There's Something About Cornwall

by Daisy James

  Where were her parents? Why hadn’t they telephoned to warn her they wouldn’t be in when she got there?

  She tumbled into the kitchen, its familiarity sending a brief blast of comfort to her chest until she snatched up the envelope, which had been scrawled with her mother’s handwriting and leant against a bottle of her home-made lemonade.

  ‘Sorry, darling, Gran has been rushed into hospital in Swansea. Tried to call you but your phone must have been switched off. Make yourself at home. Will ring with news. Love Mum xx’

  ‘Oh God, it’s Gran.’

  Her hand flew to her mouth as Matt came to stand next to her to read the note and offer his support. Her heart hammered painfully against her ribcage and tears prickled at her eyes. She googled the number for the Morriston Hospital in Swansea and asked what ward Dorothy Walton was on. She was put through and spoke briefly to the nurse in charge of her gran’s ward who assured her that the stroke had been mild and her patient was recovering well. She promised to pass a message on to Emilie’s parents when they arrived to ring their daughter straight away.

  Matt handed her a mug of sweetened tea and she took a couple of grateful sips.

  ‘Thanks, Matt. You seem to be earning your gold medal in “expert multi-tasking” today. I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t.’

  Matt smiled. ‘All part of the service, madam.’ He tipped his imaginary cap. ‘Now that we know your gran is going to be okay, why don’t we call it a night? This day feels longer than War and Peace. Let’s get some rest and tomorrow you can show me around. There’s great surfing here too.’

  ‘There’s no way I’m going surfing!’

  ‘Why not?’ Matt asked, his face a picture of innocence.

  ‘I have no intention of going anywhere near water.’

  ‘I’m sure I could change your mind if you gave me the chance. It doesn’t have to be surfing.’

  ‘Here’s the key to the lodge. Mum will have made it up for any last-minute guests. Make yourself at home and I’ll cook us some breakfast in the morning. There’re always plenty of eggs available.’

  ‘Okay, but will you sleep on it?’

  ‘Sleep on what?’

  ‘Windsurfing? Kayaking? Jet skiing? White-water rafting?’

  ‘None of the above!’ She laughed and ushered him from the kitchen, wishing she could follow him and spend the night by his side in the cosy wooden lodge.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Oh my God, how on earth did I ever let you talk me into this? You know I hate the water,’ Emilie gasped as she stepped tentatively into the bobbing red plastic kayak, her heart pounding out a rhythm of terror.

  They had driven down to the water sports centre in Carbis Bay for a kayak wave safari and she was regretting her acquiescence already. Okay, Matt had come to her aid several times over the last ten days and she had wanted to repay his generosity by spending a day doing the things he so clearly loved, despite the fact that she wasn’t a confident swimmer and, unlike him, didn’t relish regular contact with the inhabitants of the ocean. She didn’t need a crystal ball to predict that she would probably be calling on his rescue services again that day.

  They had listened carefully to the safety briefing and donned their life vests and helmets. She would have been more vocal about her misgivings had four out of the eight participants not been ten-year-old boys on a birthday party outing, bouncing with excitement as they leapt into the surprisingly snug boats.

  ‘I promise you’ll have fun,’ Matt had whispered as he held her hand to guide her into her seat and handed her a paddle, his face alight with anticipation at being able to spend some time doing something he enjoyed.

  A bout of intense trembling gripped her. She was about to muster the courage to declare a change of heart and announce to everyone that she harboured a desperate desire to reacquaint herself with dry land, when their instructor leapt into his kayak and pushed off from the jetty. A helix of fear began its insidious journey through her chest and wriggled out into every extremity as they pushed away into the bay.

  The surface of the water that morning was surprisingly calm for early October and bathed in a warm wash of autumn sunshine, reflecting the sky above like a giant piece of crumpled tin foil. After a few minutes of rhythmic bobbing her trepidation for what lay ahead began to subside. She told herself she was in safe hands with not only a fully qualified instructor accompanying them, but her own personal lifeguard riding in tandem and having the time of his life, just like the four young boys on their birthday party adventure.

  The birthday boy’s mother was the only other sailor who looked a little unsure and Emilie offered her the sympathetic smile of a comrade. It must be even more terrifying when you were responsible for the safety of someone else’s children.

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  She turned her head to smile at Matt and he gave her shoulder a squeeze of encouragement. Her nerves were immediately replaced by a flutter of desire as she enjoyed the mounting chemistry between them, the feel of her back fitting snugly against his abdomen, but the pleasant feeling was snatched away from her far too soon.

  ‘Okay, folks, we’re approaching the first set of waves. Hold tight!’ shouted Tom their intrepid guide, who Emilie thought bore more than a passing resemblance to Bear Grylls.

  Their kayaks dipped and rocked before dropping back into the water and repeating the see-saw action. Emilie’s stomach followed the mild undulations and she was gifted with a generous sprinkling of ice-cold water like a slap in the face. She clutched her paddle tighter, her knuckles bleaching white, a loud gasp of surprise escaping from her lips. She didn’t care what anyone thought, she would cling on for dear life as they bucked and dived their way through the churning waters to reach a calmer stretch.

  ‘Yay! Awesome!’ cried the boys, thumping the air and fist-bumping each other. The poor mother had followed Emilie’s example and had given up on her paddle to clasp the sides of the double kayak in an effort to stabilise her stomach.

  It was only another couple of minutes before the next set of waves materialised and this time Emilie was ready. She gritted her teeth, hunched her shoulders and lowered her head into a brace position. When the stretch of water had passed, she could honestly say it hadn’t been that bad. But she was drenched and her stomach was wound into knots that would take more to untie them than the mug of hot chocolate and plate of warm cookies she’d been promised at the end of the ordeal.

  What she was able to see through her water-blurred vision of the Cornish coastline from the vantage point of the sea was stunning and she wished she had been able to bring her camera. Pristine, golden sandy coves bracketed by steep rugged crags, pretty clifftops, hamlets, Labradors chasing the waves and tennis balls on the beaches, toddlers paddling in the shallows and their older siblings dipping for crabs. It was thoroughly Blytonesque.

  The return journey had the boys screaming in delight and the adults, apart from Matt who wore his exhilaration boldly on his face, heaving a loud sigh of relief. Whilst she wouldn’t be volunteering to repeat the experience any time soon, she had enjoyed it more than she thought she would and at least she hadn’t fallen in the water, which was a small miracle given her propensity for clumsiness!

  As the group trotted en masse into the warmth of the Visitors Centre, a whoosh of goose bumps rippled over Emilie’s body. She gratefully accepted a hot chocolate and hugged the steaming mug into her chest as she watched the sun eventually succeed in piercing its rays through the leaden canopy of clouds.

  ‘Well? Are you a water sports convert now?’ asked Matt, rubbing his hair with a faded towel.

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’ She laughed, as the hot drink seeped through her veins and spread its warmth down to her toes. ‘But I admit that I did have fun.’

  ‘Told you. But you look freezing. Here, take this.’ Matt draped his navy blue fleece around her shoulders. The lemony
tang of the cologne he favoured reached her nostrils, sending a surprise frisson of attraction to her extremities, especially when she met his eyes and saw how intently he was watching her, his golden hair sticking out at all angles from the safety helmet. ‘Better?’

  ‘Much better, thanks.’

  They said goodbye to the birthday boy, Rhys, and Matt handed him a key ring with a miniature surfboard dangling from the chain, which Rhys said he loved. Emilie and Matt hopped back into the Satsuma Splittie for the journey back to her parents’ house.

  ‘Oh, I’ve got a voicemail.’

  Emilie listened to the message that had been left by her father, confirming that her gran was improving and should be discharged from the hospital within a few days. He also said how sorry they were not to catch up with her on her epic culinary road trip of their adopted home. She could hear her mother’s voice in the background telling him to ask about her guest but her father told his wife not to be so nosy.

  Emilie smiled. Despite his reluctance to pry, she knew her father still worried about her. Even with the extra-strength prescription granted by advanced age, he still saw her through his rose-tinted spectacles as the little girl with unruly copper ringlets and a penchant for photographing everything that moved. It was for this reason she had shied away from admitting her embarrassment that her oh-so-perfect relationship with Brad had caused her to lose confidence in her talent. She didn’t want to worry or disappoint them and she had become adept at keeping up the outward appearance of a happy, fulfilled professional life and a satisfying personal relationship in London. Perhaps now she didn’t have to continue with the subterfuge.

  ‘Dad says Gran is going to be fine.’

  ‘Great news.’

  When they arrived back at the farmhouse, Matt busied himself making coffee and lighting a fire in the lounge whilst Emilie prepared a cheese omelette – using the freshest of eggs and a bunch of chives she’d snipped from the greenhouse – which she devoured as though she hadn’t eaten for days. Fresh air and exercise had increased her appetite and she craved more sustenance than coffee and crisps could deliver. They opened a bottle of wine and stretched out their legs on the sheepskin rug next to the hearth to toast their toes.

  ‘I had fun today, Emilie. I really think you would enjoy surfing if you gave it a go.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll just have to take your word for it. There’s no way you’re getting me out on the open sea.’ She shuddered and Matt draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest, gently caressing her upper arm with his fingertips.

  ‘Sometimes you have to be prepared to try new things, to face your fears to be able to move on.’ He glanced down at her, his face serious for a moment, and her heart sparkled with sharp spasms of electricity until he continued softly. ‘You never told me why you were so worried about handling this assignment without Alice by your side. From what I’ve seen, you are more than capable of styling the shoot, and of handling a difficult client.’

  Emilie dragged her eyes away from his and for a while concentrated on the amber tongues of light dancing in the grate. Very few people knew about the insidious ways Brad went about belittling her photography, and whilst only the occasional comment had got back to her about his disparaging views of her chosen branch of the profession, she knew he had spread them far and wide.

  Okay, food and product photography wasn’t necessarily at the cutting edge of the photographic business, but neither was his specialism in travel journalism. However, after the successful shoot on St Ives beach, a shoot that she had styled herself – with a little help from Matt – and Lucinda’s generous public compliments, she resolved never to allow anyone to bad-mouth her again.

  ‘I’ve told you about Brad, my ex. It took me a while to realise that it was his attitude towards me that robbed me of my confidence over the last few months. But I’m happy to say that I’ve moved on, physically and emotionally, and so has he.’

  ‘You’ve no idea how delighted I am to hear that,’ whispered Matt.

  The atmosphere in the lounge was so relaxed that she felt she could say anything to him and not be judged, that whatever her insecurities Matt would listen and offer empathy and advice. There was no way he would be so jealous of her success that he would seek to mock her talent and profession.

  She wondered if now was the right time to press him on his own refusal to accept that he was avoiding dealing with his past. She took a sip of her wine to ingest a soupçon of Dutch courage and snatched a glance at him from beneath her lashes. His eyes held such raw attraction, his mouth so close to hers she could barely breathe as all her senses fizzed in anticipation.

  Before she could ask the question that still burned between them about what had caused his continuing sadness, Matt’s lips were pressing down on hers, his tongue gently exploring their contours before becoming more insistent. A cauldron of emotions swept through her body, sending arrows of desire into her veins and sparkling out to her fingertips and down to her toes.

  As Matt pulled her closer, all thoughts of their pasts were washed away on a wave of exhilaration. She kissed him back. Her heart hammered against her ribcage and blood whooshed through her ears as she relished the sensation of his kisses on her cheek, on her neck, on her earlobe. She tasted the saltiness of his skin from their day on the ocean waves, inhaled the citrusy fragrance of his skin, explored the tautness of his muscles with her fingertips.

  She felt intoxicated by his closeness and the effect his slow, soft caresses were having on her. The heat of his touch lit a kaleidoscope of dormant feelings deep within her, whipping her breath away on a crescendo of passion. Eventually they pulled apart and Emilie couldn’t stop herself from smiling. The Cheshire Cat had nothing on her!

  ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,’ Matt whispered as he stared deep into her soul.

  Her heart gave a pinch as though testing whether she was dreaming. She was amazed to see that she wasn’t. Matt Ashby, surfing instructor extraordinaire and all-round golden guy, had flicked the switch on her emotions and it was the best feeling in the world.

  Her throat was dry so she said nothing. Anyway, all coherent thought had vanished on the crest of her escalating desire. Flashes of heat tumbled through her body and spread downwards like molten lava. She grabbed the neck of his tee shirt and pulled him back towards her, kissing him again before dragging it over his head and helping him to remove hers. Their bodies entwined, a perfect fit, and they made love until the copper flames in the hearth morphed into glowing embers.

  Finally, she melted into his arms on the woolly sheepskin rug next to the fire and drifted into a blissful sleep to the soothing tones of Matt’s heartbeat and his rhythmic breathing.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘So tell me, what exactly is Figgy ’Obbin?’ asked Matt after Emilie had read Alice’s notes out loud during their journey up to Newquay.

  The previous day it had been her turn to choose their activity and they had spent their time exploring the tourist magnet of Land’s End, eating fish and chips sprinkled with lashings of salt and vinegar, marvelling at the steel-grey expanse of the sea as it slipped over the horizon and disappeared into infinity like a pool of mercury. They had posed for the inevitable photographs under the signpost telling them that New York was three thousand, one hundred and forty-seven miles to their left and John O’Groats eight hundred and seventy-four miles north.

  At Matt’s insistence they had also visited a microbrewery specialising in the production of Cornish mead that could trace its provenance back to genuine, award-winning Cornish honey collected from on-site apiaries. They had indulged in a tasting session with the enthusiastic beekeeper who had agreed to give Matt a tour of the production process and an interview for his ever-expanding series of articles on the topic of artisan beverages.

  Emilie had taken myriad photographs of the wildflower- and heather-covered grounds that gave one of the honey varieties its name. They came away laden with j
ars of delicious runny honey and a selection of meads to try at home.

  But the best part of the whole day had come later when they had returned home and collapsed in each other’s arms, their initial fiery passion for each other calmed by the languid patter of rain on the wooden roof tiles. They lay listening to the creaks and cracks of the lodge as it too settled down for the night.

  Every touch had sent spasms of delight through her veins and she had not wanted the night to end. She’d wished she could curl up in Matt’s arms and never leave the little log cabin. She had refused to even contemplate what would happen when the trip came to an end, but the final three shoots seemed to be rushing towards her at lightning speed.

  ‘Earth to Emilie?’ Matt grinned.

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ She squinted down at Alice’s typed notes. ‘Well, it says here that figgy is the Cornish word for raisins and ’obbin probably means oven. It looks to me like a sort of Swiss roll made with flaky pastry instead of sponge and a generous layer of raisins and orange zest instead of the raspberry jam. A great school dinner staple! It’s a bit like a long thin Eccles cake. I bet you’ve heard of them.’

  ‘Sure, but that doesn’t mean I like them.’ Matt laughed. ‘My brother used to call them flies’ graveyards – sort of put me off.’

  Emilie hesitated. Was this a good time to ask him about his brother Jamie? She wasn’t sure but she suspected the closure of the brewery was tied up with something that included him. After all, he’d told her that they’d set it up and ran it together. Yet every time he spoke of his business the spectre of grief stalked across his eyes and she longed to know the reason behind this, especially as they had so little time left together. However, if he wanted her to know about what had happened to send him running away from home and his beloved microbrewery, not to mention his girlfriend at the time, then he would tell her when the time was right.

  ‘So, what do we have in store drink-wise in Newquay?’ asked Emilie who had seen Matt googling the topic on her laptop before they had set off for the shoot that morning.