back in the direction of the reception building. I had to force myself to stay rooted to the spot, in order to fight an overwhelming urge to rush over and wrap my arms around those broad shoulders.

  I shook myself. Well, I couldn’t see what damage it would do, just to have a tiny walk forwards and look at those sweeping, beautiful birds. Plus, I thought I saw one of the bunnies limping and my soft centre would allow me to leave until I’d checked that it was OK.

  ‘Oi!’ called that voice again, as I took a step in the forbidden direction. I turned around.

  ‘I told you. Keep off that grass.’

  ‘Look, I just want to check on one rabbit. It looked as if it had sprained its foot.’

  ‘And if it ’ad, what would you do? Catch it? Impossible. So scare the lot for the sake of a pointless mission? Plus, they’d all look the same once they scattered.’

  ‘Cold or what?’ I muttered under my breath.

  He flinched. ‘No. Just practical. Sometimes you have to act for the good of the majority, even if that means sacrificing an individual.’

  I should have felt like laughing at such a dramatic statement, but the way his top lip quivered made me stop. Within seconds, his deadpan face returned.

  ‘Anyway, what’s the big deal?’ My mouth upturned, more and more curious about him and therefore determined to get a reaction. ‘Management will never know.’

  ‘I am management,’ he muttered.

  ‘In that get-up?’ I gazed at his grass-stained top. ‘Don’t get me wrong—I couldn’t care less what anyone wears, what I do care about is people lying.’

  He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then shook his head and stalked off.

  ‘Jeez! No wonder this place is struggling with that level of customer service,’ I said to Izzy later, in our gold lodge. And worth its weight in gold it was, to me, with the pine furnishings, lush green view and cute floral curtains. OK, so the kitchen worktops were chipped and the sofa was just a bit too squishy, but it was a little bit of heaven for someone, like me, whose last holiday had been a weekend in Blackpool three years ago, in a creaky caravan, with an elder sister and three adorable but super-active small nieces.

  ‘And what sort of name is Tremain?’ I said as I lay across the sofa. Izzy was in the kitchen area, putting away the last of the food. I’d carried our suitcases into the rooms and hung up Johnny’s heart wind spinner above my bed. From the first moment I’d met him, Johnny had been nothing but polite and attentive. Not qualities I was used to after my bustling childhood. One-to-ones were rare with anyone I loved. The most time I had with Mum was when she took me to the dentist. I smiled. Yet, truth be told, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Oh, I loved my independence now but my memory bank was stocked full with happy images, of Christmases full of hugs and laughter.

  Yet Mum always drilled into me one thing: never rely on anyone else. Unexpected tears sprung to my eyes. What a great lesson, which had steered my way through life—until Johnny, my one and only serious boyfriend. I’d come to depend on him for that sparkle in life. And then he left one night, to fetch me a takeaway, and fate decided he should never come back. I gazed at the wind spinner. Oh, Johnny. I miss you. I’d sacrifice anything to feel your warm breath against my neck, one more time. I gave a wry smile. Hardly romantic was it, that my last words to him were ‘make mine a large portion of chicken tikka’.

  Forcing my attention to switch, I flicked through the information pack, mentally noting the opening times of the pool and spa. I sat more upright, scanning lots of handy details about fishing villages in the area.

  ‘Tremain?’ said Izzy. ‘It’s Cornish. He must be the son. This is a family-run place. His mum, Kensa Maddock, handed me the keys.’

  My cheeks burned. So, he was management. ‘What about the dad?’ I said.

  ‘Dunno. Wasn’t mentioned. Perhaps he up and left.’

  ‘Why?’

  Izzy came over and sat on a nearby armchair, smoothing down her banana-milkshake yellow skirt. ‘The stress? Kensa apologised for the rundown appearance of the resort—said that’s why the price was lower than usual. Apparently the place’s bookings have really plummeted in the last few years, with people either struggling financially and choosing cheaper holidays, or doing all right and going abroad. She said White Rocks seemed to fail to bridge the gap. They have one year to turn things around.’ Izzy shook her head. ‘You should see her—such deep rings under her eyes and as thin as a cocktail stick. She said they are trying to appeal to the budget family market and next week, with August arriving, they’ll have their first full-paying guests with children. The ones here at the moment won a competition, to stay here for free but give feedback.’

  ‘But that’s mad—it still looks like a couples’ site to me. Where is the fun cafeteria, or ball-play area, or crazy golf site?’ I’d spent enough holidays on cheap caravan sites as a child to know what was needed for a fab family break when money was tight. Who needed foreign sun if the resort had children’s entertainment, a fun pool and plenty of drinks?

  Izzy took off her pumps and rubbed her feet. ‘Apparently her accountant and the bank dropped the bombshell only a fe
w weeks ago—that things were so bad.’ Izzy smiled. ‘I really liked Kensa. She seems honest. Upfront. Hoped we’d enjoy our stay, despite any building work going on or noisier, younger guests.’

  ‘Yes, well, you make sure you do take a break, Izzy. I really appreciate this holiday. Leave the cooking to me. I’ll drive us everywhere if you want. Do any washing …’

  ‘Me? Take it easy?’

  I grinned. ‘’True. Mission impossible.’

  ‘It’s enough to have your company,’ she said. ‘Anyway, you can return the favour when you’re a famous singer—I’m thinking a cruise in the Bahamas or shopping in LA.’

  ‘Dream on!’ I gazed back at the laminated information pack. ‘It says in there that the park belonged to her parents. That must make the place harder to give up. Still, we all have stresses. There’s no need for her son to be quite so rude.’ I glanced out of the window, as a random cloud offered a brief respite from the sun. The plan was to unpack and then head to the resort’s restaurant, as a treat after our long, sticky, journey south. My shout, of course. Perhaps we’d enjoy a couple of cool beers. Much as I loved cocktails, it was nice sometimes to drink something simpler. Although I’m not sure whether alcohol went with an all-day breakfast, the meal Izzy was obsessing about since the receptionist mentioned it. Apparently, the resort’s cooked breakfast was legendary and making it available all day was the chef’s first baby step towards tweaking his highfalutin menu to give it a broader appeal.

  As if on cue, my stomach rumbled and I tapped away on the laptop, planning tomorrow’s trip to Port Penny, the first fishing village on my list to check out for any signs of a local Poldark. Gulls squawked outside. We’d left the lodge’s door open to catch the evening breeze. I yawned. How did fresh salty air always manage to act like a tranquilliser?

  ‘His only redeeming feature was the sexiest Southwest accent,’ I said in a loud voice to Izzy, who’d disappeared into her bedroom. ‘Even if he used it to accuse me of dropping litter.’