Once the scones were cool, Elena crumbled them into small chunks and filled a bowl. Gina sieved her strawberry puree and set it aside to cool.
‘Ready?’ Elena asked, lifting the lid of the ice-cream maker she’d bought so that she could test the tiramisu recipe she and Gina had worked on before. The machine was usually kept hidden in one of the kitchen cupboards, where Ferdie never looked; the kitchen was Elena’s domain, just as the dairy was his.
‘Ready,’ Gina replied.
She folded the crumbled scones into the cold custard and tipped it into the ice-cream maker. Elena switched it on and the machine began to churn. ‘And now it is time for coffee and a freshly baked scone,’ she announced.
Gina smiled; Elena was convinced her granddaughter was too thin and was on a mission to fatten her up, something Gina was combating by long walks along the cliffs and membership of a gym in Mawgan Porth. ‘Let me make a batch of custard to replace the one we used first. Nonno will know what we’ve been up to if I don’t.’
Elena nodded in approval. ‘Of course. First rule of subterfuge: always cover your tracks.’
Forty minutes later, the replacement for the missing custard was chilling and the kitchen was immaculate. Once the machine had finished churning, Gina had scooped some of the resulting ice-cream into two bowls and drizzled the strawberry sauce over the top. She held her breath as Elena took a mouthful.
‘Delizioso,’ she announced, digging her spoon into the bowl for another mouthful. ‘Perfect first time – we are getting better at this.’
Gina took a spoonful of her own and savoured the sweet, crumbly texture of the ice-cream. It really was like eating a strawberry and cream scone. ‘Do you think Nonno will like it?’ she asked, once her bowl was empty.
Elena’s gaze narrowed in thought. ‘He’ll need some convincing. Let’s see how he gets on with the recipe for your picture house event. Maybe we can find a way to make him think it was all his idea.’
Gina couldn’t help laughing. When it came to handling Ferdie Ferrelli, no one was better than Nonna.
Chapter Four
Max called Gina as she was walking along the cliffs back to Mawgan Porth.
‘Where are you?’ he asked once she’d said hello. ‘It sounds like it’s blowing a gale.’
‘I’m on the South West Coast Path,’ she told him. ‘It’s not actually very windy – maybe it sounds worse than it is. Shall I call you back?’
‘No,’ Max said immediately. ‘I’ve got back-to-back meetings and it feels like ages since we’ve spoken.’
Gina mentally spooled back over the last few days. She’d last talked to Max just before the Easter weekend – six days ago. Back in London, that had been unheard of but there hadn’t been such a distance between them then. ‘It has been ages,’ she told him, thinking of Sarah’s comments the night before. ‘So, what have you been up to?’
Max was rapidly getting a reputation as a man with a sharp eye for investments. Gina had lost track of the London developments that he’d been involved with but several of them were iconic buildings along the River Thames. He also played as hard as he worked, so it was no surprise to Gina when she heard him describe the party he’d been to the night before. She knew most of the people he mentioned – they had a wide circle of mutual friends – but she had to interrupt more than once to ask about an unfamiliar name.
‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? Dexter split up with his wife – Izzy is his new girlfriend,’ Max said. ‘He asked after you, by the way.’
He went on, filling her in with titbits of gossip along the way until her head started to spin with the names of the people he’d seen and the glamorous places he’d been to. It wasn’t that she missed the parties and dinners, exactly; more that she missed being at them with him. And at the back of her mind, Sarah’s suggestion that underneath it all Max was lonely . . . The last thing she wanted was for him to sit moping around at home but the sense that his life could reform itself without her was unsettling.
‘Come down,’ she burst out, cutting into his story about lunch at the Oxo Tower with a new business associate. ‘And not just for a weekend – come for a week.’
Max laughed. ‘I’d love to but you know it’s impossible – my diary is booked solid for months. Why don’t you come up here? Surely your grandparents can spare you for a few days? You must be bored silly down there in the arse end of nowhere – come up to London and let me remind you what you’re missing.’
She probably could, Gina thought; no one would begrudge her a weekend away. But the funding application needed to be completed by Friday and there was a lot to do for the Palace screening. She couldn’t get away for at least two weeks.
‘I’m not bored,’ she said, doing her best to keep her tone level. ‘It’s actually good to be out of the city. I don’t miss London especially – I miss you, Max.’
He was silent for a moment and she pictured him half-dressed, standing beside the window of his riverside apartment, running a hand over his morning stubble. ‘I miss you too. Look, leave it with me; maybe I can shift a few things around. I’ll see what I can do, okay?’
Gina felt her eyes fill with tears. ‘Okay. Thank you.’
The call ended shortly after that, with Max promising to call her in a few days, once he’d had a chance to look at his diary. Gina put her phone away and walked slowly, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. When she’d agreed to come to Cornwall, she had been sure that her relationship with Max was solid enough to survive the three-month break. But now it felt as though the ground was shifting underneath them; she’d be happy to be reunited with Max, of course, but the thought of going back to her frenetic, whirling lifestyle filled Gina with a strange reluctance. The trouble was, there was nothing long-term to keep her in Polwhipple, apart from Nonna and Nonno; Ferdie wouldn’t need her once his leg was mended and providing they got the funding to go ahead, the refurbishment of the Palace would be finished by the summer. She’d made friends she’d be sorry to leave – Carrie and Ben – but she’d still be able to see them when she visited, which she suspected might happen more often now she’d tasted life in Polwhipple again. And she had friends in London – Sarah and Tori and plenty of others – although they all had young families now, plus there was her career as an events planner; her clients were waiting for her to come back. Gina shook her head – maybe it would do her good to go up to London for a weekend, as Max had suggested, to remind herself of everything she loved about life in the capital. It wouldn’t do her any good to get too comfortable in Cornwall. Her future was in London. Her future was with Max.
*
Up for walking today?
The text message from Ben arrived at 7:23 a.m. Gina stared blearily at her phone and it took her a few seconds to remember that they were due to visit one of the properties he’d worked on restoring, although she had no idea which one.
Blinking the last vestiges of sleep away, she tapped out a reply.
Of course. What time did we say?
Will be there at 10:30 – wear boots and bring a change of clothes.
Frowning, Gina got out of bed and padded across to the window. The sun was bright as she twitched the blind aside, forcing her to shade her eyes. Where exactly was Ben taking her?
He pulled up in his van exactly on time. Gina was waiting outside the entrance to the small block of holiday apartments she called home, and waved as he drove up.
‘Morning,’ Ben said, smiling as she climbed into the passenger seat. ‘How are you?’
‘Intrigued,’ Gina said, stowing her rucksack in the foot well and glancing around the immaculate interior of the van. For some reason she’d expected it to be cluttered and untidy. ‘I thought we were going to visit an old building – why do I need a change of clothes?’
‘Because I’m of the opinion that the best way to arrive at this particular property is on foot,’ Ben said. ‘And it’s a lovely walk but it might be a bit muddy after all the rain. The change of clothes is for disaster m
anagement.’
The penny dropped. ‘In case I fall head first into the mud, you mean?’
Ben glanced swiftly sideways, his blue eyes dancing. ‘Or in case you have to come and rescue me. Remember that time I got stuck in sinking sand over at Watergate Bay? You had to come and pull me out.’
Gina laughed; he hadn’t really been in any danger but the pair of them had ended up covered in dark sand. ‘Fair enough. So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?’
‘Ever been to Lanhydrock House?’
She shook her head. She’d heard of the grand old stately home, of course; situated above the River Fowey, it was a popular tourist spot. Elena had called her up in great excitement one Sunday evening years ago, instructing her to switch on Antiques Roadshow because it had been filmed at Lanhydrock, so she knew it was an impressive building. ‘You worked on the restoration?’ she asked Ben.
‘Some of it,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you which bits, if you like? Consider it a reference.’
‘I don’t need a reference,’ Gina replied, smiling. ‘I’ve seen the quality of your work already, remember, at the station. I already know you’re the best.’
He didn’t answer but Gina thought he looked pleased with the compliment. ‘There’s something else, too. We’ll walk from Bodmin Parkway station but I thought it might be nice to travel there in style.’
‘The steam train,’ Gina guessed, feeling a little burst of delight. ‘We’re going on the Bodmin and Wenford Railway, right?’
Ben nodded. ‘If we catch the eleven-thirty from Boscarne Junction, I can show you the rest of the line. It might help with the funding application and it’s a lovely journey.’ He glanced at her. ‘But we don’t have to if you don’t fancy it. We can drive straight to Bodmin if you’re pushed for time.’
Gina thought back to the day she’d arrived in Cornwall, when she’d stepped off the train from London to be enveloped by a cloud of coal-scented steam from the old-fashioned engine at the next platform. Ben had appeared from nowhere, although she hadn’t recognised him then, to help her when something had flown into her eye and afterwards she’d felt a strange impulse to take the steam train instead of the taxi she’d planned. The impulse had faded but now the desire to while away half an hour on the velvet seats, gazing out of the window and swaying with the gentle motion of the chugging train, was back. ‘It’s a great idea, Ben. I’d love to.’
They left the van at the Camel Trail car park, named after the river that flowed nearby, and walked the short distance to Boscarne Junction station.
‘There’s no ticket office,’ Gina observed, frowning at the small waiting room and empty platforms. ‘Did there use to be?’
‘No, there’s never been a ticket office here,’ Ben said. ‘You need to get tickets from Bodmin General. I popped in there yesterday and got yours – volunteers travel for free so I don’t actually need a ticket.’
A puff of steam became visible in the distance. He checked his watch. ‘Looks like they’re running on time today.’
Stepping on board the almost-empty carriage was like a mini trip down memory lane for Gina. She was instantly transported back to her teenage days when she’d travelled from London and caught the steam train from Bodmin Parkway to be met by Nonna or Nonno at Boscarne Junction. She’d forgotten how much the smell of coal and oil and age permeated the seats.
‘It hasn’t changed at all,’ she said, as the whistle blew and the train jolted into life.
‘No, but that’s kind of the point,’ Ben said from the seat straight across from her. ‘Imagine the uproar if train enthusiasts didn’t get the authentic experience they came for.’
She took in the look of boyish enthusiasm on his tanned face. ‘So, what do volunteers do?’
‘Pretty much everything,’ he said. ‘The Preservation Society is staffed by volunteers who run the whole line and maintain the engines. Almost everyone you’ll see is a volunteer – on the weekdays, it’s usually retired people but at the weekends there’s a real mixture.’
‘And what’s your job?’
He shrugged. ‘It varies. Obviously, I like driving the trains the best but so does everyone else. Most of the time I’m doing odd jobs around the station buildings, keeping everything neat.’
‘And even though you do all that, they still won’t listen to your idea about extending the train line to Polwhipple?’
Ben looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s not that they won’t listen, although some of the senior members are a bit stuck in their ways. It’s more that they can’t really afford the outlay, which is why our funding application is so important. If I can show them that they won’t have to spend a lot of money making it happen, the society might be more open to running trains to Polwhipple again.’
Gina was about to ask who the senior members were when the train braked suddenly and she was thrown forwards. Ben steadied her, and for a heartbeat, she found herself almost in his arms. She glanced up, feeling her cheeks grow warm as his eyes met hers; the last time she’d been this close to him he’d kissed her.
She pushed herself back into her seat, clearing her throat and brushing her hair from her face. ‘Sorry.’
‘No problem,’ he said, watching her closely. ‘Are you okay? You didn’t hurt yourself?’
Gina shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine.’
Apparently satisfied, Ben turned and peered out of the window towards the front of the train. ‘I bet they’ve got a rookie at the helm today. It’s not usually such a bumpy ride.’
Staring out of the window, Gina waited for her jangling nerves to settle down. Her shoulders were tense and her stomach was still fizzing with adrenaline from the shock of the jolt. But that wasn’t what was troubling her the most; the thought that was racing round and round her head was the uncomfortable knowledge that in the split-second Ben had held her, she’d felt the strongest urge to lean forwards into his arms and kiss him. And worse than that was the unwavering certainty that Ben would have kissed her back. What was it Sarah had said – sometimes a situation could escalate . . .
They didn’t talk much for the rest of the journey. Both kept their eyes fixed on the picturesque scenery rolling by the window, breaking the silence only to observe a particularly pretty aspect of the view. Gina stole glances at Ben when she knew he wouldn’t notice, feeling guilty each time she did so. They’d agreed after the last time that they’d got caught up in the romance of Brief Encounter – their costumes had even inadvertently reflected the lovelorn Laura and Alec from the film – and that the kiss had been a mistake. So why was Gina allowing herself to fantasise about kissing Ben again? And what did it mean for her relationship with Max?
Her stormy thoughts continued as they left the train at Bodmin Parkway and followed the signs for the footpath to Lanhydrock.
‘You’re quiet,’ Ben observed as they took the bridge that crossed the River Fowey. ‘Everything all right?’
Gina dredged up a smile; clearly Ben had forgotten the fleeting moment on the train and that was exactly what she needed to do. ‘Miles away, sorry.’ She waved a hand at the wooded path ahead, where the trees were slowly unfurling glossy spring leaves. ‘This is lovely.’
‘It’s a nice walk, especially at this time of year,’ he agreed. ‘The path doesn’t look too muddy, either. Maybe you won’t have to rescue me after all.’
She managed another smile. ‘Good.’
She forced herself to take deep, slow breaths as they walked, concentrating on putting one foot in front of another and focusing on the swirling patterns of the tree bark to either side, the fresh smell of new leaves and the gentle rushing of the river as it ran alongside the path. Sunshine filtered through the trees, dappling the ground, and slowly, Gina felt herself start to relax. Ben seemed to sense her change in mood because he began to talk, describing the work he’d been involved in at Lanhydrock. Gina kept her eyes on the path and listened, finding his descriptions of breathing new life into the worn building fascinating; his obvious enthu
siasm for his work shone through and although she knew he’d never say as much, he was quite clearly a master of his craft. But she knew how much he loved restoring old things already; the attention to detail he’d lavished on the converted railway carriage he called home told her that, to say nothing of the care he’d taken with the station.
There were one or two muddy stretches of path to negotiate but after about twenty minutes they reached a break in the trees, through which Gina thought she saw the glimmer of parked cars.
‘Respryn Bridge is just up ahead,’ Ben explained. ‘It’s a popular spot with ramblers so there’s a car park there. Just beyond that is the Avenue, which leads to Lanhydrock House.’
The Avenue turned out to be a long carriageway that led to an impressively gothic-looking gatehouse. Gina bought herself a ticket – she was not surprised to see that Ben had National Trust membership – and they passed beneath the arches towards the imposing grey-brick house. It presided over gravel paths and formal gardens with a majestic air, its leaded windows surrounded by thick-leaved ivy. To the right, Gina could see a church steeple standing proud above the rooftop of the sprawling house.
‘Wow,’ she said.
Ben grinned at her. ‘It’s even more incredible inside.’ He nodded towards the arched front door. ‘Shall we?’
‘Go ahead,’ Gina said, grinning back. ‘Show me the money.’
Chapter Five
Ben had not been wrong, Gina thought, as they strolled through room after sumptuous room inside Lanhydrock; the house was filled with breathtaking delights. One corridor had a pristine Art Deco design stretching overhead, but her favourite was the long, wood-panelled gallery with its ornate plaster ceiling, which Ben told her he’d worked on restoring.
‘They filmed a version of Twelfth Night here,’ he told her as they passed beneath the curved ceiling. ‘The one with Helena Bonham-Carter and Ben Kingsley in it.’
Gina raised her eyebrows. She knew Ben loved films but she’d never had him down as a fan of Shakespeare.
Singing in the Rain at the Picture House by the Sea Page 4