Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun

by Samantha Tonge

  I lay under the duvet and stared up at Johnny’s red heart wind spinner, hanging from the ceiling. My eyes tingled and I reached for my phone. As I had done a hundred times since his fateful car accident, I clicked on his Facebook profile and then ‘message’.

  Oh, Johnny. Will I ever find a man to replace you? I typed. Yet I didn’t press send. I didn’t send self-indulgent, desperate messages like that any more, even though those words still popped into my head. Although I still secretly flicked through his Facebook photo albums and read his posts.

  Sad? Maybe a little, but it made his death just slightly less brutal, to feel that he was still in my life—even though, within days of his funeral, his belongings were picked up—his favourite denim shirt, those silly Minion socks, the sexy boxer shorts … Although I hid his leather jacket and only very occasionally now, I slipped it on and imagined my arms were his, around my waist.

  Goodness, I sound totally bonkers. I’m not. It’s just been hard, having all this love to give and it not being reciprocated. I inhaled and exhaled, heart feeling lighter than usual as I remembered Tremain’s understated excitement at our brainstorming session. And I ignored the little voice in my head asking, What, you’ll never, ever replace Johnny? Really? And who exactly are you trying to convince of that?

  CHAPTER 7

  After a sleepless night, I opened my eyes. Sunrays streamed through a gap in the curtains. I stared at the ceiling and diverted my gaze to the red wind spinner. It spun fast, which gave the impression that it pulsated. I smiled. Johnny used to thump his chest after we kissed, saying that my mouth must have a direct line to his heart. The spinner moved faster. Odd. It didn’t usually move indoors. Then I noticed that my bedroom door was open. I placed my feet on the cool, wooden laminate floor and headed into the lounge. Izzy had opened the outside door and sat on the doorstep. She held a mug and, in her polka dot short PJs, yawned and squinted up at the sky.

  ‘Another beautiful day,’ I said.

  She turned around, came in and, hair spiky from sleep, collapsed onto the sofa. ‘The water’s warm in the kettle and I wouldn’t say no to a slice of toast if you are making some.’

  We grinned and, quietly singing ‘Walking On Sunshine’, I did as requested. Izzy always took a couple of hours to fully wake up.

  ‘You not eating?’ she said, as I sat down beside her, with just a drink for myself.

  ‘No, I’m on a diet.’

  She raised one eyebrow and I chuckled. As if.

  ‘If you must know, I have a breakfast meeting with Tremain, to discuss the resort’s rebranding,’ I said with faux importance.

  ‘Ah yes. Sounds like you have a lot to pull together. Are Geoff and Guvnah coming across?’

  ‘Later. Tremain invited them for dinner to meet his mum and finalise any decisions. You should have seen Geoff’s face at the prospect of running his snack van again. Although my gran reckons its engine will need an overhaul as he hasn’t driven it for months.’

  ‘What is he going to sell? Hot dogs, burgers?’

  I nodded. ‘And Tremain is going to approach the restaurant’s chef today about doing a major overhaul on the menu, instead of a tweak. Apparently, Lucas—that’s his name—has been resisting removing all of the fancier dishes, but after this last disastrous week he’ll have little choice.’

  ‘Tremain’s the boss. He will have to insist.’

  ‘He would have earlier but said he has been trying to reach a compromise. Says he offered Lucas a good reference if he wanted to look for work elsewhere—understood that Lucas may not want to downgrade his skills. But apparently the chef has been trying to find a Michelin-starred job elsewhere for a while, with no success due to the recession.’ I shrugged. ‘Tremain seems like a fair boss but I guess he’s finally decided enough is enough.’

  ‘They could do with a mini Donuts & Daiquiris! That would really jolly up the place.’

  I swallowed the wrong way and, coughing, set my mug on the oak coffee table. I stared at Izzy.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she said.

  ‘Izzy … say that again.’

  Her brow furrowed. ‘They could to with a mini Donuts & Daiquiris.’

  ‘Genius! You are absolutely right. A corner of that big, airy-fairy restaurant should be turned into a cocktail area for selling your products. If the left-hand side was somehow cornered off, as a temporary fix, you’d have a good portion of the bar. Kids and adults love doughnuts— they’re fun, cheap and easy to eat on the go or after a swim in the pool. Those pizza ones you created would go down a treat. Their squishy dough and crisp, grilled savoury topping are to die for.’

  ‘Well, they are really just cheese and tomato,’ said Izzy, trance-like as if absorbing my words. ‘It’s all in the marketing, you know.’

  ‘And come night-time, cocktails brighten up any evening,’ I continued. ‘They too have the fun factor, yet feel like a little holiday indulgence, for a reasonable price, and kids can still come in with their parents for soft drinks. What’s more—’

  ‘Kate, slow down, this is mad—what exactly are you suggesting?’

  I clasped my hands together. ‘Isn’t it obvious? Why didn’t we think of this before? You’ve been looking for a new challenge and I don’t think simply redecorating your business and diversifying the menu is going to do it. Forget two weeks of researching Cornish fare such as ice cream and fudge. The challenge you need, my very bright friend, is to expand the whole business.’

  Izzy sat more upright.

  ‘Set up a chain of Donuts & Daiquiris,’ I continued. ‘A small branch here could be an experiment for you - a trial run.’

  ‘You’re crazy!’ But Izzy put down her toast, only half eaten, crossed her legs and ran a hand through her hair. ‘Me. Run a chain of café-bars. Employ managers. Or eventually sell franchises …’

  ‘Why not? Think big!’

  ‘I’m no Richard Branson. No entrepreneur. I’m just a girl who likes cocktails and doughnuts.’

  I moved forward to perch on the edge of the sofa. ‘Izzy, you are the cleverest, most hard-working, inventive person I know. Today is Wednesday. With my help, of course, you’ve got until Monday to set things up.’

  ‘Impossible!’ she spluttered.

  My face ached, I was smiling so much. ‘Nonsense. Guvnah could paint you a sign—you can show her the logo from your phone. Then it would just be a matter of ordering in glasses and alcohol … plus, you have the whole weekend to bake the first batches of doughnuts. I’d go with you to the wholesalers to pick up the ingredients. Obviously the furniture and decor would be a bit makeshift but …’

  ‘Kate, this is all going too fast,’ she said, and laughed. But she stood up. Paced the room. ‘I guess the menus would be easy enough to put together and print out. Plus, I could contact Mum and ask her to pop into work for me and send us aprons and other branded bits, like the paper napkins.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know …’

  ‘Why? You’re excited, no?’

  ‘Yes, I mean … You’re right, this could be just the challenge I’ve been looking for. If Donuts & Daiquiris was a success here I could sell the idea to another holiday resort.’

  ‘Exactly! What have you got to lose? You said yourself that you’ve just got money sitting in the bank, trade has been so good. You haven’t got a mortgage, you’re single—’

  ‘Thanks for reminding me of that,’ Izzy said and, eyes twinkling, she stopped walking around to lean against a kitchen unit.

  ‘And you haven’t got kids,’ I said, ignoring her. ‘This is the perfect time for you to develop your business.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘Look, why don’t you come with me to breakfast and pitch your idea to Tremain?’

  Cue the difference between arty me and logical Izzy …

  ‘I don’t think so! I need at least a day to put together a proper business plan. I must forecast profits, ring a few suppliers, find out what really is possible before Monday, in terms of setting up a mini branch. I would need to use the re
sort’s kitchens to bake …’

  ‘Mere details,’ I muttered, begrudgingly. ‘OK. Then come to the dinner tonight.’

  She came over to the sofa, sat down and gave me a tight hug. ‘You are brilliant, if a little bonkers—I haven’t felt this pumped up for months.’

  I stood up and took a bow. ‘Right. This brainstormer better get ready. Tremain and an all-day breakfast await me.’

  ‘Brainstormer? A right little super trouper you mean.’

  Swaying side to side, we both sang a few lines of our favourite ABBA song.

  Izzy looked sideways at me, as I finally made a move to get changed. It had gone half past eight.

  ‘So, this Tremain … he isn’t as bad as we both thought?’

  My mouth felt unexpectedly dry and annoyingly, as I didn’t know the reason, my cheeks burned. ‘He’s OK. Not much to say, but Guvnah insists he’s a decent bloke.’ I shrugged. ‘Guess he’s kind of interesting. He’s like a book that has just the title on the cover, with no picture or blurb, and it takes a while of reading before you get a sense of the story. The Life and Times of Tremain Maddock: struggling holiday resort manager.’ I shrugged again. ‘Dunno. I just get the feeling there’s a lot more to him than he lets on. Not that I’m interested. I’m only helping him because it’s fun to work on a project and spend time with my gran.’

  Izzy stared at me for a moment, then simply nodded and picked up her cold toast.

  That was the great thing about best friends. They knew when not to say the obvious. Ten minutes later, I stood under the shower, steaming water cascading over my head and shoulders. You see, the obvious was that Tremain was the first man I’d spent more than five minutes with for the last ten months. Apart from my Poldark date, Marcus, and author, Trevor. For the first six months, anyone of the opposite sex didn’t even register in my vision. Then, slowly, when out with Izzy, I might have noticed a hot guy and on the surface been able to join in with a giggle or appreciative comment. But up until now, no one had remotely caught my attention. Not that I was intrigued by Tremain in that way. It was just another case of Kate being curious.

  And curious I was, as I arrived at Fisherman’s Delight (soon to be Rocky’s Roadhouse) and saw him waiting, by a table. He glanced at his watch and pursed his lips. To the right sat a couple wearing smart tailored clothes in, ooh, their mid-fifties. His face was hidden behind a broadsheet newspaper. Her made-up face looked positively miserable as she stared at the kitchen hatch. A perfect ten, with dyed brown hair and manicured nails, the only giveaway to her age were the lines on her face. A smoker perhaps.

  ‘Have you been waiting long?’ I asked as we sat down—as I tried to ignore how his round-necked T-shirt clung to the outline of subtly developed pecs.

  ‘No. Only ten minutes.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I drive Mum mad, always turning up to appointments early. But punctuality has been drilled into me since …’ He swallowed and sat down.

  Since what? Being a kid? Perhaps it was something to do with his dad.

  He passed me a menu and I grinned. ‘No need for that. I already know what I’m having—it’s the all-day breakfast for me.’

  ‘Good idea. While Lucas isn’t always the easiest employer to work with, nothing beats that dish of his.’ He closed his menu. ‘Mum will be along in about half an hour. She’s just had to call out the pool maintenance people. Something is clogging up one of the drains, so it is.’

  Greg, the young waiter Izzy liked, came over.

  ‘Two all-day breakfasts,’ said Tremain. ‘And coffee?’ He glanced my way and I nodded.

  ‘No kippers for me though, thank you,’ I said, and pulled a face.

  Tremain’s mouth quirked up. ‘Not a fish fan? It’s a super-food, you know—all those oils. Good for the brain.’

  ‘As I demonstrated yesterday, my brain is in perfect working order. It takes a lot of grey matter to come up with the concept of a rabbit called Rocky.’

  He gave me the widest smile yet and my stomach kind of tickled inside. I fought an urge to reach across the table and squeeze his arm. I tried to break eye contact, but couldn’t, as we started to go over the plans we’d made yesterday. My eyes felt compelled to soak him up as if they had dried out from not seeing anything as pleasing for a long time. When our meals arrived, Tremain passed me the mustard and briefly out fingers touched. My heart raced. I … I didn’t understand why. Especially when he polished his cutlery first, with a napkin—that was seriously messed up!

  I dived straight into the tangerine pile of baked beans. Mmm. Yummy. And then … Oh dear. A sneeze started. I grabbed a napkin in time and afterwards winced as my cheekbone hurt. Tremain studied me and leant forward, brushing his thumb across my skin. As he did so, my insides kind of … melted.

  Oh my days. How could such a sensible, sober, practical-looking guy have such a sensuous touch?

  ‘Should feel back to normal in a few days,’ he said, as if world expert on injuries.

  I nodded and cleared my throat. ‘Your mum …’ I managed to avoid his eyes for a second and put down my fork. ‘Have you explained the gist of what we discussed yesterday? Does she agree?’

  In between mouthfuls of crispy bacon and runny egg yolk, he explained how relieved—how grateful—Kensa had seemed, now that the resort might possibly have some sort of plan.

  I finally swallowed the last delicious mouthful of crunch fried bread. ‘Hmm. That was heavenly.’

  ‘Perhaps you could tell our chef, if I call him out of the kitchen. I’m trying to get him in a good mood before running some more new menu ideas past him—and he did agree to cook for us this morning, even though he’s flat out getting things ready for the formal launch next week.’

  ‘Sure.’ I jerked my head towards the smart couple who still weren’t talking to each other. ‘Are they firsttime guests as well, like me and Izzy? She doesn’t look very happy. Perhaps they didn’t read the small print when booking, about the resort not being completely up and running until Monday.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. The Peppards have come here every summer for the last three years. They get on very well with the staff. They asked to come as usual—I explained the changes and that catering and housekeeping facilities wouldn’t be running as normal until the launch, now that the trial guests have left, but they weren’t bothered. Mr Peppard owns a few golf courses in and around London and loves visiting courses in the South-west—says they are some of the prettiest in the world. Said he understood that the resort wouldn’t be firing on all cylinders while we made lastminute preparations. As it is, Lucas will probably be available to cook most of the time as he is spending the next few days in the kitchens, trialling new dishes.’

  ‘You should ask Mr Peppard to renovate your golf course,’ I said and half smiled.

  Tremain gave a wry smile back. ‘I’m not sure ours ranks highly in his mind, without a driving range and clubhouse.’

  ‘Or putting greens that you can actually see,’ I said coyly and cocked my head.

  Tremain grinned, called over Greg and asked him to go get Lucas, while I swallowed the fact that I, Kate Golightly, for the first time in for ever, had just flirted with a man. An image of the wind spinner flashed into my mind, but only fleetingly. It was soon replaced by the sight of Tremain’s soft mouth talking, as he chatted about his golf course and how he might set it up as a more fun crazy-golf activity.

  I listened intently, as his plans made sense. Most families coming here would have children too young to play an adult game.

  ‘You haven’t got any brothers or sisters?’ I found myself asking.

  He shook his head.

  ‘That’s a shame. I mean, it would have been an extra person to share the load of turning this place around.’

  Tremain shrugged. ‘No guarantee of that, though—take me, I haven’t always worked here. It was only a year ago that I came back here from …’ A muscle flinched in his cheek and I leant forwards.

  ‘From where?’ I murmured and my stomach scr
unched as his eyes turned dull, like those of an animal that had just been shot.

  ‘The army,’ he mumbled.

  I raised my eyebrows. The Armed Forces? Tremain? Of course. With his super-short hair, athletic body and words he used—like saying ‘the best managers get down with the lower ranks’ and ‘this is a holiday resort, not a war zone’. Then there was his obvious punctuality and the way he polished his cutlery. And that air of physical capability.

  ‘Why did you leave?’ I said, instinctively knowing to use gentle tones.

  He stared at me for a moment. Swallowed. Took a deep breath and opened his mouth just as the kitchen door swung open. I glanced up and a man walked towards us, black curls bobbing, tight jeans showing beneath a white waist apron. He turned to look at the smartly dressed woman. The cut of the denim accentuated rugby player thighs. The top two buttons of a white shirt were open and revealed a taut, hairy tanned chest.

  My eyes widened and in my mind played the Marvin Gaye song ‘Let’s Get It On’, as the chef’s gait seemed to go to slow motion, raven hair moving up and down with each step. He caught my eye. Wow. Smouldering charcoal irises with a hint of dirty intent. Chiselled cheekbones. Louche stubble. A strong, teasing mouth. Golden skin. An eyebrow raised as if enjoying a private joke.

  Poldark … Poldark had been living at White Rocks all this time, just metres away from me. He stopped by our table and I almost dropped my cup of coffee. Miracles did happen. My fictional hero existed right here, in Port Penny.

  CHAPTER 8

  ‘I thought I might actually die with excitement,’ I said to Izzy, as we both put the finishing touches to each other’s make-up—for Izzy that meant me applying an extra slash of glitter pink lipgloss to her mouth. For me she had to dab on a smidge more face powder and subtle brown eye shadow. I glanced in my compact mirror and gave her the thumbs-up. ‘He looks exactly like Poldark,’ I continued, ‘with that fit physique, the brooding, undressing-you eyes. The only difference is he has a smooth London accent.’ We were getting ready for dinner with Tremain, Kensa, Guvnah and Geoff. Izzy carried a folder of paperwork. She’d been busy all day, putting together graphs of profit projections and goodness knows what.