‘If you give me a couple of days, I’ll put something together and send a detailed quote,’ Ben went on. ‘But a word of warning – knowing how town councils work, they might want you to have a couple of quotes in the application so that you demonstrate best value.’
‘Okay, I’ll ask Nonno if he knows any other builders who might be interested, although we need someone who really knows what they’re doing, rather than a standard builder. Which is why I wanted—’ She glanced across at him as the implication of his words sank in. ‘So, you’re up for the job?’
‘Yeah, I am,’ he said, with a decisive nod. ‘The station is almost finished and the Palace is important to me too. I’ll do whatever I can to help.’
Gina could have hugged him. ‘Thank you,’ she said, elated. ‘I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have on board.’
He glanced across at her and there was something she couldn’t quite decipher in his eyes. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said, reaching for his own paperwork. ‘Now, can you work your magic over the mangled wreck of my application forms, please?’
It took Gina an hour and a half, plus two more glasses of wine and several slices of Pepperoni Passion pizza, to unravel Ben’s words and rearrange them into something resembling a halfway decent proposal. He’d approached the Bodmin and Wenford Railway Preservation Society once before, informally, to ask them to restore the steam line back to Polwhipple, the way it had been in the railway’s heyday. They’d said no and, reading between the lines, Gina suspected Ben’s feelings had been hurt by the refusal.
‘There,’ she said, typing the last few words into another document. ‘How’s that?’
Ben skimmed what she’d written. ‘Wow,’ he said, looking at her with admiration. ‘That’s really good – exactly what I had in mind. You could do this for a living.’
She felt the beginnings of a pleasurable blush creep up her cheeks. ‘Oh shush,’ she told him. ‘It was all there – it just needed teasing out, that’s all.’
He raised his glass to hers. ‘To good partnerships and future successes.’
‘To the Palace and Polwhipple station,’ Gina said, chinking her own glass against his. ‘And old friends.’
When her phone rang not long after Ben had gone, Gina assumed it was Max returning her call. But the name that flashed up was Sarah’s, one of her friends from London.
‘Hello, stranger,’ Sarah said, almost as soon as Gina answered the call. ‘Long time no speak.’
‘Hi, Sarah,’ Gina replied, smiling. ‘How are you?’
‘Better now I know you haven’t fallen over a treacherous Cornish cliff,’ Sarah said in a dry tone. ‘What’s been keeping you so busy?’
Gina filled her friend in on what she’d been doing, keeping any reference to Ben carefully neutral; Sarah had known her for several years and Gina was well aware of her sharply-honed instinct for emotional drama.
‘I saw Max yesterday,’ Sarah said, once Gina had finished talking.
‘Oh? How is he?’ Gina asked. ‘We seem to keep missing each other on the phone.’
There was a pause. ‘You know Max,’ Sarah said, and Gina got the sense she was choosing her words with care. ‘His energy is always ramped up to eleven.’
Gina frowned. ‘That sounds like him. But—’
‘I’ll be honest, Gee, I don’t think he’s coping all that well,’ Sarah interrupted. ‘He seems fine on the surface – all business and good cheer – but underneath . . . well, I think he’s missing you. Really missing you.’
‘I miss him too,’ Gina said, trying not to sound defensive. ‘But it’s not like this is forever—’
‘You’re not listening,’ Sarah said impatiently. ‘He’s lonely. And with you all the way down there, he’s also a target. I’m sure I don’t need to spell it out.’
Gina felt her face flush. ‘Max would never cheat on me.’
Her friend sighed down the phone. ‘No, I’m not suggesting he would. Not deliberately. But you know how these things go – sometimes a situation escalates.’
Ben flashed into Gina’s mind and her cheeks flamed even more. She knew exactly how fast things could get out of hand.
‘Just keep the home fires burning,’ Sarah went on, her tone softer. ‘Pay him some attention. Max loves you but he’s not made of stone – don’t take any chances, okay?’
It took Gina a long time to get to sleep once she’d said goodbye to Sarah; her friend’s words whirled around her head and kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Max hadn’t called her back, which probably meant nothing but even so, Sarah’s advice struck a chord; she needed to try harder with Max – distance made him vulnerable. It made them both vulnerable.
Chapter Three
Gina awoke the next morning to a message from Ben.
Thanks again for all your help last night. Fancy a day out? I want to show you some of my handiwork.
She’d already seen some of his work; the station restoration was a shining testament to his skill and ability. She’d also seen how much time and effort had gone into his home – a converted railway carriage that stood in one of the sidings beside the station itself. Her conversation with Sarah the night before resurfaced – keep the home fires burning – but work was work and she couldn’t avoid spending time with Ben; they were partners after all. Besides, she hadn’t seen much of Cornwall since she’d arrived, and it might be nice to give him the chance to show off a little.
Love to! When?
His reply took less than a minute.
Tomorrow too soon?
Gina shook her head; he was nothing if not keen. But she wanted to talk to him about her ideas for transforming the foyer of the Palace into a silent movie lot for the Singin’ in the Rain event and this gave her the perfect opportunity. She pushed Sarah’s insistent voice out of her mind.
Sounds perfect, she replied. Shall I drive?
No, I will. Pick you up around 10:30?
It’s a date, she typed, then hastily deleted the words and replaced them with, See you then! What would Sarah have made of that?
Feeling a sudden surge of guilt, Gina picked up her phone again and tried to call Max. It rang for a while and then his voicemail kicked in. She ended it without leaving a message, gnawing at her lip and hoping he’d call her back soon. Maybe she’d invite him down from London for another visit.
Focusing on work to help clear her head, she spent a little while designing flyers for Singin’ in the Rain and sent them over to the printers she’d used for the last event. Then she fired off a few emails, inviting the local press and Polwhipple’s mayor to attend, and announcing the screening to the people who’d come along to Brief Encounter. As an afterthought, she sent the flyer to Carrie too, asking her to forward it to the people on her mailing list. But she couldn’t shake her feeling of restlessness. Her gaze came to rest on the view beyond her balcony; the weather was as different as it was possible to be from the rainy, windswept Easter weekend. The sun was beaming from the summery blue sky, which in turn was making the sea sparkle and shimmer. What she needed was some fresh air to clear her head, Gina decided, getting up and heading purposefully towards the bathroom for a shower. If a walk along the cliffs to Polwhipple couldn’t do the job, nothing would.
She was familiar with the South West Coast Path by now, but the view never failed to take her breath away. The Atlantic was a perfect turquoise, flecked with white as the waves ebbed and flowed. Over her head, a few lazy gulls floated on warm air currents, occasionally calling out. Once or twice, she encountered other walkers and they exchanged a pleasant, ‘Good morning!’ but for the most part she was alone to enjoy the spectacular scenery. Slowly, she felt the tension in her shoulders drain away; walking in London never did this for her. There, it was often a constant battle to avoid others, all hell-bent on getting to their destination as quickly as possible. Unless they were tourists, of course, in which case they moved at a snail’s pace. There were plenty of tourists in Cornwall too but not here; the cliffs felt delic
iously empty.
Gina called in to see Gorran first, to let him know she’d be sending some builders his way to quote for the refurbishment funding application, then walked through the town to her grandparents’ house.
Elena greeted her warmly when she arrived at the Old Dairy. ‘Look at you, with such roses in your cheeks!’ she cried, standing back to observe Gina with evident satisfaction. ‘Our fresh Cornish air agrees with you.’
Gina smiled. ‘I did have a lovely walk across the cliffs today.’
‘Of course you did,’ Elena said. ‘Maybe the land is casting a spell on you – next you will be telling us you don’t ever want to leave.’
Gina thought about Max again; Sarah was right, he seemed further away with every day that passed. She’d put everything on hold to come and help Ferdie run his ice-cream business, including Max. When she’d first arrived in Polwhipple, she’d referred to London as her real life but now she wasn’t so sure; the city and its relentless stream of busyness seemed like a dream she’d once had, distant and hard to fathom. Life in Polwhipple felt more tangible; obviously, it was quieter and less pressured – although it still had its moments – and the things she’d disliked about the town when she’d been a teenager, such as the friendly interest she had interpreted as nosiness back then, she appreciated now. She supposed she’d just adjusted to living outside the capital – it was going to be a shock when she went back. Perhaps it was time to try and integrate her two lives sooner rather than later . . .
‘Mmm,’ she said as she took off her coat. ‘Maybe.’
Elena led her into the kitchen. ‘Ferdie has gone to meet a friend for brunch, although if you ask me it is just an excuse to drink coffee where I can’t tell him off.’
Gina thought of her stolen cappuccino and kept her face as straight as she could.
‘But it means we have the place to ourselves at least,’ Elena went on, firing a mischievous glance Gina’s way. ‘Shall we do some experimenting?’
She meant with gelato flavours, Gina realised instantly; her grandmother had been trying to persuade Ferdie to update the range of flavours Ferrelli’s sold for years, without much success. But now that Gina was helping out in the dairy, Elena had seen an indirect route to achieving her goal and had recruited Gina to help her create some new recipes. They’d already perfected a tiramisu-flavoured gelato, which Gina was waiting for the perfect opportunity to test on Ferdie, and Elena was now keen to find another recipe to challenge them. Gina was enjoying their experiments – it was fun to spend time with Elena and to hear her stories about her family back in Italy – but she couldn’t help feeling a niggle of guilt about sneaking around behind Ferdie’s back.
‘What did you have in mind?’ she asked her grandmother.
Elena waved a hand at the recipe books she had laid out on the kitchen table. ‘How about something typically English? Do you suppose we could create an Afternoon Cream Tea gelato?’
Gina narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. ‘We could add some clotted cream to the custard base, although strictly speaking it’s too heavy for traditional gelato, and drizzle strawberry puree over the top. But that’s just strawberries and cream.’
‘How about crumbling plain scones through the mixture?’ Elena suggested. ‘That way, we’d have all the elements of a traditional cream tea.’
‘That could work,’ Gina said, picturing a tin of glistening red and white ice-cream dotted with tiny morsels of sweet scones. ‘In fact, it could be delicious.’
Elena whisked two aprons from the back of the kitchen door and handed one to Gina. ‘Then what are we waiting for? Let’s begin!’
Using a recipe from a Mary Berry book, Gina and Elena whipped up a batch of scones. The smell of baking filled the kitchen as Gina told her grandmother all about her plans for the Singin’ in the Rain event at the Palace.
‘Ah, I loved that film,’ Elena said, sighing. ‘Gene Kelly was so very handsome. I’m sure this event will be even more successful than the last one – who could resist all those magical dance routines?’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Gina said. ‘A big audience will help to persuade the town council that the Palace is worth investing in.’
‘And has my stubborn husband agreed to let you serve a special gelato at the event?’
‘He has,’ Gina said, smiling. ‘In fact, he wants to develop it himself.’
Elena threw her hands up in the air in mock astonishment. ‘Praise be to God, it is a miracle! Call the Pope immediately – Ferdie Ferrelli has agreed to try a new recipe!’
Gina laughed. ‘I suppose it is kind of a breakthrough. It sounded delicious, anyway – I can’t wait to try it.’
Which reminded her, she needed to call in at the Scarlet Hotel and collect the Spanish oranges they’d kindly agreed to supply. And it wouldn’t hurt to increase her publicity efforts too; if the meeting with the town council went well, this could be the last event the Palace ran for a while. It seemed more important than ever to make it a success.
‘And how are you and Ben getting along?’ Elena asked. ‘It must be nice to be spending time together again after all these years. He was very upset when you stopped coming to visit, you know, back when you were younger.’
‘Was he?’ Gina said, blinking. She didn’t think Elena had ever told her that before.
‘Oh yes. He was quite heartbroken and pestered the life out of Nonno, asking when you’d be back and whether we had an address for you.’ Elena paused. ‘But of course we had to say no, because we had no idea where you had moved to.’
Her tone was neutral but Gina sensed the undercurrents beneath the last sentence: this was less about Ben and more about her parents’ sudden decision to move to Los Angeles, not long after Gina’s sixteenth birthday. There’d been an almighty argument, mostly between Ferdie and Gina’s mother, and terrible things had been said on both sides. Sophia Callaway had been so angry and hurt that she’d immediately taken a job across the Atlantic, where she and Gina’s father had stayed ever since. Gina had left them there shortly after her twenty-fifth birthday, taking a job in a London-based events company, and although they’d visited her from time to time, she doubted her parents would ever come back to the land of their birth.
But Elena’s revelation about Ben stunned Gina. Had he really been heartbroken when she’d vanished from his life, she wondered, or was Nonna exaggerating? They’d been close friends, it was true, but that was all they’d ever been. Apart from one night on the beach, just before she was due to leave Polwhipple, when she and Ben had been sat around a fire with a small gang of his surfer mates, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Gina and Ben were side by side and there’d been a moment when their eyes had met; their heads had been so close together that it seemed to Gina like the most natural thing in the world to close the distance and brush his lips with hers. But something had happened – a shout from one of the surfers or perhaps a friendly scuffle – she couldn’t remember what it had been but it had broken the spell. Neither of them had mentioned it and Gina was never sure that she hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Elena’s comment suggested that she hadn’t.
‘I wish Mum and Nonno weren’t so stubborn,’ Gina said aloud, pushing the thought of kissing teenage Ben out of her mind. ‘I know they were both hurt, but it’s been fifteen years.’
And time might be running out, she thought but didn’t say. Nonna and Nonno were generally in excellent health for their age but they were both well into their seventies. There was a very real danger that they might succumb to a sudden illness and then it would be too late to resolve the feud that had ripped the family apart.
Elena sighed. ‘The trouble is they are too alike – both strong-willed and headstrong. There were faults on both sides – your grandfather handled things badly but what he did was only born out of love and concern for you – he was worried that your mother’s obsession with her career was causing her to neglect you. She felt that he was interfering in her life, not for the first time. And now neith
er of them wants to admit that they were wrong.’ The older woman’s mouth turned down at the edges. ‘It breaks my heart sometimes.’
Gina lowered the strawberry she’d been hulling and gave her grandmother a fierce hug. ‘We have to make them see sense,’ she said. ‘There must be a way.’
After a few seconds, Elena pulled away and dabbed her eyes. ‘I’ve tried many times. But perhaps between the two of us, we can think of something.’ She smiled at Gina. ‘We are a good team, after all.’
‘We are,’ Gina replied, thinking of the last time she’d spoken to her mother on the phone. Sophia hadn’t directly asked about her parents but she had wanted to know how the business was going, whether Gina was coping okay as she learned the ropes at the dairy and how she was enjoying life back in Polwhipple. And Gina had answered carefully, dotting in little references to Nonna and Nonno that told her mother they were fine without her ever needing to ask. Maybe – just maybe – there was hope for reconciliation.
The conversation turned back to the recipe. Gina left her grandmother to finish the strawberries and crossed the courtyard to the dairy, where she borrowed some of the vanilla-based custard Nonno had made the day before. He’d be sure to notice it had gone, so she’d have to whip up another batch before he returned, but it meant she and Elena wouldn’t need to wait for their own custard to cool before they combined it into their Afternoon Tea gelato.
The scones – golden-brown and smelling divine – were out of the oven when she returned. Elena was wafting a baking tray back and forth over the top, trying to cool them, and she’d opened the window so that a spring breeze was drifting into the warm kitchen. Adding clotted cream to the chilled custard, Gina whisked it hard before putting the mixture to one side. She took one of Elena’s heavy copper-bottomed pans and began to create the strawberry drizzle.
Singing in the Rain at the Picture House by the Sea Page 3