There's Something About Cornwall

by Daisy James

  ‘Actually something unusual did pop up during my search that I wouldn’t mind investigating further. It’s non-alcoholic you’ll be pleased to hear.’

  He smiled across at her and her heart gave a nip at the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and cute dimples appeared in his cheeks as he smirked. She couldn’t wait to snatch a quiet moment to ring Alice and regale her with all the details of what had happened in St Ives, even though it was exactly the scenario her friend had predicted.

  ‘Did you know that Cornwall is the only place in England to grow tea commercially?’

  ‘Oh, yes, actually I did. Alice mentioned it at the shoot in Padstow. It’s amazing really when you think about it. I usually associate tea with the plantations in the hills of India or China or Sri Lanka.’

  ‘It brings a whole new meaning to English breakfast tea! I think I might do some digging whilst you’re busy on the shoot. I’ll speak to my editor about the Cornish mead article and see if he thinks there’s a market for a piece on the nation’s favourite afternoon pick-me-up. Hey, who would have believed that joining you on this journey would give such a boost to my writing career?’

  ‘You are welcome! Just repaying the favour.’ She laughed.

  The majestic strawberry-and-cream façade of The Headland Hotel & Spa appeared in front of them with the elegant sweep of Fistral Bay spread before it. Emilie had stayed in the handsome Victorian hotel for a friend’s hen weekend in Cornwall a few years before and she was excited to reacquaint herself with its luxurious spa facilities if she could grab a few spare moments when the shoot was over.

  ‘See you later. Text me when you’re through and I’ll come and collect you.’

  ‘Okay, thanks. I wish I was coming with you to the Tregothnan tea plantation.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Matt, planting a kiss on the end of her freckled nose. ‘I’ll bring you back a packet of their single estate tea if you like?’

  ‘Ooo, yes, please.’

  She jumped down from the passenger seat without allowing for the huge pothole that Matt had parked next to. Her foot sunk into six inches of water and she stumbled forwards onto her hands and knees, causing her bag to spill it contents like confetti across the pavement.

  ‘Ergh!’

  Matt was out of his seat in a flash, helping her up, brushing her down and shoving the flotsam and jetsam of her hygiene and cosmetics routine back where it belonged. Sadly, one of her favourite lipsticks had rolled into the puddle and was lost for ever. She met Matt’s eyes and opened her mouth to say something, to apologise for her clumsiness, as a previous incident when Brad had bawled her out over something similar whipped through her memory, but within seconds his lips were crushing hers.

  ‘I love everything about you, Emilie Roberts. You’re crazy and clumsy and hilarious. You make me laugh without meaning to. You are also kind-hearted and caring and will go to great lengths to help out a friend in need, even though you have no idea how you’ll do it. I know there are things that I still need to understand about you – why you refuse to drive is one of them – but that’s the great thing, I know I’ll have fun finding out.’

  Matt smiled at Emilie, his pale blue eyes twinkling with affection, a duo of cute dimples bracketing his lips as he strove to articulate his feelings in a way Emilie would understand.

  ‘I have to thank you, too. I’ve been wallowing in the past for too long, avoiding what was my passion for so many years. Watching you with a camera in your hands has inspired me to return to my article writing and maybe even reignited my dream to publish that book I always talked about doing. But most of all, you make me feel whole again, even though you persist in locating every hazard known to Cornwall and jumping in it!’

  Before she could respond, she felt his lips on hers once more and she gave herself up to the whoosh of pleasure that spread through her whole body. When at last she opened her eyes they fell on a familiar figure framed by the hotel’s entrance door and she quickly pulled back from Matt’s arms.

  ‘What the matter?’

  ‘Oh, God! It’s Lucinda! She’s watching us.’

  ‘I think she might have seen two people kissing before, Em. In fact, why don’t we give her a show?’

  ‘Matt…’

  Matt reached forward, grabbed her around the waist and began to tickle her. She screamed in objection and tried to break free. He ran after her along the pathway next to the beach, catching up with her and swinging her towards him to plant a kiss on her forehead. Over his shoulder Emilie could see Lucinda, but her expression was a total surprise. She was smiling! Indulgently, as though she was watching a pair of charming schoolchildren playing catch and kiss. Then, shaking her head, Lucinda swung on her stilettos and disappeared into the hotel.

  ‘Come on, I’ll help you unload the prop box.’ Matt smirked, following Emilie’s line of vision and then making his way back to the camper van, whistling a Bob Marley tune.

  Emilie was the first to arrive in the glamorous room that had been reserved for the Newquay shoot. She assumed the meeting with Fabio Martinelli was taking place elsewhere for privacy purposes. No doubt wherever the famous footballer went he was harangued for selfies and photographs and a scrum of autograph hunters would have played havoc with the Lucinda Loves…Desserts shoot.

  She deposited her camera equipment and prop box on a table in the corner of the large dining room overlooking the cobalt sea, today slumbering under a canopy of clear aquamarine sky with only a gentle breeze wafting through the grasses in the sand. Tables had been dressed with the crispest starched linen and buffed crystal glasses as well as simple three-tiered cake stands for the desserts to be displayed on.

  ‘Only another two shoots to go after this one,’ declared Marcus as he tweaked an ornate silver cake slice on a fussy Royal Doulton cake plate. ‘What plans do you and lover boy have for when the trip is over? Promise me that whatever happens we’ll stay in touch, darling? It’s been a blast, although I never, ever intend to repeat this whole road trip fiasco again. It plays havoc with one’s social life and beauty routine, never mind the extra pounds I’ve managed to accumulate by being continually force-fed a diet of delicious desserts.’

  Emilie laughed. ‘You were definitely not force-fed, Marcus.’

  She had finished reproducing the backdrop of the Newquay photo shoot in accordance with Alice’s precise specifications. She stood back to scrutinise the tableau against which the desserts were to be immortalised with a critical eye and set about checking the ambient lighting and taking a few practice shots from the top of a pair of stepladders she’d asked the hotel to supply. Once again, when she looked at the images on her screen they appeared lacklustre and formulaic.

  ‘What’s the matter, darling? You look like my pet spaniel after he’s been left out in the rain. You should be used to our Lucinda’s quirky demands by now.’ Marcus grinned.

  ‘I know, you’re right. It’s just that I’m toying with the idea of going freelance after this assignment and I really need Lucinda to love everything I’ve done. If she endorses my work it will make my decision so much easier and I won’t have to continue working at an agency where my ex-boyfriend also works until I draw my pension.’

  ‘Positivity, darling! Think awesome and you’ll be awesome!’

  Emilie laughed as Marcus swept back his ebony fringe to show her just how awesome he was. She wished she could employ Marcus as her own personal guru. She’d miss him when the shoot was over and she would definitely be taking him up on the offer to stay in touch.

  An idea pinged into her brain. She rummaged in the carrier bag she’d brought with her into the hotel. It contained the jars of Cornish honey and the bottles of local mead. She left them on the table and sprinted down to the kitchen to beg the chef for a selection of china teapots, milk jugs and packets of the Cornish-grown tea, which made a splendidly more authentic montage for the tea-infused Fairing Biscuits Lucinda was in the process of baking.

  ‘Where ar
e the aprons from the St Ives shoot?’ demanded Lucinda striding into the room and causing Emilie’s heart to leap into her mouth. Lucinda was all business and any previous evidence of indulgent approval of hers and Matt’s antics had evaporated. She was in her professional TV chef zone, totally focused on the job in hand. Emilie’s respect for Lucinda magnified. This was what you had to do to be successful in such a competitive environment. There could be no allowances made for ditzy photographers who cluttered the place up with their equipment and fell over discarded cardboard boxes.

  ‘Actually I’ve…’

  ‘It’s a simple enough request, don’t you think?’

  ‘I have them sorted, just as you asked, Lucinda,’ interrupted Marcus. ‘I’ll just pop out and fetch them for you.’

  Lucinda’s dark eyes continued to scour the room before landing on the table Emilie had spent the best part of an hour working on. She marched over to scrutinise the set, adding a couple of personal tweaks, apparently oblivious to the creative swerve from the original brief.

  ‘Where are the Raspberry Sundae peonies I specifically requested for this shoot? God, do I always have to check everything myself? I do like that cake stand, though. It’s just right for the Figgy ’Obbin – much better than that fussy rose pattern in the initial design. And was the inclusion of the Tregothnan tea caddy your idea, Emilie?’

  ‘Erm, yes, yes it was, and I’ve added the dishes of honey that is produced locally in an apiary in St Ives…’

  ‘Well, it’s inspired. I’m impressed with your creativity. It’s a fantastic idea to showcase the local produce as well as the traditional Cornish recipes, especially as we used the Tregothnan tea in the Fairing Biscuit recipe. You know, your talent for photo styling has developed with every shoot. I’m relieved to see that you have morphed from the wet blancmange I met in Padstow into a Cordon Bleu photographer who has taken this assignment to a whole new level. I don’t know what was holding your creativity back on the first shoot – although I may have an idea what the catalyst for the recent improvement has been – but if you keep it up I forecast a glittering future for you and your business. Perhaps you could let me see a selection of the images you consider may make the final cut for the Lucinda Loves…Desserts book?’

  ‘I will. And thank you, Lucinda. Your endorsement means a great deal to me.’

  ‘Credit where credit is due, Emilie. I only demand of those around me what I’m prepared to give myself and that’s one hundred per cent. By the way, thank you for the photographs you took of my friends at The Risings. They were just as impressed as I was at the way you managed to catch their personalities. Rest assured that when they are auctioned off for my charity at the launch I will make sure you are given full recognition. You are very talented.’

  The two women exchanged smiles. Emilie felt like they had made a personal connection for the first time since the beginning of the culinary road trip. She also knew she had created the best Lucinda Loves…Desserts design so far; she had even worked hard to ensure that the room was clear of the usual detritus of camera equipment and spare props. She had learned a great deal since they’d left Alice behind in Padstow.

  At last, Emilie understood Lucinda Carlton-Rose. A surge of respect for the celebrity chef rushed through her body as she realised that the catalyst of her improvement had been none other than Lucinda herself and her expectation of a high level of professionalism and perfection from everyone she worked with. Certainly she was a hard taskmaster, but that was the way she got such spectacular results.

  Alice was right, Lucinda only expected others to put in the same amount of effort as she did herself. She had forced Emilie to elevate her game. Emilie had grumbled, just like Suzie had, falling into the trap of repeating the badge of dubious honour that Suzie had coined. But then she had rallied and come to realise just how much she could learn from a woman of Lucinda’s stature.

  She finally understood how inappropriate the moniker the Devil Who Wears an Apron was. All that Lucinda had done was give her the proverbial kick up the backside to make her change her approach not only to her professional goals but perhaps also her personal ones. Instead of maligning Lucinda’s professionalism, Emilie should be thanking her from the bottom of her heart. Taking back control of her own destiny felt good. No, not just good, it felt fabulous, liberating, amazing!

  Lucinda was watching her closely, her carefully outlined lips turned up at the corner and her eyes crinkling with amusement. ‘I can see you’ve had a little romantic encouragement to get your creative spark back? Yes, I saw you on the beach. It looked like you were both having fun. It’s one of my mantras – something my mother used to say to me when I was growing up – be happy and it will shine through your work. It was only when I met Grant that I really understood what she meant. I’d hang on to Matt, Emilie. He clearly makes you happy.’

  Emilie opened her mouth to respond but she was so shocked at the intimate way Lucinda had spoken to her that no words would come. Before she could dredge something suitable from the depths of her brain a rumble of noisy footsteps reached her ears.

  ‘Here we are!’ Marcus rushed into the room, his arms weighed down with a pile of dry-cleaned and individually gift-wrapped aprons. ‘These are the Lucinda loves…St Ives aprons and I have the Newquay ones in the car if you need them. Sorry for the delay. The wrapping service mislaid the order and I had to hang around whilst they found them.’

  ‘Leave them over there next to the Tupperware boxes and whatever you do, don’t let me forget to take them with me or it’ll be World War Three. Marcus, help me rearrange this tablecloth, will you? The embroidery should run from left to right not top to bottom. Quick, before Fabio Martinelli arrives. I want this shoot to go smoothly. It’s the one that will generate the most publicity. Remind me again, which football club does he play for? I saw his people in the bar on my way up so they’ll be here any second.’

  Lucinda, Emilie and Marcus spent the next ten minutes frantically arranging the late-arrival peonies and fine-tuning the backdrop for the desserts. Lucinda carefully slid the Fairing Biscuits into their allocated places and adjusted them until she was satisfied. She then dispatched Marcus to collect the footballer and his entourage and allowed Emilie to start taking the photographs until the room flooded with men in dark grey suits and Ray-Bans, which robbed the place of light and ratcheted up the noise level to screech.

  Every few minutes Lucinda would excuse herself from her conversations and ask to see the images Emilie had taken, smiling enigmatically and delighting her with the occasional nod and compliment. As Emilie’s spirits soared and her confidence grew, her photography improved until she recognised the return of the feelings of joy she’d had when she had just finished college and the photographic world was her oyster. She had to be honest that, despite the many people jostling for position around the room, with Matt’s kisses fresh in her mind and on her lips and Lucinda’s obvious approval, her creativity had soared.

  After an exhilarating couple of hours, Lucinda declared herself satisfied with the images for the Newquay stop on the Lucinda Loves…Desserts culinary carousel and asked Emilie whether she minded switching her attention to photographing her alongside the famous footballer. She insisted that the additional fee should be added to her final invoice. However, this time Emilie would have happily volunteered to do the job for free – Fabio Martinelli was a photographer’s dream subject.

  At last the soccer entourage dispersed and Emilie began to dismantle the set. She decided to take the opportunity to taste-test a slice of the weirdly named Figgy ’Obbin so she could report back to Matt, but was interrupted swiftly.

  ‘No! Stop! Marcus, please would you wrap up the desserts and put them in the Tupperware boxes for me.’

  It was a strange request as Lucinda didn’t usually mind the crew polishing off every last morsel she created, and Emilie couldn’t see her getting stuck into so much pastry herself. But she just shrugged; she had stopped trying to fathom o
ut Lucinda’s quirks.

  ‘I heard that the original photographer I booked for this assignment chose an overseas assignment over this one – even though he’d given his word to do this?’ Lucinda commented as she collected the huge food parcel from Marcus and slotted it securely into her huge straw shoulder bag.

  ‘Yes. It’s was a shoot in Venice.’ Heat rushed to Emilie’s cheeks and she averted her eyes from Lucinda’s scrutiny as she was forced to think about what Brad had been doing in Italy and who with and how envious she had been that he’d been able to persuade Dexter to switch. ‘And that isn’t the only alternative choice he’s made,’ she muttered.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Lucinda, her brow puckering in puzzlement.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Emilie replied swiftly, heat seeping into her cheeks. She hadn’t intended Lucinda to hear her.

  ‘Tell me what you meant. Please?’

  Emilie sighed and decided to tell Lucinda the truth. ‘It’s just that I was supposed to be doing that shoot. I adore Italian food – and after all, I am the agency’s food and product photographer and that was what the Venice assignment was focused on – and I’d done so much research for it. To just have it snatched from under my nose by someone who was supposed to care about me, well…it hurt.’

  Lucinda considered Emilie for a moment, clearly thinking through her response before she spoke. She hooked the handles of her overlarge handbag over her shoulder and met Emilie’s eyes.

  ‘Emilie, if you are going to make a success of anything in your life, you have to fight for what you want. You have to work harder than anyone else, put in more hours, be prepared to make more sacrifices. Don’t ever let other people trample over your dreams to get to theirs first. You have to constantly be ready to stand up for yourself against tough opposition.’

  Emilie opened her mouth to speak but no words were available. Her brain seemed to have ground to a standstill. Was the culinary genius Lucinda Carlton-Rose offering her the benefit of her advice? If so, she had much better listen than interrupt.