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

by Ruth Saberton

  Would she have kissed Symon in the long grass and bluebells and finally known what it felt like to fall in love?

  Ella knew the answer. Jonny’s choice had given her the gift of independence and, even more precious, a beautiful memory that – as much as it now broke her heart – she knew she would treasure until she was as old as he was.

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” she said, and she meant it too.

  “So will you come back to the hotel? Run it again for me? Move back into your flat?” her grandfather asked hopefully. “We can put all of this behind us, can’t we?”

  This was the moment Ella had dreamed about but now it had arrived she knew what her decision was.

  “It’s already behind us, Grandpa. We need to be there to help Ted,” she told him, giving the old man a hug. “If he’s prosecuted he’s going to need all the support we can give him. I promise I’ll be there but we can’t be responsible for his actions. Teddy has to face up to those and you have to let him. It’s the only thing that will save him from himself.”

  “When did you get so wise?” sighed Jonny and Ella laughed at this.

  “I’m not wise, Grandpa. I’ve made some huge mistakes. Charlie Barton for one.”

  “Ah yes.” He looked thoughtful. “I liked his replacement though. Symon Tremaine is a good man. A steady hand on the tiller. I think he makes you happy too?”

  Ella didn’t trust herself to reply. Symon had made her heart soar and losing him before they’d even had a chance to discover where their feelings might take them was intensely painful.

  “And I know the hotel makes you happy,” Jonny pressed. “Will you have your job back? Please? I promise I’ll stay out of all the decisions and if Ally will have me I’ll take myself to Seaspray and never bother you again.”

  “You don’t need to do that, Grandpa. I’m not going to come back to the hotel. Give Tom Elliot the chance to run it instead. He’s a fantastic manager and more than ready for the opportunity.”

  “Is this because you’re angry with me?” Jonny asked sadly.

  Ella shook her head. “Not at all. Grandpa, I don’t want to punish you or make a point or anything like that, but I would like the chance to do something myself, if that makes sense? I want to see what I can achieve without the St Milton name and the silver spoons. I’d like to make it on my own so that I can look at my business when I’m your age and know I built it myself through my own hard work, not just because I was born into the right family.”

  As she said this it felt like a huge weight slid from her shoulders and Ella knew without a shadow of a doubt that she had made the right decision.

  “I’m very proud of you,” Jonny told her and his eyes glistened.

  These quiet words were the balm that Ella had needed for so long. Her grandfather was proud of her. She hadn’t let him down. That meant the world.

  “I’m proud of you too,” she said, blinking back tears. “Now, if I promise to move back into my flat for a bit and help Tom take over, would you please go and tell Alice you love her and will move into Seaspray as soon as she’ll have you?”

  Jonny’s answer was to be on his feet in an instant. Laughing, Ella passed him his walking stick and his coat. As he left, she crossed her fingers that at least one St Milton would get their happy ending.

  Chapter 30

  The village was filling up with holidaymakers as though the warm spring sunshine was a beacon guiding them through the main street and past the gift shops, with their dusty piles of last season’s buckets and spades, to the beach. As Ella steered Jonny’s big Jag through the crowds she prayed that she didn’t catch a wing on one of the postcard stands or scrape the paintwork when creeping through the narrowest stretch between the pasty shop and the hairdressers. As she passed these pinch points, the visitors flattened themselves against the walls or ducked into doorways and Ella waved her thanks. They would never have any idea just how close they had come to having their toes squashed!

  The tide was out and the sandy beach was sprinkled with windbreaks and towels while the determined British public made the most of the rare sunny afternoon. Knowing that the harbour would be empty for at least the next few hours, Ella reversed the Jag carefully onto the slipway and pulled the handbrake on as hard as she could. It was a cheeky parking place but now that it was officially the holiday season the local traffic warden would be on the lookout for rogue vehicles. The ownership of the slip and the seabed was a contentious issue, but so far the council hadn’t managed to claim it. Ella knew that the car would be safe here while she retrieved her boxes from Tom’s place.

  Abandoning the car, Ella made her way through the bustling streets towards the village green, where Tom rented a cottage. Was it her imagination or were people looking at her askance? Granted, Ivy Lawrence looked at most people as though she hated them and Kursa Penwarren always said hello, but as Ella fought her way against the tide of visitors she was sure the locals were talking about her. They must already know about Teddy.

  The village gossip machine was alive and kicking then. Ella and Tom had spoken to all the staff and told them what was happening. No doubt they’d all been on Facebook or texting the minute she’d left the room. The St Miltons were probably already trending on Twitter.

  Ella bit her lip. She was terribly worried for her brother but, in his favour, he really hadn’t known he’d hit Emerald and by all accounts she was going to be just fine. Maybe this was the start of things getting better for them all? Perhaps she would even be able to find Symon and make him understand that Charlie Barton had just been a stupid and meaningless mistake?

  Hope flooded her. Everything felt possible when the sun shone and the village teemed with life.

  Filled with determination, Ella took a sharp left into the twisty back lane that ran beside the river Wenn and past The Plump Seagull. It was late afternoon and Symon was bound to be there, since he had no filming scheduled at the hotel. They could have an hour at least to talk. She’d paused to fish out her phone to call Tom and let him know she’d be a while, when the clip-clop of heels on cobbles caused her to look up.

  A striking woman with a chic black bob, immaculate make-up and a gorgeous wrap dress was walking towards the restaurant. With the latest Louis Vuitton bag looped over her arm and her feet encased in high-heeled shoes, it was obvious that she wasn’t headed for the beach. Ella recognised her straight away.

  It was the woman from Symon’s YouTube clip.

  It was Claudette Marsaud.

  As though frozen, Ella remained in the street pretending to be engrossed in her phone but watching Claudette out of the corner of her eye. She saw the French woman ring the doorbell and drum her nails impatiently before ringing it a couple more times. Eventually the door opened and Symon stepped out. He was wearing an unbuttoned shirt and soft frayed jeans and his feet were bare. With his hair loose and tousled, he looked as though he’d only just tumbled out of bed.

  Claudette kissed him on both cheeks, spoke to him for a moment and then vanished inside.

  Ella was no fool. She knew what this meant.

  She turned sharply on her heel, hurrying away from the restaurant as fast as she could without trampling any holidaymakers. Somehow she made it through the warren of lanes, over the bridge and past the village green without bursting into tears or being accosted by Sheila Keverne or Ivy Lawrence. Ramming the key into the lock, Ella fell into Tom’s cottage, slamming the door behind her and panting raggedly. There was a sharp pain below her breastbone; she pressed the heels of her hands against it, but no matter how hard she tried to rub it away the agony refused to shift.

  Ella slid down the door and into a heap on the floor. All of the boxes and cases she’d moved out of the hotel were stacked beside her there. She knew she needed to fetch them and carry them through the village and back to the car, but at this moment she didn’t even have the strength to make it to the first case, let alone lift and carry all the bags. She didn’t have the strength to do anything at all.<
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  Ella was utterly defeated. The events of the past few weeks felt overwhelming. Charlie Barton quitting. The wedding. Symon stepping in. The filming. Her grandfather’s choice. Her unexpected feelings for Symon. Their amazing kiss at the manor. All the plans for the future. Teddy’s accident. Seeing Claudette…

  It was as though she’d been balancing on a high wire while spinning plates: so long as she hadn’t tried to think about it, all had been well, but the moment she’d acknowledged what she was trying to cope with, the whole lot had come crashing down around her.

  The world hadn’t ended, Ella knew that, but at this moment it felt like it. Alone and unseen, she clasped her knees against her chest and wept. She knew there was no hope and that crying wouldn’t help, but everything hurt so much that once the tears started to fall she didn’t think they would ever stop. She cried for the fledging love that would never take flight, for the dreams of the manor, for Teddy, for her hopeless parents and most of all because she couldn’t bear the thought of Symon being with Claudette. That idea totally slew her.

  Eventually, Ella cried herself out. Time had passed, an hour at least, and the sun’s rays were lower as they sloped in through a small sash window. Ella supposed she had better rescue the car before the tide came in and floated it away to France. Jonny’s day had been bad enough already without that happening.

  Hauling herself up from the floor, Ella crossed the room to the sink and splashed some cold water onto her face. She probably looked like a goblin and her make-up was long gone. Still, what did any of that matter now? She mopped her face with a Polwenna Bay tea towel and pulled her damp hair up into a messy top knot. There. Hopefully she wouldn’t frighten the holidaymakers too much. She’d leave her things here and sort them out another time. Maybe she should visit her mother for a few weeks? Some Floridian sunshine might help.

  Yeah. Right. Ella shook her head in despair. No amount of sunshine could make her feel better. Still, a few thousand miles of distance might help.

  She picked up her keys and was heading to the door when the sharp rap of knuckles made her jump. Then the letter box rattled.

  “Ella? Are you in there?” a voice called.

  She jumped. It was Symon.

  There was another rattle.

  “Ella?” he called again. “If you’re in there, please open the door!”

  Astonished, Ella did as requested. She couldn’t resist the chance to see him and her heart raced as she gulped in the sight of Symon standing on the doorstep. The low sun behind him turned his hair to flame and glanced off the pure angles of his beautiful bone structure. When his eyes locked with hers it took all Ella’s strength not to hurl herself into his arms.

  “What are you doing here?” she said, and her voice sounded croaky and strange.

  “Looking for you, of course,” he answered, as though this was obvious.

  “So you’ve found me.” Ella turned away, not wanting Symon to see her blotchy face. “Look, I’m sorry about Teddy knocking Emerald over. I had no idea and as soon as I found out I—”

  “Tom told me what you did, and it’s incredible and brave and so like you, but I’m not here about that,” Symon said quietly. “I’m here to talk to you, Ella. I have to talk to you.”

  But Ella didn’t want to talk. She couldn’t even bear to look at him knowing that only an hour before he’d been kissing Claudette on the restaurant step.

  “I was just sorting out some bits and pieces and I’m really busy,” she said coolly. “I really don’t have time or the inclination to tell you yet again that nothing serious happened with Charlie Barton or that I wasn’t on some secret mission to steal your skills for the hotel or add you to my celebrity chef collection.”

  Symon didn’t say a word. Oh, sod it. She might as well carry on. If he’d made this much effort to find her and continue the fight he was never going to forgive her – and anyway, he was back with Claudette. There was nothing to lose.

  “Charlie was totally meaningless and I wish to God it had never happened but it did and I never loved him! Not like I love—”

  Oh God. What was happening to her lately? Ella felt a wave of humiliation break over her. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her slip. She was shocked at it herself, shocked and frightened at the intensity of her feelings, and she couldn’t bear to see him sneer at her admission.

  But Symon wasn’t gloating.

  “I know,” he said softly. “It’s the same for me.”

  She looked at him in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean? What’s the same? What do you know?”

  “I understand. Ella, I know things get heated in restaurants and it’s so easy to get swept away and make mistakes under pressure. Passions run wild. I’ve been there, remember? It’s easy to fall in love, but not so easy to act on it or handle it properly. Or even recognise the real thing when you see it.”

  Oh. He was talking about Claudette. Of course he was. Disappointment swamped her and she took a steadying breath as she fought to keep her emotions in check. Evil Ella might be gone but Calm and Collected Ella might still make an appearance, along with Don’t Make a Total Fool of Yourself Ella if she tried hard enough.

  “I’m glad you and Claudette have worked things through,” she said stiffly. “Congratulations.”

  Symon frowned. “What?”

  “You and Claudette Marsaud. I saw her, Symon,” Ella said wearily. “She’s here at the restaurant, isn’t she? It’s fine. I’m pleased for you. I know how you feel about her and—”

  “No, you don’t.” Cutting her off, he stepped forward and took her hands, holding them tightly and pulling her hard against him. Ella could feel his heart racing through the thin cotton of his shirt. “Claudette was here, Ella, but she’s gone away now and for good.”

  “But you love her,” Ella whispered. She didn’t understand.

  “I don’t,” said Symon. “I thought I loved her once but it wasn’t real. It was an infatuation. It wasn’t love; I know that now.”

  “How do you know that now? What changed?” It didn’t make sense. Claudette was beautiful and she had come all this way to find him. What was wrong?

  Symon released her hands and cupped her face in his fingers, staring down at Ella as though he never wanted to stop looking.

  “How do I know? That’s simple. The reason I know is because I never once felt with her the way I feel when I’m with you.”

  “And how is that?” she whispered.

  “That the world is filled with possibilities and sunshine. The sky stretches for ever when we talk about our plans and share our ideas. It’s exciting, intoxicating, addictive and also the easiest thing in the world. We see things the same way, Ella. We share a vision.”

  “We do,” she agreed.

  “And it sounds crazy but we’re the same, you and I. We feel things deeply but we’ve been hurt and that’s taught us to hide away. We bury ourselves in work and present a front to everyone else. But you saw through mine, Ella, and I know I’ve seen through yours. You’re not cold and you’re not the bitch you like to pretend you are. You’re warm and loving and you have so much to give. I see you and you see me.”

  Ella nodded. “I thought so too but what about Claudette? Charlie was a silly fling but you loved her for years.”

  His hands tightened on hers. “I promise you that all the time I thought I cared for Claudette I never once felt like my world had ended the way I did when I found out about Charlie. I’m falling in love with you, Ella. I know it’s fast and probably way too soon to tell you but I can’t keep this feeling secret. I’m crazy about you. I can’t think about anything else. Not even cooking!”

  She couldn’t speak.

  “I know I overreacted, but to think that what meant the world to me could mean so little to you was unbearable,” he continued. “The only way I can describe it? It felt like my heart had been thrown into a Kenwood Chef on high speed.”

  “That,” said Ella sternly, “has to be the most unromantic thing I
have ever heard.”

  Symon grinned and she loved the way his eyes lit up. “Is it? It’s true though. You crept under my guard, Ella St Milton, and slipped into my heart. I have no idea how but you’re there.”

  “And you did the same to me,” she said. “How did you do it, Symon Tremaine? How did this happen?”

  His fingers caressed her face. “How does any chef make the perfect dish? I followed a recipe of course! Take one restaurant, add a sprinkle of write-ups, mix in a Michelin star and a handful of celebrity chefs and let the villagers stir!”

  Ella began to laugh at his but his finger slipped to her lips, quietening her.

  “I haven’t finished yet. You know how particular we chefs can be and this recipe’s still incomplete. I still need the one magic ingredient.”

  She tilted her head back and looked up at him questioningly. “And what’s that?”

  “You,” Symon said simply. Then he dipped his head and kissed her, and Ella melted like butter icing on a warm day. They had shared kisses before but none had been this tender or had felt so right. As they held each other until the sun sank below the village rooftops and shadows slipped into the room, kissing and laughing with the sheer wonder of it, Ella knew beyond all doubt that Symon was absolutely right.

  Together, she knew that they had found the perfect recipe for love.

  THE END

  Epilogue

  The weather couldn’t have been more perfect for Easter. The sunshine had decided to spend its holidays in Cornwall and, apart from a few wisps of lazily drifting cloud, the sky was a perfect powder blue. Jules stood in the churchyard and gazed out across the bay, watching the little tripping boats and listening to the excited shrieks and squeals from the beach as brave bathers dared to dip their toes into the sea. From this vantage point the sea might look as clear and blue as the Caribbean but Jules knew it would be bitterly cold. You wouldn’t find any of the locals venturing near it without a wetsuit.