The Oddest Little Cornish Tea Shop: A charming and quirky romance for the beach

by Beth Good

  Yet his accent was Cornish, right enough, and he claimed to have known her aunt back in his childhood. As Charlie herself had done, of course, though she did not remember him at all. And he wasn’t the kind of person she would easily have forgotten, even as a child.

  But then she had not lived here in Tremevissey until very recently. Her visits to her aunt’s tea rooms had all been fleeting ones; too-brief stays, mostly snatched during holiday periods, and she had been only six the last time she visited … She had barely had time as a child to get to know the mysterious Pansy at all, something she regretted now, remembering those halcyon days with nostalgia.

  More importantly though, Gideon seemed genuine in his willingness to help her out. Even to lower himself to cleaning duties.

  He was certainly mopping the floor with great gusto, she thought, trying not to stare at his rear view, all the while entranced by the sight of such powerful thighs and tight buttocks flexing as he bent and stretched in snug black jeans.

  Goodness gracious, she thought, and fanned her hot cheeks under cover of playing with her hair.

  She would take him up later on the offer of references. For today, all her energies had to be focused on getting the insurance claim sorted, and the tea rooms up and running again as soon as legally possible.

  But for the next hour, as she waited for Mr Fishbourne to arrive, her curious gaze kept straying back to the stranger with the mop.

  What on earth could Aunt Pansy have done to make a man like Gideon Petherick so determined to repay the favour?

  CHAPTER SIX

  To Charlie’s dismay, the insurance man was adamant, as was the electrician who called round to assess the damage. ‘All the electrics have to be tested for water damage. And any that are damaged will have to be stripped out, and rewired,’ they both agreed, ‘otherwise you can’t re-open. Not legally, anyway’

  Charlie was horrified. ‘How long will it take to do the rewiring?’ she demanded of the electrician, worrying about her bank loan.

  ‘A job like this? It takes as long as it takes,’ the electrician said unhelpfully, and headed out the door. ‘I’ve got another job on at the moment. But I’ll get round to you soon as I can.’

  It took three weeks, in the end.

  Charlie thought she would be ruined before the business was even open, given the excess she had to pay even to get her insurance company to pay the rest.

  But her saviour was Gideon.

  ‘There’s still your kitchen up in the flat,’ he pointed out.

  ‘It’s tiny,’ she protested. ‘And where will my customers sit?’

  ‘You can batch-bake cakes and rolls, or buy them in from elsewhere, prepare them up in the flat, and hand-sell from a stall outside the shop,’ he pointed out, looking at the generous pavement area where her outside seating was situated. ‘Tea and coffee urns, an insulated cabinet for cold cans, and you can offer drinks too.’

  ‘Do you think that’s legal?’ she asked, a little worried.

  He shrugged. ‘So you do it until someone complains. In my experience though, the local authorities are pretty relaxed about that kind of thing. Especially during the tourist season.’ He smiled at her expression. ‘This is Cornwall, remember. Not London.’

  So that was what they did.

  Charlie batch-baked small cakes upstairs in the small kitchen of her flat, where she also prepared filled sandwiches, rolls and baguettes with simple ingredients, then kept everything cool in a large fridge bought specially for the purpose.

  She opened the window to the street, so she could hear what was being ordered below and then carry everything down on a tray.

  Down in the street, Gideon set up a stall – borrowed at a reasonable rate from a market trader friend of his – and sold to passers-by. Those who did not mind sitting in the gloomy, unlit interior wandered inside with their lunches. The rest either sat down on her colourful ironwork seats and tables to eat, or bore their purchases away, heading for the harbour or back towards the car park. Being a busy little seaside village, with only five cafés and restaurants, there were plenty of passing custom, and it soon became hard to keep up with the orders Gideon was shouting up.

  At the end of the first day, they dragged the stall into the shop, cleaned out the urns and cups and left everything to dry, then went upstairs.

  ‘Oh God, the mess,’ Charlie groaned, staring at the chaos of the little kitchen area, which had been designed for one person to prepare dinner for themselves, not industrial amounts of sandwiches and sausage rolls.

  It was after six o’clock, and she had been up and working since seven in the morning. She was in no mood to do yet more work. Her feet hurt, her head hurt, and she was totally exhausted.

  ‘Let’s do it in the morning,’ she said, yawning behind her hand.

  But Gideon rolled up his sleeves, seemingly undaunted by the mess. ‘Come on,’ he said calmly, ‘we can do this together. Wrappers and leftovers in bin bags. Everything else in the sink. I’ll wash, you dry.’

  So they cleared the place side-by-side, working in companionable silence until the kitchen was cleared, wiped down and ready for the next day’s food prep.

  Benjamin sat on the windowsill licking his ginger fur and watching them both work, and yawned from time to time too, as though matching their weariness; though the most the blessed cat could have done was sleep all day, she thought.

  By the time they were finished cleaning up, Charlie had got second wind. Her stomach was rumbling and she realised it was hours since she had eaten anything herself. The last thing she wanted was to turn on the oven again though, and indeed she wasn’t sure whether there was anything suitable to eat in the fridge.

  She certainly wasn’t going to eat any of her unsold sandwiches!

  She looked round at the sofa, which was strewn with blankets and pillows, as it had been Gideon’s bed for several nights now. Much to her relief – though perhaps secret disappointment too – he had not made a pass at her since moving in.

  ‘I don’t think I can bear to cook anything,’ she said, and glanced out of the window at the traditional Cornish pub a few doors along the street, on the opposite side of the road. Its windows were lit up cheerily, and the side door to the pub kitchen was wedged open. ‘I’m famished though. How about you?’

  He made a face. ‘I’m starving, yes.’

  ‘How about we nip over to the Spider’s Web for a quick drink and something hot to eat? They do a tasty lasagne and salad.’

  ‘Sounds perfect.’

  They strolled across the road in the dying sunlight. The place was peaceful. Most of the tourists had gone home for the day, the car park almost empty now, and those staying in the small village were safely in their hotels. Only one restaurant was open late in Tremevissey, and though the pub served meals, it tended to cater mostly to locals. So when they pushed through the door, they found the Spider’s Web quiet, nobody playing pool and the bar area practically uninhabited.

  Stew, the ancient pub landlord, waved a menu at her from the bar. He had grown accustomed to Charlie’s habits. ‘Take a seat, my darling. Lasagne and green salad?’

  ‘Thanks,’ she agreed, nodding as she slipped into the old leather seats of an alcove booth. It was her favourite seat, looking straight out over the tea rooms, which were almost opposite. ‘With a half pint of cider, please.’

  Stew looked at Gideon, raising his brows, his lined face alive with curiosity. Most people in the village knew that a stranger had moved into the flat above the Cornish Tea Rooms, but were too polite to ask exactly what their relationship was.

  Not that they had a relationship, she thought defiantly.

  ‘And for you, sir?’

  ‘I’ll order mine at the bar,’ Gideon told him, sauntering to the counter in his laconic way. ‘I’ll have a lasagne too, thanks. With something local to drink. What Cornish ales do you have here?’

  She found herself watching him instinctively, enjoying the roll of those lean hips above long legs, a
nd had to tell herself to look out of the window instead.

  Good grief.

  It was obvious he wasn’t interested in her. Not sexually, at any rate. Oh, he looked. When she was wearing something skimpy, or when they collided in the early mornings or late at night, both heading for the bathroom at the same time, he would look. But he always looked away a second later. And in her experience, men who were sexually interested in a woman looked for rather longer than that one fleeting glance.

  The only other reason a man wouldn’t look would be if he was shy. And nobody in their right mind could accuse Gideon of being shy.

  So he didn’t fancy her, surely?

  And he was sleeping so close to her room, Charlie was convinced he would have made his move by now if he was interested.

  She felt uncomfortable having him always there at night, only a few steps away from her bedroom door, but his help had proved invaluable. And besides, there was nowhere else for him sleep. It was a one-bedroom flat, despite the size of the tea rooms below, since the living room, kitchen and bathroom took up the rest of the space, plus a lovely little balcony garden with seating for two.

  He came back to the table with their drinks, and set his pint of Cornish ale down on a beer mat. ‘Our reward for a long day’s work,’ he said, a little wolfishly, and handed her the glass of cider. ‘Cheers.’

  She took a sip of her ice-cold cider, and sighed with pleasure as its sharp, tangy bubbles burst against her tongue. ‘Cheers.’

  He slid into the leather-covered seat opposite, tasting his pint with a speculative expression. ‘Ah, that’s good,’ he said, after a few swallows. ‘I love these Cornish ales.’

  ‘Are you Cornish?’

  He looked at her over the rim, then set his pint glass down again. ‘By birth,’ he told her, unrevealingly, and chased a tiny drop of condensation down the outside of the glass with his thumb, which he then licked carefully. ‘Though I’ve not been back here in years.’

  She watched him lick his thumb, her mouth suddenly dry. His eyes met hers, and she looked hurriedly away, feeling herself blush.

  ‘Why do you ask?’ he continued.

  ‘You’ve been living with me a few days now, and I know next to nothing about you.’ She shrugged. ‘I just thought this might be a good time for us to share.’

  ‘Share … ’ Gideon smiled, as though her curiosity amused him. ‘Okay, I’m game. But you first.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Why are you here, working yourself to exhaustion to get this business off the ground?’ He raised his eyebrows when she was silent. ‘Look, you could have sold the tea rooms when you inherited them. You didn’t need to try running them yourself. Especially given the circumstances.’

  She frowned, thinking through what he had said. ‘Circumstances? Do you mean the curse?’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘How did you hear about that?’

  He smiled. ‘People talk in this village. And I’m a good listener.’

  ‘The curse isn’t real. It’s nothing but local superstition.’

  ‘No smoke without fire.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, a little exasperated. ‘If you genuinely think the tea rooms are cursed, why are working there? Sleeping there too, for goodness’ sake?’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t been able to do much sleeping recently,’ he said, and his mouth twitched in wicked amusement.

  She stared. What on earth did he mean by that? ‘Why can’t you sleep? Do I snore?’ she demanded, feeling horribly embarrassed at the thought.

  He threw his head back and laughed, a glorious deep rumble of laughter from deep in his chest. ‘Good God, woman, of course not. That’s not why I’m having trouble sleeping … ’ His gaze tangled with hers. ‘Have you never looked in a mirror?’

  ‘I … Erm …’

  He laughed again, watching her.

  Bloody hell, she thought, and looked away, taking a long swallow of cider instead of replying.

  Had she been mistaken about him not finding her attractive then?

  Heat ran over her skin at the mental image of them in bed together, and shivered at the same time. Like having a fever, only it was all in the mind. And a very dirty mind too. One that needed to be scrubbed out with soap and steel wool. Basically, she found him sexy as hell, and now it seemed he also …

  Oh God, this had disaster written all over it.

  If they slept together, she would almost certainly make a fool of herself by falling in love with Gideon Petherick. He was simply too gorgeous to be a one-night-stand. And he was not the type any sensible woman should fall in love with. Rather, he was the footloose, wandering type who moved on after a brief fling and left the woman broken-hearted.

  Exactly as had happened to her aunt.

  But nothing’s going on here yet, she reminded herself sternly. There was still time to say no to that error, to avoid the unavoidable, if that make sense.

  ‘Why didn’t I sell the tea rooms instead of re-opening them?’ Charlie went back to his earlier question, changing the subject hurriedly before this conversation went in an awkward direction. ‘Well, for a start there were no good offers. The place is not in great repair, after all. By rights, it needs work on all the external walls, and new damp-proofing put in. And then there was the question of my aunt’s legacy.’

  ‘Her legacy?’

  ‘She left the tea rooms to me for a reason,’ Charlie said simply. ‘Because she knew how much I loved coming here as a small child, and helping out behind the counter, though I could hardly reach anything I was so tiny, and how magical I found the whole place.’ She gestured out of the window, gazing down towards the sunset-lit harbour. ‘Tremevissey … It’s such a gorgeous place. The village, the harbour, the cliffs … The way the sun dances on the Atlantic as the tide comes booming in. Everything here is steeped in Cornish myth and legend.’ She smiled, her voice tinged with nostalgia again. ‘Anything could happen here, that’s what I used to think as a child.’

  ‘Anything?’

  She nodded. ‘Absolutely anything.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I don’t know … Unicorns, enchanted woods, knights on horseback, long mythic quests for shining cups, the whole Arthurian legend. Tremevissey is part of that, and so are my aunt’s tea rooms. When you stand on that little bridge behind the tea rooms and look down at the rushing water, and the green mossed walls of the bank … It’s like being transported back to another age. The age of chivalry, the age of magic.’ She laughed self-consciously. ‘Sorry, I probably sound crazy.’

  ‘Not at all.’ He smiled. ‘Though I like the optimism that leads you to believe in magic, but not in curses.’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s me. An eternal optimist.’ Charlie finished her cider and put down the empty glass, staring at it. ‘Anyway, that’s why I chose to re-open the tea rooms, not sell them. Because I still believed in all that.’

  ‘And now?’ he asked seriously, holding her gaze. ‘Because it’s been a lot of hard work, Charlie, and things haven’t gone quite as planned, have they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So do you still feel like that? Do you still find this place magical?’

  She paused, considering that question for a moment.

  ‘I’m not sure. Maybe.’ Charlie looked across at him shyly. ‘It’s not been all bad though. We did fantastically well today, didn’t we? And the way you turned up after the sprinkler damage, when I thought it was all over … Well, that wasn’t so far from being rescued by a knight in shining armour.’

  Now it was his turn to look embarrassed.

  ‘Me?’ He shook his head, suddenly frowning. His voice dropped, gravelly and grim. ‘I’m no knight in shining armour, trust me.’

  ‘With shining rucksack, perhaps?’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Well, it’s meant a lot to me, having you help out.’ She took a deep breath. ‘To be honest, Gideon, I don’t think I could have kept going without your help. When you turned up the other day, I was on
the verge of walking away from the whole sorry business. I was so tired and upset, and I couldn’t see how to move forward. But you showed me it was still possible to turn the disaster around, and keep the tea rooms open.’

  He shrugged. ‘I grabbed a mop, that’s all.’

  ‘Hey, don’t do yourself down,’ she told him. ‘You’re pretty handy with a mop, you know.’

  ‘A knight with shining mop?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  Gideon met her eyes, then grinned. ‘Perhaps I should advertise my services like that. A wandering knight and bucket.’ He laughed. ‘I wonder if there’s a high demand in Cornwall for that kind of thing?’

  ‘Don’t you dare. I don’t know what I’d do if you went off to work somewhere else.’ She reached impulsively across the table and touched his hand. ‘No wandering, okay? I need you here at the tea rooms. Promise me you won’t leave. Not until the end of the summer season, at any rate.’

  He looked down at her hand, just touching his. There was a curious look in his face. Then he smiled and looked up at her. ‘Very well,’ he agreed slowly. ‘I promise I won’t leave. Not until the end of the summer, anyway.’

  ‘Fantastic.’ Filled with a sudden euphoria, Charlie seized her empty glass and jumped up. ‘Let’s have another drink to seal the bargain. My round this time. More Cornish ale?’

  He finished his drink swiftly, and held out the glass. ‘Why not?’

  Everything seemed settled. But their fingers brushed as she took the glass, his flesh warm and vibrant, and she dropped the glass, smashing it on the slate floor of the old pub.

  ‘Oh my God, I’m so clumsy.’ She turned to look at Stew with a placatory smile. ‘I’ll pay for the broken glass. Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Stew said, and bent out of sight behind the counter. ‘And don’t touch the pieces. I’ve got a dustpan and brush here, let me sort it out.’

  Her cheeks hot, Charlie glanced back at Gideon.

  Gideon had said nothing when she smashed his pint glass. He had not even looked down at the debris. He had merely sat like stone, staring up at her.