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

by Beth Good

  Now Charlie met his gaze with a sudden shock of awareness.

  She wasn’t clumsy. Not normally.

  Dropping that glass had been a pure physical response to touching his hand. Like an electric current had run through her, short-circuiting everything for that one blinding second. Everything except her sexual instincts.

  Oh goodness.

  She wanted him, and he wanted her, she could tell.

  Yet, by the end of the summer, Gideon Petherick and his shining rucksack would have moved on. On to tea rooms new. Women new too, no doubt. He had more or less confirmed that himself just now. In other words, any relationship she started with this man was doomed to a premature end. And probably a sticky, uncomfortable end, at that. The kind that would leave her alone and in tears, like the idiot she was.

  Nonetheless, she couldn’t help herself.

  Why not, after all?

  Her mind raced on pleasurably, imagining, dreaming, even fantasising about this man and what he might do to her with those strong hands …

  For God’s sake, why shouldn’t she abandon her usual caution and go wild for a change? She wasn’t a nun. She wasn’t involved with anyone else. She was just incredibly busy. She was a business woman now, a professional, and she had to behave responsibly.

  That was one voice in her head. The sturdy, no-nonsense voice of Mr Timms, her middle-aged bank manager in a pinstriped suit. Damn him.

  But there was another voice in there too. A decidedly more feminine voice, with a very different message. A sneakier, more beguiling voice, whispering into her brain that she wasn’t married to the blessed tea rooms. So why shouldn’t she do something naughty and exciting and perhaps a little bit reprehensible?

  And why shouldn’t she, she thought defiantly? Any desire they felt for each other might burn out like a candle, too brief to be anything but a summer fling. But at least they could enjoy dancing in that hot, sensual glow for a few short weeks.

  Gideon smiled slowly, as though reading her thoughts, and Charlie caught her breath at that smile, her lower lip snagged between her teeth.

  Oh crikey, he knew.

  Damn those conflicting voices in her head. Was this how the madness had started for Aunt Pansy?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Three long weeks passed in this fashion while the tea rooms remained in a depressing state of disarray, bundles of wiring everywhere, tiles pulled off the walls in the kitchen, the local electrician wandering in and out, whistling cheerfully …

  Her cat Benjamin stalked the upstairs flat with a disgruntled expression, clearly unhappy at sharing his space with another male. Especially one who was so much bigger – though not furrier, thankfully, and definitely not even remotely ginger – than him. Meanwhile, Gideon manned the street stall outside on the pavement, his ability to draw female customers with a dark sidelong look seemingly effortless, and Charlie puffed up and down the narrow stairs to her flat with heavy trays of cakes and filled rolls.

  The days were long and exhausting, and it was tempting at the close of business every day to think she could be spending that night in his arms if only she was more confident. But in the evenings, sometimes after they had hung out in the pub for an hour or two, Gideon would take the sofa at about eleven o’clock, his long legs draped over the end, while she retreated to her single bed without a word.

  It was not what she wanted. But it was how things were going. Basically, Charlie fancied the pants off Gideon Petherick, but was too damn scared to do anything about it.

  What exactly she was scared about was less certain in her mind.

  Rejection?

  That was unlikely. Given the way he kept looking at her sideways.

  It wasn’t a done deal though. He looked at lots of women sideways. Plus, if Gideon wanted her that much, he would surely have made a move by now. Unless he was too much of a gentleman to seduce her in her own flat … which was hard to imagine. Not with that hot gaze.

  No, it was the end she was scared about.

  The end of the affair.

  Because their affair would end, for sure, and then she would be left broken-hearted. Broken-hearted and in a helpless puddle of her own tears.

  Not a good look.

  Best not to start then, she decided. And kept deciding, night after night, lying alone in the darkness and listening to the distinct sound of silence from her lounge.

  Was he awake too, thinking about her?

  The temptation was horrible.

  Finally, the rewiring downstairs in the tea rooms and kitchen was complete, new ovens had been installed, and the Cornish Tea Rooms were declared ‘safe’ to reopen.

  The bank manager seemed relieved.

  So was Charlie.

  It had been a ridiculously long wait, and the summer season was now fully underway. But later was better than never, Charlie told herself, and started furiously making extra filled rolls and sandwiches as soon as the electrician had gone, glad to be back in her large, full-equipped, downstairs kitchen at last.

  ‘You told me you could bake,’ she said to Gideon, who nodded and threw a damp tea cloth over his broad shoulder. ‘Someone needs to make the food, and someone needs to wait on and run the tea rooms. I’ll get some casual waiting-on help as soon as I can. But any chance of being my man-in-the-kitchen now we don’t need the outside stall anymore?’

  He grinned. ‘My pleasure.’

  Gideon set to work immediately, heating the brand-new oven for the first time to burn off the odd ‘new oven’ smell, and later that evening she sat down to eat some of his delicious fruit scones and rock cakes.

  ‘Good grief, these are amazing.’ She nibbled at a Cornish cheddar scone too, and rolled her eyes. ‘You bake a mean cheese scone, Gideon. These are easily pro quality. Why on earth did you leave me to do all the baking on my own these past few weeks?’

  Shrugging, Gideon grabbed a broom and started to sweep up a few barely visible spots of flour still left on the kitchen floor.

  ‘You never asked if I knew how to bake.’

  ‘Okay, fair enough. It never occurred to me. I should have asked.’ She watched him curiously. ‘So this is me asking … Are there any other hidden skills you have that I should know about, Mr Petherick?’

  He stopped sweeping and looked round at her, a dry look on his face. ‘Seriously?’

  Charlie felt heat sweep up into her face. ‘Skills in the kitchen,’ she spluttered. ‘Not … in the … Not … Oh, you knew what I meant. You’re just teasing.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  But his smile was more than just amused as his gaze lingered on her tight grey T-shirt that perfectly – too perfectly, frankly – outlined her breasts.

  She jumped up, abandoning his cooling rack of scones, and headed for the door towards the dining area instead. ‘Sorry, I just need to … I totally forgot to check the … erm … paper napkin supplies.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Don’t want to run out of paper napkins tomorrow.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  But he was laughing openly now.

  Damn him, she thought, stumbling away with the delicious taste of his cheese scone still in her mouth. The man was incorrigible.

  Gorgeous and incorrigible.

  They reopened the Cornish Tea Rooms early the next morning.

  It was a sunny Saturday, thankfully, and she had managed to persuade two school girls from the village to help out as extra hands in the kitchen and waiting on. But she would need a more permanent addition to the staff during the week, so she hung a sign on the glass door to that effect.

  HELP NEEDED FOR THE SUMMER SEASON. GOOD RATES OF PAY. APPLY WITHIN.

  Curious tourists swarmed in and out of the double doors all day, blessedly hungry and thirsty, and she made enough money in the course of a single Saturday to relieve the stress of the previous three weeks.

  Reopening was such a success that Charlie threw a little party in the back room of the pub that evening, inviting all the locals who had supporte
d her through the crisis. Among her guests was Elsie, the fishmonger, a lively, platinum blonde divorcée whose pungent-smelling fish shop was three doors down from the Cornish Tea Rooms.

  Elsie came up behind her, wine glass sloshing in hand – she was a red wine woman, one of those – and gave her a squeeze. As she was also quite a large woman, with a wildly prominent chest, this was not entirely comfortable.

  ‘Darling, thank you for the wine!’

  ‘Hello, Elsie.’

  Elsie hiccupped loudly in her ear. ‘And for the invite. Thank you so much.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ Charlie turned to smile at her. ‘Thanks for your help. For everyone’s help. I couldn’t have kept going without you all.’

  ‘No probs.’

  Elsie had been one of the first to offer help after the sprinkler horror, bringing round a large metal bucket (which she had also kindly filled with ice every morning from her own supply) to keep cans and bottles cool outside in the sunshine.

  ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ Charlie asked politely.

  She didn’t know Elsie very well, as she had been too busy to socialise much since taking on the tea rooms. But she was determined to make friends with her neighbours, and the local community in general. And it was true that everyone had been very kind when she found herself in difficulties.

  ‘It’s good to let my hair down.’

  ‘Do make sure you get a refill when that’s finished,’ Charlie said, nodding to Elsie’s half-empty glass. ‘It’s a free bar for the first hour.’

  ‘Stew told me when I tried to pay for this one. Bloody good of you, darling.’

  ‘Enjoy.’

  ‘Oh, I intend to.’

  Elsie smiled and pressed closer, which was a little worrying. But it seemed the fishmonger had something quite different on her mind, her next question leaving Charlie stunned and speechless.

  ‘So, darling,’ she asked, in a piercing voice that carried right across the pub, ‘are you bonking that gorgeous Gideon Petherick?’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Heads turned in their immediate vicinity. Curious eyes locked with hers. A murmur of excited fascination ran through the women present, on whom Gideon’s hot looks had clearly not been lost.

  Charlie blushed fierily.

  Elsie giggled and nudged her. ‘Oops, said that a bit loud, didn’t I?’

  It took an effort of will for Charlie to close her gaping mouth and stay calm enough to reply with a bemused, ‘I’m s … sorry?’

  ‘Him.’

  Elsie now pointed with her glass – with a savage slosh, more wine ending up on the Cornish slate floor – toward Gideon, who thankfully had his back to them and did not appear to have heard Elsie’s previous question. He was leaning on a pool cue, in fact, intent on his game of pool against Derrick, a tour guide and curator of a small local museum dedicated to clogs.

  ‘I said,’ Elsie repeated, only lowering her voice a couple of decibels, it seemed, ‘are you having it off with that total sex god, Gideon Petherick?’

  Gideon shifted slightly, and both women fell silent, holding their breath.

  Had he heard?

  But to Charlie’s profound relief, he did not look round. Merely made some desultory comment to Derrick as the other man lined up to pot a difficult ball off the cushion.

  Phew.

  ‘I mean,’ Elsie continued, this time more softly in her ear, ‘you’re shacked up with him in that flat above the tea rooms. Everyone knows you are. So you must be shagging the bastard, surely? Seriously, why else would the two of you be up there together every night, snug as two bugs in a rug, if you weren’t banging each other for all you’re worth?’

  Charlie blenched.

  ‘What’s the matter? Charlie? You’ve gone a funny colour. Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re too shy to admit it. I’d be telling anyone who’d listen if I’d caught someone like that.’ Elsie wriggled oddly beside her, as though her knickers were too tight suddenly and she was trying to adjust them. ‘After all, look at him. It’s not like he isn’t the sexiest beast on two legs in this back-of-beyond village. If I was you, I’d have jumped his bones soon as he walked into my place.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Charlie just about managed to say, barely coherent and bright pink with embarrassment.

  ‘What?’

  Elsie fell silent suddenly, and then made a kind of strangled moaning noise in the back of her throat. She was staring at Gideon’s rear view as he bent over the pool table to take his shot.

  ‘Christ, will you look at that? I bet that’s a mouth-watering parcel in tight, white cotton boxers. I bet he strips down very nicely. Oh yeah, I bet. Does he though? You must know, Charlie. Does he? Come on, spill the beans …’ Elsie sighed reluctantly as Gideon straightened, having potted a ball at last. She seemed almost to wipe her chin afterwards. Drool, perhaps? ‘Like two hardboiled eggs in a hanky,’ she finished under her breath.

  Gideon looked round at that instant, catching them both staring fixedly at his taut behind in black jeans.

  Hurriedly, Charlie raised her gaze to his face instead, and had the uncanny impression that Elsie, at her shoulder, had done exactly the same thing in exactly the same second.

  Nooooo.

  To her horror, Gideon said nothing but smiled. That slow, provoking smile she hated. Then he chalked the tip of his cue, gazing straight back at them with narrowed eyes and not the slightest hint of embarrassment, before sauntering round the pool table towards his next ball.

  ‘Oh yes, I love watching him take his shot,’ Elsie babbled beside her. ‘Have you seen him play pool before? He’s an impressive player. Such a great eye for a ball.’

  Now that he must have heard.

  Charlie could not seem to say a word. But she knew she couldn’t stand there a moment longer. Turning away, she stumbled towards the ladies, and promptly fell over someone who appeared to be almost deliberately sticking their leg out from one of the alcove seats.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ she exclaimed, colliding uncomfortably with the hard slate floor of the pub.

  A few seconds later, Gideon was at her side, pool cue still in his hand.

  ‘You hurt?’

  Her hair in her eyes, Charlie peered up at him through her unruly locks like an Old English Sheepdog. ‘Erm, no, I don’t think so.’

  She glared towards the owner of the offending sticking-out-leg, and realised with a jolt that it was Irene, her former waitress.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Irene told her, and waved to her leg, which Charlie could now plainly see was still in a cast. ‘Can’t bend the damn thing. I did try to warn you, but it’s so noisy in here.’ She paused, smiling wanly. ‘Good of you to invite me, Charlie.’

  Charlie stammered something incoherent, then glanced at Gideon.

  Oh, this was awkward.

  ‘Irene, this is Gideon Petherick,’ she managed to say in the silence that followed. ‘Gideon’s helping me out at the tea rooms. Gideon, this is Irene. She was my chief waitress until … ’

  When she paused, Irene said, with a slight edge of acidity, ‘Until I fell downstairs and broke my bloody leg.’

  ‘I hope the insurance pay-out was useful,’ Charlie said quickly, so nobody should think she had not ensured everything had been covered for Irene’s health care.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Irene said, with a satisfied nod, and sucked hard on the two straws in her blue cocktail. ‘Very helpful.’

  Gideon helped Charlie back to her feet, then smiled at Irene with his usual abundant charm. He nodded at her leg cast. ‘That looks uncomfortable. I broke my leg once.’

  ‘Did you, Mr Petherick?’ To Charlie’s surprise, far from being cross, Irene seemed almost enchanted by the man who had replaced her at the tea rooms. She looked him up and down. ‘How did you manage that, a big strapping fellow like you?’

  ‘Skiing.’

  Irene’s eyes widened, and she sounded impressed. ‘You ski, then?’

  ‘Of course. That was years ago though,
high in the Swiss Alps.’ He slipped an arm about Charlie’s waist, which left her feeling a bit embarrassed. Elsie’s comments had already thrown enough fuel on that particular fire, she thought ruefully. She did not want people to think they were sleeping together. Especially since they were not actually sleeping together. ‘There was an avalanche. The rest of my party was buried. I was lucky to escape with my life.’

  ‘Goodness.’

  Charlie wriggled free of his hold. ‘Yes, goodness,’ she echoed, not quite believing his story. And there was an ironic gleam in his eyes as he glanced at her that made her doubly suspicious.

  ‘Well, lovely to see you again, Irene,’ she muttered, and bent awkwardly to give the older woman a hug. She nodded at Irene’s husband, a bald man in a track suit, who had not said a word throughout, merely cradling his beer with a blank expression. ‘I’m glad you’re on the road to recovery. And remember, as soon as you’re ready to come back to work again, there’s a job for you at the tea rooms. If you want it.’

  Irene pursed her lips. ‘Oh now, I’m not sure about that.’

  ‘I hope you’re not reluctant because of me,’ Gideon said quickly, his eyes narrowed on her face. ‘There’s plenty of work for us both.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Irene replied, a scornful note in her voice.

  Charlie frowned, surprised by her tone. ‘Then what’s the problem? Honestly, like Gideon says, we’d be delighted to have you back once you’re ready.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Irene echoed, glancing from her face to Gideon’s then back again, before shaking her head. ‘It’s the curse, that’s what.’

  ‘The curse?’

  Gideon sounded bemused.

  ‘The curse on the tea rooms, of course,’ Irene said, her face sombre. ‘Do you think the whole village doesn’t know? First Pansy drowned, then your poor sainted grandmother died, succumbing to a simple head cold like that – ‘

  ‘The doctors said it was pneumonia,’ Charlie corrected her.

  ‘A simple head cold,’ Irene repeated stubbornly, ‘`and then what happened at the grand reopening. The fire, and the sprinklers going off and ruining the place, just when everything was going so well. Then me falling down the stairs and breaking my leg like that, out of the blue.’ She shook her head again, totally convinced by her own theory. ‘It’s the curse, Charlie. The tea rooms are cursed and always have been. If you can’t see that, then I’m very sorry for you.’ She looked up at Gideon. ‘And for you too, Mr Petherick.’