Charlie didn’t doubt that for one moment, which was partly why she felt so apprehensive. At the moment the festival was her initiative, the one thing she was contributing to the village. If she let Daniel take control of that too, then she was worried she would be powerless against him. But it was a great idea, and if it made some of the reluctant villagers warm to her, then it would be worth it.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Let’s celebrate the summer solstice in style. I’d better go and tell everyone what’s happening.’
She asked Juliette to cover the bus while she updated vendors and customers alike, wondering, not for the first time, if she should invest in a loud-hailer. She watched as Daniel went to talk to Lauren at the edge of the beach, the receptionist’s pretty face twisting into a frown at his words. The black handbag on her arm was huge, just as Myrtle had said.
Chuckling to herself, Charlie went to give Oliver the good news.
Chapter Six
By the time Charlie locked up The Cornish Cream Tea Bus, the sun was a mere glimmer over the sea, a line of burning amber below a sky of endless blue. Above her, she could see the first few pinpricks of stars.
Some of the other food trucks were still open – there was more appetite for burgers and burritos than evening cream teas – and The Marauding Mojito queue was longer than Charlie had ever seen it. Seb and his friends had stayed on, and their number had slowly grown until there was an unmistakable buzz that spread along the whole beach.
‘Wow, this is gorgeous!’
Charlie turned to find a young woman with a pixie crop taking a photo of Gertie. ‘Is she a London bus?’ she asked.
‘Yes, a vintage Routemaster, though the paintwork and most of the interior were redone this year. If she was still in the state she was in back then she would struggle to get admiring looks.’
‘I’m sad we’ve arrived just as you’re closing. Where will you be next?’
‘I’ll be here again, next Saturday,’ Charlie said. ‘And I’ll be travelling around Cornwall too. Look up The Cornish Cream Tea Bus online and you’ll find me. Are you heading down to the bonfire?’
‘Yup, meeting my friends by the burger stand, then we’re going to wait for the fireworks on the beach.’
‘It should be a good display.’ With Daniel in charge, she couldn’t imagine anything else.
Charlie could hardly believe that, on her first day as festival proprietor, people were already arranging to meet their friends here. Of course, that was mostly down to Daniel’s quick thinking, finding a way to placate Myrtle while also turning the first Porthgolow Food Fest into something bigger.
There had been definite interest when she’d told the other vendors and visitors about the bonfire and fireworks display, and she didn’t think it was solely Seb’s friends filling up the beach. Word was getting around that the day was due to end in spectacular fashion. She couldn’t imagine anyone back home being as enthusiastic at such short notice, and wondered whether it was something about Cornwall, with its wildness and holiday atmosphere, that exuded a sense of freedom and spontaneity.
Charlie walked further down the sand, towards where the large bonfire was crackling noisily, sparks and flames shooting up into the darkening sky. It had been cordoned off by netting and metal poles, and gave the impression of being planned and professional, rather than something that had only been dreamed up that afternoon. There was someone playing a folk tune on a ukulele, and a group of friends were braving the shallows, lit by the glow of the fire.
‘Charlie!’ She turned at the sound of her name and saw Juliette waving, Lawrence standing behind her with a bottle of beer. She went to join them.
‘God, Charlie,’ Juliette said, ‘did you ever imagine it would be like this? It’s magnificent! Look at all the people. Look at the size of those flames!’ It was hard to ignore the way they shimmied and danced against the backdrop of the inky sea. There was someone standing inside the wide cordon, no more than a silhouette, but Charlie didn’t think it was Daniel – perhaps one of the team he’d mentioned earlier.
‘It’s brilliant.’ Charlie took a beer and sat next to Juliette, pulling Marmite onto her lap. He didn’t seem anxious about the fire, but it would be the first time he’d encountered fireworks, and she was worried he would be terrified. ‘Though it’s not how I imagined tonight panning out, if I’m honest,’ she continued. ‘I thought we’d be packed up by eight and celebrating at home or in The Seven Stars.’
‘You don’t regret this happening, do you?’
‘Not at all. I’m just … surprised that Daniel was able to put it together so quickly.’
Juliette was quiet for a moment. ‘He really meant to give me that contract? I can’t imagine him messing up like that, signing something without reading it properly.’ Charlie had given Juliette Daniel’s explanation about the marketing mix-up, and told her all about the near miss, the day it had happened.
‘I know, but that’s what he told me, and I believe him.’ It had been the first time she felt as though she’d seen below his armour of confidence and swagger. He was angry with himself for the mistake, and for letting Juliette down, and for some reason he had been able to swallow his pride and admit it to her. ‘I’m just not sure why he’s doing all this. Why he’s gone to the effort.’
‘He’s not exactly the village’s most popular person,’ Juliette said. ‘Perhaps this is his attempt to give back to the community and show them that he’s one of us.’
‘One of us,’ Lawrence intoned in an emotionless voice. ‘Sounds like something from Invasion of the Body Snatchers.’
‘More like The Wicker Man.’ Charlie gestured to the bonfire and they laughed.
Night settled around them, the crackling flames and churn of the waves the backdrop to their conversation. Jonah made a fuss of Marmite until Paul decided it was his bedtime and they left with only a minimal amount of protest. Stella and Anton came and sat with them, sharing a bottle of red wine that they’d brought from home.
‘I’ve never seen it like this,’ Stella admitted. ‘The beach is always so quiet in the evenings; it’s such a sleepy little cove. This reminds me of Australia. We partied all night and then went to watch the sun come up on a beach near Sydney. It was as busy as if it was midday, just like now.’
‘We missed out on the food, Charlie,’ Anton said, ‘but we’ll be there next time. I never turn down the chance of a fully loaded burger.’
‘That’s what I’m having next weekend, for sure.’ Lawrence clinked his bottle against Anton’s wine glass, and Charlie watched the flames flicker over their faces, playing with their features. She heard a burst of laughter and turned to see Myrtle talking to a tall gentleman wearing a grey windbreaker. She was holding a mojito and clutching his arm while her body shook with mirth. Charlie had to force herself to stop staring, sure that when she turned back they would be gone: a figment of her imagination appearing in the bonfire’s heat haze.
Juliette stretched her arms up to the sky. ‘When are the fireworks kicking off?’
‘Give me a chance,’ said a voice from behind them. Daniel crouched on the sand between Charlie and Juliette and rested his elbows on his knees. ‘Half an hour,’ he added. ‘They’re just doing the final safety checks.’
‘I wasn’t being impatient,’ Juliette said hurriedly, ‘I was just wondering.’
‘I know that.’
Charlie could hear the smile in his voice, could feel the warmth of his shoulder pressed against hers.
‘And look, Juliette, I don’t know if Charlie mentioned to you—’
‘She has,’ Juliette said. ‘You don’t need to explain.’
‘Great. Good. Thanks, Charlie. And I really am sorry, Jules. I should have had all my ducks in a row, and I didn’t. I’ll be more careful in future. I hope this will go a little way towards making up for it. It was Charlie’s idea.’ He handed her an envelope, and Juliette squinted at it in the gloom. ‘It’s a spa voucher, for you and Lawrence. Come and have a pa
mpering session.’
‘Daniel, you didn’t—’
‘It’s the least I could do. Just call reception when you want to book in and we’ll sort everything out. I’d better go and check on the fireworks, seeing as some people are so impatient for them.’ He used Charlie’s shoulder as leverage to help him stand.
‘Daniel—’ she called.
He turned to face her, and she could see the fire reflected in his eyes.
‘Thank you, for all this. It’s spectacular.’
‘If it gets us in Myrtle’s good books, then I’ll be happy.’ He strode over to the jetty, where several powerful torch beams lit up a hive of activity.
‘That’s not the only reason he’s done it,’ Juliette said, filling the space Daniel had just vacated. ‘He’s never bothered trying to placate Myrtle before. And he’s never, ever looked like he was even capable of offering an apology until today. I wonder if you might have something to do with it?’ Her voice was light and amused, but it made Charlie’s stomach churn.
She had been thinking about their previous conversation a lot in the days leading up to the festival. His offer of a massage, his hand over hers on the table. Her mind kept pinging between that and Oliver on the beach, the way he had come to her rescue in March, and Stuart; Stuart who had been so smooth and sure of himself – similar to Daniel in that one way – and who had then discarded her like a used-up chew toy. It was an uncontrollable game of Ping-pong that she couldn’t seem to put an end to.
She hadn’t come to Cornwall to find romance. She was wholly focused on her bus, on giving Gertie the future she deserved and, since she’d arrived in Porthgolow and fallen for its quaint beauty, on bringing life back to the village.
Love wasn’t on the cards for her: she wasn’t ready. But as the first firework shot up into the sky above them and Charlie held her quivering puppy against her chest, soothing him and kissing his fur, she found herself focusing, not on the sparkling display in the night sky, but on the jetty, wondering which of the silhouettes was him.
The online response to the first Porthgolow food festival was beyond Charlie’s wildest dreams. She lay in bed the following morning and scrolled through her phone, looking at the photos and videos that had been uploaded and reading the comments below her posts. The hashtag #PorthgolowFoodFest had been shared hundreds of times. Even the Porthgolow Hideaway account had got in on the act, taking a shot of the festival from above – it looked like from the top of the south cliff – that showed the colourful trucks bright in the sunshine.
She thought of Daniel’s involvement, and how much smaller the event would have been if he hadn’t stepped in. Had he been driven by self-interest, getting the villagers on side so there was less animosity towards him, too? He’d promoted the fireworks and bonfire on the hotel’s social media pages, which had no doubt spread its reach even further.
Charlie sighed and closed her eyes. She should be feeling triumphant. There were no bonfire accidents, the fireworks had been spectacular, and she’d seen Myrtle laughing. It was miraculous. And yet Daniel’s involvement – and his motivations – unsettled her. She had wanted the villagers to be involved, for the event to be for, and owned by, all of them. But as soon as Daniel started to take over, anxiety had crept in. She knew that was probably more about her than him, about wanting to regain control of a life that had, in the space of six months, changed completely, but that realization didn’t make her feel any better.
If she wanted her events to be truly successful then she would have to loosen the reins a little bit, even if that meant allowing Daniel to help. After all, he clearly knew what he was doing.
Later that morning, the WhatsApp messages started. First it was Hugh, singing Charlie’s praises and saying his pub had been busier last night than he’d seen it in a long time, though understandably it had emptied out just before the fireworks. Amanda and Paul had nothing but praise, and Stella and Anton had received three new booking enquiries for the B&B that morning. Even Myrtle had got in on the act: A very fitting solstice event. Thank you. A genuine thank you – Charlie couldn’t believe it! But, she had also hastened to point out in her reply that Daniel was responsible for a lot of it. She couldn’t take all the credit for the way people had flocked to Porthgolow as the sun started to set, even though Seb’s crowd of chilled-out twenty-somethings had been down to her.
There was no reply from Daniel, which, Charlie thought, was unusual for a man who wasn’t shy about throwing his weight around. But she didn’t have too long to mull over it, because the comments and enquiries she’d had since last night were going to keep her busy for the rest of the week.
Her fledgling idea was spreading its wings and she was already adapting it, thinking how to root it, firmly, in Porthgolow culture. Last night, with the added entertainment and the summer solstice background, it had definitely been a festival. But without those, it was more like a weekly food market. Something people could drop in on to simply pick up lunch, or spend the whole day at, browsing the stalls, enjoying the tastes and smells and spending time on the beach. If she promoted it like that, she thought it would build up more of a regular customer base, locals who knew they could come and get something a bit different, as well as attracting tourists.
Charlie pulled out her phone, updating the village WhatsApp group and letting her fellow vendors know. The Porthgolow Food Market. It had a great ring to it, and she hoped that, before too long, it would be known across the whole of Cornwall.
The following Saturday the weather was even hotter, and Charlie, Juliette and Lawrence were on the beach early to help every food truck manoeuvre into the right space. Marmite danced about their feet, and while her friends laughed each time they almost fell face-first into the sand, Charlie ended up putting him in his crate.
‘You can come out later,’ she said, ‘once you’ve calmed down.’ Now all she needed to do was follow her own advice. The bus was gleaming, her scones, cakes and pastries were fresh and raring to go, and she had double the number of food trucks taking part today. There was already a buzz on social media, and there was no reason to suspect anything would go wrong. But she was still running on nerves.
Everything started off well. George in the Mexican burrito van, Megu and her Japanese food truck and The Travelling Cornish Pasty Shack, run by twins called Rachel and Andie, all greeted her warmly and then acted like old hands, helping some of the newcomers find their feet. Charlie focused on getting vehicles in the right places, and then on her bus. She’d been more ambitious with her cream teas this week, working out how to cook miniature chocolate fondants in Gertie’s on-board oven.
The sun baked down on Porthgolow beach and, even before the official opening time, there were people wandering among the stalls. Jeremy and Delia, who lived in the road behind Juliette and who had become semi-regulars on her bus over the last few weeks, ordered a Cornish cream tea for two and went to sit in their favourite spot on the top deck.
Everything was as it should be. The smells were as tantalising as ever, no village meetings had been called, and there were groups of friends taking it in turns to be in a picture with Gertie, each photographer having to crouch and angle the shot so that her red, gleaming bulk fitted into the frame.
Charlie served and wiped down tables, swaying along to the music from the Turkish kebab stall, which added a jaunty soundtrack to the event. There were people further down the sand, stripping to their swimming costumes and running into the waves, and the queue for the ice-cream van snaked out of sight. Charlie found she was chatting and laughing more than she had done in months. Who couldn’t fail to be happy on a day like this, working at an event that was providing so much pleasure?
She was assessing her stock levels, wondering whether she needed to make more sandwiches or text Juliette to ask for a hand over lunchtime, when voices close to the open window drifted through to reach her. She’d been hearing snippets of conversation all day: what was showing at Truro cinema and whether it was a crime to go when
the weather was so glorious; could two friends get away with swimming in their underwear or would they have to go home and get changed; should Geraint have the double-stack cheeseburger or the New York deli cheeseburger? Charlie had been entertaining herself by silently answering their questions – she had just managed to stop herself suggesting Geraint had a cream tea instead.
But these voices were different. They didn’t sound light or carefree, they sounded annoyed. The hairs prickled on the back of Charlie’s neck. She stayed crouched next to the fridge, and as she listened to their conversation she stiffened, her mouth drying out. She could barely believe what she was hearing.
Chapter Seven
‘You have to admit it’s grand, Rose.’ It was a man speaking, slightly gruff, his low timbre suggesting he wasn’t that young. And Charlie knew exactly who Rose was.
‘Think what all these cars are doing to the roads, Frank. Crumbling Cliff will be fallin’ into the sea in no time. Then there’s the pollution, the noise. Not to mention the poor beach. It’s all sufferin’. What about my ma’s afternoon nap? How can anyone get any rest with all this goin’ on?’
Rose was about Myrtle’s age, which meant she was over fifty. Charlie wondered how old her mother was, and felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of ruining her nap. But then Frank spoke again.
‘Oh well, maybe Daniel was right. It won’t last long. A flash in the pan, that’s what ’ee said. A few weeks and the maid’ll be gone, scatterbrain that she is. She’s already changed the name of it – festival or food market, what difference does it make? No, she’ll soon be off again, back home or somewhere else with this bloody great thing.’ Charlie heard him pound his hand against the side of the bus. It was as loud as her heart thumping in her ears.
‘A flash in the pan,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Scatterbrain?’ She imagined Daniel giving the villagers a lecture at the meeting last week – or had he said all this since then? ‘Don’t worry, everybody. Humour her for a little while; she’ll soon be gone.’ Was that what he had been doing? Rage fired through her, hotter than the heat of the day, but Rose and Frank weren’t done yet.
The Eclair Affair Page 6