A Perfect Cornish Christmas

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘Maybe Mum took it? If it meant something to her. What did this card say?’

  ‘I can’t remember the exact words. Something about a special night …’

  Ellie’s eyes sparked with interest. ‘Who was it from?’

  ‘I don’t know. It had her name on it and there were initials scrawled at the bottom. An M or possibly an H. Like I say, I can’t remember every single word.’

  ‘So, it could have been any number of people,’ Ellie said gently, slightly worried that Scarlett was fixated on this postcard as if it was a vital clue in a murder mystery. She’d be interrogating her mother or the locals about it next when the card could be completely innocent and from anyone.

  ‘Maybe.’ Scarlett scooped up a forkful of noodles. ‘You could be right. I’m probably reading far too much into random stuff. Come on, let’s stop going on about it and eat our dinner before it goes cold.’

  Ellie bit back a caustic reply and returned to her food, wondering if she could bear to eat it cold or if she should warm it up in the microwave. The day, which had started so promisingly with her chat with Aaron, had ended on a disturbing note. With their mother’s visit only a few days away, Ellie sensed trouble brewing.

  Scarlett was now flicking through the TV channels while finishing her dinner, but Ellie wasn’t fooled. If there was one thing she knew about Scarlett, it was that once she had her teeth into something, nothing would stand in her way.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘So, what do you think about this headline for my client’s new brochure on the Jumbo fastener?’ Scarlett asked, wandering into the kitchen where Ellie was opening and shutting drawers like a madwoman. ‘It’s the biggest one they’ve ever produced.’

  Scarlett’s swimming trip with Jude and hunt for the book had been put on hold as she’d been chained to the laptop for most of the past week, working on a suite of literature for her new Exeter-based customer, Eurofasteners.

  ‘Hmm? Where are my bloody keys?’ Ellie exclaimed, rooting through the cutlery drawer with one hand and holding a piece of toast in the other.

  ‘In the dish on the hall table?’ Scarlett suggested.

  ‘That’s where they should be.’

  ‘I might have an idea,’ Scarlett said. ‘If you give me your opinion on this headline.’

  Ellie swung round, crust in hand. ‘OK, shoot. Anything to find my keys.’

  ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Yes!’

  Scarlett read from the brochure design on her iPad: ‘Jumbo Fastener: the massive screw you’ve been looking for!’

  Ellie was stunned into silence, then she burst out laughing. ‘It’s brilliant, but you can’t use that.’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  ‘Scarlett. If you get that past the client, I’ll eat Troy Carman’s cap.’ Ellie had tears of laughter in her eyes. ‘Now, where are my keys?’

  Scarlett sniggered, delighted to have got the reaction she wanted from Ellie. ‘I think I saw them on the coffee table in the sitting room. I’ll find them.’

  She scooted off in search of the keys and took them back to Ellie in the kitchen.

  ‘Thanks, lovely. And you’ve reminded me. Zennor Lovell popped in the café yesterday afternoon for a vegan tray bake. She asked me if you had “any spare copywriting capacity”. She and Ben have been asked to quote to design a surf shop website.’

  ‘Surf shop? God, I would love to work on a campaign like that.’

  ‘Great. Can you call her asap? I got the impression it was urgent.’

  ‘Sure. I kept meaning to make contact with them anyway,’ Scarlett said, remembering Jude’s encouragement in the pub. ‘But I’ve been embroiled in sorting out other customers. I’ll call her straight after breakfast.’

  ‘Cool …’ Ellie gave her a hard look. ‘Are you sure you’re OK here on your own all day? It’s a big change, running a business from an isolated place like this.’

  ‘It’s fine. I’ll manage. I’m busy with this fasteners brochure today and if I can get this surf job, I’ll be building up some good business.’

  ‘OK. Be careful if you do go into town. It’s a spring tide and some big waves are blowing up. Don’t go down on the breakwater!’

  ‘Yes, Auntie Ellie,’ Scarlett said meekly, then ducked to avoid a toast crust that went whizzing past her ear.

  As soon as Ellie had left, Scarlett called Zennor and arranged to go into Porthmellow to their studio, ZenBen Designs.

  Scarlett took her coffee mug back inside the study. She called her father and asked him how he felt about her mother coming to Seaholly for a break, but he cut the conversation short, saying ‘she must do as she thinks best’. Scarlett’s optimistic mood took a nosedive. The conversation was typical of their interactions since Christmas. Her dad had never been effusive but she’d always loved their talks in his shed about his latest project, or history, or books. She’d felt his love as an unseen but strong foundation underpinning her whole existence.

  Now, she was sure a crack had opened in their relationship and hated to face up to the possibility that those foundations had finally been shaken by the knowledge that she wasn’t actually his child.

  She hadn’t been able to tell if he was upset or relieved that Anna was going away, and maybe that was another sign that she didn’t know him as instinctively as she once had.

  After wiping away a few tears, she pulled herself together and drove down the hill towards Porthmellow, trying to focus on the inspiring surroundings. The pretty pastel cottages and colourful harbour cheered her a little and reminded her how lucky she was to live in such a beautiful place. Even the waves crashing over the breakwater seemed exhilarating and the rain lashing the windscreen was almost romantic. After all, she could never have worked for a surf shop in Birmingham.

  She parked behind the harbour and had to hold tightly onto the car door to stop it slamming against the vehicle next to her, and the ticket was nearly torn from her hands. She had to pull her hat down over her ears and could feel the wind tugging at the pompom.

  The studio, in a side street behind the harbour, had once been an old petrol station and the lone pump still stood outside, now restored by Ben, according to Zennor. The two of them seemed to be impressed by Scarlett’s portfolio, so they went on to discuss the surf shop website. She left with some roughs of the design and promised to send a quote for the job by the end of the day. She soon realised that she couldn’t charge them as much as she had her city centre clients, but it was still a job well worth having and a lot more exciting than industrial fasteners.

  As she made her way from the studio, she saw that huge wooden sleepers had been fixed across the entrance to the inner harbour where dozens of fishing vessels and yachts were packed like colourful sardines. The outer harbour, usually full of craft, was empty, and no wonder. The swell was massive, with waves slapping against the walls and crashing over the end of the stone breakwater where a yellow sign had been chained to a groyne, saying: Breakwater closed. Danger of death in breaking seas.

  Ellie hadn’t been exaggerating then.

  Scarlett sank her chin down into the funnel neck of her coat. Rain tinged with salt spray stung her face. She wished she’d brought her gloves, because even in the short distance from the car park to the design agency, her hands had become wet and cold. Fishermen in yellow waterproofs were working on their boats, while a few locals scurried in and out of the harbour-front shops and cafés.

  She’d just passed Gabe’s restaurant when the leaden skies opened and unleashed a cloudburst. Driven by the gale, the rain soon soaked her coat and hat. She broke into a jog, her boots slipping on the cobbles. She wished she’d brought her waterproof, but she’d wanted to look a bit more stylish for her meeting.

  ‘Scarlett!’

  A door opened behind her and she skidded to a halt. ‘Do you want to come in?’ Jude called from the doorstep.

  Scarlett didn’t need asking twice and she dashed back to the blue cottage.

  ‘Quick
,’ he said, and she almost fell inside.

  She was breathing heavily from her dash around the harbour but it was the sight of Jude, barefoot, in jeans and a thin sweater, that really took her breath away. His hair was already damp and his sweater clinging to his chest, simply from calling to her from the doorstep of the cottage.

  ‘Thanks. I’m so wet!’ she said, then instantly felt her cheeks grow hot. ‘I mean, I’m dripping all over your floor.’

  Jude laughed. ‘Take your coat off. I’ll put it to dry in the kitchen.’

  Scarlett handed the soggy coat over and went into the sitting room. Its uneven, whitewashed walls and the instant cocoon of heat from the fire reminded her of the Smuggler’s Tavern. She’d felt the warmth envelop her that day too, not simply the heat of the room but the welcome she’d been given. It was hard to believe it was almost a year ago.

  Jude came back in, raindrops twinkling in his hair. Scarlett licked her lip and tasted salt. She was trying not to stare at his tanned feet. They were nicely shaped for a man, and he wore a pewter toe ring.

  ‘Coffee? Something different?’ he asked.

  She dragged her eyes away from his feet before he thought she was a pervert. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I’m asking if you’d like coffee or something a bit different?’

  ‘How different?’

  ‘Pine-needle tea?’ he said.

  ‘Pine needles?’ Spotting the glint in his eye, she pointed a finger at him and winked. ‘You’re winding me up. There’s no such thing as pine-needle tea, unless you’re a hobbit, I guess.’ Or an actual elf, she thought.

  ‘Maybe I am.’ He smiled. ‘Wait and see. I’ll make some, but don’t feel obliged to drink it. Why don’t you warm up in front of the fire?’

  Scarlett toasted her chilled hands while Jude was busy in the kitchen. She took the chance to peek around his home. The cottage was tiny, almost like a doll’s house with its pastel exterior and diminutive front room, but also cosy and stylish with rugs on the scrubbed boards, a slate hearth and modern furniture. The alcoves either side of the hearth were lined with books and there was also a delicious aroma coming from the kitchen.

  Scarlett heard the kettle boiling and ventured over to the bookcase. There were a few family photographs on a little table by the hearth. She picked up one of Jude with two older people who were obviously his parents. You couldn’t mistake his father: a middle-aged, bulkier but still handsome version of Jude. His mother was slight, but had her son’s fair hair and fine features. A pang of regret and, yes, envy struck her. Jude knew for sure these people were his flesh and blood, whereas she had only half her story.

  ‘Hello.’

  Startled, the frame almost slipped through her fingers. ‘Oh!’ She managed to rescue the picture and gripped it tightly.

  ‘I’m sorry. I made you jump.’ Jude had a tray laden with two mugs and a plate of biscuits.

  She reddened with guilt. ‘I hope you don’t mind me looking at the photo of you and your parents.’

  ‘Course not.’

  ‘Is it recent?’

  ‘Couple of years ago. Mum’s fifty-fifth birthday. It was taken down in Seaholly Cove, actually. We’d called in on your auntie Joan on the way. She wasn’t too well, even then.’

  ‘Poor Joan.’ Scarlett replaced the picture on its table, feeling melancholy.

  ‘I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.’

  ‘You haven’t. I loved Auntie Joan and I miss her, that’s all …’

  He put the tray on the table. ‘I think I have an older photo of her, if you’d like to see it.’

  ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘Hold on.’ He went to the dresser and opened the cupboard. He pulled out a small photo album and sat next to her on the sofa. ‘Old school,’ he said with a grin, turning the plastic pockets of the album, each of which held a print. Scarlett would have been happy to look at all the photos, but he flicked the pages too quickly and about two thirds through, settled on one.

  He pushed the album across to her lap. ‘There you go.’

  Scarlett felt she’d leapt into the past. She was choked with emotion. Auntie Joan, over thirty years before, a striking woman in her fifties; Hayden Penberth looking handsome and chiselled and not unlike how she imagined Dirk Masterson, Joan’s eighties hero. He had his arm around Jude’s mum, who was wearing a strappy dress and floppy hat. She was holding Jude’s hand while he clutched a fishing net in the other. He squinted into the sun, a cheesy grin on his face, the light shining on his pale mop of hair like a halo.

  Next to Mrs Penberth stood Scarlett’s mother, smiling, a stripy beach bag at her sandalled feet. Obviously, Scarlett had seen old photos of her mum before, but in this one, she looked like a French film star, blonde and slender in denim shorts and a white bikini top. She’d regained her figure despite having Ellie and Marcus.

  ‘Who took it?’ she asked.

  ‘Dad was into photography and he was always using the timer for family photos, or to take pictures of me and him on our walks. No selfies then.’ He smiled. ‘I only have hazy memories of the day.’ He peered at the picture again. ‘God, look at my hair!’

  ‘You look very cute. And the, er – trunks are funky. Postman Pat?’

  He tried to grab the album, but Scarlett kept hold of it, so he shrugged. ‘I was only five or six. Postman Pat was cool then.’

  She giggled. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  He pulled a face.

  ‘It’s a lovely photo and it’s nice to see Auntie Joan. Thanks.’ She laid the album on the coffee table. ‘Is this the tea?’

  ‘Yes. Try some. It’s an acquired taste but it’s warm and wet.’

  She blew the steam from the pale-yellow liquid and sipped, trying not to think of what it reminded her of. Hmm. Well, it was different, a little like green tea but with an herbal tang.

  He smiled. ‘I won’t be offended if you don’t like it.’ He pushed the plate towards her. ‘Have a biscuit. They’re Cornish fairings, and go well with the tea – or take the taste away.’

  She sipped again and smiled politely. ‘Thanks. Did you make them?’

  ‘No, they’re from the village bakery. They do it so much better than I would. I do enjoy cooking though. It’s great to see people’s faces when you show them just what can be done with a few “weeds”.’

  Scarlett was amused because Jude could have been talking about her. She sipped some more tea, wondering how much she needed to get down her for politeness’ sake, and followed it up with a large crunch of spicy fairing.

  He seemed to be enjoying his own tea far more than she was and while she nibbled away, he asked her: ‘I was wondering … tell me if this is cheeky, but if you don’t have other plans, would you like to help me on my stall at the Solstice Festival?’

  She almost spluttered biscuit crumbs over herself. ‘Me?’

  ‘If you’re busy or don’t fancy standing out in the cold – and possibly a howling gale – for hours, then I’d understand.’

  He was so earnest, she almost laughed out loud. ‘Wow. You’re doing a great job of selling the idea.’

  He winced. ‘I can see that.’

  Scarlett had to hide a giggle again. So quietly confident one moment, Jude did dig himself into a hole from time to time. She liked his self-deprecation, which was in stark contrast to Rafa, who’d never betrayed a chink of vulnerability unless it suited him. Then again, that was the world she used to inhabit, where appearances and spin were everything. It was a side of the business she’d never felt comfortable with.

  ‘If you think I won’t get in the way, of course I’d love to help you on the stall. I ought to check with Ellie first in case she might have been thinking of asking me but, to be honest, I think she’s going to be with her workmates from the sailing trust.’

  ‘OK. It’ll be great to have some company. It can be lonely and boring standing behind the stall on my own. I’m fine leading foraging trips or teaching my students, but flogging my wares is way out of my comf
ort zone.’

  ‘Well, obviously I’m in my element selling other people’s products in print, but I’m not a natural when it comes to speaking to the public. I cringe when I have to tout for business or set prices, even after so many years working for myself. I’ve had to toughen up, but it doesn’t come naturally.’

  ‘Then we can cringe together and if it all gets too horrific, we can slope off to the pub – which is what I had to do after one event when I’d had precisely three pensioners and a Labrador all evening.’

  ‘I’m sure that we’ll get more than a Labrador. OK, it’s a deal.’

  ‘Before that, do you want to arrange a time for a swim? Obviously not in this storm, but I’ll keep an eye out on the forecast for some calmer conditions later this week?’

  ‘That would be lovely.’ Scarlett put her mug down, rather proud she’d managed half the contents. ‘I ought to be getting back to the manor to do some work. Time’s running out on the car park too.’

  ‘You don’t want Foxy Seddon after you. She’s the traffic warden from hell.’

  ‘Ellie warned me she’s a demon now she’s back from maternity leave.’

  Jude stood up but before Scarlett could move, there was a knock at the door followed by a sharp rap on the window. A man and a woman appeared through the glass, both in waxed jackets.

  ‘Oy! Let us in, son!’ the man shouted, knocking on the glass again.

  He got up. ‘It’s Mum and Dad. I didn’t know they were coming.’

  ‘I’ll go then,’ Scarlett said, torn between wanting to get away and curious to meet the man from the photos, and his wife.

  Jude let them into the sitting room before she could get away.

  ‘This is a surprise,’ said Jude. ‘This is my mum and dad, Fiona and Hayden.’ There was a taut edge to his voice and Scarlett felt that a coolness had blown into the cottage along with the Penberths. ‘This is Scarlett Latham, Joan’s great-niece,’ he said.

  Scarlett needed no introduction to recognise Hayden. He was, she supposed, still handsome, with his tan and thick grey hair. If you were sixty, that was. Fiona had changed her hair colour from the beach photo, but had the same warm smile for Jude.