I hopped from foot to foot and turned around again. Where was Tremain? He’d know if a member of staff or anyone else had been living in this chalet. Yet it was early evening and unlikely that someone was in there fast asleep. Unless they’d been drinking and passed out or collapsed due to illness.
I squinted and tried to see into the lounge, but smoke now obscured all the windows, with the occasional flicker of orange. I groaned, agreeing with my conscience—and my curiosity—that there was only one course of action now. I ran back to my chalet and, with fumbling hands, unlocked the front door. I threw my clutch bag on the floor and grabbed a tea towel, before running it under the kitchen tap. Within a couple of minutes I was back by the other chalet. Deep breaths. Then I covered my face with the wet tea towel and pulled open the front door. I stood back for a few seconds, to let smoke escape.
‘Anyone there?’ I hollered.
No response.
Flames licked walls on the left and mostly came from the sofa. I squinted again. Ow. My eyes stung. Crouching down, I entered. The chalet looked empty. I could see no personal belongings. Nevertheless, I had to check and, heart racing, headed for the bedrooms at the back. There the air cleared a little and I flung open two doors. All the beds were empty and not even made up. Thank goodness for that.
Chest tight and wheezy, I spun around and my stomach twisted. Flames had spread across, to the middle of the lounge. I swallowed, mouth feeling dry and scratchy, even though it was behind the wet tea towel. I gave a raspy cough that reminded me of my chain-smoking granddad. What if a flame caught my top? Or my hair? From head to toe I was highly flammable. Why oh why had I splashed myself all over with perfume? And there was now no way I could exit the way I’d come in.
I froze to the spot. Here I was alone with the gods. Alone with my mortality. Had I made good use of my life? Wasted it? Spent it wisely? Would many people miss me?
I shouted out, but my voice just gave a squeak and I realised my whole body shook. I stepped forward and could just see Tremain out of the window, on my left. We caught each other’s eye before the smoke bellowed between us. A voice yelled, ‘Step back.’ Eyes watering, I returned to the bedrooms.
Crash. Glass shattered. Gulping with panic, I made my way back to the lounge, by feeling the walls, as it stung my eyes to try to focus. I remembered something I’d read about keeping near the floor if you were in a fire. Feeling hotter than I had at any time during the humid summer, I crouched down and slowly kept moving on my knees. A blistering sensation against my face reminded me of childhood Guy Fawkes Nights and getting told off for standing too close to bonfires.
‘Kate! Kate, where are you?’ called a strong Cornish accent. Tremain. Thank you, thank you. And, immediately, for no rational reason, I felt completely safe.
I pulled away the tea towel. ‘Here! By the bathroom. I’m on the floor,’ I croaked.
Within seconds, strong hands slid under my armpits and hauled me up. An arm swept under my legs and Tremain carried me easily towards the left-hand smashed window. Breaking glass scrunched under his feet. Lucas stood outside and stretched his arms forward, inky eyes wide. Tremain passed me through the hole to him. Moments later, I lay on the grass, surrounded by the two men, Izzy, Geoff, Guvnah, Kensa and Maria.
I rolled onto my side and coughed violently.
‘Back off, everyone, give her some space,’ said Tremain. I looked up. Charcoal smudges streaked his face. Gently, he sat me up and pushed an open bottle of water to my lips. ‘What on earth were you thinking of,’ he said gently.
I wiped my mouth and gulped, suppressed a sob and tried to control my shaking shoulders.
‘She’s in shock,’ muttered Izzy.
‘Brave Bella,’ said Maria.
‘She could have got herself killed,’ muttered Tremain.
‘I thought someone was in there,’ I said and heard a siren in the distance.
‘No point saving someone, if you are only going to get yourself or someone else killed in the process.’ He looked at me with eyes that momentarily expressed a chink of injured depths.
‘It was a split-second decision,’ I said and coughed again, tears running down my face.
‘And what about the people you left behind? How would they have felt—and managed? Izzy, your family … ?’
‘I didn’t realise the flames would spread so quickly.’ The siren was deafening now.
‘The number-one action in any emergency is risk assessment,’ he said, sounding as if he still wore military uniform.
‘Leave it, mate,’ said Lucas and patted my leg. ‘Come on. She’s been through enough. You can give her the health and safety drill when she’s feeling better.’
‘Tremain, let’s go. The fire engine’s here. We must ring the insurance people. Start to get this sorted. Let Izzy look after her friend,’ murmured Kensa, and the two women exchanged a look.
I sniffed and dried my eyes with my arm, at last breathing more easily. Izzy washed my face with a tissue and water. Within seconds, a paramedic knelt by my side while a fire officer ordered everyone away from the chalet.
An ambulance took me to hospital. People visited. The evening became a blur of lung and blood tests. It was only later on, when the chaos had subsided, that I realised how reckless I’d been; how lucky I was that the effects of smoke inhalation hadn’t taken hold. Tremain had talked sense.
‘The fireman found cigarette stubs but they think the fire was caused by a scented candle on the windowsill,’ said Kensa, when she visited, bearing a box of chocolates. She sat down on the bed, her ginger hair providing a welcome bit of colour against the white, clinical surroundings. ‘Seems like it fell onto a newspaper on the sofa. Once the flames reached a certain height, they reckon the net curtains ignited. Our sofas have passed all safety checks but, even so, this one couldn’t stand up to the sustained heat.’
I pushed myself upwards, into the sitting position, and jostled against the pillows behind my back. ‘A scented candle? But no one lived there.’
Kensa’s face flushed. ‘They also found a pink leopard-print bra. Seems like a lovers’ tryst might have taken place. A scrap of charred newspaper was found outside with today’s date.’ She shrugged. ‘No sign of a break-in, though. You didn’t hear anything from your chalet next door?’
I shook my head. ‘I’d only just got back and had a quick shower. Look, thanks for visiting. Sorry for all the fuss. I hope it hasn’t distracted people from the important stuff—three more days of rebranding the resort. I’ve managed to persuade Guvhah and Geoff to go home. The doctor has just got to discharge me and then, a bit later on, Izzy is going to pick me up.’ I stared at the white bed covers. ‘Tremain hasn’t visited—not that there is any reason he should. I know how busy you both are but … he thinks I’m really stupid, right?’ I looked up to meet her gaze.
She squeezed my hand. ‘Just ignore him, dearie. Tremain … The whole incident reminded him of something in his past. Something we don’t talk about much.’ She bit her lip.
‘To do with his army time, before White Rocks?’ I said.
‘He told you that?’ He mouth fell open. ‘About his experiences in the Middle East?’
‘Not really. No details. I just know he used to be in the services and that he’s only been here for a year.’
‘Yes. A year. Almost exactly.’ Her lilting voice wavered. ‘And that was a year after he left the army and my husband left me.’
‘I’m sorry—about your husband.’
She gave a half-smile. ‘Don’t be. Ultimately he was a loser. He acted like lord of the manor, all that time the resort did well, with our fancy guests. Then when the recession hit, lost interest. He left with a twenty-three-year-old pool attendant. Tremain sees him occasionally. Apparently they are expecting.’
Ouch. Now I squeezed her hand back. It had been hard enough losing Johnny, and we’d only been together for a few years.
‘So … Tremain … the Middle East … ?’
Kensa avert
ed her eyes. ‘He did several tours of duty there, over the years. Saw things no man—or woman—should witness. Lost comrades. Killed people. Learnt to hold things in and keep on a brave face.’ Her voice wavered and she gave a small smile. ‘Believe it or not, I think he likes you. He never normally mentions his military career to anyone.’
A fuzziness filled my chest and, for the first time in hours, I smiled.
‘Tremain has avoided social contact since leaving the military,’ she continued. ‘He put off coming back here to work, because he didn’t want to mix with people. But I struggled without my husband for a year and even though I told him I’d employ a deputy manager to help, somehow Tremain found out how tough things had been and he insisted on coming back. He’s very loyal.’ She cleared her throat. ‘But, yes, you haven’t known him for long but already the two of you have had several conversations, no?’
I nodded. Curiouser and curiouser. Why had Tremain become such a loner? Why did he feel able to talk to me?
The words ‘avoided social contact’ rang in my ears a couple of hours later, as I lay in my own bed, back at the chalet. Izzy lay next to me having provided popcorn and hot chocolate, after painting our nails. What with setting up a branch of Donuts & Daiquiris, it looked as if our spa treatment plans were shelved, so we had to fit those essential girlie moments in whenever we could. I’d painted her hands and she’d painted my toes.
‘Avoided social contact,’ I said. ‘What do you think she meant by that?’ I asked.
‘Kate! You’ve already asked me at least three times.’
I blushed. ‘Short-term memory loss must be a side-effect of smoke inhalation.’
‘Or of being a super-hero.’ She turned and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Kate Golightly, you were so brave today. But don’t ever do anything like that again.’
‘I don’t feel like a hero. I feel foolish.’
She passed me the popcorn bowl and I shoved in a large mouthful.
‘Greg thinks you’re super. Good thing for our friendship that he isn’t your type! Whereas sexy Poldark Lucas …’
I stopped chewing for a moment. How would it be with him tomorrow, after our snog?
‘I thought he might be my type, but when we kissed …’
Izzy spluttered. ‘Hold the front pages!’ She glared at me accusingly. ‘There has been lip-to-lip action and you never told me?’
‘It has been a rather busy evening,’ I said and chuckled.
Izzy brought up her knees and hugged them. ‘Tell me everything! Was his mouth soft? What did he do with his hands? How did he smell?’
‘Izzy! Those are the sort of questions a teenager might ask! And anyway, what about you and Greg? Did he like your cocktails?’
‘Hmm. Especially the Slow Screw Against the Wall.’ Her infectious laugh resounded around the room. ‘Nah. Only joking. But he’s really sweet. Funny, too. We, um, kissed too, this evening, just before I came out to pick you up.’
‘Now who’s been holding back information!’ I raised one eyebrow and she twisted a lock of that short peroxide hair.
‘Oh, Kate, he’s adorable; took my breath away. The room spun, ten minutes passed like two, tingles sparked up all over my body …’
I put up my hand. ‘Enough. I’m still in a delicate condition.’
A dreamy expression across her face, Izzy stared ahead for a moment. I sipped my hot chocolate. Why hadn’t my kiss with Lucas felt like that? The red heart wind spinner fleetingly caught my eye. Perhaps I was just out of practise. I gazed at the shiny red metal and, to my surprise, didn’t feel the urge to check out Johnny’s Facebook page or study his photos on Instagram. Instead, I felt a twinge of guilt and my eyes pricked. Would Johnny think me unloyal? My throat hurt. No. Johnny always said that life was for living and rarely had lie-ins or spent evening after evening in front of the telly. Plus, I remembered my feelings of immortality in the burning chalet. I couldn’t live with regrets for ever. Perhaps … my chest squeezed … perhaps it really was time to move on.
My throat felt scratchy. Move on—individually such innocuous words but together, loaded with significance. Johnny had been such a big part of my life, even after his death. My chest squeezed tighter. Was me thinking of other men letting him down? I sniffed and smiled briefly. No. Johnny was practical to the last. His granddad had hooked up with his single neighbour just six months after his grannie died. Johnny couldn’t have been happier for him. Said that in his view, the new relationship didn’t detract from what his granddad had enjoyed with his grandmother; that love gave life purpose, whether it was for a person, vocation or pet.
‘Guess we’d better get some sleep. Lots to do tomorrow,’ I mumbled, suddenly wanting to be on my own. ‘First thing, I’m going to check out the sound equipment for Monday’s disco night.’ I glanced sideways at Izzy as she tidied up some stray bits of popcorn. ‘So why do you think Kensa was so secretive about her son leaving the army?’
Izzy stopped tidying and rocked her head from side to side. ‘It could be … Nah. Probably not.’
‘What?’
She sighed. ‘My Uncle Ron. Got himself into a bit of a mess a few years back. His car-selling business was doing badly. He fiddled his tax form.’
‘And?’
‘Ended up getting a two-year sentence. When he came out he never called it prison. Only referred to it as his “trip away”. Maybe Tremain was thrown out of the services or even jailed.’
‘But what for? I can’t imagine anything serious.’
‘Well, it might not be that at all,’ she said and swung her feet off the bed and onto the floor. ‘But it could explain why he and Kensa are so cagey about his former career.’
Tremain? With some sort of black mark against his character? I guessed that was possible. And he did have that funny scar I’d seen at Guvnah’s. Perhaps he had a history of violence—but his gentle touch and my heart told me that couldn’t be true. Maybe Lucas knew more about it. Hmm. Lucas. How had our kiss been for him? Was I still in with a chance of taking him to Saffron’s party? Treating myself to another all-day breakfast the next morning, before checking out the sound equipment, would probably be the best way to find out.
CHAPTER 11
Wow. Friday already. Three days to the reopening of White Rocks. The less humid weather suited everyone on site. What a list of tasks lay ahead of us. Kensa would go shopping for inflatables for the pool, to make it more fun for young ones. Izzy would practise the new Cornish-themed doughnut decorations plus wait for a delivery of all our branded extras—her mum had posted them express delivery. Tremain had to work on the gardens, to spruce the place up. Housekeeping would vacuum and polish and scrub. Geoff was staying at the cottage to make his chilli sauce and would later shop for napkins, cooking oil—all the little things he hadn’t bought yet. And then this afternoon Guvnah and I planned to visit some of the chalets, to paint an image of Rocky Rabbit onto the wall of every children’s bedroom.
But this morning? I’d sing through part of my playlist for the disco evening on Monday, to test the entertainment area’s acoustics—after the biggest all-day breakfast. I snuck out early, chest back to normal after the smoke of the evening before—unlike my hair which still stank and needed three washes before it remotely smelt of the passion fruit shampoo. I wore beige three-quarter-length trousers and a white blouse, with beads hanging from the neckline and a fringe all around the bottom hem. Guvnah despaired sometimes at my bland choices, but working with a best friend like psychedelic Izzy, I figured my subdued shades helped the universe balance things out. Whistling a Michael Jackson tune, I headed for the reception building.
‘Morning, Kate!’ called Maria, as she passed in a housekeeping buggy. ‘You feel OK today?’
‘Yes. Thank you,’ I called back and gave the thumbs-up. Although not one hundred per cent between you and me. Truth be told, I still felt foolish—risking my life for nothing. I should have heeded Lucas’s conviction that the chalet would be empty.
‘Well
, I think you’ve got guts,’ said Lucas, as he sat down next to me to eat. He’d rustled up the perfect breakfast, knowing by now that I liked no kippers and extra baked beans. The crisp fried bread felt so indulgent—a real no-no for the cholesterol-obsessed twenty-first century. And he’d grilled tomatoes so that they melted in the mouth—same for the mushrooms that had been lightly fried.
‘Guts or no sense?’ I said and gave a wry smile. ‘Tremain was right. I could have got killed. All for nothing.’
‘But you didn’t know that.’ Lucas wiped his greasy fingers and rubbed his hand up and down my bare arm. I waited for chemistry between us to spark. However, since the original excitement over finding my very own Poldark had subsided, I realised that this romance—if that’s what it was—might be a slow-burner.
Romance. Gosh. I hadn’t talked of that for a while. I chewed a mouthful of bacon and relished the smoky flavour. I stared at Lucas—that dirty gold skin, the foppish hair, that dangerous stubble, a teasing sense of humour, that hard-working ethic … He was the whole package, right? I’d be stupid not to consider him as more than just a companion to a wedding.
‘Have I got egg on my face?’ he said.
My cheeks burned. ‘Sorry. I just wondered … has anyone ever said you’re a doppelgänger for Poldark?’
Lucas stretched back in his chair and burst out laughing. ‘Yep. All the time. I’m used to it now. A lookalike agency even approached me last year.’
‘That could have paid well.’
He shrugged. ‘Cooking is what I love. And I don’t ride horses. Nor do I know the first thing about mining. I’d probably be a huge disappointment.’ A tide of emotion swept through those dark eyes and a muscle flinched in his cheek—the first hint that perhaps cocksure Lucas actually lacked confidence.
‘I doubt you could ever disappoint a woman—being a whizz in the kitchen would notch up a thousand Brownie points.’
Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun Page 11