The Café at Seashell Cove_A heart-warming laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

by Karen Clarke

‘Of course she will,’ Mum said, oblivious.

  ‘You just need to get to know her properly.’ Rob’s words were directed at me this time.

  ‘I will,’ I said, defensively. Maybe Emma’s bossiness was a manifestation of how much she cared about Rob. I guessed I’d find out, in time, but as long as Rob was happy… I could see now that this was all that mattered.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re OK, Rob,’ said Mum, cradling his face between her palms, the subtext being, I’m glad we haven’t messed you up too much. ‘We’re a proper family again.’

  Don’t take your family for granted, Cassie, they’re part of your history, of who you are. As Danny’s words came back to me, tears flew to my eyes. I’d taken them totally for granted.

  ‘We’re going to be completely open with you and your sister from now on, even if it means we might not always agree, and you must be honest too. Isn’t that right, Ed?’ Mum looked at Dad, who nodded eagerly.

  ‘Does that mean you’ll take on a manager at the café and go on your cruise, or whatever it is you want to do?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I doubt we’ll be going anywhere if there’s a baby on the horizon.’ Mum glanced out at the sunny garden, as if she could see it hovering by the hedge. ‘But maybe…’ She glanced at Dad. ‘We could always ask Gwen, she’d love to do it.’

  ‘Good choice,’ I said, realising it was true. Gwen worked hard and was obviously reliable, and I was sure a warm heart lurked beneath the bluff exterior that the customers inexplicably loved. ‘And the baby’s six months away, so you could still take a break.’ I felt an ache around my heart as I said it. All this time, they’d been longing for a little escape, but had stayed put because they’d thought that’s where they should be.

  ‘I can just see them lying stiffly on a beach in their Maitland’s Café shirts,’ Rob said, finally tipping some Cheerios into a bowl.

  I gave a hiccupy giggle. ‘Or offering to do the washing up at a hotel.’

  ‘You sit down, we’ll make our own cappuccinos,’ Rob said, mimicking Mum, but she and Dad were gazing at each other wide-eyed, as if hardly daring to believe it could actually happen.

  ‘Maybe a tour of the Greek islands?’ Mum said, and Dad held her close and buried his head in her hair, while Rob and I traded smiles.

  Mum sat back down, hands clasped in front her, only a slight redness around her nose suggesting she’d been bawling her eyes out fifteen minutes ago. Even Dad looked like he’d had a blood transfusion.

  ‘So, it looks like we’re all setting off in new directions.’ Mum’s eyes shone like polished glass. ‘Rob’s going to be a dad, and you’ve got a wonderful job lined up in London, so you don’t have to be self-employed, which I’m so glad about, Cassie, because it’s very, very hard work, being your own boss.’ She blinked a few times. ‘We should have said that as soon as you told us your plans, but we didn’t want to—’

  ‘Influence me, I know,’ I said, remembering their secret conversation at the café. How had I not guessed they were talking about me?

  ‘And you’re painting again.’ Dad picked up the picture of Meg’s cake still lying on the table where I’d left it to dry. ‘No reason why you can’t keep it up,’ he said, ruffling my hair. ‘You must make sure you get some time off work so you can relax.’ As if that was going to be possible, flying back and forth to Hawaii or Singapore, finding waterfalls, and elephants and whatever else a bride required to make her day super-special. The groom was usually last on the list.

  ‘And what about that rash?’ Mum turned over my wrist, where the itchy patch was horribly inflamed and sore.

  ‘Ouch,’ said Rob. ‘Looks like you’ve been trying to escape a pair of handcuffs.’

  ‘Ha, ha, not funny.’ I pulled away and hid my hands in my lap. ‘Like I said, it’s just an allergic reaction to something.’ It looks like eczema. Meg’s voice rang in my mind. My mum gets it when she’s stressed.

  A knock at the front door made us jump like scalded cats, and as Rob went to answer it, unembarrassed by being in his nightwear, Mum said, ‘It’s a shame in a way about the job, well, not a shame, of course it’s not, it’s a wonderful opportunity, and we’re very, very proud—’

  ‘Mum.’

  ‘Sorry, love, I was going to say that there’ve been a few enquires at the café about those menus you did, and people asking about the drawings, wanting me to pass on their details, but I said you’d be leaving soon.’ Her eyes moved past me and widened, and then she was on her feet, smoothing her curls and checking her boobs were covered. ‘Adam, how lovely to see you again, we’re not usually in our dressing gowns at this time of day.’

  ‘Not at all, I’m sorry for dropping in unannounced,’ said Adam, as I swivelled in my chair. He looked tanned and rugged in a black shirt and fawn trousers and I was acutely aware of my ancient Quidditch nightdress, which Mum must have helped me into as I couldn’t remember putting it on. It was riding up, revealing my pasty thighs and bony knees. His dark eyes ran over me, and I shivered as if he’d touched me with his hands. ‘’Morning, Cassie.’

  ‘Hi!’ I stood up, hoping he couldn’t smell my breath from where he was standing. ‘This is…’ I scooped one arm round. ‘My family!’ I said, talking like a children’s TV presenter.

  ‘Yes, we met briefly.’ Adam gave an all-encompassing smile, seeming unfazed that only Dad was fully dressed. ‘I wondered, if you were free, whether you’d like to go for a spin in the Alfa?’ he said to me.

  ‘Ooh, the Alfa,’ Rob mouthed behind him.

  I shot him a warning look. ‘Sounds great!’ I beamed. ‘If you wouldn’t mind giving me ten minutes to get ready?’

  ‘Of course.’ He glanced at the table and, following his gaze, I saw my sketch pad open on a drawing of Dickens, strolling along the counter at the café as though he owned the place. ‘Cute,’ he said.

  I froze, wondering whether Mum might tell him I’d drawn it, followed by a speech about how clever I was, and braced myself to admit that the artwork he’d seen at the café was mine, but he was already backing towards the door.

  ‘I’ll wait in the car,’ he said, raising a hand.

  ‘Good idea.’ I hadn’t meant to sound relieved.

  Mum gave me a scandalised look. ‘Won’t you stay for coffee?’ she said. ‘I have to get ready for work, but Ed will make some.’

  Dad was heading for the coffee maker as she spoke, but Adam shook his head. ‘Thanks, but no,’ he said affably. ‘I have some paperwork to catch up on.’

  He gave me a lingering look, which I knew Rob had picked up on, and sure enough, once the door had closed, he stuck a model-like pose and made sexy-eyes at me.

  ‘Hey, Miss Moneypenny, let’s go for a ride in my Alfa.’

  ‘Bond drives an Aston Martin, and why do you sound like a sex pest?’

  Rob reverted to normal. ‘He’s a bit smooth for you, isn’t he?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I thought you were into Danny Fleetwood,’ he said. ‘He’s obviously into you.’

  My heart fluttered. ‘He’s playing games with me, that’s all.’ Danny likes Cassie. ‘I’m his latest challenge.’

  ‘Not the impression I got.’

  ‘Leave her alone, Rob,’ said Dad, pouring himself some coffee. ‘Adam’s quite a catch.’

  ‘A catch,’ Rob sniggered. ‘This isn’t The Great Gatsby.’

  ‘He’s very good-looking,’ Mum said, winding a curl around her finger. ‘I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Lydia!’

  I raced upstairs and left them to it.

  * * *

  The sun was out, and the view of Salcombe estuary was as stunning as I remembered, but I felt nauseous as we wound through the narrow streets and around the yacht-packed harbour. Adam had been swinging the car round every bend as though training for the Grand Prix. He was clearly at home behind the wheel, and I’d done my best to appreciate the ‘twin-scroll turbos’, silky smooth gea
rbox and low, red leather seats, but the best I’d managed was a prosaic, ‘It’s very comfy.’

  I’d also discovered we had very different tastes in music when Guns N’ Roses had blasted out of the speakers. ‘Helps me unwind,’ he’d said, smiling as he turned it down, and I told myself we didn’t have to like the same things to be a good match, just tolerate each other’s differences.

  ‘Have you thought any more about the job I mentioned?’ he said, as we strolled through the pretty town, which was full of trendy clothes shops, and past the Maritime Museum. Adam wanted an ice cream and, although my stomach felt unsettled, I didn’t want to spoil his seaside adventure. ‘I have to let Grace know by tomorrow so she can advertise it, if you’re not interested.’

  ‘Oh, I am,’ I said, because no one in their right mind would say anything else. He smiled and took hold of my hand, which felt small and delicate in his.

  ‘Here we are.’ I stopped outside Salcombe Dairy, which I remembered sold the tastiest ice creams I’d ever eaten. ‘They use farm-fresh milk,’ I said, leading him inside, where he swiftly chose a chocolate peppermint flake flavour and I picked the stem ginger – wasn’t ginger good for nausea? – but as soon as we were back on the pavement, a series of musical notes heralded a phone call.

  ‘Sorry about this.’ He winced, handing me his ice cream. ‘I’m afraid I have to take it.’

  He wandered off, while I held his cone, licking the edges of mine before the ice cream started melting, catching odd words floating back – acquisition, status report, all-nighter.

  He came back, pushing a hand through his hair, his brows drawn down. ‘Cassie, I’m sorry about this, but something’s come up and I have to pop down to London.’

  ‘Pop down?’

  ‘I’ll be back tonight.’ He took his ice cream and wound his tongue around the soft, creamy mound. ‘I’ve booked us a table at a restaurant called The Brook for eight o’clock,’ he said. ‘The owner of the hotel recommended it.’

  My heart juddered. It was the restaurant where Danny worked. The one he’d invited me to for a meal. Tonight.

  ‘It’s much too far to go and come back, if you’ve work to do as well. Let’s leave it,’ I suggested.

  But Adam was shaking his head before I’d finished speaking. ‘No way.’ He took a big bite of his ice cream and swallowed. ‘I came here for a reason, and I’m not going let a cock-up at the office stand in the way. It’ll only take half an hour to sort out, but I have to deal with it in person.’

  ‘Does this sort of thing happen often?’ I darted my tongue at my ice cream, which was starting to run down my hand. ‘Dashing off at a minute’s notice.’

  ‘Well, usually, I wouldn’t be so far away,’ he said, not really answering the question. ‘I imagine it’s the same in your line of work.’

  For a second, I imagined someone calling at 3 a.m. to say the picture I’d painted wasn’t quite accurate, and would I come round and dab on a bit more blue. ‘I guess,’ I said, remembering how I’d carried my phone everywhere at Five Star, even into the toilet.

  ‘Hey, it’s not a deal-breaker, is it?’ It was clearly a rhetorical question. He looked at his massive watch, while efficiently finishing his ice cream, and I could tell he wasn’t tasting it, not properly. In his mind, he was already in his office, brokering a deal, or whatever it was that investment bankers did.

  ‘Is it like The Wolf on Wall Street where you work?’ I said, as we set off back to the car at a pace too brisk for eating ice cream. I tossed mine in a bin as we passed, and surreptitiously wiped my hand on my jeans.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe how many people think that.’ I had a sense that my comment had annoyed him slightly, but I might have imagined it, because in his car he leaned over to help me with my seat belt, and pushed his lips against mine, his dark eyes serious.

  ‘We’ll make a night of it tonight,’ he murmured, brushing the back of his hand down my cheek. I gave a little shiver. ‘I want to know everything there is to know about you. The real you,’ he added, as though he’d just kissed an imposter.

  ‘That won’t take long,’ I said.

  He laughed, as though he didn’t believe me, and didn’t speak again on the short journey back, as if saving up all his words for later.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  At a loose end after Adam had dropped me home, having pressed a kiss on my fingers before driving off, I called Andy Farrington’s agent.

  ‘Worth every penny, was he?’ Her voice was ripe with sarcasm.

  ‘Definitely,’ I said, taking it on the chin. I could have found a local comedian for a lot less than Andy’s fee, if I’d really tried, but the fact that he’d been on TV – and was a bit risqué – had undoubtedly added to his appeal. ‘Please pass on my thanks.’

  I brushed off the overwhelming temptation to go back to bed, and decided to make the most of the day by taking my sketch pad and pencils to the beach. It wasn’t as if I needed to think about my career any more, other than what to wear to impress Grace Dewsbury, and I had plenty of outfits that should do the trick.

  As I strolled to the beach, I wondered whether I should phone The Brook to check whether Danny was working later. Had he meant us to eat there together tonight, or to cook me a meal? Either way, in spite of my drunken pass the night before, I doubted his invitation still stood. But it would be awkward if he was there, and saw Adam and me.

  I’d half expected him to call, to gloat about our snog, then remembered he didn’t have my number. It wouldn’t have been hard to get hold of though, and I fished my phone out of my bag to check, but there were no missed calls. No message from Adam either. Not that I’d expected one. He’d be on the motorway now, foot down, singing along to ‘Sweet Child o’ Mine’, while Danny would be working at one of his many jobs.

  I remembered what Bill had said about Danny sending him the clip of Andy Farrington, and wondered why Danny had gone out on a limb like that. He couldn’t have been trying to win me over if he hadn’t even bothered to tell me about it, so maybe he was just being… nice.

  My mind felt full of sharp edges, so I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, careful to steer clear of the café, because I didn’t want to be spotted, knowing it would lead to questions about Adam’s whereabouts.

  Down on the beach, I walked past the fortresses of windbreaks and tartan blankets and sat on a smooth-topped rock, out of sight of the café, and angled my head to the sun to warm my face. There wouldn’t be any of this once I was back in London. And even in Thailand or Fiji, or wherever I was required to arrange a wedding, there wouldn’t be time to relax and soak up the atmosphere.

  My shoulders tightened as I took out my phone and googled Grace Dewsbury. Her website was exquisite; all pastel colours and tasteful fonts, and dramatic shots of brides and grooms in stunning surroundings. Prices ranged from outrageous to unbelievable. Surely roses dipped in gold were a step too far, and was it really necessary for a bride to arrive by elephant, or to fly in a world-class tap-dancing troupe for the wedding reception?

  Grace’s profile picture was intimidatingly beautiful. Couldn’t she have had scraped back mousy hair and a bad complexion, instead of softly cascading blonde waves around a flawless heart-shaped face? I’d have to get my hair re-done. The Plumberry was growing out, leaving behind a sludge-coloured strip at the roots. Maybe I could go lighter, this time – marmalade, perhaps. Or very dark. Midnight black, or maybe a tawny colour, with lighter stripes… I realised I was thinking in cat colours, just as my phone rang. It was Liz from the shelter, calling to apologise for not making it to the café.

  ‘Danny said you did a great job of looking after the cats,’ she said, while I bit my lip in an agony of guilt, wondering what he’d have made of everything that had happened before he’d turned up to collect them. ‘And it’s not the first time Tabitha’s escaped,’ she went on. ‘That’s why it’s been hard to find her forever home. But we’ve had so many queries today, we don’t think she’ll be here mu
ch longer.’

  When she didn’t suggest a repeat of the event, I was flushed with guilty relief. I was pleased it had worked out well for the cats, but it had been a strain being responsible for all those feline futures. Better to stick with people, who could at least voice a criticism (and frequently did) and say if they weren’t having a nice time.

  I’d just pulled out my sketch pad, when I heard familiar female voices. Using my pad as a visor, I saw Meg and Tilly approaching, shoes dangling from their fingers. ‘How did you know I was here?’ I said, when they’d thrown themselves down on the sand in front of me, faces brimming with smiles. Tilly had an emerald scarf wound around her hair, fastened in a bow on top, and Meg’s Maitland’s shirt was the exact same shade as the sea.

  ‘I saw you walking down the path,’ Meg said, brushing at her sandy feet. ‘It’s my lunch break and I was having coffee on the terrace with Tilly.’

  ‘Today’s walk was cancelled,’ said Tilly, sifting sand through her fingers, squinting her eyes against the sun’s glare. ‘I was celebrating with cake.’

  ‘I thought you liked walking.’

  ‘I do, but it’s nice to not do anything too.’ I couldn’t help smiling. That just about summed up the Tilly I remembered. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

  ‘I was with Adam, but he got a call and had to drive back to London.’

  I couldn’t miss the little look she exchanged with Meg.

  ‘He’s coming back,’ I said, with a bristle. ‘We’re going out for a meal this evening.’

  Meg’s eyes grew round. ‘Isn’t it something like a four-hour journey?’

  ‘More.’ I suddenly realised how big a deal it was. All that way – for me.

  ‘Wow,’ said Tilly, resting her chin on her drawn-up knees. ‘No one’s ever made an eight-hour round trip to take me out to dinner.’

  ‘If they did, you’d have forgotten and gone out with someone else,’ I said, amazed by how comfortable I felt in their presence. ‘Or you wouldn’t be in the mood.’