Later that morning, the WhatsApp messages started. First it was Hugh, singing Charlie’s praises and saying his pub had been busier last night than he’d seen it in a long time, though understandably it had emptied out just before the fireworks. Amanda and Paul had nothing but praise, and Stella and Anton had received three new booking enquiries for the B&B that morning. Even Myrtle had got in on the act: A very fitting solstice event. Thank you. A genuine thank you – Charlie couldn’t believe it! But, she had also hastened to point out in her reply that Daniel was responsible for a lot of it. She couldn’t take all the credit for the way people had flocked to Porthgolow as the sun started to set, even though Seb’s crowd of chilled-out twenty-somethings had been down to her.
There was no reply from Daniel, which, Charlie thought, was unusual for a man who wasn’t shy about throwing his weight around. But she didn’t have too long to mull over it, because the comments and enquiries she’d had since last night were going to keep her busy for the rest of the week.
Her fledgling idea was spreading its wings and she was already adapting it, thinking how to root it, firmly, in Porthgolow culture. Last night, with the added entertainment and the summer solstice background, it had definitely been a festival. But without those, it was more like a weekly food market. Something people could drop in on to simply pick up lunch, or spend the whole day at, browsing the stalls, enjoying the tastes and smells and spending time on the beach. If she promoted it like that, she thought it would build up more of a regular customer base, locals who knew they could come and get something a bit different, as well as attracting tourists.
Charlie updated the village WhatsApp group and let her fellow vendors know. The Porthgolow Food Market. It had a great ring to it, and she hoped that, before too long, it would be known across the whole of Cornwall.
The following Saturday the weather was even hotter, and Charlie, Juliette and Lawrence were on the beach early to help every food truck manoeuvre into the right space. Marmite danced about their feet, and while her friends laughed each time they almost fell face-first into the sand, Charlie ended up putting him in his crate.
‘You can come out later,’ she said, ‘once you’ve calmed down.’ Now all she needed to do was follow her own advice. The bus was gleaming, her scones, cakes and pastries were fresh and raring to go, and she had double the number of food trucks taking part today. There was already a buzz on social media, and there was no reason to suspect anything would go wrong. But she was still running on nerves.
Everything started off well. George in the Mexican burrito van, Megu and her Japanese food truck and The Travelling Cornish Pasty Shack, run by twins called Rachel and Andie, all greeted her warmly and then acted like old hands, helping some of the newcomers find their feet. Charlie focused on getting vehicles in the right places, and then on her bus. She’d been more ambitious with her cream teas this week, working out how to cook miniature chocolate fondants in Gertie’s on-board oven.
The sun baked down on Porthgolow beach and, even before the official opening time, there were people wandering among the stalls. Jeremy and Delia, who lived in the road behind Juliette and who had become semi-regulars on her bus over the last few weeks, ordered a Cornish cream tea for two and went to sit in their favourite spot on the top deck.
Everything was as it should be. The smells were as tantalising as ever, no village meetings had been called, and there were groups of friends taking it in turns to be in a picture with Gertie, each photographer having to crouch and angle the shot so that her red, gleaming bulk fitted into the frame.
Charlie served and wiped down tables, swaying along to the music from the Turkish kebab stall, which added a jaunty soundtrack to the event. There were people further down the sand, stripping to their swimming costumes and running into the waves, and the queue for the ice-cream van snaked out of sight. Charlie found she was chatting and laughing more than she had done in months. Who couldn’t fail to be happy on a day like this, working at an event that was providing so much pleasure?
She was assessing her stock levels, wondering whether she needed to make more sandwiches or text Juliette to ask for a hand over lunchtime, when voices close to the open window drifted through to reach her. She’d been hearing snippets of conversation all day: what was showing at Truro cinema and whether it was a crime to go when the weather was so glorious; could two friends get away with swimming in their underwear or would they have to go home and get changed; should Geraint have the double-stack cheeseburger or the New York deli cheeseburger? Charlie had been entertaining herself by silently answering their questions – she had just managed to stop herself suggesting Geraint had a cream tea instead.
But these voices were different. They didn’t sound light or carefree, they sounded annoyed. The hairs prickled on the back of Charlie’s neck. She stayed crouched next to the fridge, and as she listened to their conversation she stiffened, her mouth drying out. She could barely believe what she was hearing.
Chapter Fifteen
‘You have to admit it’s grand, Rose.’ It was a man speaking, slightly gruff, his low timbre suggesting he wasn’t that young. And Charlie knew exactly who Rose was.
‘Think what all these cars are doing to the roads, Frank. Crumbling Cliff will be fallin’ into the sea in no time. Then there’s the pollution, the noise. Not to mention the poor beach. It’s all sufferin’. What about my ma’s afternoon nap? How can anyone get any rest with all this goin’ on?’
Rose was about Myrtle’s age, which meant she was over fifty. Charlie wondered how old her mother was, and felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of ruining her nap. But then Frank spoke again.
‘Oh well, maybe Daniel was right. It won’t last long. A flash in the pan, that’s what ’ee said. A few weeks and the maid’ll be gone, scatterbrain that she is. She’s already changed the name of it – festival or food market, what difference does it make? No, she’ll soon be off again, back home or somewhere else with this bloody great thing.’ Charlie heard him pound his hand against the side of the bus. It was as loud as her heart thumping in her ears.
‘A flash in the pan,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Scatterbrain?’ She imagined Daniel giving the villagers a lecture at the meeting last week – or had he said all this since then? ‘Don’t worry, everybody. Humour her for a little while; she’ll soon be gone.’ Was that what he had been doing? Rage fired through her, hotter than the heat of the day, but Rose and Frank weren’t done yet.
‘Weren’t you here having a cream tea yerseln’ last Saturday?’ Rose asked.
‘I was,’ Frank admitted, sighing. ‘And it was great. But,’ he added quickly, and Charlie imagined the daggers Rose was giving him over her silver-rimmed glasses, ‘if Daniel’s going to be doing cream teas on a Saturday, then we won’t feel the loss of this place.’
‘Daniel’s just as bad,’ Rose said. ‘Young yuppie comin’ in and swaggering about as if he owns the village.’
‘But Crystal Waters isn’t going anywhere, is it?’ Frank said. ‘May as well make the most of it. Now, are you off home?’
‘In a bit,’ Rose replied. ‘Goin’ to pick my ma up some fudge, and mebbe take a look at those Cornish pasties.’
‘I wanted to look at the tea stall, see about getting some of that Cornish blend. Truro’s the closest place other than here. I could stock up if this is all going to be ending soon.’
‘Let’s go there first, as that’s the closest one,’ Rose said. ‘Just over here, past the curry place. Don’t those spices smell amazin’?’
Charlie waited a few minutes for Frank’s reply, but it didn’t come and she realized they had gone. Off to enjoy the food market they hated so much and couldn’t wait to get rid of. She stood and dusted down her skirt, the anger bubbling inside her. Never mind Rose and Frank’s hypocrisy, how dare Daniel be supportive to her face while he was plotting her downfall with the villagers? Did he really think she was scatterbrained? She had done nothing to warrant that insult. And as for him addi
ng cream teas to his menu to spite her, she—
‘Excuse me, but would we be able to sit down?’
Charlie turned to find a boy of about fifteen looking at her with alarm. She tried to soften her glare.
‘God, yes. Sorry – I was miles away. I think there are a couple of tables upstairs if you’d prefer the view? Here are some menus.’
‘Th-thank you.’ He took them from her, then almost ran back down the aisle of the bus.
Charlie leant against the counter and closed her eyes. She couldn’t let them get the better of her. She didn’t mind so much about the older villagers, but after all Daniel had said and done, she wasn’t prepared to let him get away with it.
When she finally locked Gertie up and went round the other stalls, thanking everyone for a great event, her feet were throbbing and there was a persistent ache in her lower back. She should feel overjoyed at the success of her second week, but all she could think about was what she had overheard.
‘You look like you could do with a cocktail,’ Oliver said, as she reached The Marauding Mojito. He seemed as relaxed as ever, despite the sweat on his brow and the detritus of lime peel and mint leaves around him, showing that his day had been as busy as hers.
‘I would love to, Ollie, but I’ve got to go and see someone.’
‘Oh. Anyone important?’ He came down from the truck.
‘Just …’ She couldn’t tell him about Daniel, or why what he’d said had made her so mad. ‘I need to clear something up.’
‘Of course,’ Oliver said, his smile faltering. ‘But I’ll see you again next week?’
‘Definitely! Next Saturday. The Porthgolow food market is here to stay.’ If she’d been determined before, then she was absolutely adamant about it now.
‘Want to get together sometime soon when we’re not working? I could show you this place I know near Helford, or the Eden Project grounds are great this time of year.’
‘They both sound lovely. Thank you.’ She kissed his cheek.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said, squeezing her arm. ‘Bye, Marmite.’
The walk up the hill was a struggle, the heat lingering long into the evening, but after a day spent mostly in the cab, Marmite almost bounced to the top of the cliff, and Charlie was spurred on by her dog’s enthusiasm and her own anger. She arrived at the retreat with sweat pooling down her spine, her cheeks hot from the exertion. Walking into reception was like being wrapped in a cool blanket, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Charlie, hi,’ Lauren said. ‘How can I help?’ She was looking at her curiously, and Charlie wondered if the rage was beaming out of her pores like some kind of aura.
‘Is Daniel here? I need to talk to him.’
Lauren glanced at her watch, and Charlie realized that, this late on a Saturday, he might well be somewhere else, enjoying a night out with friends, crowing at how he’d duped the woman who’d arrived in his village with nothing but good intentions and a hearty dose of gullibility.
‘I think he’s still in the office,’ Lauren said. ‘Let me check.’
‘Thank you.’ Charlie shut her eyes for a moment, weariness taking the place of her fading adrenalin, and opened them to find Daniel standing in front of her.
‘Hello.’ His eyes swept over her. ‘How are you?’
‘Can we talk?’ She kept her voice calm. She didn’t want Lauren eavesdropping on their conversation, even though she wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t been doing exactly that herself. But Rose and Frank had been standing right next to her bus – what had she been supposed to do? Put her hands over her ears and sing ‘la la la’?
‘Sure,’ Daniel said, frowning. ‘Want to come into my office?’
‘That would be good, thanks.’ She was conscious of how she must look, red-faced and sweaty, while he was cool and composed and perfectly at home.
‘Isn’t Marmite with you?’
‘I tied him up outside. There’s a bowl of water, but …’ She trailed off. She should have taken him home first, but she wasn’t planning on staying long.
‘Don’t leave him out there – bring him in.’
‘Daniel,’ Lauren said. ‘I don’t think—’
‘It’s fine, Lauren. He can come into the office. It’s much cooler in there.’
‘That would be great.’ Charlie rushed outside and untied Marmite, reminding herself that Daniel was a master of charm. She couldn’t let his show of kindness sway her.
Back inside, Daniel led the way behind the reception desk and into his office. He closed the door behind them.
It had no walnut cupboards or shark tank in the floor, as far as she could see. It was small and neat, with white walls and a pine desk. There was a noticeboard pinned with various letters and leaflets, and a photo in the bottom corner of Jasper, Daniel’s German shepherd, as a chunky puppy with his tongue hanging out. A peace lily sat on the desk, and a blue fabric sofa was pushed up against one wall. The high window looked out on the car park, which Charlie thought was a shame when there was such a spectacular view on the other side of the hotel.
‘Do you want some water?’ Daniel asked, taking Marmite gently out of Charlie’s arms and settling him on the sofa. He gestured for her to sit next to her dog.
‘I’m … uh,’ she managed, torn between her raging desire for a cool drink and her need to be strong in the face of his gallantry.
Daniel nodded. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’
Charlie sat next to Marmite and stroked him while he chewed the arm of the sofa. She chided him gently, but the dog kept going and she felt a small stab of satisfaction.
‘Here you are,’ Daniel said, returning with a jug and two glasses. ‘You look like you need it.’
‘I’m fine,’ she snapped, but she took the glass and drained it in a single gulp.
Daniel settled into his chair, wheeled it round to face her, and rested his hands on his stomach. His brows were knitted together, but his mouth was twitching as if he was trying to suppress a smile.
‘How can I help you, Charlie?’
‘You didn’t come to the food market today. Why was that?’
‘I’ve been busy here. Saturdays are one of our main check-in days. Did you expect me to come every week?’
‘I bet you’ve been planning your new afternoon teas, too, haven’t you? So you can take over once my “scatterbrain” events peter out. You must have been so pleased when you thought of it; letting me have a few Saturdays on the beach, then filling the void with your upmarket menu once I’d run out of puff.’
Daniel took her glass and refilled it, then pressed it gently back into her grasp. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said calmly. ‘But something’s obviously pissed you off and you’ve decided I’m the punch bag.’
‘Of course you are! You said I was a scatterbrain, that my food markets weren’t going to last and that you were going to start serving cream teas in your hotel.’
‘When exactly did I say all this?’ He leaned back and folded his arms. He’d stopped even trying to hide his smile now, which only made Charlie’s heart race faster.
‘I don’t know! But Rose and Frank were talking about it, right outside Gertie. How ridiculous it was that I’d started calling it a food market instead of a festival, and how they were going to run out of steam and you were waiting to take over once I’d gone back home with my bloody bus!’
Daniel stared at her, and then started laughing. He leaned forward and tried to put his hand on her arm, but Charlie pushed herself into the sofa, away from him.
‘How can you find this funny?’
‘Because it is,’ Daniel said. ‘Rose and Frank got the wrong end of the stick, that’s all. It got lost in translation.’
‘Explain.’
Daniel raised an eyebrow at her sharp tone. ‘Gladly. I was in The Seven Stars the other night, and bumped into a friend, Evan, who lives in the next village over. I mentioned the food market – which seems an entirely valid thing to call it, by the w
ay – and, in an attempt to encourage him to get his backside along to the next one, said that you didn’t live in the area, so I didn’t know how long they would last, and that he’d better come while he could.’
Charlie digested that, and nodded. ‘I was hoping the markets would continue after I’ve left Porthgolow. But that’s only going to happen if everyone’s behind them.’
‘You’re not staying?’ Daniel took a sip of water.
‘I don’t know how long I’ll be here. I can’t live with Juliette and Lawrence for ever, can I?’ She couldn’t seem to moderate her tone and Daniel held a hand up in submission.
‘I was only asking,’ he said. ‘I promise I have never called you a scatterbrain. I may have called you a few other things – I’d had a few beers by this time, which is why I didn’t realize I was being listened to so intently – but never scatterbrain.’
‘What did you call me?’
‘What else are you accusing me of?’ There was an edge to his voice now, and she wondered whether this was about to escalate into a full-scale argument. She wasn’t sure she had the energy for that.
‘The fact that you said you were going to start serving cream teas here, at the hotel, in direct competition with me.’
Daniel sighed. ‘I’m not sure whether to nominate those two for troublemakers – or idiots – of the year. I was annoyed by the WhatsApp love-in the other day, the fact that you were getting all the credit for the solstice festival.’
‘I made sure that I gave you the credit, I—’
‘Let me finish, Charlie. I was pissed off, I was a bit drunk, and I told Evan I was going to start making a feature of afternoon teas at the hotel. We already serve them, but they can’t compete with yours. Our view looks over the sea, you’re right on the beach. The restaurant here is pretty smart, you’re on a vintage double-decker bus with all its charms and trappings. Is it your sole purpose in life to make me admit my weaknesses to you?’ He looked irritated, suddenly. Tired and irritated. Charlie couldn’t blame him; it was after eight o’clock on a summery, Saturday night and she had forced him into his shoebox office to have a go at him.
The Cornish Cream Tea Bus Page 15
