Kate and Clara's Curious Cornish Craft Shop: The heart-warming, romantic read we all need right now

by Ali McNamara

  Sebastian nods, and cups his cheek in his hand.

  ‘I be alwry tho,’ he tries to insist.

  ‘Perhaps you’d better spend some time out back until your numbness wears off,’ I suggest. ‘Have you taken some painkillers for when it does?’

  Sebastian nods. ‘Eh den-ist sa I shou be too ba tho.’

  ‘Good. I’d tell you to go home but Anita has her daughter staying this weekend, and Molly and Chesney are going to some festival?’

  ‘It’s not a festival,’ Molly says, ‘It’s a few local bands playing in Penzance, that’s all.’

  ‘That sounds like a festival to me,’ I begin, but someone comes through the door carrying a huge bunch of flowers disguising their face. It’s definitely not Poppy or Amber this time as the bouquet is clearly being carried by a man.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Sebastian says. ‘Es yo sequet amirer aguain.’

  Molly watches eagerly as the man reveals himself.

  ‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ he says to Molly and me, as we both look equally as appalled at what the flowers have revealed. The man nods at Sebastian. ‘I’m not quite sure what you just said, young man, but I am equally as pleased to make your acquaintance too.’ He turns back towards me. ‘It is I, Julian James at your service again, my dearest Kate.’

  He thrusts the flowers towards me.

  ‘Er … thank you, Julian,’ I say, stepping forward to take them from him. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I told you I’d be back in St Felix soon,’ he explains, looking puzzled that I seem surprised he’s here, ‘in my last bouquet?’

  ‘You sent Mum the flowers?’ Molly asks with dismay. ‘But I thought—’

  ‘I did indeed, my dear child. Did you not get a card with them?’ he asks, looking at me.

  ‘I did, but it was only signed J. I had no idea it was you.’

  Julian seems perplexed by this, as though it could never have been possible that I might know someone else with this initial.

  ‘Ah, a quandary for you indeed … but I am here now!’

  ‘Woo isth thi?’ Sebastian asks Molly.

  ‘This is Julian James. His father’s paintings are being exhibited at the Lyle Gallery at the moment. We met him at the opening of the exhibition.’

  ‘You did indeed!’ Julian says, as though it was an honour for us. ‘A fine evening was had by all, I imagine.’

  ‘I still don’t understand what you’re doing here, Julian?’ I say. ‘Or why you have been sending me flowers?’

  Again, Julian looks surprised by this. ‘I don’t believe you’ve managed to get in touch with me since that night, have you?’

  I must be the one who looks confused now, because Julian continues to explain: ‘You took my card with my number on … said you’d be in touch so we could talk business?’

  Ah, that.

  ‘I assumed when you didn’t call that you preferred the man to do all the running. You know, the old-fashioned way, so I sent you flowers. I find most women respond well to flowers.’ He directs this comment to Sebastian.

  ‘I woo-ant reary no,’ Sebastian tries to respond.

  ‘What did he say?’ Julian asks me.

  ‘He said he wouldn’t really know.’

  ‘Ah, not found the delights of the female form yet, young man? Don’t worry, your time will come.’

  Both Sebastian and Molly pull equally repulsed faces, but Julian is already looking at me.

  ‘So, when can I take you out to talk this business?’ he asks. ‘I’m free tonight? I’ll book us a table at The Lobster Pot – I gather that’s the best restaurant here.’

  ‘Ah …’ I desperately try to think of a reason why I can’t go, and I’m about to say I have other plans when I stop myself. ‘Yes!’ I say, much to Sebastian and Molly’s utter shock. ‘That would be lovely. What time?’

  ‘Is eight acceptable to you?’ Julian asks, looking like the cat who’s got the cream.

  ‘Yes, perfect. I’ll meet you at the restaurant, as long as you can get us a table?’

  ‘I never have a problem getting a table,’ Julian says confidently. ‘I shall very much look forward to spending the evening with you, Kate.’ He gives a tiny bow. ‘Enjoy the rest of your day, everyone!’ He waves his hand in a sort of flourish and exits smartly through the door.

  ‘Mum, what are you thinking?’ Molly demands. ‘He’s awful.’

  ‘Yeh, wafful,’ Sebastian agrees.

  ‘He might not be too bad if you get to know him,’ I lie. ‘Maybe there’s more to him than there first appears.’

  Molly shakes her head in disgust, and Sebastian does his best to tut, but it sounds more like a sucking sort of noise.

  What they don’t know and what I can’t tell them is that, for all his pomposity and pretension, Julian’s father was Winston James, and as Winston James painted here in St Felix in the fifties he might have known Arty. If so, Julian might be able to help me put another piece in my sewing-machine puzzle – a piece that might lead me to discover who Clara and Arty really were, and why Jack and I seem to be so involved in their story.

  Twenty

  While I sit at my dressing table and run the straighteners over my hair, Molly sighs behind me.

  ‘I still don’t know why you’re going out with this Julian,’ she says, looking sulkily at my reflection. ‘He’s a horrible man.’

  ‘That’s a bit strong, Molly. He’s not horrible, he’s a bit pompous and full of himself, that’s all. I’m sure underneath all his bluster he’s perfectly nice.’

  Molly grimaces and shakes her head. ‘Jack’s much nicer than him.’

  ‘Quite possibly, but as I seem to be explaining a lot to you lately, just because I’m meeting a man doesn’t automatically make it a date.’

  Molly’s phone beeps. She glances at the screen. ‘It’s only Chesney,’ she says. ‘I really thought it was Joel sending you those bunches of flowers, you know,’ she continues with a hint of sadness.

  ‘We’ve been through this before, Molly,’ I say gently. ‘It was never going to be Joel. He doesn’t know where I am and he won’t be contacting me. I don’t know why you would think he would after all this time.’

  Molly looks sheepishly down at the bed.

  ‘Molly?’ I ask, turning around to look at her properly. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she says as her phone beeps again. She looks at the screen and then drops it. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, you’ve only just texted,’ she adds impatiently.

  I glance at the phone but my mind is elsewhere. ‘Molly, why would you think that Joel was the one sending me flowers?’

  ‘Because I rang him, that’s why!’ Molly says, looking accusingly at me.

  ‘You did what? But why … why would you do that?’

  ‘Because I felt sorry for you. I thought you might be lonely. It was before Jack came on the scene, and this Julian too. I know it was difficult before, Mum, but Joel really liked you.’

  I’d often heard people use the phrase ‘their blood was boiling’ and now I know why. My insides are on fire as I stare back at Molly.

  ‘And you told Joel where we are living now?’ I ask, as calmly as I can.

  Molly nods silently, sensing this calm exterior might only be a cover for my true feelings.

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘Not much really. He asked how I was and how you were, and did we like living here?’

  ‘And?’ I demand.

  ‘And what?’ Molly asks. ‘I don’t know why you’re so mad, Mum. It was only a phone call.’

  Molly’s phone beeps again, so she picks it up. ‘I’m going to have to reply to Chesney,’ she says, ‘or he’ll never stop texting me. Back in a minute, Mum.’

  While Molly steps out of the bedroom to call Chesney, I turn back to my mirror and take a few deep breaths. I have to remain calm or Molly will begin to question why I am so angry.

  Right, think sensibly about this, Kate, I tell myself. Molly said she’d rung Joel before
the bouquets had started arriving and before I met Jack. That was weeks ago now, and nothing has happened so far. We haven’t heard anything from him and we haven’t seen him. Perhaps I really don’t have anything to worry about. Surely Joel would have appeared by now if he was going to. Maybe he had got the message when we moved away, and everything will be fine.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Molly says, returning. ‘He gets annoyed if I don’t reply quickly.’

  I nod, then I look at Molly again. ‘What do you mean annoyed?’

  Molly shrugs. ‘Annoyed – cross, sulky, I guess you might call it. It’s fine though – it’s just his way. Like you said, at least it shows he’s keen on me.’

  Molly comes over to the dressing table before I have time to consider this. ‘I’m sorry I phoned Joel,’ she says hugging me. ‘If I’d known you were going to have all these men fighting over you I wouldn’t have contacted him.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I tell her, hugging her back. ‘You were only doing what you thought was right. Promise me one thing though. If Joel contacts you again in any way, don’t reply, just tell me immediately, yes?’

  ‘Sure, Mum,’ Molly says, looking a bit puzzled. ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘But I’ve booked a table!’ I hear a loud voice remonstrate, as later that evening I walk down towards the harbour along a small side street. I’m still thinking about Joel and Molly, but as I get nearer to the voice I realise it’s Julian.

  As I turn the corner on to the harbour, standing in front of me on the cobbles are Julian – wearing a very smart navy suit, blue shirt and paisley-patterned tie – and Patrick, the owner of The Lobster Pot restaurant, in his chef’s whites.

  ‘I’m very sorry, sir, but as I just explained we’ve got a problem with our wiring, and we won’t be able to open up until an electrician can come in tomorrow to fix it. I can recommend a number of other very good restaurants in the town for dinner tonight though, if you’d like me to.’

  ‘Is there a problem?’ I ask, approaching them.

  ‘Kate! Hello,’ a flustered-looking Patrick says. ‘Yes, my fuse box has completely blown in the restaurant. I’ve had to close for the night.’

  ‘Oh, no, how awful.’

  ‘I’m trying to explain to this gentleman that I can recommend several other perfectly good eateries for him to try.’

  ‘But you are supposed to be the best in town,’ Julian says, looking aggrieved. ‘I always eat at the best restaurants.’

  ‘I thank you for the praise, sir, but you won’t be tonight, I’m afraid. Perhaps you’d like to try us another evening? Complimentary wine on the house, of course. Excuse me,’ Patrick says to me, ‘I spy more about-to-be disappointed customers.’ He heads off to greet a couple heading towards him.

  ‘I’m so very sorry, Kate,’ Julian says with a wounded expression. ‘It seems we are without sustenance this evening.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, it’s not your fault. Besides, there are lots of restaurants here we can try, and if for some reason we can’t get a table we can always have fish and chips outside on the harbour.’

  Julian looks horrified by this suggestion, but I simply smile at him. ‘Come on, let’s have a wander.’

  Sadly, I’d underestimated just how busy the restaurants are in St Felix on a Saturday evening and we are turned away apologetically at every door.

  ‘Let’s try The Merry Mermaid,’ I say. ‘If they can’t fit us in then it really will be chips on a bench, I’m afraid. They don’t reserve tables so we might get lucky if someone is just leaving.’

  We are lucky. As we push our way through the busy bar I spy a couple standing up about to leave. ‘Would you mind getting us a drink, and I’ll grab that table,’ I tell a bemused-looking Julian. ‘A Diet Coke with ice would be great, thanks.’

  Julian, clearly feeling incredibly awkward, politely pushes his way nearer to the throng at the bar while I grab the small table by the window.

  A young waiter comes over to clear the dirty plates and glasses.

  ‘Busy in here this evening,’ I say, making conversation.

  ‘Manic,’ he says. ‘I’ve not stopped all evening. Have you eaten here before?’

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘Good, then you know you need to order your food at the bar and we’ll bring it over to you.’

  ‘I do, thank you. It’s Leo, isn’t it?’ I ask, recognising the young man as one of Molly’s school friends.

  ‘Yes.’ He looks hesitantly back at me. ‘Oh, you’re Molly’s mum, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am. I didn’t know you worked here, Leo.’

  ‘Yeah, summer job, innit. I’m starting to regret it already though if it’s going to be like this every weekend.’

  ‘At least your evening won’t drag.’

  ‘Barely time for my feet to touch the ground, let alone drag!’ he says grimacing. ‘Here’s a new menu,’ he says, popping one on the table. ‘Like I said, order at the bar and I’ll be back later with your food.’ He gives the table one last wipe, then carries the empty plates and glasses away to the kitchen.

  I wait for Julian to bring our drinks over, feeling slightly guilty I’d abandoned him at the bar. Julian didn’t strike me as the type to frequent pubs. I’m sure he was much more used to having his order taken at his table and then being brought a vintage bottle of wine to sample, before deciding whether to accept it.

  Eventually he finds his way back to me, carrying a glass of Diet Coke and what looks like a gin and tonic.

  ‘What an ordeal,’ he says, putting the drinks on the table. ‘Having to fight your way through a crowd to purchase a beverage, and then fight your way to a table to drink it. I feel like I’ve gone back in time to a bawdy sixteenth-century tavern.’

  I smile as he pulls back the chair and sits down. ‘You don’t go to many pubs then?’

  ‘Can you tell?’ he says, pulling a wry expression.

  ‘Just a tad!’

  We smile at each other. Julian obviously has a sense of humour hidden under all his pomposity.

  ‘Always good to experience new things though,’ Julian says, lifting his glass. ‘Especially in such very pretty company. Here’s to a pleasant evening.’

  ‘And new experiences,’ I say, lifting my own glass.

  ‘Oh, I do hope so,’ Julian adds, lifting his eyebrows suggestively at me as he takes a sip from his glass.

  I hurriedly take a sip from my own. I could see this being a very long evening indeed.

  *

  Julian, surprisingly, is actually quite pleasant company. He’s witty and amusing. He listens when I talk. He’s more courteous than anyone I’ve ever met.

  It takes him a while to get over the fact that we’re going to eat in a pub – on a table without a cloth – and that we have to get up to order our food at the bar. When Leo brings our cutlery wrapped in paper napkins, in a basket with packets of ketchup, mustard, vinegar, pepper and salt, his eyes widen for a few seconds but he chooses not to say anything.

  I find myself watching him with interest after Leo departs.

  ‘Something amusing you?’ he asks, returning my gaze. ‘Obviously my handsome face is rather hard to resist!’ He turns his head to and fro playfully.

  ‘You’re very well mannered,’ I tell him.

  ‘I like to think so. Is there something wrong with that?’

  ‘No, nothing at all. I appreciate good manners.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Sadly, not everyone does these days. Ah, our food is here!’

  ‘Chicken?’ Leo asks.

  ‘That’s me,’ I say, and he puts a plate of southern fried chicken, chips and salad down in front of me on the table. ‘And the steak and kidney pie?’

  ‘That would be mine, young sir. And what a fine, hearty-looking pie it is!’

  Leo gives him an odd glance. ‘Anything else I can get for you?’

  ‘I think we’re fine, Leo, thank you,’ I say.

  ‘A napkin, perhaps?’ Julian says, looking hopefully at him.


  ‘The serviettes are wrapped around the cutlery,’ Leo replies, looking pointedly at the basket in the centre of the table.

  ‘This?’ Julian says, lifting a bundle of cutlery from the basket.

  ‘Er, yeah.’

  ‘Well, well, paper napkins!’ Julian unwraps his cutlery, and with much amusement lays the thin white napkin in his lap. ‘Thank you, young man, for another new experience tonight.’

  Leo looks at me with a Who’s this guy? expression, but I just smile at him and he leaves us to tend to another table.

  ‘Steak and kidney pie,’ I say, taking my own cutlery from the basket. ‘I wouldn’t have chosen that for you.’

  ‘One of my favourites,’ Julian says, cutting hungrily into it. ‘My grandmother used to make it for me when I was a small boy.’

  ‘Really, were you close to her?’

  ‘I was,’ Julian says, lifting up his fork. ‘I spent a lot of time with her when I was young.’ He tastes the pie. ‘Not as good as Nanny’s, but still pretty good.’

  ‘Why did you spend a lot of time with your grandmother?’ I ask, hoping this line of conversation might eventually lead us on to his father.

  ‘My parents weren’t around much,’ he explains. ‘Always travelling. I went to a boarding school in term time, and the holidays I spent mostly with my grandmother.’

  ‘Oh, that must have been hard on you?’

  Julian shrugs. ‘Not really. I liked being with Nanny.’

  ‘But you must have missed your parents?’

  Julian looks puzzled, as though no one had ever asked him this question before. Perhaps no one ever had. Maybe in his circles going to boarding school and being away from your parents was the norm.

  ‘A little, I guess. We usually spent Christmas together – when they were in the country, that is.’ He eagerly tucks into his pie again while I help myself to a little bit of my chicken. I was keen to talk more about his father.

  ‘Why were your parents away so much?’

  Julian chews and swallows his latest mouthful. ‘Why all the interest in my family?’

  ‘No reason.’ I shrug. ‘Just making conversation. Plus your dad was a famous artist, wasn’t he? I’m sure everyone is interested in him.’