Книга - Confetti at the Cornish Café: The perfect summer romance for 2018

Confetti at the Cornish Café: The perfect summer romance for 2018
Phillipa Ashley


‘Warm and funny and feel-good. The best sort of holiday read.’ Katie Fforde‘Filled with warm and likeable characters. Great fun!’ Jill MansellThe heart-warming new novel in Phillipa Ashley's bestselling Cornish Cafe series.Cal and Demi are preparing to launch their beloved Kilhallon Resort in Cornwall as a wedding venue. With the cliff-top setting and coastal views, it's the perfect place for a magical ceremony.But their first clients are no ordinary couple. The bride and groom are internationally famous celebrities Lily Craig and Ben Trevone. As secrets surface and truths are told, can Demi and Cal ensure that Kilhallon's first wedding is a success? One thing’s for sure, this will be a Cornish celebration to remember . . .Recommended for readers who loved Summer at Shell Cottage, The Cornish House, Tremarnock and Poldark.






















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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2017

Copyright © Phillipa Ashley 2017

Phillipa Ashley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Ebook Edition © May 2017 ISBN: 9780008191887

Version 2018-05-02


For John,

Happy 30


wedding anniversary


‘My heart is, and always will be, yours.’

Jane Austen – Sense and Sensibility


Table of Contents

Cover (#u9defb9e1-18c2-502f-8855-244041c74701)

Title Page (#ucf40dc2b-f40d-5b9a-b3c0-9808823f81ec)

Copyright (#u489e5d55-97aa-515d-b92d-b1800dcd4caf)

Dedication (#uf0381671-23c7-53eb-ba9b-8e4cde59c1ca)

Epigraph (#u89172a53-1479-5ba7-a0a9-12ad53ad63ff)

Prologue (#u6da3cec2-a7fd-5a47-9ba3-e028d6cbdb82)

Chapter One (#udeec2396-9a62-54a2-a01f-1020f85e072a)

Chapter Two (#uba7dade3-d7bc-5e38-b1ae-350693a5c0be)

Chapter Three (#uc1b01ce7-916d-5462-9600-d0c2f57ffe86)



Chapter Four (#u3f0fbb78-bb5f-54ec-a79b-f0364af35518)



Chapter Five (#u6e90cbf8-ec98-54a3-aa40-a21e16d5b8d3)



Chapter Six (#u7adb34a9-05c6-58d3-8823-9a59af233689)



Chapter Seven (#u14700081-9d66-5028-afb5-51b527ea8c56)



Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Forty-One (#litres_trial_promo)



Recipes (#litres_trial_promo)



Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)



Keep Reading… (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)



By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




PROLOGUE (#ua81b3b30-2ce4-541f-b6f5-9afafde0bc4b)


Kilhallon Park, Cornwall

Late February

‘Good morning and …’

I reach out my hand to turn off the radio alarm and I hit something else. Not the cold metal of the radio, but warm skin … hairy skin … and I know it’s not my dog, Mitch, because the skin next to me has smooth, firm muscle beneath it: human, not canine.

‘Are you awake, Demi?’

At the sound of his voice, I open my eyes and Cal’s face comes into focus in the dim light of this late February morning. Propped up on one elbow, he smiles down at me as I slowly surface from a deep sleep in our bed. Yes, our bed. Mine and Cal’s. It’s been over eight weeks since I moved into the main farmhouse with him but I still have to pinch myself when I think of all that’s happened since I arrived at Kilhallon Park last Easter.

Cal Penwith was – still is – my boss, but he’s also now, my … ‘boyfriend’? That makes him sound like we’re still at school and ‘partner’ sounds as if we’re sharing an office in an accountancy firm. ‘Lover’? Definitely, but also much more than that. I suppose we’re officially ‘a couple’. Christmas marked the turning point in our relationship and we not only share the same bed now but the same home and, perhaps, some of the same hopes and fears.

‘Were you dreaming?’ Cal asks, amusement glinting in his deep brown eyes. That look may seem charming and sexy but I know it hides a world of danger. You might as well bathe in the still waters of Kilhallon Cove on a summer’s day and think they could never rise up and batter you onto the rocks as believe that Cal Penwith isn’t trouble.

‘Um, I thought I was back in the cottage, and that the alarm had gone off.’

He smiles a mischievous smile. ‘Ah, but I’m your alarm now.’ He dances his fingers towards the top of the duvet. ‘And I’m a lot more fun to wake up with than Radio St Trenyan.’

I huff and hesitate before replying, to tease him, although he knows that I know that he’s totally right. ‘Mmm. Maybe. Just a little bit.’

‘More than a little bit, I hope.’ Cal peels back the duvet and plants a kiss on my shoulder. The warmth of his lips combats the instant chill of the air hitting my skin. The seventeenth-century farmhouse’s central heating hasn’t been upgraded for thirty years because Cal’s ploughed any spare cash into turning Kilhallon from a rusty old caravan site into a ‘boutique eco resort’. Our guests pad about barefoot on their underfloor heating while we grab another blanket, but that’s fine by me. The business comes first and I don’t mind, especially when I have Cal here by my side.

‘Brrr.’

Sleet rattles against the sash window, driven by a wind straight off the Atlantic Ocean. I’m shivering, although that might not be totally down to the sub-zero temperatures. I snatch the duvet up to my chin.

‘I’ll keep you warm, if you want me to,’ says Cal with a wicked grin, pulling the cover back again. He raises his eyebrow at the sight and, in return, my body tingles as my eyes adjust to being awake and I appreciate the view of him in our bed. Even after a Cornish winter there are still tan lines at his neck and arms, a hint of summer gold lingers on his skin. He spends most of his time outdoors, working on the cottages and campsite in all weathers. Of course I want him to keep me warm. Leaving the heat of my bed and Cal’s body to head out into the winter sleet is about as appealing as mucking out Cal’s ‘lively’ horse, Dexter, but work comes first, doesn’t it?

‘We have tons to do today. Haven’t you forgotten this is the most important day ever for Kilhallon Park and Demelza’s Cafe?’ I say.

Reminding myself about our big – make that humungous – day sends a shiver down my spine. Demelza’s Cafe is my responsibility: it was my idea to set it up on the coast path as part of Kilhallon, Cal’s new boutique holiday resort on the far west Cornish coast. Cal invested a pot of money in it and named it after me. No pressure there, then … Not that I don’t love running it more than anything I’ve ever done in my life.

We weathered some almighty storms last year while we were fighting to get the resort and cafe off the ground. Sometimes I still have to pinch myself when I stand behind the counter, knowing I’m the manager of my own cafe. The day I first met Cal, I’d just lost my job at a cafe in our local town, St Trenyan. I had no job, no home and I’d become estranged from my family. I’d no idea what I was going to do next, then I heard of a job going as an ‘assistant’ at a new holiday resort up the coast …

Now, here I am, less than a year later, about to show two famous actors around as we launch Kilhallon as an ‘alternative’ wedding venue.

I take a deep breath. ‘Our VIP visitors are coming and I want everything to be perfect. You can call me paranoid but I’m desperate to make sure everything goes well.’

Cal strokes my cheek. ‘I know you are. I know how much Demelza’s means to you and how hard you’ve fought to make it a success but it’s ages until they arrive and I’ll be there to meet them with you.’

‘Technically, they’re your responsibility anyway,’ I tease. ‘Lily Craig and Ben Trevone are friends of Isla’s.’

Cal tuts while dancing his fingers down my chest. ‘Don’t play the Isla card,’ he warns, risking a joke about his ex-girlfriend. Cal used to be an aid worker in Syria and returned to Kilhallon Park last Easter after a series of traumatic events. He was devastated to find Isla was engaged to Luke, although he assures me he’s over her now and I think I believe him. Isla is a glamorous TV producer and she persuaded her actor friends, Ben and Lily, to hold their wedding at Kilhallon Park to help boost our profile. They’ve been so busy filming and doing publicity that they haven’t had time to visit Kilhallon yet or set a date but I really hope they confirm the wedding day while they’re here. It’s our first event of the kind and will mean massive kudos for the resort and cafe, if it all goes well.

‘Like I said, I’ll be there to meet them with you. You’re worrying way too much and besides, nothing’s as important as keeping your boss happy,’ Cal says, cheekily.

‘You promised never to play the boss card.’

‘No more often than strictly necessary.’ He lifts a lock of my hair from my face. I catch a glimpse of it in the rust-mottled mirror on the dressing table. I definitely have morning hair.

‘Have I ever told you you look incredibly sexy when you’ve just woken up? Sort of rumpled and wild and up for it …’ He lets my hair fall and kisses the hollow at the top of my breastbone.

‘Only when you want something …’ I murmur, unable to keep still. ‘Mitch will want his morning run in a minute …’ I say feebly.

Cal trails a warm tongue down my cleavage. ‘All the more reason to make hay while the sun shines …’

‘There’s no sun,’ I murmur.

Scratching and whining from outside the door tells me that Mitch is awake and restless already. Crows caw loudly from the trees behind the farmhouse, as if to warn me. Cal disappears under the duvet, his voice muffled. ‘Mitch will be fine and as for the sun,’ he says as I squirm in pure, wicked pleasure, ‘I’ll make sure things get hot in here.’

So I ignore my dog and the fact we need to get ready for this important day in Kilhallon’s history and give in to some activities that involve shared body heat. After all, I’m only human, and I told you Cal is dangerous.




CHAPTER ONE (#ua81b3b30-2ce4-541f-b6f5-9afafde0bc4b)


‘Oi! Demi, I think they’re coming.’

Polly’s shout reaches me as I’m trying to stuff a king-size duvet into its cover in the bedroom of Kilhallon House. Our PA/resort manager has worked for the Penwiths for decades and lives in a cottage behind the main farmhouse. It’s now almost ten a.m. and I’ve been up since seven, trying to fit in a list of jobs as long as my arm – including the half-hour first thing this morning that didn’t count as work but did involve getting hot, sweaty and pleasantly tired with Cal.

‘Demi! Get in here!’

The latch door bangs against the oak frame, making me jump. Polly has a voice that can shake walls that have stood for three hundred years but I don’t think she caused this particular earthquake. Abandoning the duvet – I’d got it the wrong way round anyway, I’m so wound up – I hurry across the landing and into the spare bedroom. The window is wide open and Polly is leaning out, a pair of binoculars clamped to her eyes. She obviously hasn’t noticed the wind howling around the house and driving sleet onto the window ledge.

Shivering, I join her at the window. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Looking out for them. Like you should be.’

‘Well, they’re not due for ages and it’s freezing in here.’

Lowering the binoculars, Polly turns away from the window, red marks around her eyes. ‘You youths. No hardiness. Generation snowflake.’

‘Give me the binoculars. Please.’ I say, grabbing them from Polly and risking being turned into a slush puppy as I lean out of the window for a better look.

‘Oh sh—’

‘Told you,’ she declares behind me.

A large black 4x4 with darkened windows rattles over the cattle grid at the top of the track that leads from the main road down to Kilhallon Park. At least it’s not a flashy sports car so it shouldn’t get stuck in the giant pothole that opened up during the Christmas floods. Cal still hasn’t had time to fill it in yet … I’ll have to text him to let him know our wedding couple are early.

‘It must be them: Bonnie and Clyde,’ says Polly, using the codenames she coined for Lily and Ben.

My heart sinks. ‘Not yet. I’m not ready.’ Through the binoculars, I spot the personalised number plate and the driver in the front seat. He has a buzz cut, is built like a rugby player and is definitely not Ben. The passenger seat is empty and I can’t make out anything through the blacked-out rear windows but I bet the stars are in there. It’s not one of our half-term guests’ cars and my cafe, Demelza’s, isn’t open to the public today. And while I was expecting a frozen shellfish delivery later, I don’t think the fishmonger has swapped his van for a personalised BMW 4x4 yet.

I lower the binoculars, trying to tame the butterflies – make that the fat, furry moths – beating their wings inside my stomach. ‘I suppose it could be someone on business, or a potential guest wanting to look around, but I don’t recognise the car.’

Polly huffs. ‘Bet you a tenner it’s Bonnie and Clyde.’

‘You don’t have to call them Bonnie and Clyde when it’s just us around. You can use their real names.’

Polly has her hands on her hips. She’s not a big woman and her ash-blonde bob makes her look younger than her fifty-six years but there’s something solid about her that can be very intimidating if you don’t know her. Or even if you do. ‘They’ll always be Bonnie and Clyde to me,’ she declares. ‘I can’t think of them as anyone else – and why they want to hold their wedding here is beyond me. They’ll doubtless take one look at the place in this weather and decide to head straight back to London.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’

‘I speak as I find.’

‘It’s not really a wedding. Lily and Ben are calling it a “handfasting” because we don’t have a civil wedding licence for Kilhallon. They’re going to make things legal at their local register office when all the media fuss has died down.’

‘Hmm. Right funny way of going about things if you ask me.’ Polly carries on muttering as she wrestles with closing the window against the gale. She works hard and genuinely cares about me and Cal, sometimes too much, to the point of interfering. She also has no problem with voicing her opinions, whether we like it or not.

The howls of the wind die down and Polly throws me a grim but encouraging smile, as if I’m off to get my head chopped off. ‘You’d better go and meet them, but I shouldn’t bring them into reception. That stray cat that keeps hanging around decided to use the floor as a litter tray earlier and I haven’t had chance to clean up yet, what with looking out for these actors.’

I wrinkle my nose. ‘Any idea where Cal’s got to?’

Polly drills me with one of her ‘looks’. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since last night. You should know his whereabouts more than I do, anyway …’

I should say now that Polly doesn’t entirely approve of Cal and me living together. Not, I think, because he’s my boss and the owner of Kilhallon. Not for any moral reasons either – Polly’s no churchgoer – but she seems to have some nutty idea that ‘it’ – i.e. us – will end in tears one day. She’s also taken it upon herself to act as Cal’s mum since his own mother passed away years ago. And, in a roundabout way, she’s become a bit of a surrogate mother figure to me as well, though I never asked her to. My mum passed away and I was cut adrift from the rest of my family for a while. I know she’s only being kind and she does have a heart of gold but …

Maybe it will end in tears, and maybe it won’t. Cal and I don’t discuss the long term. We’ve both had things happen in our lives that have taught us to be wary of planning too far ahead and making promises we can’t keep.

And for now, everything’s going fine.

Or will be, if I can track him down.

‘I haven’t seen him since he went off to the waste site after breakfast. He promised he’d be back at Kilhallon to meet Bonnie and Clyde – gah, I mean Lily and Ben, you’ve got me at it now.’

Polly smirks in satisfaction at my slip-up.

‘Do you mind making sure Mitch stays in the farmhouse while I meet Lily and Ben?’ I say, feeling annoyed with myself and with Cal. ‘He’s had his walk and breakfast so he should be happy to stay in the warm until they’ve gone.’

Not everyone likes dogs and I don’t want Mitch greeting our guests too ‘enthusiastically’ or going AWOL like he did in a fog last autumn. That was terrifying and both Mitch and I ended up falling down one of the old mine working holes on the cliffs. Luckily, we both escaped with nothing more than sore legs, although it could have been much worse.

‘I suppose I could keep an eye on the hound alongside my other jobs,’ Polly grumbles.

‘Thanks!’

Leaving Polly muttering about ‘pampered pooches and celebrities’, I skip downstairs and grab an old waxed jacket from the vestibule. I whizz out to the car park via the reception area at the front of Kilhallon House, ready to greet the VIPs. The wind whistles around the farmhouse and cuts through me. Tiny pools of slush lie in hollows in the gravel and hailstones pile up against the former farm buildings that we now use for storage. I wouldn’t be surprised if Polly’s chickens are wearing thermal undies. Lily and Ben could hardly have picked a worse time to visit. I only hope they have good imaginations.

While I wait for them to roll into the car park, I have a quick glance around the yard outside our reception. Cal must be around somewhere because his battered old Land Rover is parked in its usual place in front of the barn that serves as our storage and maintenance shed. Then again, I suspect he might be trying to avoid this meeting. Celebrities and their lives hold about as much interest for him as a tractor engine does for me. I mean, can you believe he hadn’t even heard of Lily Craig and Ben Trevone?

Then again, Cal hasn’t seen a lot of TV or films over the past few years. He was involved in his own real-life drama in Syria, one that had a tragic ending for his friend Soraya and her daughter, Esme. At Christmas, Cal finally opened up to me about the terrible events that led to Soraya’s death and the disappearance of Esme in the conflict. I was shocked but I think sharing the burden has brought us closer.

In fact, everyone at Kilhallon and in the local area had to pull together over the Christmas and New Year period after a tidal surge destroyed many homes in the nearby village of St Trenyan. We provided temporary accommodation for some of the homeless families, including my dad, his partner, Rachel, and their brand-new baby, Freya. They’re living in a rented flat in St Trenyan at the moment while their own home is repaired after the floods.

That disaster was such an awful business but the silver lining was that it put me back in contact with my estranged father. Freya has given us all the chance to meet up since then and rebuild some bridges. She’s just adorable and it’s strange – in a good way – to see my dad so besotted with her. I keep wondering if he was like that with me once, before everything went downhill for us all. I’ve also made contact again with my older brother, Kyle. He’s in the army and I hadn’t seen him for ages, but we’ve now exchanged emails so the ice is broken.

We’ve moved on in other ways over the winter. Cal has completed the renovation of our final set of cottages so now we have eight in total, plus eight yurts which we’ll pitch again in our glamping field ready for Easter. Our main camping field has another thirty pitches and will also open again at Easter. It’s strange to see the cottage I used to live in redecorated in a simple but contemporary style. The flowery 1970s decor has been painted over with neutral tones and the creaking furniture replaced with inky blue sofas and functional wood. Cal’s done a great job on a budget but I can’t help feeling he’s removed a little too much of the quirky personality of what was my first real home for years. Moving out of it and into the farmhouse with Cal was a big step for me as it meant losing some of my hard-won independence.

The BMW rolls into the car park and there’s still no sign of Cal and no answers to my frantic texts. Luckily, I know that Nina, one of my staff, has arrived early at the cafe to help with the refreshments so Cal and I can focus on looking after Ben and Lily. I’ve texted her to warn her they’re early so at least we’ll have a cosy welcome ready for them in Demelza’s.

There’s still not a whiff of Cal so it looks like I’m on my own – again. Breathe.

The gleaming BMW comes to a halt next to Cal’s dilapidated Defender. Fixing on my cheeriest, sunniest smile, I march over as a man mountain with a shaved head eases out of the driver’s seat.

He opens the rear passenger door wide and stands back.

Two long, slim legs encased in black skinny jeans emerge from the door and a guy a few years older than me drops neatly down to the gravel. He wears a black leather jacket over a black sweater, with Stan Smiths on his feet that are almost as white as his teeth. He glances around him. I can’t see his eyes because of his Aviators but I can see myself reflected in them: my hair’s a wild tangle, my face as pale as the moon framed by the furry trim of my hood.

Pushing the hood off my hair, I come face to face with Ben Trevone, the ludicrously handsome action-hero lead of Knife Edge, heart-throb star of Desperate Poets and voice of a heroic sea otter in the Oscar-nominated animation Ocean Furries. Unlike Cal, I do go to the cinema with my mates, although I admit I borrowed Ocean Furries from one of the kids who was evacuated here after the Christmas floods so I could swot up on Ben Trevone’s latest film.

With a smile that makes my jaw ache, I hold out my hand. ‘Welcome to Kilhallon!’

Ignoring my hand, Ben looks around him. His dazzling teeth gleam against a tan he definitely didn’t get on a Cornish beach. He is very handsome in a smooth, ‘boy band’ way, though not as hunky as he looked in Knife Edge. On the other hand, I’m glad he isn’t armed to the teeth with an AK-47 and a selection of knives.

‘So this is, like, it?’ he asks in an accent that’s a mix of his native Cornish and an American twang – which you don’t hear every day, especially not in St Trenyan.

Panicking inside, I shove my hands in my pockets. ‘Well, er … like, yes.’

He switches his focus from me to the farmhouse and the barn and Cal’s Land Rover. We’ve done a lot of work on Kilhallon but suddenly every slightly wonky plank, moss-covered roof and rusty bumper pops out at me.

‘Uh huh,’ he says.

‘Are we there yet, Ben?’ a thin, small voice pipes up from the far rear passenger seat. Oh, so maybe Lily Craig isn’t with him after all and he’s decided to bring his little sister.

‘Seems like it,’ he says, without turning around as their minder toes a puddle with his biker boot.

‘Can I come out now, then?’ the little voice trills from the depths of the car.

‘If you want, babe, but it’s enough to freeze your bollocks off,’ Ben calls back, craning his neck to look beyond me towards the sea.

‘It is very cold today. There’s been a storm, you see, but in summer, it’s gorgeous up here and I’m sure the weather will be fantastic for your wedding.’

‘Handfasting.’ Ben spits out the word in his Knife Edge voice. Given that he played a robotic ex-soldier primed to wreak revenge on his enemies, I find this slightly disturbing.

‘Handfasting. Of course. As it’s a bit … um … chilly, why don’t we go straight to Demelza’s, our onsite catering centre?’ I babble, making it up as I go along. ‘My team will have hot chocolate and cakes waiting.’

‘Tell her I don’t do dairy,’ the voice pipes up.

Oh God, it must be Lily.

‘Lily doesn’t do dairy,’ says Ben solemnly.

‘I know and I’ve planned for that. There are plenty of dairy-free alternatives at the cafe and we can also discuss the menus and decorations for your celebration. We’ll be much cosier there. You don’t even have to get out of the car, I can show you the way,’ I call above a fresh gust of wind so that the little voice can hear me.

Ben glances over my head towards the track that leads down to Demelza’s, then at his minder.

‘That OK, Harry?’

Harry, the minder, nods slowly. His head is shaven like Jake Gyllenhaal’s in Jarhead but he’s at least a head taller and three stone heavier than Jake must be. The material of his long-sleeved grey T-shirt strains over his huge biceps as if he has a grapefruit stuffed down there. He makes Ben look like a Munchkin.

‘OK, guys, let’s do this,’ says Ben as if he’s about to confront the forces of darkness rather than a hot chocolate and one of my scones.

Ben climbs back inside the BMW and Harry shuts the door, leaving me shivering on the gravel. Harry then opens the passenger side door. He says nothing but nods at me through his own black shades, which must surely be illegal for driving in our dark Cornish winters. Mind you, for all I know he could be wearing eyeliner and false lashes under them, which would be very, very funny.

Squashing down a giggle, which is definitely from nerves not excitement, I take the hint and climb inside the BMW. I sink into the leather seats and Harry points a single finger at the track that leads from the side of the car park down to the cafe. Why doesn’t he speak? Maybe he can’t speak? Feeling slightly guilty in case he really is a mute, I nod vigorously and point in the same direction.

And we’re off, bumping gently down the short track to the cafe. No one says a word but I’m thinking plenty of them. One, Cal had better turn up pretty soon or I will kill him, and two, when he does turn up I will kill him anyway for getting us into this totally weird wedding situation.

Crossing my fingers, toes and any other bits, I tell myself that the only way is up from this beginning. Demelza’s has been closed for a few days as it’s our quietest time of year. Thank goodness I laid out the wedding presentation last night and didn’t leave it until today. Beyond that, I’m praying that Nina and Shamia have had time to get the food on as I promised our guests.

Lights glow in the windows of the cafe, which was converted from an old storage barn last summer. Its stone walls look strong and welcoming against the backdrop of crashing waves and the wild Atlantic swell. Harry stops the car and jumps out. He holds a huge umbrella over Ben and Lily as they make the dash from the car to the cafe in the driving sleet. I hope Demelza’s can work its magic on our frosty couple, as it has on so many people, but I have a feeling these two will be much tougher nuts to crack.




CHAPTER TWO (#ua81b3b30-2ce4-541f-b6f5-9afafde0bc4b)


‘Please, make yourselves comfortable. We’ll have the coffee and refreshments ready in no time. Sorry, we didn’t expect you quite so soon, but it’s fine. We’re delighted you could make it because Isla told us how busy you are.’ Yes, I know I’m babbling as we walk into the cafe and wildly over compensating but it’s not been the best start to the meeting – and where the hell is Cal?

‘We’re usually really late, aren’t we, babe?’ says Ben, allowing Lily to skip ahead of him into the cafe. She’s not much over five feet tall and her massive silver Puffa coat brushes her toes. Add a pair of dainty pointy boots and she reminds me of a very glamorous pixie. Her fur-trimmed hood hides her features but she’s definitely smiling.

She giggles. ‘Always. We’re notorious for our lateness but we thought we’d surprise everyone today.’

Lucky me, I think, but I can’t help liking Lily’s sense of humour, which gives me hope she’s possibly as human as the rest of us.

Yes, I know Demelza’s is my cafe but even after six months, I always think walking inside is like stepping into a cosy, delicious haven. We’ve pulled out the stops to make it welcoming this cold spring morning, arranging early narcissi in stone jars on the window ledges to add a pop of yellow sunshine. Confetti-coloured freesias have been placed on every table and we’ve laid the two tables closest to the window with the vintage china I found at Kilhallon House last summer. Lily and Ben should be able to enjoy the view over the sea from there. The coffee machine is already burbling and the room is filled with the smell of freshly baked pastries. In the background, Cornish folk songs are playing softly. Mentally, I cross my fingers and hope they like the fresh and welcoming atmosphere we’ve tried to create.

Ben plonks himself down at a table and picks up a teacup as if he’s never seen one before. Lily lingers in the middle of the room. She pulls off her hood and a mane of glossy red hair falls down her back. Although she wears very little make-up, and is swamped by the shiny coat, she’s still stunning. Not like a real human, but a fairy in a children’s storybook. She turns around slowly, and lifts her arms, as if the cafe might revolve around her if she so wills.

I hold my breath. She could quite easily turn round this second and head out of Kilhallon and that would be that. Because we’re not glamorous, though we’ll bust a gut to be our very best. At the end of the day, we’re only a cosy little place in a wild and beautiful corner of Cornwall.

Lily sighs deeply as if she’s just finished a particularly hard yoga session. My heart thumps madly. I avoid a strong urge to wipe my palms on my jeans, waiting for this big star’s verdict on my little Cornish cafe.

Lily stares straight at me, a sad but sweet smile on her face.

‘This place is very … soothing. Like being wrapped in a big squishy duvet. It’s very authentic. Yes, I like it. I like it a lot.’

It’s hard not to let out a huge sigh of relief, even if part of me already wishes that Lily, Ben and Harry would get straight back into their ‘actor mobile’ and drive out of Kilhallon. Yes, it’s exciting to have them here and it would be amazing publicity for the park and cafe but I already can’t stand the tension of trying to live up to their expectations. Calm down, Cal would say, just be yourself.

But he’s not here, is he?

Lily perches on one of our old oak settles next to Ben. She picks up one of the vintage tapestry cushions I ‘recycled’ from the farmhouse and hugs it. Ben is on his phone. Harry is sitting at a nearby table with his arms folded. He makes the chair look an infant’s school chair.

‘What can we get you all, then, before we discuss menus and food? I thought we’d warm up in here before we take a tour of the rest of the park and the wedding …’

‘Handfasting,’ Ben mutters without glancing up from his phone. ‘We’re going to do the legal bit at the register office near our house a few weeks later. No one will be looking for that once we’ve had the ceremony here.’

‘Isla said you want a simple ceremony in a natural setting?’ I say.

‘Oh yes, we don’t want a fuss, do we, Ben? I can’t stand all those weddings with zillions of people where the bride and groom sit on thrones and everyone arrives by helicopter.’

‘Is there a helipad?’ Ben chimes in.

‘Sorry, no. There’s a field behind us that the emergency services could use at a push but no helipad.’

‘Oh.’ He goes back to his phone.

Lily smooths down her skirt. ‘Isla said we’d never find a more beautiful setting, especially if the sun comes out.’

‘I hope so. We’ll have a marquee, though, so we’ll be fine.’ Fingers crossed again, I think, remembering how Isla’s own engagement party was almost washed out by a summer storm. I won’t forget that day for all kinds of reasons; I had to rescue Cal from the sea after he’d been drowning his sorrows as he watched Isla and his best friend, Luke, celebrate their happiness. It was barely eight months ago and so much has changed. I truly believe Cal is over Isla now, though he said he could never ‘unlove’ her.

Nina hovers behind the counter, staring at the guests as if she’s in the middle of a dream.

‘So, what drinks can I get you?’ I say with a smile, dying to call Cal again but not wanting to let our guests know I’m ever so slightly panicking.

Lily orders a camomile tea, while Ben opts for a double espresso.

‘How about you, Harry?’ I ask. He has to speak now, he has to.

He grunts.

‘He’ll have an Earl Grey with lemon. No milk,’ says Ben, still tapping on his phone.

‘Oh … Okayy,’ I say, surprised Harry doesn’t drink liquefied girders. ‘Nina? Would you mind making up the order, please?’

Nina seems frozen to the spot for a second then scuttles off behind the counter. She turns up the music a little and that, combined with the hiss and sputter of the coffee machine, makes the atmosphere seem far more like a ‘normal’ cafe day.

I chat to Lily about her journey here while Ben studies his phone and Harry flicks through a copy of a Cornish lifestyle magazine. Harry was sent on ahead by road ready to pick them up from Newquay airport this morning, though they didn’t use Flybe. They chartered a private plane from an airfield in the Cotswolds where they’re renting what Lily describes as a ‘cute little cottage’ but which sounds more like a mini stately home. She seems interested in the doggy treats cookbook I’ve been writing over the winter – not that I’ve had that much to do with it as my co-author, Eva Spero, and her team have taken over a lot of the writing. She’s been to Eva’s restaurant in Brighton once and seems impressed that I have a celebrity connection.

I’m not sure how much of Lily’s breezy girly chat is really her, and how much is just her image. She has an Instagram account with hundreds of thousands of followers. Her fingers hover over a crystal-embellished iPhone. I bet she’s dying to update her Instagram right now so I break off to help Nina serve the drinks and coffee-time treats.

As soon as I return to the table with a laden cake stand, Lily puts her phone down. ‘There’s a selection of mini pastries and tasters of our cakes. Of course, you’ll have a tailor-made menu on the day and we can work with a local catering firm who have won tons of awards for their wedding food. But for today I thought you might enjoy some of the best of our home-cooked fare.’

Harry selects a slice of curranty pastry dredged in sugar. He observes it and his nose twitches as if he’s inhaling the scent. Please don’t say he’s going to taste our guests’ food for them … He wouldn’t go that far, would he? He bites off a piece, chews, swallows and lets out a sigh of pleasure.

‘Do you mind telling me what this is? It’s really rather good,’ he says, with an extremely posh lilt.

So amazed am I that he has a voice at all, let alone that particular voice, that I struggle to get my reply out. ‘Um … it’s figgy ’obbin.’

‘Foggy what?’

‘Figgy ’obbin – layers of feather-light puff pastry crammed with juicy raisins, lemon juice and sugar. That’s the traditional recipe but I also added a few dried cranberries for extra crunch and to brighten it up. It’s a real Cornish winter warmer.’

‘It certainly is. It’s delicious. Reminds me of Nanny’s strudel.’

‘Your gran was a keen baker?’ I ask, still amazed at his accent. That voice could have come straight out of the drawing room of Polly’s favourite series, Downton Abbey.

He laughs. ‘Oh gosh, Granny never baked. I don’t think she knew what an oven was and she rarely ventured into the kitchens. She had a cook and housekeeper for that sort of thing. No, our nanny used to bake us treats in the school holidays or when we had an exeat. She was from Salzburg and was an incredible pastry cook. Her strudel was my favourite but this is a delicious twist.’

Harry takes off his shades. He doesn’t need false lashes or eyeliner. His eyes are striking enough: sea green with natural lashes to die for. Wow. My mind works overtime, trying to work out why a man who once had a nanny is working as minder to a celebrity couple.

‘May I have another slice, please?’

I like him already. ‘Of course,’ I say, and hand him another plate.

While Harry tucks in to the figgy ’obbin, Lily nibbles a morsel of a mini cinnamon scone. I hold my breath, waiting for the verdict. She puts the rest on her plate and pushes it away from her as if it might bite her back. Oh dear, this isn’t going well, but after dabbing her mouth with a serviette, she smiles.

‘Yum. That was delicious, but I daren’t have any more. I’m getting so fat, aren’t I, Ben?’

‘I dunno. You look all right to me.’ Ben crunches a fairing without glancing up from his screen.

‘Do you want the rest of this yummy scone, Harry?’

Holding the handle of the cup with his little finger crooked, Harry sips his tea. ‘Thanks.’

Lily brings the plate over and puts it in front of him. ‘Now you can get fat like me, can’t you?’

Harry puts his shades back on. ‘You’re not fat,’ he mutters and studies a Demelza’s menu while devouring the scone in one bite.

Ben is still swiping his phone. I hope he’s on Instagram not Tinder.

Nina finds the courage to emerge from the counter for a chat with Lily who suggests she has a selfie with her and Ben. This gives me a welcome chance to escape outside to try and get Cal on my phone. Mobile coverage is patchy at Kilhallon, so I’m not surprised when his answer phone kicks in. Not surprised but pissed off.

‘My partner, Cal, seems to be tied up with an urgent matter at the moment but he’ll be along as soon as possible. I know he’s dying to show you the wonderful space that Kilhallon has for your ceremony. I think it’s drying up outside so while we wait for Cal and the sun to arrive, would you like to run through some menu ideas? We can have all the taster samples ready for you on your next visit and it will be spring then.’

‘That sounds lovely, doesn’t it, Ben?’

Finally, Ben puts down his phone and bends down to kiss Lily’s head. ‘Anything you want, babe. Harry, can you fetch Lily’s scarf from the car? If we’re going outside, I don’t want her shivering, do I, babe?’

‘I’ll be OK, really, Ben.’

‘Harry doesn’t mind. That’s what he’s here for,’ Ben says.

Without a word, Harry leaves the cafe with the remains of a figgy ’obbin in his huge hand.

‘Harry’s ex-military. Paras. His family once owned a huge dump in the Cotswolds but they fell on hard times,’ Ben tells me, sitting next to Lily again.

Lily tuts. ‘It isn’t a dump. It’s a beautiful old place.’

‘Yeah, but he doesn’t own it now, does he? They had to sell it when his granddad blew his brains out after he’d gone bankrupt. It’s a boutique hotel,’ Ben says to me. ‘Quirky great pile, not my thing. Can I have some more coffee?’ He holds up his mug.

‘Of course.’ I spring up, eager to help in any way I can. Still, I can’t help feeling sorry for Harry, losing his family home and having to wait on Ben and Lily. I wonder how he stands being ordered around by Ben, to be honest.

‘Cal should be here any time. Shall we talk about the type of food you’d like for your ceremony and reception?’

While we chat through the menus, Harry returns and stations himself in a corner, leafing through a guidebook on Cornish dog walks. Lily and Ben have been here half an hour and I’m urging Cal to put in an appearance. He may claim to be no PR man, but he can turn on the charm when he wants to and it often seems to have an effect on people. I’m hoping he’ll work his magic on Lily, if not on Ben.

There’s still no sign of Cal but the sun has moved around and is now shining full-on through the windows of the cafe. It may still be February but it’s one of those days when you first feel some real, if faint, warmth in the sun’s rays. The clouds have cleared away to bother people further east, leaving us with a beautiful sky the colour of forget-me-nots. Cal or no Cal, I sense this is the moment to show off Kilhallon while I can. I hope that even sophisticated Lily will be charmed by the setting. I don’t know about Ben but I suspect he’ll go along with anything she wants, which would definitely make things easier for me.

‘Would you like to see the view from the cafe now the rain has stopped and the wind has died down a little bit?’

Lily claps her hands in delight. ‘Oh, I’d love to.’

Having returned with the wrap, Harry offers it to Lily and she fastens it around her neck, under her coat. I zip up my own jacket and we say goodbye and thanks to Nina, telling her we’ll be back later for lunch. Harry and Ben decide to brave the great outdoors without extra layers. I’m not sure even a Cornish gale could blow Harry over anyway.

We step out onto the terrace of the cafe, bracing ourselves against the Atlantic wind. The heavy tables and chairs have survived the winter and are beginning to look weathered, but that’s not a bad thing. We walk through the gap in the low stone wall around the terrace and stand outside on a strip of grass between Kilhallon land and the coastal path. Large pale-grey clouds tear across the sky. Lily’s hair whips across her face and she pulls the strands out of her eyes. I can taste the salt on my lips.

‘Wow.’

Lily takes a deep breath, just like she did when she stepped into Demelza’s.

‘It’s an amazing view. I love the view from Ben’s parents’ house over Mounts Bay but the north west is so wild.’

‘It’s hard to decide which is better,’ I say, aware of Ben standing next to us, not that he seems too bothered as he’s still scrolling through his phone.

‘Is there a signal up here?’ he says, holding the handset up.

‘It’s patchy,’ I admit. ‘But there’s Wi-Fi in the cafe and cottages. We plan to offer Wi-Fi all over the glamping field and events area before your wedding.’

He doesn’t answer me but hmmphs and shoves his phone in his jacket. He joins Lily who has walked the few yards from our land to the coastal path. It’s still windy but I think she’ll be OK.

‘This looks like a scene from The French Lieutenant’s Woman, doesn’t it, Ben?’

‘Yeah,’ he says, standing behind her with his arms around her waist.

‘I haven’t heard of that,’ I say.

‘It’s a book and it was a film before I was born. Isla wants to do a remake but it’s set in Lyme Regis not Cornwall. There’s a scene where the heroine stands in a howling gale almost being blown off the Cobb. I’m hoping Ben will play the hero in it.’

Wow. I think Ben may have actually smiled. Maybe his grouchiness is from pre-wedding nerves or the pressure of his job. I wouldn’t want to live my life under the microscope like they do, even though they’re meant to live for the publicity. I bet they have to do a lot of things they don’t want to as well.

The publisher of our canine cookbook wants my co-author, Eva Spero, and me to do some radio and TV appearances when it comes out later this year. To be honest, the idea makes me go weak at the knees but I guess I’ll get used to it. Cal and I still haven’t quite got over being featured in a Sunday lifestyle magazine last autumn, thanks to Eva who was impressed by our set-up when she turned up to Kilhallon’s launch party last year.

‘Shall we move on to the wedding glade? It’s more sheltered down there,’ I ask, seeing Ben shivering in the wind blowing off the sea.

Lily slots her arm through his. ‘Are you cold?’

‘Freezing my rocks off,’ Ben mutters.

‘Let’s get out of the wind,’ I say, wishing Ben had come equipped for the weather.

On our way to the glade, Harry walks to the left and a little behind, checking around him at intervals. Maybe he thinks an assassin might be hiding behind the cafe bins or the high-banked hedges that protect the camping field from the worst of the Atlantic wind.

Clumps of snowdrops nod their delicate heads in the breeze and early primroses dot the banks that line the lane to the cottages and the edge of the copse. I love the first signs of spring. When I spent a stint sleeping rough, all I cared about was a warm place to stay, but now I’m lucky enough to appreciate the seasons changing from a warm bed and home.

A boy waving a plastic cutlass shoots out of the copse next to us onto the path.

‘Wooo hoooo! Watch out! I’m a pirate!’

‘Jesus! What the—’ Ben steadies Lily as the boy clips her arm.

‘Sorry!’ the boy shouts but races off down the slope towards the yurt field, waving his sword cutlass. He’s wearing a pirate hat and an eye patch but I’m sure I know him.

‘Are you OK, baby?’ Ben asks Lily.

Lily smiles. ‘I’m fine. I’m fine.’

‘Quick! Blackbeard’s after us!’ A little girl in pirate gear shoots out of the copse and clips Ben. He tries to stay upright but slips on the damp turf and lands smack on his bum in a puddle.

The girl shouts ‘Sorry!’ but she’s already on her way, racing down the slope after her pirate friend.

‘Fuck,’ Ben growls, scrambling out of the puddle. ‘You little sods!’ he calls after them, trying to scramble to his feet.

‘Are you OK, Ben?’ Lily reaches down to help him up.

He shakes it off. ‘My jeans are ruined. Little brats could have done me some serious damage.’

I wince. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sure it was an accident.’

‘Whose kids are they?’ he snaps.

‘They’re from St Trenyan.’ I’m in despair wondering why they are here and to be honest more pissed off at the way Ben’s spoken about the children. I recognise them, of course: they’re members of the families who were evacuated here after the flooding. They moved out of Kilhallon last month and into temporary accommodation so I’ve no idea why they’re chasing around the site dressed as pirates today.

‘They didn’t do it on purpose, sweetheart,’ Lily says, taking Ben’s elbow as he gets to his feet. I swallow hard. His designer jeans are soaked with mud and his Stan Smiths are ruined. Where the hell is Cal?

My answer comes a split second later as Blackbeard himself, complete with tricorn and eye patch, jogs out of the copse shouting: ‘Come here, you scurvy knaves. I’ll make you walk the plank!’




CHAPTER THREE (#ua81b3b30-2ce4-541f-b6f5-9afafde0bc4b)


‘Sorry, mate!’

Cal screeches to a halt inches from Ben. Lily lets out a giggle but Ben glares at him with open contempt.

‘Are those your kids? You should control the little sods,’ he snaps.

Cal’s smile vanishes and he pushes his eye patch over his forehead. ‘They’re not little sods. They’re playing at pirates.’

Ben snorts. ‘Pirates? They could have broken my neck. And look at my jeans. These were made specially for me by the designer. They’re unique.’

‘Well, they definitely are now, mate.’ Cal frowns at the mud-spattered denim while I die a little inside. ‘And they’re not my children but I’ll pass on your parenting advice to their mums and dads. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.’

‘Cal!’ I cut in, cringing at the naked menace in his voice while wanting to sink through the ground. ‘This is Ben Trevone and Lily Craig. Our VIP guests.’

Cal glances from Ben to Lily then sucks in a breath before thrusting out his muddy hand. ‘Oh, right. Well, good to meet you both. Sorry the kids were a bit over enthusiastic with their pirate raiding.’

Ignoring Cal’s hand, Ben snorts. ‘Over enthusiastic? They’ve ruined my jeans, not that I care, of course, or about being dumped on my arse in the mud, but Lily was almost knocked flying.’

‘No, I wasn’t. I’m fine and so are you. Ben’s jeans will recover. I never liked them anyway,’ Lily trills. ‘You must be Cal. Why are you dressed as a pirate?’ Lily asks him, clearly intrigued.

‘I promised the children they could come to Kilhallon to play pirates. I just didn’t realise they’d turn up today.’

Ben is speechless, which is a relief, but Cal gives Lily one of his bone-melting smiles. ‘Apologies for my lateness. The children turned up for a half-term visit and I totally lost track of the time. They’re a bit wild, but they’ve had a shitty time recently – their families were flooded out of their homes over Christmas by a tidal surge.’

Lily wrinkles her nose. ‘Oh my God. How horrible for them. We did hear about it. Ben went to school in Penzance, you know.’

‘Yes, I do,’ I say. ‘So I’m sure he can understand how terrible the storm was for the area.’

‘We saw it on the news, didn’t we, Ben? My cousins had to leave their house and Ben paid for them to go to a hotel for a few weeks. He’s very thoughtful like that, aren’t you, Ben?’

Ben manages a smile and puts his arm around Lily’s shoulders. ‘Anything to make you happy.’

‘I bet Polly would wash your jeans, mate, and you can borrow an old pair of mine in the meantime,’ Cal says.

Ben curls his lip. ‘Thanks, but don’t bother.’

‘We’ve got a change of clothes in the car,’ Lily says. ‘We’re visiting Ben’s mum in Penzance after we’ve left here. That’s one of the reasons we wanted the ceremony at Kilhallon, because Ben’s family live locally and mine are scattered over the South West so it’s not so very far for them to come.’

She kisses Ben and he grunts.

‘Would you like to come up to the house to change your clothes?’ I ask him.

‘No. I’d rather keep them on until we’ve finished yomping around this field … in case anyone else wants to knock me over,’ he says.

‘Probably a wise decision,’ says Cal. ‘Do you want me to fetch you some wellies?’ he directs this to both of them.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Lily says with a smile that would melt the hardest heart and I think has even melted Cal’s. Her black leather pixie boots should be OK despite the wet conditions.

‘I’ll stay as I am,’ says Ben, who I think would rather jump off a cliff than be seen in wellies.

Lily slips her arm through his and kisses him. ‘I rather like you all muddy and wet.’

Finally, Ben smiles.

‘Your eye patch has slipped,’ I whisper to Cal while Ben helps Lily down the slope towards the ‘events space’.

Cal lifts off the tricorn and pulls the eye patch over his head before pecking me on the cheek. ‘Sorry I’m late. I bet you’ve been climbing the walls having to look after those two on your own.’

‘I didn’t even notice you weren’t around.’

Cal sucks in a breath. ‘That bad, eh? I didn’t know the kids would be here today but their parents turned up with them. They came to say thanks and I didn’t want to turn them away. Then I kind of got involved in a pirate raid and lost all track of time.’

‘A pirate raid? Great. At least you have your priorities right.’

He grins. ‘You’re not too pissed off, are you?’

While I shake my head at him, I can’t help but smile. Cal likes kids, probably because he’s still about twelve inside. He also spent a lot of time helping them during his time in Syria as an aid worker. He grew especially close to Esme and her mother, Soraya. Soraya’s death in an attack on the city caused Cal a lot of pain, and I know he feels partly responsible. Although he told me about it over Christmas, we’ve not spoken about it since, but I know he thinks about Esme constantly and wonders whether she survived.

We rejoin Lily and Ben and pause halfway down the gentle slope that leads to a circular patch of grass at the bottom of a hollow. To the left is the far edge of the little copse where the yurts are pitched during our camping season. Below us the young pirates are now sitting on one of the log seats we’ve placed in our ‘wedding glade’. The area is available for use by the yurt guests and campers when it’s not booked for a wedding or party.

‘This is the space where you’ll be holding your … um … handfasting ceremony.’ Cal puts his hand to his ear. ‘Shh. Listen.’

The wind has dropped enough for us to hear the faint roar of the sea breaking on the rocks below the cliffs. Gulls wheel above us, gliding on the breeze, crying against the spring sky.

‘Imagine it on a glorious summer’s day – that hollow down there is where we would hold the ceremony,’ I say, relieved that Kilhallon is finally hinting at how beautiful it can be. ‘We’re thinking of having a luxury events tipi for the reception in case the weather turns slightly cooler,’ I say, recalling the storm we had last June. ‘You can have drinks outside in the sun, and in the evening we can light braziers or campfires and decorate the tipi and wedding area however you like … Chinese lanterns, a fairy grotto, Moroccan themed …’

‘Sounds amazing,’ says Lily with a sigh.

‘Let’s take a closer look,’ says Cal, subtly leading her down to the centre of the hollow. Even I’m impressed by what we can do at Kilhallon and I know the yurts looked amazing on our launch day last September. Now the sun’s out and Cal’s here, I feel more confident that we could put on a show that might even please Ben. Fingers crossed that soon we’ll have found a wedding planner to help us so I can concentrate on the catering. The kids run into the woods, whooping, as we approach, which is probably a good thing for all of us.

Ben and I join Cal and Lily in the hollow. Cal sits on a log seat with Lily and they start to chat about a production she worked on with Isla.

‘Have you got any ideas for themes yet?’ I ask Ben, who keeps glancing at his phone.

‘I dunno. I leave that sort of thing up to Lily.’

He pulls a face as he sidesteps a puddle.

‘That’s OK. We can talk more about it when we go back to the cafe. I think we should put some plans in place because the wedding date is the last Saturday in May – that isn’t very far away.’ I’m already crossing my fingers that they don’t want anything unusual that has to be booked years in advance.

‘Harry will need to talk about security,’ Ben says airily.

‘Oh, right. Of course,’ I say, realising I hadn’t thought about that side of things. Luckily we’ve blocked off the entire weekend for Lily and Ben’s use, and they’re paying us very well so we don’t mind. I’ll have to shut the cafe that weekend too and possibly for a couple of days beforehand.

After we’ve shown them the event space, we take a little walk to the boundary of the holiday park and stop to take in the view. The camping field is empty, of course, and looks stark after a winter. The hedgerows are still bare twigs although a few green buds are popping out among the brown. Beyond the stone walls, the sea glitters in the sunlight. The waves look like lacy frills from up here but I can tell there’s a huge swell. I wouldn’t like to be out on the water today, that’s for sure.

‘We can also offer the services of a freelance wedding planner, though I expect you’ll have your own?’ I say to Lily as we reach the hollow where the yurts are pitched.

‘No, happy to leave ourselves in your capable hands.’ She beams. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a truly fabulous planner already lined up.’

An actual chill runs down my spine. We’re going to have to get a wedding organiser fast. ‘Do you have an idea of your theme yet?’ I ask, hoping she won’t ask the truly fabulous planner’s name.

‘Well …’ She glances at Ben briefly. ‘This is the kind of story we want to create around our celebrations. A wild and windswept country ceremony, though not too windswept, I hope,’ she says as a gust of wind whips her long red hair around her face. ‘But a natural and totally relaxed affair, as if we just rocked up here with a bunch of mates and decided to hold the ceremony on the spur of the moment with everyone mucking in and throwing it all together.’

As my stomach churns like a cake mixer, I fix a smile on my face. ‘Thrown together? Oh, I definitely think we can achieve that.’

‘Lovely. You see, we’d like the whole day to look as if I’d simply picked a bunch of gorgeous wildflowers and tied them up with a ribbon and made a circlet for my hair. And that the girls had all picked flowers for the decorations and the boys had made a beautiful wedding arch with branches they’d found lying around in the woods. And that everyone had brought some food along: you know, clean eating, healthy stuff plus lots of yummy wicked treats like you see in old-fashioned tearooms. And we can have cider too along with the Krug of course …’ Lily sighs. ‘So something super natural, not complicated and very un-starry.’

‘Not complicated … No problem,’ I say in a strangled voice. ‘Um. On a country theme, you could have straw bale seating and a fire pit in the evening, with an evening supper served out of wicker picnic baskets in the open if it’s fine. Which of course, it will be,’ I say, channelling any ideas I’ve seen on Pinterest and wedding sites. ‘The grove here would look amazing with lanterns in the shape of woodland animals: hedgehogs, rabbits and badgers. I saw some online.’

Lily squeaks in delight. ‘Hedgehog lanterns? How cute. I love that idea.’

‘Why not go the whole hog, or hedgehog, and have real animals?’ Cal says. ‘You could even have an owl deliver the ring.’

We all stare at him for this totally random statement.

‘An owl? You mean an actual feathered owl delivering the wedding rings?’ Ben repeats.

‘That’s a very original idea …’ I manage.

‘It’s barking mad,’ says Ben.

‘Oh. But no …’ Lily trills. ‘No, it’s not because I’ve actually seen something like that before in a magazine. Oh, yes. That would be amazing. Imagine a real owl flying down the grove here and landing on Ben’s arm.’

‘No way. I’m not having a bird land on me, with its talons and beaky thing.’ Ben shudders.

‘Oh, Ben, you’d love it if you tried it. Please let us have an owl, for me?’ Lily grabs Ben’s arm. ‘Please. It would be so perfect.’

I catch Cal’s eye and glare at him and he mouths back ‘sorry’ and shrugs.

Lily kisses Ben and he forces a fleeting smile. ‘I’ll see. Like I say, anything for you, babe.’

‘Come back ’ere, you horror!’

The owl is forgotten as we’re all distracted by the sight of Polly hurrying down the slope towards us, shouting. Mitch lopes ahead of her and, oh my God, he’s making a beeline for Ben and Lily.

‘Mitch! Heel!’

I dash forward, hoping to intercept him before he leaps up and slobbers over Ben’s designer clothes. Drool is not a good look on anyone. Fortunately, Mitch changes course at the last minute and screeches to a halt at my feet, tongue lolling.

‘Good boy. Good boy,’ I tell him, giving him a cuddle while keeping a firm hold on his collar.

‘What a lovely boy he is,’ Lily walks towards Mitch. ‘He is friendly?’

‘Yes, he’s the biggest softy you can imagine.’

‘I have a dog called Louie. He’s the sweetest little French bulldog. He’s such an angel but I can’t always bring him away with me so my mum takes care of him for me.’ Lily crouches down and fusses Mitch who is immediately smitten. He rolls over and invites a belly rub, a sure sign he likes someone.

Polly isn’t so delighted, judging by the grim line of her mouth. She huffs towards us, waving a lead in the air. ‘He ran off. I tried to keep him in but the moment I opened that door, he shot out like a bullet from a gun. You terror!’ she calls to Mitch, who is snickering in pleasure as Lily tickles his tum.

‘I adore Louie,’ Lily says to Cal. ‘Ben’s not a doggy person but he makes an exception for Louie, don’t you, Ben?’

‘Anything to make you happy, baby.’

Harry bends down to ruffle Mitch’s ears and Mitch licks his hand. ‘You’re a very fine fellow, aren’t you?’ he says in a way that reminds me of some of the quirkier contestants on University Challenge, not that I watch it much but Polly’s a fan and it’s often on in the background.

‘I’m sorry he’s escaped,’ Polly says to me.

‘It’s fine. He’s not doing any harm. Lily has a dog of her own.’

Polly’s face is red. ‘That doesn’t mean she wants that one leaping all over her.’

‘We wouldn’t have minded, would we, Ben?’

‘It wouldn’t make any difference to me,’ he says, pointing to his muddy jeans.

Polly stares at his trousers. ‘What on earth happened to you?’

‘Some kids knocked me over,’ Ben says.

‘Kids? Not that terror who keeps tormenting my chickens? Max? Short for Maximum Trouble, I say.’

‘It was Max, and his sister, Laura,’ Cal cuts in. ‘And we’ve apologised but Ben is OK now, aren’t you? Polly, this is Lily Craig and Ben … our very special wedding guests.’

Polly’s brow creases then her mouth forms an ‘o’ as she belatedly realises who she’s been talking to. ‘Oh … er. Right. Pleased to meet you … um … I just wanted a word with Cal and Demi. Excuse me.’

However, instead of asking for permission to take a selfie, she turns her back on them and pulls me aside. Cal talks to Ben while Lily plays tug-of-war with Mitch and a stick. Harry stands a few yards away by a granite monument.

Polly takes me out of earshot. ‘We’ve got a visitor,’ she says, lowering her voice.

‘Right …’ So Polly must have needed an excuse to interrupt our meeting with Ben and Lily. She needn’t have worried, I would have introduced her anyway. ‘Can you deal with them? We’re a bit tied up showing Bonnie and— I mean our guests around at the moment.’

‘Well, I can if you want me to, but you won’t want me to,’ she says.

‘Why not? Who’s so important that they can’t speak to you?’

‘Her.’ Polly turns round and points to the top of the slope where a small but very determined figure has appeared on the ridgeline, silhouetted against the sky. ‘I told the cheeky little minx to wait in reception but you know what she’s like. Thinks she owns the place. Almost did.’

I follow Polly’s gaze to the woman making her way down the muddy track in leopard print boots and a black leather mini. My stomach turns somersaults.

Why, why, why does she have to turn up now? After all our troubles over the past ten months, I’d hoped we were done with Mawgan Cade once and for all.




CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_1246a236-e524-5c45-94e0-b14db2ec759d)


‘What does she want?’ I whisper to Polly while the others are distracted by Mitch’s wild barks. ‘Did you tell her Ben and Lily were here?’

‘What do you take me for?’ Polly adds in a not-very-whispery whisper that has me sneaking a look at our guests to see if they’ve heard. Fortunately Cal has distracted them, although I don’t think he’s noticed Mawgan himself yet. Gulp.

‘OK. Sorry but I don’t think it can be a coincidence that she’s turned up at this precise moment when she hasn’t been near the place for months.’

‘I haven’t breathed a word to a living soul and I’ve no idea what the little cat wants. She said she had business with you and Cal and when I said you were tied up and she should make an appointment, the cheeky madam plonked herself down in reception and said she’d wait. I had no idea she’d dare start wandering about but I thought I should come and find you myself as I couldn’t get you on your mobiles. The nerve of her!’

‘Nothing surprises me about Mawgan any more,’ I murmur, though I’m amazed at her turning up at Kilhallon at this particular moment. I’m struggling to believe it’s a coincidence that our VIPs are here but there is also no way that Mawgan knew they were coming. Then again, it must just be a horrible coincidence … Maybe one of the cafe staff has let it slip that they are here today. I hope not, but I’m going to have to find out. Harry said we’ll need to look at security for the event and it doesn’t look great that we’ve made yet another cock-up this early in the process.

Cal glances at me. His jaw drops and he mouths ‘what?’ as he finally spots Mawgan too.

Mawgan wobbles her way towards us, waving.

Just what is going on?

‘Can you take Mitch back to the house?’ I ask Polly. ‘I don’t want the day to get any more complicated than it already has.’

Too late. Mitch has seen Mawgan too and lets out a low throaty growl.

‘Oh dear,’ says Lily. ‘Have we upset him?’

Ben takes a large step back from Mitch.

Cal grabs Mitch’s collar. ‘That’s a growl of excitement,’ he says, fastening Mitch’s lead to his collar.

‘Maybe you could take him to the house the back way so he doesn’t get too boisterous?’ I tell Polly in desperation.

With a grim nod, she practically has to drag Mitch over the field away from Mawgan. He doesn’t want to let go of the chance to ‘welcome’ Mawgan but he’s also scared of Polly and, in the end, has no choice but to do as he’s told.

Cal smiles at Lily and Ben. ‘Looks like one of our visitors has taken a wrong turn and got lost. I’ll go and help her find her way back to reception. Why don’t you let Demi show you the views of the engine house and then go back to the cafe along the coast path for some lunch?’

Lily huddles into her coat. ‘Sounds fab.’

‘Good idea,’ says Ben, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.

‘Is the path safe?’ Harry asks.

‘It’s fine,’ I say, aware that Mawgan is only twenty metres away. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Woo hoo! Ben!’

Ben turns round. Mawgan has broken into a trot, almost tripping over in her desperation to reach us. Surely she can’t be a fan of Ben?

‘Hellooo!’ Mawgan shouts, waving wildly as she totters across the muddy grass. There’s no chance of us avoiding her. ‘Is it a fan? She seems very enthusiastic,’ Lily says as Harry moves discreetly between Mawgan, Ben and Lily.

‘I hope not,’ says Ben.

‘I’ll deal with this,’ says Harry.

‘It’s fine. I know exactly who it is,’ I cut in. ‘Cal will look after her.’

Cal reaches Mawgan at the same time as Ben suddenly breaks into a grin. She is only yards away from him now.

‘Mawgan? Mawgan Cade? It is you.’

Ben jogs the remaining few steps to meet Mawgan and throws his arms around her. I don’t know who’s more amazed, Cal, me or Lily. Although I think ‘horrified’ is probably more accurate for me and Cal.

Ben lets her go. Mawgan’s perma-tanned face is even brighter than normal. Her leopard-print pony-skin boots are thick with mud and she’s puffing like mad but she’s also grinning from ear to ear.

Ben shakes his head and laughs out loud. ‘Jesus. What are you doing all the way out here, Mawgs?’

Mawgan gives him a playful slap on the arm. ‘I heard you were here and I was passing on my way to a business meeting, so I had to drop in. I couldn’t possibly miss the opportunity of seeing my old mate, Ben, now, could I?’

Cal manages to slide me a look of despair before Lily speaks. ‘So you’re a friend of Ben’s? Awesome. Aren’t you going to introduce us, Ben?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What a small world,’ I say through gritted teeth.

‘It is. Mawgan’s a good mate of mine, or used to be until we lost touch.’

Mawgan’s ponytail has come undone, but she’s grinning from ear to ear.

Ignoring Cal, Harry and me, Mawgan lets go of Ben and gives Lily a dazzling smile. ‘Hello, how amazing to meet you,’ she says to Lily.

‘Her Auntie Georgina used to live next door to us in Penzance. She used to come and visit. Good times, eh, Mawgan?’ Ben says.

Mawgan winks. ‘The best. Auntie Georgie still lives in Penzance, Ben. She sees your mum every day and says your mum never stops talking about you. I’ve been following your career, obviously, and I think you should have won an Oscar for Knife Edge. You were robbed, not even being nominated.’

‘You always liked action movies, Mawgan,’ Ben snorts. ‘Mawgan always wanted to play the villain: Catwoman, Poison Ivy.’ Ben roars with laughter and Mawgan smiles with the closest I’ve ever seen to genuine happiness. Weirdly, Ben’s accent has also changed to pure Cornish, without the transatlantic edge. It suits him a lot better even if Mawgan has inspired it.

‘In fact, it was your mum who told Auntie Georgie you were visiting Kilhallon to check it out for your wedding venue.’

‘Handfasting venue,’ I say. ‘And what a coincidence that you were just passing, Mawgan?’

‘Yes, isn’t it? Though I must say I was very surprised to hear that such huge stars as Ben Trevone and Lily Craig wanted to hold their ceremony here. It’s so out of the way.’

‘That’s one reason why we chose it,’ Lily says, ‘It’s easier to keep people away.’

Mawgan throws her a cheesy smile. ‘Of course. I only thought it was a bit wild and remote.’

‘We love that too. We don’t want the glitzy OTT party that everyone expects. Ben and I are homebodies at heart and we wanted to come back to our roots and give back something to the community. We want to be able to say, hand on heart, that it’s a thoroughly Cornish wedding. And if we use local people, it will look far more authentic, which is sooo important. Ben and I are known for our authenticity. Aren’t we, Ben?’

‘What? Yeah. We’re totally authentic.’

‘So when Isla told us about Kilhallon, we couldn’t resist.’

‘Ah ha. Isla suggested Kilhallon? That makes more sense than you actually choosing this place by yourselves,’ Mawgan says.

‘You know Isla?’ Lily asks.

‘We went to school together. Me, Isla and her fiancé, Luke – and Cal of course. I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned me?’

‘How could I ever have forgotten,’ says Cal. ‘And Kilhallon may be wild and remote but it will make a wonderful setting for the ceremony.’

Mawgan laughs. ‘If it doesn’t rain and blow a howling gale. Don’t you remember when that storm almost destroyed Kilhallon house and nearly ruined Isla’s engagement party last summer?’

‘Oh my God! Did it?’ Lily cries.

‘It was nothing more than a damaged window, which we’ve repaired,’ Cal says, slightly downplaying the incident where an oak tree smashed through the wall and almost squashed us both.

‘And Isla and Luke had a wonderful party,’ I say. ‘No one would ever have known there had been a storm the night before. I’m sure it won’t happen again.’

Ben snorts. ‘I hope not, but you know what the weather’s like down here. We ought to have a plan in case the weather goes tits up.’

‘We’re already working on that,’ says Cal, causing me to break out in goosebumps of panic. We definitely don’t have a plan yet.

‘Yes, there are a number of options we can explore,’ I say. ‘But I’m sure the weather will be kind to us.’

Lily seems reassured and Ben is still grinning about meeting up with his old mate again.

‘We should all go out for a drink together, shouldn’t we, babe?’ he says to Lily.

‘Oh yes. And dinner. Our treat.’

Mawgan’s eyes gleam with delight. ‘That would be fantastic.’

‘Bring Mr Cade,’ Ben says. ‘If there is one.’

Mawgan keeps smiling. I’m amazed her jaw hasn’t broken. ‘There’s no Mr Cade, apart from my dad. Yet.’

‘No? Is there anyone else you want to invite?’ Lily says, slipping her arm around Ben.

‘What about your sister?’ Ben asks, ‘How is she? Still doing all that arty farty stuff?’ Ben asks with a snort.

‘Yes.’ Mawgan forces a smile. ‘She lives with her partner in one of our properties near Truro.’

‘So she’s shacked up with a bloke while you’re still young, free and single, eh? Can’t think why, Mawgs.’

Part of me enjoys seeing Mawgan cringe at Ben’s awkward questions but I have a horrible feeling about what’s coming next.

Mawgan forces a smile. ‘Andi’s partner is a girl, actually.’

‘Andi lives with my cousin, Robyn,’ Cal says, cutting in with a smile even more strained than Mawgan’s. Even though Mawgan went with Robyn and Andi to see their mother in Australia at Christmas, she is obviously still not comfortable with the idea of her sister living with another woman, and a Penwith too.

Mawgan hates Cal for all kinds of reasons but mainly because Cal’s father had an affair with Mawgan’s mum. In Mawgan’s eyes, that caused the break-up of her parents’ marriage and led to Mrs Cade emigrating to Australia. Then there’s the small matter of Cal rejecting Mawgan when they were both young. OK. I get it that Mawgan was devastated by the split and misses her mum, but Cal and I both lost our mothers when we were young. We all have regrets and loss to cope with, but only Mawgan is on a mission to make everyone else’s lives a misery. I wonder how much of this story Ben knows … He seems in awe of Mawgan.

‘Did you say that Andi and Robyn have moved into one of your properties?’ he says, sounding well impressed.

Mawgan smirks. ‘Yes, Cade Developments is quite a big concern these days as I’m sure Demi and Cal will tell you.’ She’s obviously far happier to boast about her business empire than talk about her sister’s girlfriend.

Ben blows out a breath. ‘I always knew you’d get on in life, Mawgs. You never let anyone get one over on you when we were little.’

‘And I always knew you’d be a big star,’ Mawgan simpers. ‘Auntie Georgie used to take us to see him in the local theatre productions during the school holidays,’ she tells Lily.

‘Oh, I’d have loved to have seen him but he’s always been talented. I saw an advert he did for a chocolate bar when he was only around ten. It popped up on a Before They Were Famous show and he looked soooo cute. I bet you could tell me so much about him when he was little.’

Mawgan smiles. ‘I may know a few snippets.’

Ben groans. ‘Don’t start that, Mawgan. We both have a few secrets we’d rather keep hidden.’

‘I’m sure Mawgan is the soul of discretion,’ Cal says smoothly.

Mawgan smirks. ‘As you’ve found out, Cal.’ She turns back to Ben and Lily. ‘We can talk about the old days when we go out for dinner. I can’t wait to catch up with all the gossip, though I’m not sure it’s my dad’s thing to hang out with celebs.’

Lily laughs in delight. ‘What a shame, but the five of us can still have a lovely time: I had no idea that you were all so close and you have to come to the wedding, of course. How cool that you know Cal and Demi too! And I’ll make sure I bring Louie along next time. This whole wedding thing is going to be just awesome.’




CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_7805c803-d991-550b-823a-b84b0706eb78)


Two weeks later – second week of March

Cal

‘I can’t believe that we are going to have to play happy families with Mawgan Cade and Lily and Ben,’ Demi tells me in the kitchen at Kilhallon House. It’s been over two weeks since Ben and Lily descended on us and she’s obviously still fuming about them inviting our arch-enemy to be part of a lunch party. I can’t say I blame her but I’ve other things to lose sleep over.

Demi slaps a piece of dough onto the farmhouse worktop and starts kneading it like it might come to life and attack her at any moment. Puffs of flour fly into the air as she beats it into submission.

She catches me smiling at her. ‘What?’

‘Nothing. Only that I’m mighty glad I’m not that dough.’

‘Well,’ she says, crushing her knuckles into the sticky mass, ‘I wish it was Mawgan Cade. I can’t believe she knows Ben Trevone. And to dare come here to muscle in when she knew they were paying a visit. I wish we could ban her from the wedding.’

‘Handfasting …’

‘Handfasting then. Whatever, I don’t want Mawgan sticking her six-inch leopard-skin boots into it.’

‘I can’t dictate to our guests who they can invite – unless that person is a psychopathic nutcase, of course … which Mawgan does qualify as.’

‘Yes.’ Bash. ‘She.’ Thump. ‘Does.’ Whack.

Wow, she really is giving that dough a working over. It reminds me of my mum. She used to use bread making as therapy when my dad had upset her. Yet at the same time, watching Demi knock seven bells out of that dough is strangely soothing. I never stopped being amazed at how Mum turned a bag of flour, some water and a bit of yeast into light and fluffy loaves. The smell of bread baking makes my mouth water even now. We’d toast it and slather it in butter and homemade raspberry jam from her kitchen garden, or we’d eat blackberry crumble made with berries I’d pick from the hedgerows all around Kilhallon. Me, Luke, Isla … it was a happy, simpler time.

We once studied a book at school where someone said the past is another country, or something like it. It feels so true, especially when I think about what happened in Syria with Soraya and Esme. I wonder where she is, or if she still exists at all in this realm. I shake away my thoughts, returning to the present before I turn maudlin.

‘Maybe you can arrange for the owl to be a huge eagle that will swoop down and carry off Mawgan again instead of the ring …’ I say, trying to lighten the mood for myself as much as Demi.

‘Don’t mention the bloody owl. Where am I going to get an owl from?’ she asks, pummelling the dough even harder.

‘An owl centre?’

She glances up and blows a strand of hair that’s escaped her ponytail out of her eyes. ‘Ha ha! Then again, it’s an idea … hmm. There is a birds of prey centre outside St Ives. I could ask them. Why did you have to mention it? I’ve enough trouble trying to create this “totally natural and thrown-together-at-the-last-minute” wedding arch and flower decoration. The truth is that Lily only wants it to look natural and what she really wants is a fashion shoot recreation of her fantasies! Mind you …’ Her voice takes on a mischievous edge. ‘Since it was your idea to have an owl and you’re the one with the DIY skills, I think you should take charge of caring for the wildlife and the arch construction.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

‘You’re welcome.’ With a smirk, she goes back to kneading with renewed vigour and complaining about Mawgan and owls. If she glanced up from the tabletop, she’d catch me smiling at her. I love the way she tackles any task with a fierce enthusiasm that’s almost comical and yet touching too. I love the way her breasts push together in that old long-sleeved T-shirt. God, I’m shallow but I’m also a man and I’d love to interrupt her bread making now and drag her upstairs to bed.

With that thought, I turn back to my laptop, intending to close the browser, but my eye is drawn to a recent email in my inbox. There among the messages about liability insurance, gas safety checks (yawn) for the cottages and a rogue item asking me if I’d like a much larger erection (I don’t think I could improve on the one I have now, but …) is one that leaps out at me. Its subject line is written in capitals and stops me in my tracks.

PLEASE DON’T GET YOUR HOPES UP …

It comes from someone I rarely hear from nowadays; a good friend who knows that any email from her risks stirring up memories I should have left behind by now. A kind, brave friend who would never send me an email with the word ‘hope’ in it unless that hope was also preceded by a ‘no’.

So to receive an email with the subject line ‘Please Don’t Get Your Hopes Up’ makes my heart rate speed up, my mouth go dry and my hopes soar higher than a gull above the Kilhallon cliffs.

The slap of the dough and the thuds of it being beaten into submission recede when I open the email and read the words from Carolyn, my former boss and a senior manager of the overseas aid charity for whom I used to work.

Hi Cal,

How are you? Still wrestling with rebuilding Kilhallon or is it all up and running now? I hope so. I thought you looked well on it when we saw you in London last autumn, if that’s not too patronising. OK. I guess, by now, the title of this email has you gnashing your teeth and scrolling down for the thing you’re hoping to hear.

But, Cal, I’m going to preface this nugget of news with the same warning as in the subject line, because I know you too well.

So: *PLEASE* don’t get your hopes up.

Promise me?

No, I mouth silently. No, I can’t promise anything where Esme is concerned.

OK. Now that I’ve got the warning over with, even though I know it’s useless to expect you to heed it, I’ll get to the nitty gritty. This is only a glimmer and it may be nothing but as you may have heard, we’ve been able to move back closer to the town where Soraya was killed and Esme was last seen. The refugee camp is as big as ever with new influxes of people daily from other areas but also some of the people who were here when we pulled out. One of my new colleagues was treating a young guy for shrapnel injuries, and called me to give a second opinion. I thought I recognised the guy and when I spoke to him, I realised it was one of Soraya’s extended family, Jaz. You might remember him, because he had a long scar down the side of his face from a shrapnel wound.

He was very grateful and he mentioned you and asked after you. I know you blame yourself for what happened to Soraya but apparently that’s not how her extended family see it. Jaz said they’d been grateful to you for trying to help them. To them Soraya will be considered a martyr and a heroine, which, I know, may not be any comfort to you but …

My stomach turns over. Soraya was a friend of mine, a Syrian nurse who helped me and my colleagues in our work in a refugee camp near the front line. Then I got her involved in smuggling medical supplies and arms to local rebels. As a result of my actions, she ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time and lost her life. I ended up in the hands of insurgents and Soraya’s little girl, Esme, vanished in the chaos of the falling town. Sweat breaks out on my back now and I have to clasp my hands together under the table to stop them from shaking. At Christmas, I finally trusted Demi with the story of what happened to me but since then I’ve tried hard to move on and focus on my life at Kilhallon. I think we both know that I can never move on completely, not until I know what happened to Esme.

I return to Carolyn’s email, feeling sick to my stomach with a mixture of guilt, hope and fear.

I took the opportunity to ask if he had seen Esme, and Jaz said no. He also said that her grandparents hadn’t seen her since that day and that everyone in the immediate family thought she might have died. But then Jaz said that he had heard from friends of his parents who knew the family, and he also said that Esme *might* have been taken in by some of their neighbours and they were headed for Turkey and hoping to reach Greece.

I’m sure you’ve been scouring social media and online tracing services for her. I’ve had a quick look but I’m so busy and I haven’t spotted her or anyone I recognise on there.

Carolyn is right, I have been scouring the sites in every moment of my spare time but I haven’t wanted to let Demi know. She’d only worry about me and it seems selfish to still be focusing on a lost girl when I should have my mind one hundred per cent on the business and on her. But I can’t help myself. If there’s even a chance of finding Esme, I’ll grab it with both hands.

Demi is still kneading the dough into submission and humming along to Radio St Trenyan. I scan the rest of the email.

Cal, I know you will by now be packing your bags to rush to London or even further afield but please, please don’t. Let me try to make some further enquiries and I promise I will send any news – good or bad – the moment I get it. IF I ever hear anything, because this could be another false trail and not have a good outcome. There are thousands – millions – of people displaced and there is still ongoing chaos. Finding Esme could be like finding a needle in a thousand haystacks … but I thought you deserved to hear that there is still a glimmer of hope.

I have to go. It’s been good to have a few moments to write to you and think of home. I think that when my tour here is over, I might be coming back myself.

Until then, take care,

Love, Carolyn x

It’s a minute or so before I can tear my eyes from the email. I let the words sink in before, finally, Demi’s voice brings me back into the room.

‘Of course, they’ve left things way too late and I didn’t expect them to want everything to be organised locally. I thought they’d bring their own wedding planner and a whole pack of stylists …’

‘Sorry?’

Demi stares at me. I feel guilty for not listening. This wedding may seem trivial compared to what I’ve read but it means a lot to her – to Kilhallon – and so it means a lot to me, but I can’t summon up the proper level of enthusiasm at the moment.

Demi puts the dough into a bowl, picks up a tea cloth to wipe some of the scraps off her fingers.

‘You weren’t listening, were you?’ She covers the dough with a tea towel. Her hands are sticky with dough and there’s a floury speck on the end of her pretty nose. She sighs. ‘I don’t blame you. I was having a rant.’

I long to scour the email for any scrap I might have missed but I close the lid of the laptop. I push a strand of her chestnut hair out of her eyes and look down into her eyes. She gazes back at me with a mix of exasperation and lust. At least I hope it’s lust and not fury that I wasn’t listening.

‘You have flour on your nose,’ I tell her.

‘Do I?’

‘Yes.’

‘I can’t do anything until I’ve cleaned my hands. I’m helpless.’

‘Hold on.’ I rub the tip of her nose. ‘And you, Demi Jones, are never helpless and never will be.’

‘Sometimes it suits me to be so.’

‘Yeah. Maybe. It’s me that’s helpless.’

I cradle her chin in my hand like a delicate porcelain cup. She is so fragile yet so strong. Her doughy hands hang by her side. I kiss her, trying to obliterate all thoughts of the email and the memories it stirs in the taste of her mouth. I pull her against me, hoping to crush unhappy memories. Demi deserves better than a man whose mind is on anything but her.

‘Whoa. I can barely breathe.’

She breaks the kiss, though her eyes are shining with pleasure.

‘Sorry.’

I release her but feel her hands on my bum, pulling me back to her, just not quite so tightly.

Her expression changes to one of concern. ‘Everything OK? You didn’t seem to want to let me go.’

‘Do I need a reason to feel like that?’

Although I promised to share my worries with Demi in future, I’m not going to drop this latest news onto her when it may amount to nothing. She has enough on her plate with running the cafe and planning the wedding and helping to write and produce her cookbook with Eva Spero – not to mention she has had a big change in her own family. It’s still early days in her reconciliation with her dad, his partner, her brother and their new baby who arrived at Christmas.

I kiss her again. ‘I don’t need a reason to keep you close to me.’

Demi lets out a giggle. ‘Your bum is all floury.’

Realising what’s happened, I twist around and a puff of flour dust flies into the air. I brush the back of my jeans, and find tiny pieces of sticky dough clinging to the denim and my fingers.

‘You minx!’

She smirks. ‘That’ll teach you to be more interested in your laptop than me.’

‘Believe me, I’d far rather concentrate on you,’ I say. ‘But the park accounts won’t wait. The accountant read me the riot act about getting the figures in early and the family finances have been in such a mess for so many years that I don’t want to let her down again. Polly did her best but we really need to keep a tight rein on the money. We might have to get a bit of help with the admin. Polly has enough to do as it is, managing the bookings and helping with changeovers and guests’ needs. We can cope in the low season, but when Easter comes, we’ll need more help on the camping side and the cafe.’

‘I’m interviewing some seasonal staff for Demelza’s in a few weeks’ time. I need to get this wedding organised. I’m supposed to be going to a wedding fair in a couple of weeks but I can’t wait for that. We need to get a photographer, florist, cake maker, decorations and a band … Some specialists are booked up years ahead and we only have a few months.’

‘I know you can do it,’ I say to reassure her. She still lacks confidence even though I’m convinced she could be UN Secretary General, England football manager and POTUS if she really wanted to. She’d definitely do a better job than any of them. ‘After getting the cafe ready and helping out with the floods, a wedding should be a piece of cake.’

‘I think organising a wedding could be worse than both of those put together. Lily has sent over the guest list and that’s convinced me we need a professional wedding planner or I’ll end up freaking out before the big day.’

‘That sounds like a really good idea.’

‘In theory but I’ve already tried over a dozen within the county and into Devon and almost all of them were already booked for those dates. I interviewed one last week but she seemed very inexperienced. She told me she’d helped to organise some friends’ weddings but she didn’t have a website and only seemed interested in knowing who the couple were. I haven’t told anyone that it’s Ben and Lily until I’m sure we can trust them to be discreet. I even wondered if this woman had already found out their names. Although I’m not sure how she’d got wind of it.’

‘I could suggest a few names …’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Do they include Mawgan Cade?’

‘It’s a good bet, although I’m surprised she’s told people at this stage, when she obviously wants to keep in with Ben and Lily. Quite a few people know – Polly, Jez, the girls from the cafe and your suppliers will have to know. It’ll probably turn out to be the worst-kept secret in Cornwall and these fans have their ways of finding out.’

‘Tell me about it.’ She sighs. ‘There’s one more possibility I’m seeing next week so’— she holds up crossed fingers —‘let’s hope one of them is suitable or I’ll have to look even further afield … I can’t worry about it too much until after Freya’s christening tea on Sunday.’

‘That will be a lot less trouble than the wedding. Is there anything else I can do to help?’

‘Not yet, thanks. I think I’m ready for that: or at least, Demelza’s is. We’ve closed for the day, which will help, and it’s a quiet time of year so I don’t think we’ll miss out. Robyn and Polly are going to lay out the buffet while we’re at the church ready for when we come back and stay to clear up. I’ve made the quiches and tarts and Rachel’s friend has made the cake. I hope it all works out OK but it seemed mad to let Dad and Rachel hire a pub or cafe when Demelza’s could put on as good a spread.’

‘It’ll be even better than anywhere else could do. And I’m here to give a hand any way you want. Happy to put on the apron and Marigolds any time.’

She smiles. ‘It’s not help with the washing up I’ll need. I don’t think I could face the day without you, even though I’m getting to know Dad and Rachel so much better now. I’m relieved that you’re coming to the church.’

‘Of course I’m coming. I’m not suddenly going to bail out and abandon you.’

She smiles in relief. ‘I know you’re not into these big formal family occasions, not that it’ll be that big or really that formal, but I’ll be on show to all our relatives. Some of them haven’t forgiven me for “abandoning my father and choosing to live like a tramp”, according to my horrible Auntie Serena.’

‘I’ll keep her away from you.’ I hug her and try to distract her from the ordeal ahead. ‘How many are you catering for?’

‘I think there’ll be about twenty in total, counting us, some friends and relatives on both sides plus my brother, Kyle, of course. Dad and Rachel wanted to time the christening with him being home on leave from the army. I’m excited about seeing him but also nervous because it’s been a couple of years since I saw him. We weren’t that close at home and while I’m getting used to the idea of being a family again. I’m sure there’ll be people there I haven’t seen for years and who will be on my case for leaving Dad … like Serena.’

Demi mimes a fingers-down-throat action then rolls her eyes. She has my full sympathy where families are concerned but I have to suppress a smile. She manages to look sexy, covered in flour dust and pulling a face. Gently, I pull her down to sit on my lap and she doesn’t object. ‘Demi, Demi, there is no way in the world that I would miss your little sister’s christening or leave you to face the day alone. I will be there, so please stop stressing and try to enjoy it.’

‘Hmm,’ she says, very unconvinced, and I can hardly blame her. The relationship is still at an early stage although I know she adores the baby and is getting to know Rachel and rebuilding bridges with her father. I can well understand that a formal family occasion would freak her out. There are a few of my relations who were less than impressed with me spending most of my time abroad over the past few years, though I don’t care. They have no idea of the full story.

‘Rachel and Gary must be pleased you’re taking care of the catering.’

She brightens. ‘I think so. They’ve only recently moved back into their cottage in the cove and it’s far too small for an event like this.’

‘Considering they were flooded out at Christmas, they’re very lucky to be back in so soon,’ I say, reminding us both of the devastation wreaked on St Trenyan and the surrounding coast by the tidal surge the day before Christmas Eve.

‘The damage wasn’t quite as bad as expected and their insurance company was one of the ones that paid out quickly, unlike some.’ She strokes my arm idly, leaving tiny traces of flour on the brushed cotton of my shirt. ‘Thanks for sparing some time to help with the repair work. It meant a lot to them to move out of Rachel’s cousin’s flat and get back into their own place and start enjoying life with Freya.’

‘I didn’t mind at all. It’s lucky that your dad is an electrician and has so many mates in the trade who could lend a hand.’

‘It also helps that he’s been off the booze he took to after my mum died. Starting up his own business has been really good for him …’ Demi toys with the top button of my shirt, unbuttoning it absent-mindedly but making me shift in my seat. This conversation is going to end with both of us in bed if she stays here much longer. Surely that would a good thing for both of us, not that I need any excuse to take her to bed at any time. ‘Even though I’ve spent more time with them all and things are going well with Dad, I can’t help feeling nervous about Sunday.’

‘You’ll be absolutely fine. It’s tough to rebuild relationships with family you thought you’d never see again for one reason or another but Demelza’s is fresh territory and you’re all making a new start.’ I rub my hand along her thigh, enjoying the feel of her shapely bottom in my lap. ‘And let’s look on the bright side: any social occasion that doesn’t include Mawgan Cade has to be a bonus.’




CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_cab8941f-6072-53e4-8e2e-44187e288e59)


Two weeks later

Demi

‘Come in, out of this bitterly cold wind. Who’d ever think it was the first day of spring? Oh, let me see the babe. She’s turning into such a little poppet. Such a lovely name too. Classic … nothing made-up or daft like some have now, and the shawl is beautiful. Reminds me of one my grandma made for me back in the day.’

Rachel glows with pride as Polly coos over Freya Penelope, who is now fast asleep, her little pink face nestled in a lacy bundle of wool. One hand has escaped her wrappings and her tiny fingers are curled around a scrap of shawl as if she knows it’s been made just for her and she’ll never let it go.

Cal was right. This social occasion doesn’t involve Mawgan Cade and it’s been way more enjoyable than I expected. So what if the leading lady was a bit of a drama queen when St Trenyan’s vicar, affectionately known as Rev Bev, poured water over her head? One of the christening guests told me it’s considered lucky if the baby cries at that moment. In that case, Freya should go on to win the lottery several times over.

‘I bet you could hear her howls from the harbour,’ I whisper to Cal, following the christening party out of the raw March afternoon into the warmth of Demelza’s. Despite the cutting wind, Kilhallon seems to have burst into life since Ben and Lily’s visit a few weeks ago. The sunnier hedgerows are already dotted with yellow primroses and the copse is studded with little white flowers that Polly told me are wood anemones.

Rachel’s sister and cousin did the honours as godmothers while Kyle acted as Freya’s godfather. I didn’t mind not being asked. I’m not religious and also I think Dad knew that I wouldn’t want the spotlight on me in such a public way. I’m far more comfortable handling the venue and catering – and most of all, I’m just so happy to be Freya’s big sister.

I watched Kyle taking on the role of godfather in quiet amazement. It’s been almost three years and he’s shot up: he’s a good few inches taller than Dad, and even a bit taller than Cal. Even though he’s in a suit, you can tell he’s in the army from the way he stands very upright and proud, with his shoulders back. His tawny hair is cropped short and his tanned cheeks are chiselled from all the exercise and drills. I have also never seen his shoes more shiny: when he was young, Mum could never get him out of his battered old Converses or trainers.

We didn’t have much time to chat at the church as we were a little late arriving but managed a quick word and a hug while a few photos were taken in the church porch. Now we’re back at the cafe, I’m hoping to catch up some more with Kyle.

Cal starts taking people’s coats and I head to the kitchens to make sure Polly and Robyn are OK with laying out the buffet. All the staff have had the afternoon off.

Polly practically bundles me out of the kitchen. ‘No, Demi, you’re not coming in here today.’

‘Polly’s so right,’ Robyn adds, words I never thought I’d hear from her as she’s generally not our blunt PA’s biggest fan. ‘You’re going to relax and enjoy the party. You must have so many people to catch up with, especially Kyle. He’s quite cute, if he was my thing, that is.’

‘Ha ha,’ I say. ‘Are you sure I can’t help out with the tea and coffee? Have the ovens been OK? Because I was worried you’d have trouble with the temperature control. They’re so different to the Aga.’

‘Demi. Get out of here!’ Polly and Robyn chime in unison and Robyn virtually frogmarches me into the cafe area. The truth is that I’d feel far more comfortable in the kitchen or behind the serving counter than making small talk and facing family I haven’t spoken to for years. Some of them nodded at me at the church and an auntie on Dad’s side gave me a hug but I keep thinking that they’re muttering about me.

After all, I did walk out on Dad, and for weeks at a time I didn’t even tell him I was safe. I must have caused him a lot of worry, even though I felt hurt and ignored by him at the time, while we were both grieving for my mum. I don’t think some of my lot can cope with having a relative who was voluntarily homeless for a while.

Helped by Cal, Polly and Robyn bring the platters of food into the cafe and start serving glasses of wine and hot drinks. I feel like a spare part, watching other people do my job and not knowing quite what to say to anyone but Freya, except she’s asleep in her buggy at the moment so I can’t even go and cuddle her.

I take a large gulp of wine and wonder if I dare slip into the kitchens again but spot Rachel make a beeline for me. She’s wearing a pretty shift dress and hot pink cardigan that shows off her slim figure. Close up, under her make-up, she also looks tired but that’s what you’d expect from someone with the worry of moving home and Freya to deal with. I think she’s in her late thirties although her clothes and make-up make her look younger. She’s at least ten years younger than my dad and she’s known him and me since before I left home.

In fact, Rachel was one of the reasons I walked out. We didn’t hit it off immediately but she’s been making an effort to be friendly since Christmas. I’m ashamed to say I don’t know why I hated her so much, apart from the fact she wasn’t my mum. When Dad asked her to move in, I saw it as the final insult and left. Rachel must have taken it personally, but really, the main reason we became estranged was all about my dad and me. The damage had been done long before Rachel even came on the scene. I’m determined not to bring bad memories up today and even if I can’t forget how I once felt about her ‘taking Mum’s place’, I’d never dream of spoiling her or Freya’s day.

Rachel arrives at my side. ‘Demi? This food is fantastic. Thanks so much for doing this. I couldn’t have coped with this tribe at the cottage. It’s great to have a professional take care of everything.’

‘Thanks. I only planned the menu and prepared it; Polly and Robyn have done a lot of the work while we were at the church.’

‘This can’t be easy,’ she adds in a low voice. ‘Even though we’ve been getting to know one another again, this is the first time we’ve all gone public. I know your dad was nervous about it and I have to be honest, so was I.’

‘Really?’ I take another gulp of wine.

‘I’d be on the wine myself if I wasn’t feeding Freya.’

I laugh. ‘It’s OK. It’s not been as bad as I expected. Oh shit. I didn’t mean I expected it to be bad, only that I didn’t know how I’d react to a full-on family reunion. Arghh. I’ve put my foot in it already.’

She smiles. ‘Hey, I’ll let you into a secret. A few of your dad’s family and mine aren’t thrilled with me supposedly stepping into your mum’s shoes, moving in with an older man and having a baby with him. Your Auntie Serena’s made no secret of the fact she thinks I’m a bit of a slapper.’

‘Auntie Serena has always been a nasty piece of work,’ I say, sliding at a look at the crow-like woman dressed like she’s going to a funeral, sniffing one of my savoury rosemary scones with suspicion. ‘She seems jealous of anyone who’s happy or successful. Mum couldn’t stand her either.’

‘We had no choice but to ask her, she was your mum’s great auntie.’

‘It’s fine. It’s your – Freya’s – day and I’ll keep out of Serena’s way.’ I don’t want to have a “mishap” with a smoothie or a glass of wine, I think, as I have had with Mawgan Cade in the past.

‘Come and have your photo taken with Kyle and Freya now we’re in the warm. It would be lovely to have a picture of the three of you together.’

Grateful for Rachel’s efforts to make me feel comfortable, I join Kyle, Rachel and Dad for a family photo, even though I feel a bit like a cuckoo in the nest. It’s definitely a situation I could never have imagined six months ago.

As I see people admiring the place and praising the buffet, I can’t help a warm glow of pride myself. I’m glad I suggested holding the christening tea at Demelza’s. After we’ve posed for some photos by the cake that Rachel’s cousin made, the sound of corks popping from the servery startles Freya. She throws her tiny arms out and opens her huge blue eyes for a few seconds. Her lips part and everyone holds their breath waiting for her to let out a wail but then she settles back into a snuffly sleep. Rachel puts her in her Moses basket while Cal hands round glasses of Prosecco and Robyn distributes the cake.

‘I hope no one minds me doing this but I’d like to propose a toast,’ Cal says, holding his glass up. ‘To Freya Penelope. Wishing her a long and very happy life!’

Everyone raises their glasses and echoes his words, even Auntie Serena manages to lift her glass of orange juice a few inches.

‘And I’d like to congratulate her parents, Gary and Rachel, on producing such a beautiful daughter, and Demi and Kyle on their new sister. Wishing you every happiness,’ Cal adds.

People raise their glasses again. My dad steps forward, shuffling nervously. He clears his throat and the room hushes in anticipation. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dad give a speech and my palms feel damp with nerves at what he might say.

‘Thanks for the kind words, Cal. And thank you all for coming to welcome Freya into the world. She knows how to time her entrance: on the day after Boxing Day during the great storm that caused so much heartache and flooded our cottage.

‘Now I’m sure there are many on St Trenyan who wouldn’t agree with this but every cloud does have a silver lining. If it hadn’t been for that flood, we wouldn’t be standing here now, enjoying this fantastic spread and the hospitality of Demi and Cal.’

Under my cardigan, my arms break out in goosebumps. Dad’s going to say something … about me – I know he is and I don’t know if I can handle it.




CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_6eafc99e-4e95-5c24-9cb3-7770731735fe)


‘Demi will probably hate me drawing attention to her like this and, love,’ he looks straight at me, ‘it’s not easy for me to say it, either, but the ill wind that brought that storm was one of the better things that’s happened to me lately. It’s no use me pretending that things have been smooth in my family since Penny died …’

Rachel’s arm slips through Dad’s. He pauses and when he goes on his voice is shaky.

‘But then I met Rachel and she helped bring back the light into my life.’

There are a few ‘ohs’ and quiet murmurs of support from my cousins and a family friend. Kyle stands up straighter and his lips are set in a line as if he’s trying to suppress any emotion.

A hand rests lightly on the small of my back. Cal knows instinctively that this situation is tough for me, even if I know Dad had to get things off his chest. I don’t know what I’d do without Cal sometimes and that realisation makes me feel exposed and raw. Letting down my guard and allowing myself to care about people again has been terrifying at times. It’s as if I’m being swept along by a current, unable to stop myself even though I want to.

‘As you know, Rachel, Freya and myself were forced out of our cottage by the floods on Christmas Eve,’ Dad goes on. ‘We were sleeping on the floor of the community hall and due to circumstances, we had nowhere to go. You could say we were homeless. Even though we knew we’d eventually have a place to go, for a few days, we experienced how that felt and it wasn’t an experience we’d care to repeat. We thought we’d be spending our Christmas on the floor of that hall.’

Rachel looks down at the floor and back up again, her eyes suspiciously bright.

‘Anyway, chance brought us in the way of Demi and Cal and, cutting a very long story short, they put us up here at Kilhallon, as you know. Family life is a shaky business at times, to say the least. We’ve had more than our share of rocks that we’ve foundered on. I’ve not been the best skipper, to use a seafaring phrase, and I’ve run my own ship onto the rocks in the past and my crew has suffered.’

I see a few gentle sympathetic smiles, but I’m digging my nails in my palm. Cal’s hand now rests at my waist. I grip the stem of my glass tightly. The people in front of me swim in and out of focus. My nose itches but I must not cry.

‘But we’re in sight of the harbour again now,’ Dad goes on. ‘We’re safe and in our home and thanks to the flood, I have all my girls and my son with me for the first time in way too long. I’m thankful for that …’ His words are racing by as his nerves get the better of him. I half want his speech to be over too, though I know he had to say these words and I needed to hear them.

He raises his glass and declares, ‘To my family. Rachel, Demi, Kyle and Freya. Thank you and good health and happiness to you all.’

He lifts his glass to his lips, takes a sip then puts it on the desk. While everyone is toasting us all, Dad sits down and Rachel kisses him.

‘Are you OK?’ Cal whispers.

‘Hmmghh.’ It’s all I can manage.

Freya suddenly lets out a loud yawn and everyone laughs.

‘She’s letting me know what she thinks of my speech,’ Dad says. ‘Good job I left it there.’

People laugh in relief and normal chatter resumes.

Kyle joins us. ‘I’m glad we’re all together again, even if it has been a tough journey. Would be good to have a proper catch-up while I’m on leave.’

‘How long are you back for?’

‘Only this week. Then it’s back to Catterick for my unit before we’re deployed to Cyprus for six months. I’m a corporal now,’ he says, proudly.

‘Wow, you’ve done well. Dad said you’d done two tours of Afghanistan over the past few years. That must have been tough.’

‘It wasn’t a walk in the park but my mates helped me through.’

I know he’s downplaying how horrible it must have been … and dangerous. I suppress a shudder. ‘I wish I’d known exactly where you were. I’d have called you and written to you.’

‘No, you don’t. Dad worried about me enough, I didn’t need you fretting about me day and night. It’s history now and I’m going into a training role soon so I’ll at least be in the same country for the foreseeable future.’ He pauses. ‘I’m sorry I pissed off to the army and abandoned you and Dad. It was a cowardly thing to do but I couldn’t handle Mum going and I definitely couldn’t handle the way Dad reacted. I know you were cut up by it and you needed me, but I left you. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s water under the bridge now. We all did what we had to to survive.’

He smiles at me. ‘Mum used to say that.’

‘What?’

‘Water under the bridge. You said it the exact same way.’

‘I didn’t realise.’

‘Shh. Don’t go slushy on me. You’ve been busy too. Look at this place. It’s pretty cool. Rachel said you built and got it off the ground yourself.’

I laugh. ‘Not with my bare hands. Cal put up the money but he let me have free rein with designing and running it.’

‘It’s great. Don’t you think this …’ he says, taking in the room with a glance ‘… is weird? The Joneses coming together as a family again after everything that happened to us?’

‘It’s very weird.’

He puts his arm around me and gives me a brief hug, then he’s back in Kyle mode. ‘Right, I’m starving. D’you think anyone will mind if I have another beer and second helpings of the food? They don’t feed me properly in the army.’

‘That’s not true. I heard you get fed all day long. But yes, help yourself.’

I take a deep breath, happy to have cleared the air a little with Kyle. Cal opens a beer for him and they start talking. Auntie Serena is saying goodbye to my dad at the door after showing her face, so we can all relax now. I sip my wine, and the tension slowly ebbs from my body. I got through today and there’s hope ahead. Clouds are clearing over the sea and spring is definitely on its way.

‘The view from here’s amazing. I’ve a better chance to appreciate it today. My mind was on other things when we were here for Christmas dinner.’ Rachel smiles.

‘It was cosy in here at Christmas but I think Demelza’s is at its best on a bright day like this,’ I say, moving over to the window with her. A few friends and family are enjoying the view too and some have ventured outside though they’re wrapped up well against the wind. The swell is up and the Atlantic topped with white caps but the sun is out and the promise of spring is in the air. ‘The location is our biggest selling point, even if we’re a little out of the way, people will make the effort to come here for the view. The customers love it, even in a storm. Especially in a storm.’ I wince. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that storms are a selling point.’

She laughs. ‘We both know they’re a hazard of living down here. You know that we moved into Porthleven temporarily after we left Kilhallon? Some days the waves were as high as the clock tower. The locals had to time getting in and out of the inn at the edge of the harbour in between the massive breakers. It’s a wonder some didn’t get swept away and most of them were drenched anyway.’

I shiver. ‘How’s the work going on your place?’

‘Coming on thanks to Gary’s mates and help from Cal. We can’t decorate properly downstairs until the plaster’s dried out a bit more, but upstairs is fine and we’re mostly living up there. It’s our own home again and that’s what matters. Not that I wasn’t grateful to come here and for my cousin’s flat, but you know what it’s like … nowhere’s as good as your own place. I wouldn’t like to be homeless for long.’ She giggles and slaps her forehead with her palm. ‘Now I’ve put my foot in it.’

It’s almost funny, the way we’re dancing round each other, trying not to say the wrong thing. Now that I’ve got to know Rachel better, seeing her with Dad is becoming more normal and easier to handle. Looking back to when she first came on the scene in Dad’s life, she was never particularly horrible to me, but we both used to rub each other up the wrong way. It can’t have been easy for her to have a teenager in the house who hated her guts and thought she’d tried to take her mum’s place.

‘It’s way better for us all that I have my own home now.’ Heat rises up my neck at the memory of things I said about Rachel to my dad. ‘And I love working here and having my own business. I’ve earned a small sum from the publishers for my cookbook and I’m investing that in the cafe.’

‘Your dad told me about your book. That’s a great achievement.’

‘I haven’t finished writing it yet. Although I come up with a lot of the recipes, Eva Spero and her team develop them further and refine them. I don’t have time to write every word. The publisher is going to arrange the photography.’

‘You should still be proud of what you’ve done, as your dad says. To be honest, I’ll have to go back to work sooner or later. We need the money, especially now we have Freya and the insurance didn’t cover all the damage. There have been other costs that we’ve just had to cover, but I’m not complaining.’

‘Will you go back to your old job at Trevarrian Estate?’

Rachel pulls a face. ‘I don’t think so. I enjoyed working there but I’ve discussed things with your dad and decided that having Freya could be a new start for us all. I don’t mind working hard but I’d like more flexibility so that Gary and I can share the childcare, with my parents’ help. Besides, I already felt I was ready to do more than work in the admin office. I’d been doing it a long time.’

I have to admit, the idea of my dad sharing the childcare for a newborn is more than I can process.

‘What will you do?’

She looks slightly embarrassed. ‘I was thinking of offering my services as a virtual PA to companies. Lots of small businesses can’t afford to hire a full-time staff and I have so much experience running the office at the estate. Trevarrian may look like a grand stately home and the owners are charming but they’re also totally scatty and eccentric. I ended up doing everything from making sure the roof didn’t fall down to organising clay-pigeon shooting and corporate dinners.’

‘Sounds like you were very busy.’

‘I worked very long hours and the pay wasn’t great, though Lord Trevarrian was fun to work for. With a few decent clients, I think I can earn almost as much and spend more time with Freya.’ She holds up crossed fingers. ‘Trevarrian might let me do some freelance work too but I need other customers. Who knows, it might be a disaster but after seeing how you and Cal have turned Kilhallon around, I feel inspired.’

‘Me? An inspiration?’

‘Yeah. You made me think I should go for what I want.’

Rachel hugs me briefly but warmly and my throat goes scratchy.

There’s a wail from Freya’s Moses basket. Freya is very red in the face and clenching her fists. She’s also doing what Nana Demelza would have called ‘chuntering’. Her face has gone very red and I think she’s about to wake up – and make a lot of noise.

Rachel winces. ‘Oh dear. I think she’s filling her nappy.’

I glance down at my savoury scone topped with local ham and piccalilli and find my appetite has gone.

‘I’ll have to change her. Can I use your customer loo?’

‘Course you can. In fact, I’ll help you.’

Rachel wrinkles her nose. ‘Are you sure you want to do that? Freya’s dirty nappy in a confined space isn’t the most pleasant prospect.’

‘I’ll put a peg on my nose and, after all, she is my sister so I’d better get used to helping out when I can.’

‘On your head be it,’ Rachel replies with a laugh. ‘Although I hope it won’t come to that.’

‘It’s fine,’ I say, already closing my nostrils. With an idea forming in my mind, I follow Rachel into the toilets, carrying Freya’s changing bag.

While I help Rachel, I chat a bit more about the idea for her business.

‘Did you say you were in charge of the events at Trevarrian?’





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