There's Something About Cornwall

by Daisy James

  ‘Fancy a dance then?’

  ‘I’d love to.’

  Matt grabbed her wrist and they shot off to the beach dance floor to gyrate to the sounds of Amy Winehouse. The alcohol in the punch had loosened her legs and her awkwardness and she matched his moves, tossing her hair behind her like a wild Medusa, laughing and shouting her answers to his frequent questions. They danced together for the rest of the evening, interspersed with doses of rejuvenating punch and chatting to Alice who had monopolised the attention of one of the DJs.

  Beyond the beach the ocean rippled like a sheet of black tar, broken only by the dark silhouette of a ship gliding along the horizon like a mysterious mirage. An ivory moon hung in the canopy overhead, bathing the party with light and shadow to the accompaniment of the rhythmic slap of the waves before the music took over the audio soundtrack once again. A warm glow of pleasure wrapped its mantle around Emilie’s shoulders and she experienced an overwhelming desire to remain on that beach with her present companion for ever.

  But the night couldn’t last for ever and on the stroke of ten p.m. the music ceased and the party dispersed. Emilie looked down and realised she was still holding Matt’s hand. She lifted her eyes and saw the pleasure scrawled across his handsome face. Her heart gave a joyous lurch but then her brain nudged its way into her thoughts, reminding her that Matt was leaving for Northumberland the next day.

  ‘I’ve had a great night, Emilie.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Come on. I’ll wait with you in the car park until your taxi arrives.’

  ‘Oh, actually, sorry I should have said. Sadly, our accommodation and mode of transport for this epic trip is a vintage camper van.’ She cringed as she realised that spending her first night in its embrace was about to become a reality.

  Matt chuckled at her expression of disgust, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes creasing attractively. ‘Luxury in the extreme!’

  Emilie smiled. Compared to living in a tent for the last seven months she supposed their camper van was the height of sophisticated decadence.

  ‘This it?’ Matt stopped in front of the van.

  ‘Yes. Alice calls it the Satsuma Splittie.’

  Matt laughed in his deep low voice, edged with a soupçon of northern twang. He moved closer to her until their mouths were inches apart. A kaleidoscope of emotions churned around her body as his cornflower blue eyes delved deep into her soul, turning her heart to liquid and her knees to jelly. In that moment she realised that even in the first few heady months of her relationship with Brad she had never felt such an overwhelming need, a desperation almost, to be kissed.

  She curled her arm around Matt’s waist but just as the warmth of Matt’s breath stroked her cheek and their lips brushed, a high-pitched scream erupted from the wooden pathway leading from the beach to the car park. The moment was broken.

  Matt released her hand, swung round and sprinted towards the sound, with Emilie panting in his wake.

  ‘Oh my God, Alice! What happened?’

  ‘Knew I should have taken your advice and gone barefoot. My heel got caught between the wooden slats. Oh, Emilie, I’m so sorry. I think I’ve broken my ankle.’ And she promptly burst into noisy tears.

  The DJ Alice had been dancing with swept her into his arms and Matt directed them to the Surf Academy’s wooden hut. He grabbed the first aid kit, expertly applied an ice pack and secured it with a bandage, but even Emilie could see Alice’s ankle had ballooned to almost double its usual size. Tears streaked down her pale cheeks and she winced with every unintentional jolt.

  ‘I think you’ll need to have your ankle X-rayed,’ said Matt, casting his eyes around the gathering. ‘Anyone here fit to drive?’

  Everyone shook their heads. The Cornish Mine Punch had been a lethal brew and the beer had also flowed in abundance so no one dared risk driving.

  ‘I’ll call a taxi then.’

  ‘Oh, Emilie, I’m so, so sorry,’ bubbled Alice. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Let’s get you patched up first before we think about that.’

  The taxi pulled up next to the camper van and they bundled Alice into the back seat. Matt loitered at the passenger door, clearly wanting to say something to Emilie before they left. He whipped out his mobile phone from the back pocket of his denim shorts and asked for her number.

  ‘Will you ring me? Let me know how you get on at the hospital?’

  Emilie smiled and nodded, fighting back tears of her own. She turned to climb into the taxi and a wave of disappointment washed over her. She felt like a slab of concrete had taken up residence in her chest where her heart should be, squeezing out the air from her lungs and making breathing difficult.

  She hooked her arm through Alice’s and gave her clammy hand a squeeze, before turning her head to watch Matt’s solitary figure recede from the rear window until he became a dark dot on the horizon. Yet his image remained in vivid Technicolor in her mind’s eye and she knew it would be a long time before her brief encounter with Matt Ashby faded to tinted rose.

  Chapter Five

  The A&E was neon-bright and efficient, but the diagnosis wasn’t good. Alice had broken her ankle in two places and needed to have it pinned. They couldn’t operate straight away because of the swelling, which meant she had to spend the night in the hospital and probably the next few days as well.

  ‘You have to go back to Padstow and collect the camper van,’ urged Alice, her words strained with a concoction of anxiety and the dose of morphine she’d been given to ease her pain. ‘You have to carry on with the trip. It’s been organised for months and there’s no way it can be cancelled. It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have gone to a beach party the night before a shoot. My professional reputation will be in tatters – Lucinda will make sure of that. The contract even states that I can be asked to pay for any lost time due to my actions or negligence, or words to that effect. I have insurance but it’s not the money, it’s the damage to my reputation. Ours is a close-knit community, Emilie. You know that.

  ‘It’ll take a few days if not more to find a replacement stylist and they won’t have any idea of Lucinda’s quirks. I’ve spent hours planning this culinary road trip with military precision. Every venue is on high alert for Lucinda’s arrival at a precise time so they can prepare their kitchen for her requirements. The only solution is for you to do it.’

  ‘Oh God! You’ve got to be joking, Alice! I can’t style and photograph a shoot by myself.’

  ‘You can! You are a fabulous food stylist. I’ve seen what you can do, or what you could do before Brad got his claws into your self-esteem.’ Alice winced as she tried to push herself up on the trolley she was lying on until a bed became available on a ward. It was one o’clock in the morning and she had been informed that she was not likely to be going anywhere until eight a.m. at the earliest.

  ‘But what if I mess up? What if Brad’s right and I make a total disaster of showcasing Lucinda’s desserts?’ A coil of panic wound its tentacles around her chest and pulled tight. ‘And now that I’ve seen what she’s like to work with…’

  ‘Em, you are a seasoned professional…’

  ‘And another thing – you know how much I hate driving. I haven’t been behind a wheel since I crashed Brad’s beloved Roadster. I’m not even sure I can remember how to drive!’

  Tears began to trickle down Alice’s ivory cheeks. ‘Oh God! Oh God! My career is finished. I’ll never get another job. I’ve worked so hard to get every last detail organised, to co-ordinate the perfect schedule. I really thought I could pull this off…’

  Emilie watched Alice inhale a ragged gulp of air and begin shredding a damp tissue she’d been clutching in her fist. She remembered how Alice had staunchly come to her rescue the previous day when Lucinda had threatened to fire her. Emilie made a decision. Even though she had preferred to travel by two wheels instead of four since the accident, arguing her environmentally friendly credentials, she h
ad to do this for her friend. She shoved her doubts into the far crevices of her mind, took Alice’s clammy hand in hers and pinned on her most confident smile.

  ‘Don’t worry, Al. I can do this. Driving a car is probably just like riding a bike. Once I get back behind the wheel it’ll all come flooding back.’ Although she wasn’t too sure she could put an ancient camper van in the same category as Brad’s sleek, top-of-the-range BMW with power-assisted steering and anti-lock brakes.

  ‘Thank you,’ muttered Alice, the relief written clearly across her face as she lay back against the over-plump pillows and closed her eyes briefly. Emilie could almost hear the cogs clanking in her friend’s brain, albeit under the influence of the morphine. She didn’t have to wait long for the instructions to start flowing. ‘Now, remember, every stop on the tour has its own designated laminated instruction card with the itinerary, the recipe and photographs of the background layout. The props are filed and labelled in accordance with their usage in my trunk. It’s all self-explanatory.’

  ‘Alice, I’ve told you, I’ve got this. You just concentrate on mending that ankle.’

  ‘But it’s such a lot for one person to take on. I have complete trust in you handling the photography and the styling, but adding in all the driving you’ll be exhausted and that’s when mistakes are made. You could do with someone who is willing to help you with the driving. Anyone! What about the taxi driver who brought us here? I saw him give you his card in case we needed a lift back to the van.’ Desperation twisted Alice’s expression and fresh tears began to form on her lower lashes.

  Poor Alice, thought Emilie as her heart performed a backflip of sympathy. And yet she had to concede that Alice had every reason to be terrified of the impending backlash from Lucinda when the news of her accident filtered through. She would be made to feel that she had done this on purpose as a personal assault on Lucinda’s timetable. It had been Alice’s idea to go to the party, not hers, and whilst she would never divulge that fact to Lucinda, she knew Alice wouldn’t allow her to shoulder the blame for something that had been entirely her own fault.

  ‘Alice, I don’t think the taxi driver, or anyone else for that matter, will be up for driving a camper van around Cornwall stopping off at eight pit stops on the way. Do you? Two whole weeks away from home? And are you truly suggesting I share the back of a camper van with a stranger? Alice? Alice?’

  But Alice had succumbed to a chemically induced slumber and the creases of pain across her forehead and over the bridge of her nose had disappeared, leaving an angelic expression on her pretty face. Emilie was amazed to see that despite the trauma of the last three hours Alice’s make-up remained intact. There was no way she would be seeking out a mirror to check her own reflection any time soon.

  She slumped back onto the brown plastic chair next to Alice’s trolley bed, her brain frazzled with trepidation as she contemplated the approaching nightmare, not only of kangarooing around the narrow lanes of Cornwall, but of explaining what had happened to Lucinda. For she knew she had to be the one to speak to her directly and the sooner the better. As she reached into her bag for her phone, dislodging a boiled sweet from its screen, it leapt into life with an insistent buzz. Her finger hovered over the green answer button as the caller ID was unidentified. Who would be calling her at one-thirty in the morning?

  She stooped to drop a kiss on Alice’s forehead and give her limp hand a final squeeze. Alice’s mother was due to arrive on the first train in the morning so she knew she would be well cared for. Emilie made her way to the exit and, in a fit of ‘what the hell’, she answered her phone. Surely they couldn’t be ringing to see if she had PPI at that time of the night?

  ‘Hello?’ Her voice croaked as her tongue detached from the roof of her mouth.

  ‘Emilie? Is that you?’

  ‘Yes. Hello, Matt.’

  ‘How’s Alice?’

  ‘Broken her ankle in two places. Needs a couple of pins. Her mum is on her way down from Bath. She’s sleeping at the moment and they’ll operate when the swelling goes down.’

  ‘So that drink is definitely off?’

  ‘Drink?’

  Emilie dragged her hair behind her ears as she watched a man help his heavily pregnant partner from their car, with a mixture of panic and excitement on their faces. Her initial confusion was immediately replaced with an instant light bulb moment. ‘Matt, can you drive?’

  ‘What do you mean? Of course I can drive. I don’t always travel around on a surfboard you know. Why?’

  She paused for a split second to ask herself if what she intended to propose was crazy, but then threw caution to the wind. Needs must and all that.

  ‘And did you say you have nothing lined up for the winter season in Northumberland yet?’

  ‘Ye…es.’

  ‘And that you intend to hitch-hike the whole way home?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘This might sound like a crazy request, but can I ask you a huge favour? Would you be up for driving the camper van around Cornwall? I can probably make a stab at Alice’s food stylist job – not as proficiently as Alice granted – but I’ve lots of previous experience and she tells me she’s mapped out every shoot down to the last detail. I just can’t do the driving as well. Call it a sort of foodie road trip from Padstow in the north to St Ives in the south and a few points in between, for a famous TV chef. There’ll be plenty of cake – I can promise you that! I can’t offer you…’

  ‘Emilie…’

  ‘I can’t offer you accommodation, but you have your tent and I promise I’ll cook you breakfast every morning.’

  There was a long stretch of silence. Emilie felt goose pimples ripple over her whole body, which was doused in a clammy sweat. Her heartbeat hammered out a disconsolate symphony of anxiety and a sudden wave of nausea caused her to collapse onto the stone steps at the hospital entrance.

  Was she really contemplating taking on the task of styling the whole Lucinda Loves…Desserts shoot without the calming presence of Alice to guide her through the labyrinth of potential pitfalls – any one of which could be the catalyst to ending her career? Wasn’t it better to risk Lucinda’s wrath whilst it was directed at Alice? On the other hand, was she prepared to don the dubious badges of ‘coward’ and ‘fair-weather friend’ and allow Alice to shoulder the blame so she could ditch the assignment she hadn’t wanted to be part of in the first place before it even got started?

  She knew the answer to the conundrum. Her usual enthusiasm for life had morphed from exuberant to non-existent over the last six months and she had to acknowledge a recent propensity for choosing the easy route instead of the right one. She knew that her uncharacteristic reticence against striding ahead without a glimpse in the rear-view mirror was born from the evaporation of her self-confidence, which had coincided with the constant jibes and criticism Brad had issued about not only her photography but her driving too.

  She now realised that his covert negative influence had shattered her ability to deal with demanding and obnoxious clients but also her willingness to fly solo and style her shoots herself. Now it seemed both her phobias had crept up on her unannounced. Could she deal with them at the same time?

  ‘Emilie? Did you hear me?’

  ‘Sorry, Matt.’

  ‘I said grab a taxi back to Padstow, get some sleep and I’ll meet you at your Satsuma Splittie at seven a.m. sharp. What time do you need to be in Perranporth?’

  ‘Oh, erm, nine o’clock for the set-up and I’ll need to study Alice’s notes on the way.’

  ‘Then you have yourself a driver! Do I get a cap?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Never mind. Thanks, Emilie. This is going to be an awesome gig!’

  ‘Gosh, Matt, it’s me who should be thanking you. I think you might just have saved mine and Alice’s careers.’

  She tossed her phone into her bag and rested her forearms on her thighs, staring at the ground between her knees. A surge
of tiredness threatened to overwhelm her, almost immediately followed by a spasm of fear. Could she really be contemplating handling a Lucinda Loves… photo shoot alone? She could just imagine what Brad would say if he knew. But then, what did it have to do with him? She had no need to prove anything to him any more. If she had to impress anyone it was Lucinda, and she intended to draw on every single ounce of her experience and creativity to do just that – not only for herself but for Alice as well.

  As she made her way to the taxi rank, another more problematic thought occurred to her. How on earth was she going to spend the next two weeks in such close proximity to Matt? Despite all the anxiety about what challenges might be waiting for her on the Great Cornish Baking Voyage, mingled in the cauldron of emotions was a flurry of excitement at being able to get to know him better.

  Chapter Six

  Shafts of bright sunlight pierced the windows and she cursed herself for forgetting to draw the curtains. But, as the fabric was almost psychedelic in its composition of bold orange and yellow checks, she decided she preferred the natural wake-up call.

  She pushed herself up onto her elbows, her bones leaden from lack of sleep, and listened to the pure, crystal silence that surrounded the camper van. Only the faint ripple of the distant waves broke the spell. A feeling of pleasure crept over her until the events of the previous night intruded on her sojourn into paradise like a pitcher of icy water tossed in her face, accompanied by the heart-stopping urgency of insistent banging on the camper van door.

  ‘Emilie, Emilie! Wake up! It’s seven-thirty.’

  Her heart bounced into her mouth as she scrambled to let Matt into the van.

  ‘Emilie? Are you in there?’

  ‘Hang on a minute!’ she grumbled, shoving her fingers through her tangled hair and dragging it over her head. She groped for the handle and slid back the door of the Satsuma Splittie with a resounding clunk.