There's Something About Cornwall

by Daisy James

  Her throated tightened around a prickly pear. She could think of no words to adequately express her emotions as she tore her eyes away from the image. It screamed ‘happy couple on holiday’. Her phone rang and she swished at the screen to answer it.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Em, but I thought you’d want to know that he’s moved on. That’s Cassandra from the shoot – I’m friends with her on Facebook – so the pictures are current.’

  ‘Yes, yes, you are absolutely right to show me. Thanks, Alice. I realise how hard that was for you.’

  ‘Not hard at all – Brad Milligan’s a complete moron, always was, always will be. This just proves it. You were together for years and you only split up a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t have a problem with him and Cassie. I wasn’t going to spend time with the crew on the shoot anyway. All I wanted was to take in some sightseeing, do a little photography, visit the churches and soak up the atmosphere and a few glasses of Chianti. I’m over Brad and he certainly doesn’t deserve to linger in my thoughts.’

  ‘You sure you’re okay?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. In fact, I’m not bothered about losing the Venice assignment any more. I’m loving being a part of the Great British Baking Voyage round the pretty villages of Cornwall. And I think I’ll stay in London for the weekend after all.’

  ‘Good for you. But what are you going to do this weekend instead? Why don’t you come over to mine? I’ve got a couple of friends coming round to keep me company whilst I’m laid up. We’re going to eat fish and chips and drink champagne.’

  ‘Oh, thanks, Alice. It sounds great but I think I need to be by myself.’

  ‘Okay. So, tell me about Matt Ashby – your very own, real-life surfer dude.’

  ‘Alice, Matt is not…

  ‘Oh, come on, humour me. Let me indulge my fantasies even if you refuse to indulge yours. What I wouldn’t give to be travelling around the pretty Cornish lanes in the Satsuma Splittie with a tanned hunk by my side to cuddle up to when the evenings turn cold. Before we go any further I insist you text me a photo of him.’

  Emilie laughed and her earlier tension drained from her veins. Brad wasn’t worth fretting over. She was done with Bradley Milligan and it felt good. As ordered, she found a photo she’d taken of Matt when they’d visited Hugo’s vineyard. He was holding a glass of wine up to the camera, a maze of vegetation winding through the background, his head thrown back as he laughed at something Hugo had said.

  Before she sent the picture to Alice, she took a moment to study the image herself. His face was wreathed in happiness at being able to spend a few hours in the company of his friend. The golden hairs on his tanned forearms glistened in the late afternoon sunshine and he seemed so relaxed in his own skin. Yet he was stalked by a shadow of sadness that was apparent even in the photograph. She resolved to take a leaf out of his book and refused to dwell on the end of her relationship with Brad.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Oh, my God, he’s just as gorgeous as I remember! I can totally see why you’ve been keeping him to yourself.’

  ‘I have not been keeping him to myself.’ Emilie laughed.

  ‘You know, I can’t believe you turned down a weekend with this guy to go chasing off to Italy.’

  ‘Neither can I!’ she admitted.

  ‘I knew it! You like Matt, don’t you? I can hear it in your voice.’

  ‘Yes, but we’re working together. There’s still another week of the trip left to go. Can’t be thinking of romance whilst I’m working with The Devil Who Wears an Apron, can I? Anyway, he lives in Northumberland; I live in London.’

  ‘Go for it, Em. Why not take a risk and see where it leads? What’s the worst that can happen?’

  ‘I lose my handsome chauffeur and styling assistant?’ She giggled.

  ‘You know, you really need to deal with your driving issue, Em. And whilst we’re on the subject of taking risks, have you thought any more about going freelance? I just know you’ll be awesome.’

  ‘Well, I…’

  ‘And if you do decide to go freelance you can base yourself wherever you like: London, Cornwall, Northumberland, wherever.’

  ‘Alice…’

  ‘Just saying…’

  And they both dissolved into giggles. It felt good.

  Chapter Twelve

  As the train wound its way to her destination, she felt strangely cast adrift from her surroundings, suspended above the tracks watching life roll on below with mechanical predictability. The leaden sky had bleached all colour from the ever-changing scene and draped the view with a veil of melancholy to match her mood.

  Why did life have to throw such grenades in her path? In the last week, not only had she lost her dream assignment, been allocated a shoot with someone her colleagues labelled a devil in an apron, but now she had discovered Brad had moved on within days of the end of their relationship. Even though he had cheated during their relationship, moving on with someone else so blatantly still stung.

  Nevertheless, she knew she would eventually overcome all those things and be able to move on to the next challenge. However, her conversation with Alice had reminded her that there was still a huge elephant in her life that she was tiptoeing around, refusing to look it in the eye and usher it from its pedestal. Far from diminishing as time passed by, its hostile presence had mushroomed. Until now dealing with it had become such a big deal she couldn’t contemplate even taking the first step.

  She had texted Matt to let him know what time her train was due into Penzance and he’d confirmed he would be there waiting for her in the Satsuma Splittie in the station car park. She had decided to spend the weekend catching up with her friends in London and had enjoyed a lunchtime cappuccino with Alice at the Italian restaurant below her flat. She’d also enjoyed a sumptuous afternoon tea and Prosecco with Sadie and Lauren. The cakes probably wouldn’t pass muster with Lucinda but they had been devoured with gusto all the same.

  She had sent Dexter a text to tell him she was grateful for the offer of a flight to Venice, but she had decided to spend the weekend with Alice instead. He’d replied with a smiley icon. But for some reason she had been overcome by reluctance to rush back to Cornwall and spend the weekend with Matt. She couldn’t explain it.

  Perhaps she was troubled by what Alice had said about Matt being a perfect date and the fact that she had grown so close to him so quickly. He was friendly, fun to be with, supportive of her when she’d needed the boost, and an excellent driver, but was he interested in her romantically? She had re-examined the spasm of desire that shot through her veins when their lips had brushed that night outside the camper van and wondered how things might have progressed if she hadn’t overindulged in the Scrumpy – delicious though it was.

  She had chosen to spend some time working through the photographs she had taken for Lucinda Loves…Desserts and was delighted with what she had so far. She had also flicked through the images she had taken for Matt, which recorded his obsession with everything to do with alcohol, and she had picked out a few she thought could accompany the articles he intended to write.

  Perhaps she would collate them all – from the sparkling wine of Hugo’s vineyard to the flagons of Cornish Scrumpy in Carrie’s barn and any other beverage of distinction they came across on their culinary road trip. She could present him with a portfolio of images when the assignment ended as a heartfelt thank you for all his help and support, not only as her driver and co-stylist, but as a friend.

  Now she was hurtling her way towards Penzance and the time when she’d have to confess that she hadn’t in fact caught the flight to Venice but spent the rain-soaked weekend in London working instead of returning to Cornwall.

  The train slowed and the platform heaved into sight. Her frown morphed into a smile. There was Matt, waiting on the platform like a ray of sunshine in the drab overcast day. She found herself thinking how nice it would be if, like Alice had suggested, she could j
ump down from the train and be swept into his arms with a hug of pleasure.

  The romcomesque reunion didn’t happen, but a swirl of pleasant, inconsequential banter accompanied them as they travelled towards the teashop where Lucinda was presenting a tutorial to ticket-holding fans on the intricacies of baked Cornish Cheesecake, Caramel-Glazed Pears and individual Whortleberry Pies made with butter-rich, melt-in-the-mouth pastry.

  Emilie had confided to Matt that she was worried this was going to be the most testing of the nine shoots as it would be crammed to bursting with members of the public clamouring to ask Lucinda questions – instead of being peopled by culinary professionals who understood the need for perfect lighting, the most flattering angle and the inclusion of the right props to enhance the image. She planned to loiter around the kitchen and snap a shot wherever the opportunity arose and then rely on the marvels of the computer to manipulate and enhance the photographs later if necessary.

  Whilst Matt searched for the elusive city centre parking spot for the Satsuma Splittie, she peered through the steamed-up windows of the Café des Amis. There was Lucinda, a broad smile on her face, her soft chestnut curls perfectly coiffed and her make-up expertly applied, handing out those baby-pink Lucinda loves…Penzance aprons to her adoring followers. Emilie heaved a sigh of relief that they would be taking the gifts home with them as souvenirs rather than Marcus having to reacquaint himself with the services of the local dry-cleaners.

  Lucinda, she noticed, was a natural with the public, not only an accomplished baker when under the spotlight, but also able to deliver a continual stream of instructions interspersed with amusing anecdotes and handy tips she’d learned on her way to fame. Her audience, although no doubt carefully selected, clearly adored her. They hung on her every word, some even to the extent that they were jotting down her pearls of wisdom in notebooks, whilst others clutched copies of her last culinary masterpiece in the hope of a personalised message and autograph.

  As she watched from the sidelines, Emilie’s respect for Lucinda ballooned. When the trio of local desserts had all been removed from the oven and arranged on the pretty French china supplied by the café ready to be photographed, she offered Lucinda a tentative smile and set about clicking her camera as efficiently and with as little fuss and ancillary chaos as possible.

  She had taken the precaution of storing her camera case and other paraphernalia neatly away in the corner to reduce the risk of an accident. Using artificial light and a deflector she was able to achieve a perfect image, highlighting the desserts to enhance their texture and shape, and their mouth-watering deliciousness.

  After taking her final shot a feeling of euphoria burst through her chest, but it lasted only seconds as she was unceremoniously shoved against the wall to make way for the stampede of hungry fans vying to sample the desserts before everything disappeared and to fire random questions at their heroine. Emilie pressed her spine against the wall and shuffled sideways like a constipated crab to retrieve her equipment before stumbling out of the front door into the street, searching for a sign of Matt.

  For the first time she had the chance to appreciate the magnificent view. The dramatic island castle of St Michael’s Mount rose up from the sea like an ancient citadel. She wished she could linger long enough to take in a tour. But at that moment Matt drew up alongside her and she had to satisfy herself with a few quick photographs to send to Alice.

  Strangely, since she had travelled back down from London her appetite had returned with a vengeance. She intended to offer to buy Matt dinner at one of the lovely little bistros before they continued on to the next stage in the cross-country voyage of adventure – St Ives.

  ‘So what sort of food tickles your taste buds?’ asked Matt as he pressed his foot on the accelerator.

  ‘Anything except seafood. I hate the stuff.’

  ‘What? All of it?’

  ‘Yes, all of it.’

  ‘Have you tried everything? Prawns, langoustine, crab, scallops, lobster, mussels, squid, octopus, clams…’

  ‘Well, no but…’

  ‘So how do you know you don’t like it if you haven’t tried it?’

  ‘I suppose I don’t.’

  ‘One of the things I swore I’d do when I came down here was to try everything once. It’s about squeezing every last drop of pleasure out of every day, from exotic food to extreme sports, from wild adventures to culinary creativity – to indulge in new experiences like jumping from a plane, climbing a mountain, diving the reefs or skiing down a snowy slope.’

  ‘I’ll give the skiing a miss too thank you very much. As for diving the reefs – out of the question! Don’t forget the local paddling pool brings me out in goose bumps!’

  ‘That’s what I’m saying. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Skiing is an awesome experience: the wind whipping through your hair, the icy breeze nipping your extremities. It’s exhilarating.’

  ‘I’ll just have to take your word for it. Have you forgotten you’re talking to the Queen of Chaos? I wouldn’t dream of inflicting my clumsiness on an unsuspecting alpine sports instructor, no matter how hunky.’ She laughed, crossing her ankles on the dashboard.

  ‘I happen to love your clutter and your quirks: clumsiness, disarray, creativity. It’s all part of who you are. Don’t change!’

  Emilie’s jaw dropped like a gobsmacked goldfish. Had he just said he loved her?

  ‘According to the itinerary, this is our pitch for the night. Let’s explore what the town of Penzance has to offer the hungry traveller. Perhaps we should keep our eyes open for a fish restaurant.’ He smirked, and a gleam of mischief appeared in his pale blue eyes.

  Emilie laughed and shrugged her shoulders. Maybe it was about time she expanded her restricted gastronomic repertoire from coffee and crisps to the occasional foray into pasta. They strolled side by side through the town centre, marvelling at the array of attractive white-fronted buildings and shops that lined the cobbled streets.

  ‘Look, there’s an Italian restaurant!’ she exclaimed as the aroma from the baking pizza dough and roasted garlic wafted into the street, sending her stomach rumbling. ‘Come on.’

  She grabbed his arm before he could insist on further evaluation of the food outlets the town had to offer – just in case he managed to find the dreaded fish restaurant. He relented easily, ducking into the shadowy ristorante, Adriano’s, behind her.

  As soon as she stepped inside, a warm welcoming embrace enveloped her and she knew she’d made a great selection. Faint ripples of Italian operatic music, mingled with the rumble of contented conversation, wove through the amber-hued atmosphere. They were shown to a table next to the window and handed two huge laminated menus.

  ‘Okay. You chose the restaurant, so I get to choose the food. And I vote that we live dangerously.’ Matt smiled, tucking his hair behind his ears in order to study the menu more closely.

  ‘Okay.’ She grimaced as she realised what was coming.

  ‘We’ll have the zuppa de peoci to start and then the risotto ai frutti di mare for mains, please. And a bottle of your finest Pinot Grigio, please.’

  Clearly her expression said it all and Matt laughed. ‘Trust me. You’ll love it.’

  They waited whilst the waiter fussed over opening the bottle of wine and then poured an inch into their glasses before placing it in its silver cooler and retreating. Emilie took a tentative sip, not wanting to indulge in another bout of copious consumption of alcohol. The memory of the Scrumpy hangover was still raw in her mind. As the wine trickled across her tongue and down her throat it tasted like liquid sunshine and she was transported to a villa high in the Tuscan hills, the bucolic illusion of paradise.

  ‘So, tell me to mind my own business, but I’m curious to know why you haven’t regaled me with all the details of your weekend in Venice.’

  Emilie took another mouthful of wine for an injection of Dutch courage, but she couldn’t meet Matt’s eyes when she said, ‘I d
idn’t go in the end.’

  ‘You didn’t? Why?’

  She noticed the upward inflection in Matt’s voice and, when she eventually lifted her eyes to meet his, her stomach gave a lurch, sending out spasms of delight. In the soft light of the restaurant Matt really was exceptionally handsome in a rugged, outdoorsy kind of way, and she knew she wasn’t the only one to have noticed. A trio of giggling girls at the next table had been tossing surreptitious glances in his direction since they’d sat down. Of course, Matt hadn’t noticed. He was totally unaware of his attraction.

  ‘I decided to spend some time with Alice and work on the photographs I’ve taken so far.’

  Matt’s eyebrows shot up into his forehead. Clearly he suspected she wasn’t telling him the whole story but she didn’t want to talk about Brad – not then, not ever. She had shed a few tears when she’d eventually crawled between the cold sheets in her flat after the Friday night revelation with Alice. But she certainly wasn’t heartbroken.

  The difficult bit would be running into him at the office every day when she got back from the Lucinda Loves…Desserts road trip, if she did go back. She realised for the first time that she was seriously considering the possibility of freelancing. A surge of confidence and freedom twisted through her veins – it felt good.

  Their starters arrived. She studied the mussels suspiciously, sniffing the aromatic liquid they were floating in. They looked disgusting – like a bucketload of trash scraped up from the seabed. Matt on the other hand grabbed a chunk of warm ciabatta from the basket and began to wolf down the seafood, soaking up the juices with the bread, clearly relishing every mouthful until his bowl was empty and wiped clean.

  ‘Are you even going to try one?’

  ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘Why don’t you start by dipping some bread in the sauce and let me know what you think?’

  She did as he suggested and had to admit the garlic, parsley, saffron and white wine combination was delicious, but despite this unexpected epiphany she still couldn’t bring herself to put one of the mussels in her mouth, even with Matt’s encouragement.