There's Something About Cornwall

by Daisy James

  She climbed sadly back into bed, turning her back to the door as she considered how to handle the situation. The assignment was almost over. There was only the shoot in the orangery at the back of the manor house with the moor as the backdrop to complete, then the drive to St Austell for the final shoot. Whichever way she looked at it, she needed Matt to drive the camper van for the last leg of the journey. She hadn’t sat behind a wheel for years and certainly didn’t intend to start now. She didn’t even know if she could remember how to drive, especially as the van was not an automatic.

  So, with a leaden heart, she decided she had to put what she had seen to one side and act as though nothing had happened. After the final shoot she would grab a taxi to the station and make her escape back to London and pick up her life where she left off – minus any romantic entanglements.

  She sighed when she heard the door of the suite open and the bed creak as Matt joined her. Tears prickled at her eyes at the loss of what she had hoped would be a promising future together. When she got home she would try to put this chapter of her life behind her, including her dream of starting up her own photography business, whilst she worked on her habit of falling for men who had ulterior motives for being with her. A sharp spasm of pain invaded her chest and refused to budge.

  It felt like only moments had passed when her phone buzzed with the early alarm call. Light seeped through a gap in the drapes she had left the previous night and the whole painful episode came flooding back. She padded over to the window, glancing back over her shoulder at Matt who was still fast asleep, his arms and legs flung wide. He really was handsome, she thought with a heave of regret. Why couldn’t he have been different from Brad?

  She parted the curtain to take in the view. Walkers and hikers were already marching off down the driveway, anxious to make the most of a bracing day out on the heather-covered hills. Hearing a car door slam, she refocused her eyes on the camper van and to her surprise saw Lucinda, her phone clutched to her ear, emerging from behind it. Emilie held her breath as she watched her client sneak a glance over her shoulder and deposit something in the pocket of the Barbour jacket she had borrowed from a selection kept by the hotel on a row of pegs by the back door.

  Still acting suspiciously, Emilie mused, but why did she have to keep up the pretence in the car park deep in the Cornish countryside? There were no local Gingerbread meetings for her to rush off to at that time of the morning surely? She slapped down her latent private detective for poking its head above the parapet. Marcus had explained Lucinda’s weird behaviour and there was no way Lucinda would be meeting anyone from any other of her favourite charities in the bushes behind the Satsuma Splittie for heaven’s sake!

  As she watched Lucinda disappear into the boot room, the image of Matt with her laptop floated unbidden into her mind. Sadness engulfed her mood. She tiptoed into the bathroom, locked the door behind her and let the steaming water cascade over her trembling body in a futile effort to wash away the desolation. She dressed swiftly and then went out to nudge Matt awake.

  ‘See you downstairs for breakfast.’

  Before he had chance to ask her any questions, she dragged her suitcase from the room and down the magnificent staircase. She recalled their conversation on the way up the previous night when she had giggled at Matt’s suggestion that they should creep out of their room in the middle of the night and slide down the mahogany banister like a pair of naughty children. In the cold light of the morning she could think of nothing more ridiculous.

  She deposited her suitcase in the back of the camper van and reached out to check her laptop. Everything seemed to be as she had left it. Then, as a shard of pain lanced into her heart, she realised what Matt had taken. The memory stick containing all the drink-related photographs was missing.

  But why? Why would he take it?

  She had been intending to persuade him to visit the St Austell brewery he had already told her about after they’d completed the last shoot at the Eden Project – just to add a few more shots to the list, perhaps of the Cornish Mena Dhu stout or the Trelawny best bitter. She had planned to present him with her gift at the end of the trip as a thank you for being her chauffeur.

  Oh God what a mess! she sighed.

  ‘Hey, Emilie! Is everything okay? Why’d you disappear this morning?’ Matt wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly against his torso, but she couldn’t prevent herself from tensing at his touch. He pulled her away from him, holding her at arm’s length to delve into her eyes, dipping down as far as her soul. She averted her eyes and pulled a face.

  ‘Got to get the shoot set up. It’s an early one, remember? But don’t worry, Marcus and I have it covered today. We’re a great team.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Matt, his face creased in confusion. He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged and sloped away towards the boot room. ‘Don’t forget your promise to come hiking with me this afternoon. I’ve packed a rucksack. It’s not a difficult climb but we need to be prepared.’

  Emilie called after him. ‘Oh, Matt I don’t think I…’

  ‘Won’t take no for an answer. You can’t miss this. Wait and see.’ And he graced her with his familiar grin, which made her feel even worse.

  She was grateful Marcus wasn’t in the orangery when she got there. She needed time to think through the compendium of doubt rippling through her brain, to decide how she intended to handle the next twenty-four hours. A block of concrete had taken up residence in her chest, which made it a struggle to breathe.

  The last thing she wanted to do was spend the afternoon exploring the moors with Matt. His betrayal of her trust hurt too much, but then how was she going to explain her reluctance without causing suspicion and risking him demanding an honest explanation. Surely she could ignore her emotional turmoil long enough to do the hike. If she kept busy, the time would pass more quickly and they would arrive at St Austell – where they had to hand back the Satsuma Splittie – before she knew it. She had to finish the assignment otherwise Lucinda and her publishers would never engage her services again, that was for sure.

  She expelled a loud, ragged sigh. That’s what she would do. Forget the events of last night had happened, pin a bright smile on her face, and get on with it.

  ‘Emilie, have you seen Lucinda?’

  ‘Hi, Marcus. Yes, I saw her skulking behind the camper van at the crack of dawn, actually. I think she had her mobile phone with her. She was probably talking to Grant,’ she added quickly.

  ‘God, you can’t get a proper signal around here. I had to walk halfway across Bodmin Moor last night to ring my sister. She’s agreed to let me use her apartment in Brighton for the weekend when the shoot is over. I don’t mind admitting to you that I’m exhausted. I’m intending to call in at my flat in Pimlico to grab my little Shih Tzu, Sukie, and her basket and then we’re going to go straight down for a long bracing walk on the beach and a bout of excessive pampering. Oh, Emilie, I do love what you’ve done here. Is that Cornish gin? Yum! I happen to think this is your best set yet.’

  ‘Thanks, Marcus,’ she said with little enthusiasm.

  ‘Ooo is there something going on you want to share with Uncle Marcus?’ He moved closer to look her straight in the eye. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve had a lover’s tiff?’

  ‘No! Like you, I’m just exhausted. This trip has been a real energy-sapper. I’m looking forward to finishing up and getting back to the daily grind at the office. Aren’t you?’

  ‘Sure, but I’ve not fallen madly in love with a hunky chauffeur slash surfer.’

  ‘Neither have I!’ And she turned her back on Marcus as Lucinda strode into the room with the resident Michelin-starred chef, each laden with a selection of local desserts fresh from the oven.

  ‘I’m so pleased you decided to include the Cornish Pepper Cake in your new book, Lucinda,’ said the diminutive chef with magnificent salt-and-pepper tresses as he set the fragrant cake next to the bottles of Cornish pastis. ‘Doe
sn’t it all look gorgeous in this setting? The Lucinda Loves…Desserts cookery book is going to be the best so far if the design of these backdrops are anything to go by.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Miles,’ enthused Lucinda, clearly disguising her views on any imperfections in order to accept his compliments. ‘But everything that comes out of the Craiglea Manor kitchen is superb. I do love it here. Don’t forget Grant and I will be back to stay at Christmas.’

  ‘I hope you will stay longer than one night.’ Miles laughed, adjusting his apron, which Emilie noticed was embroidered with a Lucinda Loves… logo – this one championing Bodmin Moor, Cornwall.

  ‘Absolutely. Now come on.’ Lucinda rested her palm on Miles’s forearm. ‘Shall we retire to that splendid library of yours with one of your speciality coffees before you’re whisked away to the airport? We should give Emilie here some space to work her magic with the photographs. She really is very talented, you know. I’m very fortunate to have her on this shoot – wait until I tell you the story. And I want to hear every detail about the competition you’re judging. Did you say the cruise ship will be calling in at the Bahamas? I did a shoot there last year and I simply adored it. I’d love to go back with Grant.’

  Emilie remained rooted to the spot. Had she heard correctly? Not only had Lucinda complimented her on her photography skills in front of a Michelin-starred chef, which in itself was amazing, but she had also got her name right again.

  ‘Good things come to those who stick around.’ Marcus smirked.

  ‘You’re right.’ She laughed, at last snapping out of her torpor and getting on with the job in hand.

  ‘Promise me you’ll take care on the moor this afternoon, darling. Matt told me at breakfast what he had planned for you both. I know he’s Mr Intrepid personified but the weather has a way of creeping up behind you and biting you on the backside. Wouldn’t want you to get stranded and have to dig a love nest amongst the bracken and the heather before stripping naked to share your bodily warmth.’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Marcus.’ She laughed again to soften her sharp tone.

  The last thing she needed was to traipse up a mountain in the rain or risk getting stranded with Matt. She could hardly look him in the eye as it was, and their previous closeness had diminished with every painful minute that passed until he resembled the stranger he had been when she’d met him on the beach in the distant past, or was it only yesterday?

  There was no more tidying up to linger over so she could delay the expedition no longer. She took a deep breath and decided the sooner they started out on the trek, the sooner it would be over and they could get on the road south for the final shoot, after which she never had to see Matt again.

  ‘Hey, there you are. Ready? I’ve got everything packed.’ Matt patted his rucksack with something close to genuine affection. ‘You just need to put on these hiker’s boots I borrowed from the boot room – and this cagoule – sorry about the colour – and we’re all set.’

  ‘Are you sure the weather forecast is okay to be walking up hills and across moors? Marcus says the elements can be a bit unpredictable around here.’

  ‘A little drizzle maybe, but when did that ever stop enthusiasts walking these glorious moorlands. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. And I’ll let you taste-test some of that splendid mead to warm you up when we get back. Come on.’

  Matt grabbed a couple of walking poles, tossed them onto the back seat and slid the camper van door shut with a resounding clang. Emilie climbed in the passenger side and they made their way down the driveway towards the stone pillars at the exit of Craiglea Manor to begin their hike.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘How much further is it to the top?’ asked Emilie.

  ‘We’re about halfway.’

  Matt’s enthusiasm for getting stuck into an invigorating hike after all the hours he’d spent cooped up in a camper van was written boldly across his face in block capital letters. Emilie wished she could turn the clock back to the pre-realisation relationship she had enjoyed with Matt. But now that she doubted the very reasons for him being in her company she felt sick. Fortunately, an an insistent buzzing interrupted her inner monologue of suspicion.

  ‘Alice! Hi! Am I glad to hear your voice!’

  ‘Oh my God, the best thing ever has happened, Em! I can’t keep it in any longer. Guess what? I’ve been asked to do a Fenella Grainger shoot! I’m the happiest girl in London!’ she enthused, her joy vibrating through the airwaves and, strangely, making Emilie feel even worse.

  She was over the moon for Alice – Fenella Grainger was one of her friend’s favourite chefs and an absolute Angel in an Apron – but her announcement had only served to underline her distance from home and the support of her friends. All she wanted to do in that very moment was to race around to Alice’s flat to give her a congratulatory hug. Instead here she was, halfway up a mountain, bruised skies lurking overhead, dressed like her aunt Agnes, with the prospect of getting soaked to the skin with someone who wasn’t what she’d thought he was. What had she done to anger the gods of fortune and providence this time?

  ‘And, Em, you might want to sit down for this next bit, but…I want you to be my photographer,’ declared Alice giving a squeak of pleasure, her charm bracelet jangling in the background. ‘It can be your first freelance shoot!’

  ‘Oh, Alice, you are really kind. I don’t deserve you. Congratulations! I’m really, really happy for you. I can’t wait until this nightmare trip is over and we can get together to celebrate properly.’

  ‘Nightmare? I thought you were loving every minute of it with Bear Grylls Mark Two?’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll fill you in on the details when I see you. There’s only one shoot left and I’ll be on the first train back to Paddington tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Do I take it that your affair with the intrepid surfer is off?’

  ‘Alice…’

  ‘It’s just that since you told me about him I’ve been reading his blog. It’s really interesting. Did you know he used to own a microbrewery in Northumberland? He’s won quite a few prestigious awards too!’

  ‘Yes, I did know, but Matt prefers not to talk about it. I think he blames himself for its closure. He still loves everything to do with the industry though.’

  ‘You can say that again. His whole blog is an homage to his love of every drink imaginable, some of which I’ve never even heard of. What on earth is sarsaparilla? Anyway, it’s just that…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, his last blog post did say he had recently decided to take up his writing pen again and was working on a special book about artisan beverages inspired by an epic trip he has recently undertaken, which would include the most amazing photographs to document every step of the way.’

  ‘Oh, he did, did he?’

  ‘Well, I sort of assumed they would be yours and that Matt was your first client. Is it true, Em? You have you decided to go freelance, haven’t you? If you ever need an assistant, don’t forget I’m always available.’

  ‘Al, I haven’t decided anything. And no, Matt is not my first client. In fact, I had no idea he planned to use any of the photographs I’ve taken for his book; a series of articles yes, to showcase the brewers and distillers of Cornwall, but not to use them in a full-length book for people to buy and stick on their coffee tables or kitchen shelves.’

  And not without my permission, she thought as a snap of anger flashed through her mind at uncovering the reason he’d borrowed of her flash drive. What made it worse was that if he had asked, she would have been delighted at the opportunity to showcase her work in such a way.

  However, it was neither the time nor the place to discuss the matter with Alice.

  ‘Can we talk about this when I get back? You won’t believe it but I’ve just embarked on a hike up the second highest peak in Cornwall. I want to get it over with as soon as possible so we can move o
n to the last overnight stop.’

  ‘Okay, darling. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you and Matt.’

  ‘Oh, it was just a couple of drinks. Neither of us intended it to be anything serious. I’m happy for you, darling. Send Fenella my love!’ And before Alice could prolong the conversation any further Emilie swiped the screen of her phone and shoved it into her back pocket.

  She looked up towards to the crest of the hill where Matt was waiting for her, his silhouette stark against the darkening sky – and strangely menacing. She forced her feet up the flint-strewn path to join him and fell into step at his side.

  ‘Even under these skies the view is stunning, don’t you think?’ He pointed to his left. ‘That lake was part of the long-closed Stannon China Clay Works and over there is Crowdy Woods and what used to be Davidstow Airfield. But just wait until we reach the top, you can see almost all the way from north to south Cornwall. I hope you’ve got your camera ready. Was that Alice?’

  ‘Yes.’ Emilie plastered a smile on her lips, anxious to keep the trek friendly. ‘She was ringing to tell me that she’s landed her dream assignment and has offered me my first chance to go freelance if I want to.’

  ‘Oh, that’s great news.’ Matt smiled at her, but there was a question in his eyes over her somewhat subdued reaction to Alice’s offer.

  She made to stride ahead of him, not wanting to remain under the microscope of his scrutiny. She knew she would never win a gold award for her acting skills, but was relieved he’d put her reticence of being in his company down to her aversion to outdoor pursuits. As they pressed on towards the summit, the first spot of rain landed on the back of her hand. She glanced up to the bank of folded pewter clouds, which were stealing the light from their path and grumbling in the distance.