Christmas at the Cornish Café

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘Yes, but why?’

  ‘Because he’s good-looking and charming and hot in a blond way and he’s an author.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You asked.’

  ‘It was a rhetorical question, I didn’t expect an answer.’

  ‘Well, you got one so it serves you right.’

  We’re face to face, sparring like fighters in a boxing match. My heart’s pounding, Cal’s glaring down at me, bristling with frustration. Has he forgotten that it was him who said he didn’t want to talk about Kit any more, yet he can’t help himself.

  ‘Demi.’

  ‘Sorry, Cal. I have a hundred and one things to do. I run a business. So do you, and we ought to remember that.’

  The crunch is: our row has reminded me that if it all goes wrong with Cal, even more than it has already, Demelza’s will be all I have. No matter what happens, after all the work I’ve put in, I’m determined not to lose that too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‘Demi? Is it OK to take a booking for this new group?’ Nina’s voice drifts into my ears as I’m taking a five minute break in the ‘staff room’ in the cafe the following Saturday afternoon. Although I meant to try and forget about Kit and Mawgan, I find I’m once again wondering why they were in Sharky’s Bar together last Monday evening. ‘Hmm.’

  ‘So, I can go ahead and tell them “yes”? It means opening on a Tuesday, specially.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Right. So we’re all cool with serving the Naturists Club in the nude and we’re happy to turn up the heat full and hang sheets up at the windows?’

  ‘Sheets? Nude? Nina, what are you on about?’

  A smirking Nina stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips. ‘I was referring to the booking for afternoon tea next Tuesday from the Naturists Club. I knew you weren’t listening.’

  ‘Naturists? Are you serious?’

  ‘No. It’s a bunch of naturalists, actually, although Polly took the original call and was slightly confused until I worked it out. A local wildlife group want to book the cafe for tea after a winter walk. As we’ve already agreed to open for a large party from the St Trenyan Businesswomen’s Lunch Club earlier in the day, I said I thought it would be OK, but would confirm it with you.’

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s fine. Argh. You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve been miles away.’ I’ve snatched a break while we had a quiet period to update the Demelza’s blog with some photos of the festive food menu, but my mind wandered on to Cal. And Kit. And weirdly, my parents. What would Mum have thought of Cal? What advice would she have had about me moving in with him? Sadly, I was still too young to really have discovered boys before she died. I wish she was here now.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK? You haven’t properly been with us for most of the morning. It’s fine, hun. We’re really busy and if you don’t mind me saying, you look knackered. I wish I hadn’t bothered you, but the secretary of the group needs an answer.’

  I scrape up a smile, remembering that I’m in charge and it’s me who should be motivating the staff, not vice versa. ‘No, I’m good. It’s great we’re getting extra bookings and I should have known we’d have to extend our opening hours as Christmas gets closer. Are you sure you’re OK to work a few extra days to help out with the festive functions?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve also asked Shamia if she can help out too and she said she’s happy to do that. Jez can’t do one of the Christmas lunches but I thought you could step in if we can find someone else to work on tables and the counter.’

  ‘Thanks, Nina. Really grateful that you’re on the ball, even if I’m not.’

  Snapping out of my daydreaming, I follow her into the counter area where a bunch of red-faced ramblers have just walked in, dripping water all over the stone floor. I hadn’t even noticed it had started raining …

  With a huge smile, I crack a joke about the weather and help Nina serve up their hot drinks and mince pies as they queue. With a bit of luck, they’ll stay for lunch too. Every cloud has a silver lining, as Nana Demelza used to say.

  After an early lunch, the walkers forged out into the rain and we had a couple of guests from the cottages and a small group of surfers on their way back from one of the far west beaches. But for the past twenty minutes the cafe has been empty and, as it’s grown so dark, I half wonder about closing early. I’ll give it until three, maybe. Jez has already finished the lunch service and we can manage the drinks and teas now. I’d better mop the floors, though, they’re muddy again already.

  While I clean the tiles as best I can, the door opens and a man in head-to-toe Gore-Tex walks in, shaking water from his hands. He pushes back his hood.

  ‘Hello,’ he says, flashing me a reluctant smile that reminds me of the first time I met him. Only now, I’m even more wary of him than I was then.

  ‘Oh, hi, Kit.’

  ‘Are you still open? I wondered if you’d bother in this weather, but then I saw the lights on and thought I’d chance it.’

  ‘We’re staying open until three at least.’

  ‘Great. I can get a flat white and a sandwich, then? I’ve had no lunch yet, but I know it’s too late for hot food.’

  ‘We’ve got some broccoli and stilton soup left and I can get you that and a Cornish Brie and rocket baguette?’

  ‘That’s fine.’

  ‘I’ll bring it over.’

  ‘No, I can fetch it from the servery.’

  ‘Sit down before you tramp mud over my nice clean floor.’

  He laughs. The ice is broken for now, but it’s still awkward to see him.

  While I dish up his soup and retrieve the last baguette, Nina makes the flat white. I take them both over to Kit myself. A handful of other customers have arrived so it looks like I won’t have time to chat to him and honestly, I’m relieved about that.

  In the end, he eats his late lunch and leaves without saying any more to me and now I’m in the farmhouse office with Cal, discussing what – if anything – to do next.

  ‘What did he say to you?’

  ‘Nothing. He had a quick lunch and then he left.’

  ‘He’s got a bloody nerve.’

  ‘He has to eat, Cal! And he’s no idea that we know about Mawgan and actually, there might be an innocent explanation.’

  Cal drops his pen on the desk. ‘Innocent, my arse.’

  ‘So, do you actually have any reason to suspect Kit of doing anything wrong, apart from you being jealous and him having a drink with Mawgan?’

  After a moment’s hesitation, he shrugs. ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re being overly suspicious of him? There are perfectly reasonable explanations for why he might have been with Mawgan in the bar. He could have been having a quiet drink, she bumped into him and put on an angelic act. He’s probably already decided he never wants to see her again.’

  ‘Possibly.’ Cal looks doubtful.

  ‘Or he might have met someone Mawgan knows and they introduced him to her. St Trenyan is a small place, he’s here for weeks. Come to think of it, he did mention he’d gone along to a creative writing group to see how it was.’

  He snorts. ‘Are you saying that Bannen might have met Mawgan Cade at a creative writing group? The only creative writing she does is when she’s falsifying her tax returns!’

  ‘Well, I did think it was a remote possibility. We can speculate all we like. How are you going to find out the truth? You can’t just come straight out and ask him.’

  ‘No, but you could.’

  I hold up my hands in protest. ‘No way. He’s a guest. We can’t interrogate him about his private life.’

  Cal’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Want to bet?’

  ‘I won’t do it. I can’t think of any way to ask him how he knows her that doesn’t sound rude, intrusive and just plain weird.’

  ‘Then we’re going to have to be more subtle.’ He sighs thoughtfully. ‘We need to lull him into a false sense of security and get him off his guard.’

 
‘Cal, you don’t know if he’s even on his guard. Aren’t you going over the top about this? I half wish I’d never told you I spotted them.’

  ‘No, you don’t, and we do need to get to the bottom of his association with Mawgan. It’s too much of a coincidence that he rocks up here and stays for months and then you see him cosying up with her in town. I think we should ask him to dinner here as a thank-you for saving Mitch and for being a long-term guest.’

  I snort. ‘That’s outrageous. You’re being a hypocrite.’

  ‘I don’t care. He’s told you he’s almost a resident now, so let’s treat him like one. We’ll have him over here for dinner next week, ply him with a few whiskies and find out his secrets.’

  ‘That’s sneaky and unethical.’

  ‘I don’t care. I left my ethics behind in the Middle East.’

  ‘No, you didn’t, or you wouldn’t have wanted Kilhallon to be an eco resort or given me a job or tried to help Robyn and Andi.’

  ‘That still doesn’t mean I’m not prepared to play dirty if I have to.’

  ‘Fine, but you can ask him,’ I say, wondering if I can cope with all this intrigue on top of the stress of organising our stall at the Harbour Lights Festival this coming Friday evening.

  He shakes his head. ‘No way. He’d be suspicious immediately if I asked him. You ask him.’

  ‘No way! He’ll think I’ve lured him over here for … well, he might get the wrong idea.’

  ‘If I’m here too, he won’t get the wrong idea, will he?’ Cal says with a smirk. ‘There’s definitely something going on with him and Mawgan. I know it and it makes my skin crawl.’

  With common or garden jealously, I think, but dare not say. ‘OK. I will ask him but he won’t want to join us, if he has any sense or doesn’t want to play wallflower.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think Kit Bannen is a wallflower.’

  ‘Whatever. He won’t come. I bet you fifty quid.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ‘Hello, Kit. Glad you could make it,’ Cal says as he shows Kit into the farmhouse sitting room on Monday evening. In the end, Cal invited him to dinner out of range of my hearing, thank goodness, and to my amazement, Kit agreed. Instead of telling Kit to use the back door, however, he’s made him ring the bell and brought him into the house via reception and the vestibule. We keep the kitchen entrance for family and close friends and it’s obvious Cal considers him neither of those things. Cal probably wants Kit to know that.

  I’m squirming, frankly, because I still think there’s a totally boring explanation for why Kit was with Mawgan in town, and I hate the idea of spying on a guest in this way.

  Cal told me that as he’d won the bet that Kit would accept the invitation to dinner, I had to spend the whole of Sunday afternoon naked in bed with him. Apparently I can’t even leave the bedroom from noon until midnight and Cal has sworn he’s going to confiscate my bra and knickers and lock them in the filing cabinet in his office. Even thinking about my ‘penalty’ makes me squirm with lust. Of course, I’m still annoyed with him for declaring to Polly and Kit that we are sleeping together so I shouldn’t feel obliged to repay my debt. But I am thinking about it. Very, very seriously.

  Kit, looking cool and smooth in black jeans, a soft brushed shirt and sleek Puffa jacket, hands over a bottle of white wine. A very nice one too, and freshly chilled.

  ‘Oh, thanks. That’ll go wonderfully with our dinner,’ I say, trying to sound like the perfect hostess while cringing inside. We’ve tidied up a bit, though Kit probably can’t tell. The fire crackles in the hearth and the rich smell of my fish pie is very inviting, even if I do say so myself. It all feels very welcoming, which makes me feel doubly guilty about conning him.

  ‘Pleasure, and thanks for asking me. Must admit I feel a bit guilty for interrupting your evening. I’d no idea you two were together when I first arrived at Kilhallon. Now I feel like I’m butting in.’

  ‘You’re not butting in, mate. Is he, sweetheart?’

  Cal puts his arm around my waist and it’s my turn to grit my teeth. Sweetheart? Cal never calls me sweetheart, or darling, or anything that cheesy – or complimentary. Longing to hit him with the fish slice, I slip smartly out of his embrace.

  ‘I just have to see how the fish pie is doing and open the wine.’

  Kit sniffs the air. ‘Thought I smelled something good, although I reckoned Cal might have given you the night off from cooking.’ The firelight reflects in Kit’s green eyes, making them gleam. He must have guessed there’s something going on.

  ‘It’s my day off and, actually, Cal’s made the pud so we’ve shared the duties. I’ll be back in a sec. Cal, aren’t you going to offer Kit a beer or something?’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry, forgot. What’ll it be, mate? Doom Bar? Lager? Cider?’

  ‘A lager, thanks.’

  Kit has a twist of amusement on his lips. He doesn’t seem too jealous to me, but he is obviously delighted to have caught us ‘at home’ and in full-on couple mode. Actually I think I’d be more relaxed if he had seemed jealous of Cal’s possessive gesture. Maybe Cal is right about him after all: there is something peculiar about his moods.

  I leave ‘the boys’ discussing craft beers while I check the pie and put some broccoli on to boil, but a few minutes later, I hear Cal rummaging in the old pantry off the kitchen where he keeps a crate of beer and I store the welcome-pack wines on permanent chill.

  I pour myself a large glass of Kit’s white, sensing I’m going to need it.

  When I walk back into the sitting room, the boys are once more drinking from bottles and looking, on the surface at least, like mates. Mates, my arse, I think. They’re still standing up, Cal lingering ‘casually’ in front of his hearth every inch the lord of the manor, while Kit looks around admiringly.

  ‘Wow. Great room. I thought it had character from the outside, but I’d no idea it was this old. Eighteenth century, is it?’

  ‘Sixteen seventy-five or thereabouts,’ Cal replies casually. I did know something of the history of the Kilhallon estate, because I had to research it when I was trying to get some words together for the website.

  ‘And it’s always been in Penwith hands throughout all that time?’

  ‘Yeah, as far as the records tell us. There was another place here before it, which dated back another three hundred years, but that burned down, apparently.’

  ‘Wow, and I thought Enys Cottage was old.’

  ‘That row of cottages was built after the farmhouse, for the senior mine captain and officials and their families. My Granddad Penwith added the reception area to the main farmhouse in the late sixties, but apart from a lick of paint, it’s been the same ever since. We could have rebuilt it when we refurbished the park, but we settled for another repair and repaint. We had other priorities, didn’t we, sweetheart?’

  ‘Yes, we did, darling.’

  I cross to Cal and put my arm around him, groping his bum behind Kit’s back to see how he likes being treated like a possession. Judging by the grin on his face, I think he’s actually enjoying himself.

  Kit wanders up to a painting on the wall of a proud middle-aged man, standing on a windswept cliff with a chocolate Labrador at his feet. ‘That’s him, is it? Your granddad?’

  ‘No, that’s his father. My great granddad. This is my granddad and dad.’

  Cal picks up a photo, a seventies print that was already rosy hued and is faded almost to sepia now. He hands it to Kit. I know the one: Cal’s grandfather, older now and stooped, but still with his stick, and Cal’s father, in his late thirties, handsome, with Cal’s thick dark hair hidden by a tweed cap. They’re standing in front of reception and in the background you can spot the rows of static caravans marshalled in ranks like soldiers.

  Kit holds it, his face expressionless, then hands it back to Cal. ‘I heard your father passed away a few years ago. I’m sorry for that, he wasn’t very old, was he? After losing your mother when you were so young, that must have been a terrible blo
w.’

  ‘It was, but what can you do? We all have to manage with what life hands us, no matter how crap.’

  Kit nods. ‘True.’

  ‘Your mum and dad live in London, don’t they?’ Cal says. ‘Polly told me,’ he adds.

  Kit smiles. ‘Yes. Not far from my flat, actually.’

  ‘What do they think of you being down here for so long?’

  ‘They’re not surprised at anything I do these days, and I am a grown-up even though it may not always seem like it.’

  ‘Yeah, but parents don’t always believe it, do they?’

  ‘No, but I’m lucky to have them. Unlike you and Demi. I read about your losses in the magazine feature and I’m sorry. For both of you. You’ve done well to rebuild this place and your lives, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Cal sniffs the air extravagantly and gets up from the chair. ‘By the smell of it, I think that fish pie must be more than ready. I’ll help Demi dish up if you want to sit at the table. Make yourself at home, mate. We don’t stand on ceremony here.’

  Kit takes a seat and I corner Cal in the kitchen.

  ‘It’s no good, I’m not asking him!’ I declare. ‘It’s devious and rude.’

  ‘In that case,’ Cal says, snatching a fresh bottle of wine. ‘I will.’

  Shortly after, Kit ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ enthusiastically as I bring in the pie and place it on the table.

  ‘Wow, that smells amazing. That mash looks interesting. Are those herbs?’

  ‘No, it’s salad seaweed from a local company. Sounds weird but I promise it’s delicious.’

  ‘I can’t wait. You’re a woman of many talents, Demi.’

  Cal throws me what I can only describe as an ‘adoring’ grin. ‘She certainly is,’ he croons.

  Ignoring Cal, I hold a dish under our guest’s nose. ‘Have some broccoli. How’s your book going, by the way?’

  After several glasses of wine, a fish pie and a lot of talk about writing, I almost start to relax. Kit has some funny stories about being an author and the weird things people think and say to him. Even Cal laughs at the one about the woman who asked him why he still did his own shopping in Tesco and the man asked him to write his life story about being a loss adjuster in return for half the profits. Cal opens another bottle and I bring in a dish of spiced pears baked in cider. Anyone would think we were three old mates, enjoying a cosy reunion together after not seeing each other for ages. The whole time, however, I keep remembering that we’re only softening up Kit so we can ask him about Mawgan.