Recipe for Love: A gorgeous Cornish romance (Polwenna Bay Book 5)

by Ruth Saberton

  He dropped a kiss onto her cheek and squeezed her arm.

  “No more talking about who lives where for today, I promise. But Alice, by Easter time I will need to know. I have to make plans, especially now that I haven’t got Ella to help.”

  Alice bit back her comment on the subject – that if he could only be a little less rigid in his thinking, Ella would be able to help right now, given that she was more than capable. No more arguments to ruin a sunny day, she reminded herself. Anyway, the hotel was his business.

  “By Easter,” she promised him, feeling her heart lurch.

  And that was where they would leave this matter – for now, at least.

  Chapter 24

  It was such a relief to be in his own kitchen, using his own implements and having some time away from film crews and hotels. As he chopped dill and listened to the banter between Joby the pot washer and Tony, Symon felt his pulse begin to slow. In between filming more pieces for F&D he’d been busy talking to Perry, putting together a business plan with Ella and trying to think of ways to break the news of the change to his staff. Starting over was a risk, he knew that, but it was also a huge opportunity and every time he thought about it, Symon’s heart cartwheeled with excitement.

  Actually, that sensation might not just be down to his potential new business venture…

  The truth was, Symon’s thoughts had been whirling ever since he’d driven Ella to the manor house and shared his plans with her. Instinct had told him she’d share his vision for the place, and she hadn’t disappointed. Symon hadn’t intended to tell her about his past but it had felt right and he’d known that if they were to work together she needed to know everything. A business partnership was like a marriage; secrets would only poison it. He’d also been certain that she would understand exactly why he’d felt the need to walk away from his life in Paris. Like him, Ella felt things very deeply and she too had been forced to find a way to cope. Whereas Symon had buried himself in work and cultivated a quiet persona, she had turned to her career and put her energies into becoming Evil Ella, the Polwenna Bay ice maiden and uber-bitch.

  It puzzled Symon that nobody else could see that this was just an act. Ella reminded him of the stray cat he’d befriended in Paris. It had been the staff custom to grab a smoke in the narrow street that wiggled all the way down from Sacré-Coeur to Papillon. This was where the bins were stacked and, after dark, he could usually hear the scratching and scuffling of night-time scavengers. A small black cat often lurked in the shadows and Jean-Luc sometimes threw it scraps because he knew it would keep the rats away. Often, as Symon smoked there, blowing rings of heavy tobacco up into the starry sky, he would catch a glimpse of the creature. At first it had been wary, hissing and spitting when he’d stretched out his hand to caress it, but he’d seen the flicker of interest in the cat’s eyes when it had caught the scent of the fish or meat he brought to tempt it. It had taken weeks of patience on Symon’s part, and quite a few nasty scratches too, before the little cat had trusted him enough to come closer. It had been hurt and was wary, but after a while it would come when called, winding around his legs and raising its chin for a tickle. Earning the trust of this wild, fearful creature had been worth all the scratches and scars.

  Metaphorically (and perhaps literally, for all he knew), Ella St Milton’s claws could scratch too – and having witnessed how thoughtlessly her grandfather had treated her, Symon understood why. It would be hard to trust anyone if your own relatives could let you down so easily. He felt thankful for his own family who, although they might drive him to distraction at times, always had his back. Even Jimmy would do anything for his children. Like that wary little cat, Ella’s trust would be hard won but worth more than gold.

  She’d found her way beneath his guard, something that Symon hadn’t expected. He’d not been looking to get involved with anyone – and even if he had been, Ella St Milton wouldn’t have been top of his list, or even on his list in the first place. He’d known her all his life; Polwenna Bay was a small village, after all. She was slightly older than him, which when they were growing up had placed her as far out of his reach as the stars and the moon. It had also been a family joke that she’d had a thumping crush on Jake. Symon, as the younger and ginger brother, had always been in Jake’s shadow. That hadn’t stopped him admiring Ella from afar though, and when she’d mentioned Perry’s sixteenth birthday party Symon had remembered straight away exactly what she’d been wearing that night. How could he have forgotten when he’d been unable to take his eyes off her? With her long blonde hair falling over her tanned bare shoulders, and with her slim figure swathed in a dress of shimmering green silk, she’d looked like a mermaid. She certainly couldn’t have been more unobtainable if she’d dived to the bottom of the sea.

  Symon wondered what the boy he’d been back then would say if he’d known that the man that he would become would end up a heartbeat away from making love to Ella in that very same parkland, amid a carpet of wild grasses and bluebells?

  He probably wouldn’t believe it. The adult version of Symon could hardly believe it.

  He’d kissed Ella long and slowly, cupping her face in his hands and then running his fingers through her silky hair. He’d traced her mouth with his tongue, nipping at her lower lip with his teeth and hearing her gasp. It was a kiss that had begun as one thing, a moment of celebration, but that caught fire to become something else entirely. He had never felt quite so out of control. Between kissing her, holding her and feeling her soft skin against his, Symon had felt as though he was losing his grasp on everything that had seemed so important only moments before. As soon as she’d melted in his arms, from the second her tongue touched his, Symon had known that he could have kissed her forever. Never in his life had he felt like this before; never had he seen anyone so beautiful or wanted them so much. Where this passion had sprung from Symon had no idea, but as Ella had kissed him back with an intensity that made him groan, he’d realised that he had to pull back before things got out of hand. His mind was reeling. He didn’t want to let her go but if he didn’t he was in danger of losing himself completely – and Ella deserved so much more. When Symon had finally forced himself to lift his mouth from hers, he’d felt as though something heavy had tumbled away.

  Was it the past? The noise and heat of the kitchen receded as his thoughts drifted back again to that perfect afternoon…

  “I already thought it was a great idea. You didn’t have to kiss me,” Ella had said shakily as she’d threaded her fingers through his hair and then traced the line of his jaw. “Unless you seal all your deals that way?”

  Symon had laughed at this. “I can promise you I won’t be kissing Perry Tregarrick like that! Or at all, in fact!”

  “So this is a one-off? A celebration?”

  She’d glanced up at him from under her eyelashes and his heart had melted when he’d glimpsed the uncertainty there.

  “How can it be a one-off when it’s the second time? Although I suppose officially it’s the first time I’ve kissed you? Last time I seem to remember that you made all the running! There was I, innocently drinking my coffee, and wallop! It was like being attacked by a sink plunger!”

  “A sink plunger! The cheek of it!” Ella had sat up and made a swipe at him. Symon had ducked and, catching her wrists, pinned her beneath him and kissed her until neither of them had any breath left.

  “Who’s the sink plunger now?” Ella had teased. Her make-up was gone, her cheeks were flushed and the usually poker-straight hair was ruffled and dusted with bluebells and blades of grass. Symon didn’t think he’d ever seen her look so beautiful or so utterly desirable. It had taken all his control not to reach for her again and take her right there and then.

  “I think we’re quits,” he’d said. Then, scrambling up, he’d held out his hand to Ella and pulled her to her feet. She was so light that he’d almost sent her flying. Symon had found himself thinking that he really must cook for her. From the way she’d bitten into
his sample menu with such relish, he could tell that Ella had been holding back in all her appetites. He could hardly wait to satisfy every one of them. A strange feeling knotted in his chest and it took a few seconds before he recognised it.

  Excitement. For the first time in almost as long as he could remember, Symon Tremaine was feeling excitement.

  “Come on,” he’d said, tenderly brushing the foliage from her hair. “Let’s get going before I totally lose control and ravish you right here.”

  “That sounds like a lot of fun,” Ella had mused, her cheeks still pink and her grey eyes shining.

  “It certainly does but it could also be just a little awkward if Perry comes trundling by on his quad,” Symon had pointed out. “I know he’s oblivious to most things but I think I’ll err on the side of caution, if it’s all the same with you?”

  She’d laughed. “Normally I’d have said that you never do anything else, but after today I know differently.”

  He’d laid his finger against her lips.

  “What happens at the manor stays at the manor. We daren’t let anyone know that Evil Ella has a seriously sexy and very badly behaved alter ego. Her image would be wrecked.”

  She’d shuddered. “That is most definitely staying classified information, alongside a certain YouTube clip.”

  “Christ, yes. I wouldn’t want Granny Alice seeing that. We’re definitely quits.”

  Symon had scooped up his rucksack and slung it over one shoulder. Hand in hand they’d wandered back to the house (which had taken them ages because they’d kept stopping to kiss), before seeking out Perry and sharing their plan.

  Perry had been thrilled and full of ideas for grants and capitalising on the history of the place. Between them they’d decided that Symon would grit his teeth and carry on filming for as long as F&D wanted him, so that he could earn as much money as possible, while Ella would write a detailed business plan and see if she could liberate some of her savings from her share portfolio. Symon wasn’t keen on this idea – accepting financial help from anyone went against everything he believed in – but Ella was adamant that if she was to be an equal partner then she had to help fund the venture.

  “Perry’s got the premises, and you’ve got your savings and your name, but what can I bring to the party?” she’d argued, after they’d returned from visiting Perry.

  “You are the party,” Symon had protested. “Besides, you bring your wedding-planning business and your management skills. Perry and I need those.”

  “You certainly do. He’s always off on a tangent and your mind’s usually on the next culinary creation,” Ella had agreed. “Without me there’ll be yurts and amazing food but not much else!” Then her expression had grown serious. “But teasing aside, I want to invest because I want to be part of this and I want to show my commitment too. Either we’re in this together or not at all.”

  He’d taken her hands in his and kissed each in turn.

  “We’re definitely in this together,” he’d promised, before kissing her again. After that, they hadn’t talked about business again for quite a while…

  The last few days had passed in a blur, partly because Symon was so busy and partly because he was in a state of delicious anticipation. Nothing more than kissing had taken place between him and Ella, but he was in no doubt this would change in the not-so-distant future, and the thought of it was driving him to distraction. In the meantime, Ella had a move to organise – she was going to crash in Tom Elliot’s spare room – and Symon had filming to complete and a restaurant to run. He needed to stop daydreaming like some love-struck teenager and focus on what he was doing.

  Especially when he was chopping up herbs!

  As the blade missed his fingertips by a hair’s breadth, Symon forced himself to focus. There would be lots of time to think about Ella and their plans for the manor, but for now he needed to keep all his fingers in once piece and his mind on the job. If they were to stand a chance of making a success of the place then his reputation as a chef was paramount. Maybe he could even get that second Michelin star?

  Symon resumed his chopping but his thoughts were like a boat that kept slipping its mooring, and no matter what he did they kept drifting back to Ella. The connection he had with her was intense and, unlike Claudette, she was his equal in every way. It was like nothing he’d known before. Ella had an uncanny knack of seeing his vision almost before he did and she shared Symon’s drive and passion for work. He already knew that he wanted a future with this girl and that he was falling head over heels for her. It was sudden and unexpected and illogical – yet it felt so natural, which was why he trusted it. Unlike the fiery and ultimately destructive passion he’d experienced with Claudette, his feelings for Ella filled him with a fizz of delicious expectation. With hindsight, Symon realised that his relationship with Claudette had been about the thrill of the forbidden and the dark danger of addiction. The uneven balance of power had thrown him out of kilter too; although it had added to the illicit excitement, it had also left him vulnerable. With Claudette, there had always been a sense of stomach-churning anxiety as well as lust. In contrast, Ella was his perfect match. Symon hadn’t believed in soulmates before, but already he was starting to wonder whether he’d found his.

  His phone buzzed deep in his pocket and, hoping it was Ella texting with an idea or to suggest meeting up, Symon put the knife down and wiped his hands on his apron.

  Claudette

  He frowned. Almost as though she could sense him slipping away from her, Claudette Marsaud had sent several messages over the past twenty-four hours. Symon hadn’t read any of them. Thankfully, almost all he could think of now was Ella: it was a relief to look at Claudette’s name and feel little more than a prickle of unease. Afraid that even opening one of her messages would allow her to creep back into his heart, Symon had deleted each of them straight away. He did the same now and then sighed. It was a painful chapter of his life but it was over. There were wonderful things to look forward to, he was sure of it.

  “You all right, Chef?” Tony asked.

  “Fine, mate, just got a lot on my mind with the filming,” said Symon, pocketing the phone and returning to his chopping.

  “Yeah, it must be tough being a celebrity chef,” grinned his sous-chef, deep in the very glamorous job of picking out crab.

  “You have no idea,” Symon told him with a grimace. “It’s hell.”

  Tony slung a handful of dead man’s fingers into the guts bucket and, with his nose wrinkled, returned to their conversation. “Yeah. It looked bloody awful for Charlie Barton. Lots of money. Flash car. Time off. Shagging the boss.”

  “What?” Symon was suddenly ice cold.

  “Charlie shagging Evil Ella? Klaus said he was always bragging about it,” confided Tony. Splat went the crab’s innards into the bucket. Symon felt as though his own were being ripped out and tossed in the bucket with them. “Apparently they were at it like rabbits. She even gave him a Range Rover. Hey! You should stick with the filming, boss, if celebrity chefs are Ella’s thing. You never know, even you might get lucky!”

  Symon’s hands were shaking as he stared at Tony in disbelief. Suddenly he understood everything. Christ. What an idiot he’d been.

  There was a clatter as his knife slipped onto the floor. Blood pooled on the countertop but Symon didn’t flinch. The deep gash to his hand was nothing in comparison to the pain his heart was experiencing now that he knew the truth about Ella.

  Chapter 25

  Big Roger Pollard’s shed had never enjoyed so much attention. Neither, it had to be said, had Big Roger Pollard.

  Everyone was gathered in the Pollards’ garden, a hilly affair just along the lane from the church, where a distinctly average shed was draped with faded bunting left over from the Diamond Jubilee. Everybody was agog to see what he’d been doing all these months, although it might be the promise of free drinks and nibbles that had really drawn a crowd. Eddie Penhalligan and his fishermen sons were working their wa
y through a pile of curling ham sandwiches, Caspar Owen was scooping up handfuls of peanuts and even Sheila Keverne and Ivy Lawrence had made it up the hill for one of Mrs Pollard’s rock cakes. There was a fairground atmosphere, partly down to the music playing from an old ghetto blaster and partly down to the presence of Silver Starr, who with the aid of one of her crystals was predicting to all and sundry what she thought would be in the shed.

  “It’s a water craft,” she was saying, eyes closed and body swaying. “I sense it will only reach the ocean after great strife and terrible destruction!”

  “Sounds very Biblical,” observed Jules. “What’s in there, I wonder? Noah’s ark?”

  “Anyone seen dumb beasts trotting up here in pairs?” asked Chris the Cod.

  “Only Big and Little Rog,” bellowed Eddie. He glanced at his watch. “Well, come on then, Roger! What are we waiting for? My missus will have tea ready soon and I’d like to get a pint in first.”

  It was almost six in the evening and although the days were drawing out now the light was starting to fade. The pub crowd were getting twitchy. Nick and Emerald were perched on the garden wall clutching plastic cups of warm white wine and waiting for the big reveal. Emerald had to admit she was a bit perplexed. Why would anyone build a boat in their backyard and so far from the water?

  “Because this is Cornwall and we like to do things arse about face,” said Nick when she asked him. “And besides, you’ve met the Pollards. Do they strike you as the kind of people who do things in a methodical and logical manner?”

  Emerald watched Little Rog trying to extricate his hand from a Pringles tube.

  “I guess not,” she giggled. Emerald liked her friends and family here in Polwenna Bay but they were a bit odd. She still wasn’t quite sure when they were serious or when they were joking, a case in point illustrated perfectly by Big Roger Pollard’s welcoming address.