A Perfect Cornish Escape

by Phillipa Ashley

  However, there were compensations. At least she was occupied, earning a little money and the working environment was an absolute stunner. She’d been amazed at the effect the sea and wild moorland had on her, forcing her to stand and stare in a way she could never have done in London.

  She’d even pulled over a few times, simply to breathe in the fresh air and the views even if it did mean she was late. And, she thought wickedly, she could always blame the potato lorries …

  ‘Tiff?’

  Marina’s voice penetrated her musings.

  ‘Sorry?’

  Marina stood up, gloved hands on hips. ‘Are you ready to put the plants in?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I was miles away.’

  While Marina filled the other pots with compost, Tiff planted the geraniums, and told Marina about the results of her other mission: the auction lots.

  ‘It’s not been as easy as I thought to find anything decent. Of course, if I was in London, I’d just pick up the phone or take a few people to lunch, but I don’t know the clients here well enough yet. I … um … did manage to get some vouchers for a bikini wax, a mackerel fishing trip and a photography workshop.’

  ‘A bikini wax? That’s a great start,’ said Marina, sounding delighted, but Tiff was far from happy. Having seen how much effort Marina put into the station, and how welcoming she’d been, she wanted to pull out all the stops.

  ‘Hmm. Maybe, but I really wanted to get something far more exciting for you. I’ll reach out to some of my London contacts, even though I haven’t heard from any of them in a while. Don’t you worry, I’ll sort it.’ She threw what she hoped was a confident smile at Marina. ‘Anyway, enough about that. Have you found out any more juicy details about the merman in the cove?’

  Marina stood up. ‘Merman?’

  Tiff wasn’t fooled by Marina’s feigned lack of interest. ‘The guy we saw swimming in the cove?’

  ‘Oh, I see. Not much, and nothing juicy. He’s called Lachlan … McKinnon or McCann or something Scottish. The post woman told me and she talks at a hundred miles an hour so I didn’t quite catch it. He’s a mate of Aaron Carman – that’s Evie and Troy’s son. Lachlan was apparently in the RAF in Scotland, but Aaron was in the army, so I don’t know how they met each other. The post woman isn’t sure how long he’s staying, but the estate agent said they’d let the cottage on a long lease so I’m guessing six months or even longer. I think he’s joining Aaron’s security company. That’s it, I’m afraid.’

  Tiff laughed. ‘You should come and work on my paper. You seem to have found out plenty. Any clue as to what happened to him or how he was injured?’

  Marina shrugged. ‘Not really. Lots of theories but all speculation. Anyway, it’s his business. I feel a bit sorry for him, to be honest, the rumour mill is red hot.’

  ‘At least they won’t be talking about me any more.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it. The woman who runs the chip shop was trying to find out who you were and how long you were staying.’

  ‘It really is a small world. I wonder how long Mr Something-Scottish will stay?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ she said briskly. ‘I need to pop to the garage for some more vermiculite. The garages are behind the houses on the other side of the road so I’ll probably be a few minutes.’

  Vermicu-what? Tiff had no idea what Marina meant so she concentrated on digging tiny holes for the young geraniums. It was strangely therapeutic, pulling them carefully from their trays and patting the soil around them, imagining them blooming in a few weeks’ time.

  Tiff’s mind drifted once again to another of Porthmellow’s intriguing men. She’d now spotted Dirk three times on her way into and out of the cottage and once in the post office in Porthmellow. He’d inclined his head a millimetre to her on his way out, while she queued to post a birthday parcel for her father. Every time she saw him, he had a greater impact on her. He seemed taller, darker, and more delicious – like a chocolate tasting session where each sample was more delectable than the last. Her mouth watered at the very thought of him.

  She knew she should dismiss him from her mind – she hadn’t come all this way to fall for another man – but it was becoming very difficult. Maybe she could take up swimming in cold water, like Lachlan Something-Scottish. And on that matter, he was intriguing – not as intriguing as Dirk of course, but it was clear that Marina had warmed to her new Scottish neighbour. Tiff hoped so, in one way, as long as Lachlan didn’t make matters worse.

  First impressions of him hinted at someone pretty intense and Marina deserved some light-hearted fun. Judging by the reception Marina had received on the beach, he wasn’t the most sociable of neighbours.

  Tiff patted in the final geranium and straightened up to stretch her back. Mm, maybe she could gently nudge Marina in the direction of someone else. Marina was still young, attractive, kind and vivacious, there must be at least one single guy in Porthmellow to help her move on from Nate.

  ‘Evening.’

  Tiff jumped and swung round to find Dirk standing barely a few feet away. The top of his chest was visible above the wooden fence, but fortunately he had a T-shirt on. His sudden appearance so close to her set off a Catherine wheel low in her stomach, swirling and shooting sparks of lust.

  ‘What are you doing there?’ she blurted out, fighting for her composure. ‘I mean, I didn’t expect you to be next door …’

  She heard a faint meow and momentarily Dirk disappeared, only to pop up again with a furry bundle in his arms.

  ‘I’m watering the plants and feeding the cat for our neighbour Gwen,’ he said, stroking the tortie cat with a finger. ‘She’s in hospital for a few days so she asked me to look after the house and Bumble here.’ Ensconced in Dirk’s arms, Bumble looked like a cat who’d got a whole pint of clotted cream complete with a strawberry on the top.

  ‘Oh, I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy,’ she said.

  ‘Really? I thought that was your job. Professional nosiness.’

  ‘I hardly think freelancing for Cream of Cornish counts as professional nosiness,’ Tiff said haughtily.

  She met his eyes as Bumble rubbed her cheek against Dirk’s stubble. Tiff went shivery. She wouldn’t have minded being Bumble right at this moment. Then she came to her senses. He’d been very blunt. ‘I’m Marina’s cousin, just here to enjoy her company over the summer and to have a change of scenery while I’m between jobs,’ she said.

  ‘Of course you are, and I’m sure you’d never dream of digging around in anyone’s life,’ Dirk said, running his hand over Bumble’s fur.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tiff demanded.

  ‘Isn’t that what all journalists do?’ he asked, while Bumble purred loudly in his arms.

  Tiff on the other hand didn’t feel like purring at all. She was too full of indignation at Dirk’s implications and her body’s treacherous reaction to him.

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ Tiff said coolly, trying to hide her annoyance at his rudeness, ‘I need to get on with this planting. I’m sure Bumble needs her litter tray emptying.’

  He turned his eyes on her. ‘I’ve already done the dirty work.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Tiff muttered, crouching by the tub again so she didn’t have to behold the monumentally annoying hotness on the other side of the fence. The way he said ‘dirty work’ had almost made her gasp.

  ‘Enjoy your gardening,’ he said. ‘Probably a good idea to stick to geraniums rather than potatoes. I look forward to bidding on the bikini wax.’

  ‘What?’ Tiff glanced up sharply but only glimpsed the back of his head before he vanished. All that was left was a whistled rendition of what sounded suspiciously like ‘Mars’ from The Planets suite. The bringer of war …

  Out of nowhere, an image of Dirk’s face flew into her mind. She’d seen him in a photo, devastated and broken … on a dark night but with lights all around him. It was a photo taken in London. The full picture was within her grasp but she was also distracted by his tau
nts about the auction.

  She’d half-feared he’d heard her whingeing to Marina and now it was obvious he’d overheard some of their private conversation. Mind you, she had been rather vocal and forthright.

  ‘Right, Mr Dirk ’n’ Stormy,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘You just wait. I’ll show you.’ She was a doer, used to using all legitimate methods to get what she wanted. Snaffling a knockout ‘money couldn’t buy prize’ for the auction should be well within her reach.

  Marina returned with the vermiculite, which turned out to be a bag of magic growing grit, and Tiff tried to focus on the petunias. However, despite her best intentions, she couldn’t help but wonder what exactly did turn Dirk on and, more importantly, what lurked beneath his clearly angry shell.

  Chapter Six

  Marina had only the birds for company when she went straight from work to do an early evening stint at the lookout station. Gulls wheeled overhead and she could hear the distinctive cry of the choughs as they flew around feeding their babies on the cliffs. Term was in full swing again and she’d been lecturing that morning, before attending a faculty meeting and doing some marking.

  Her fellow watcher had called in sick at the last minute, and while she didn’t really mind having the station to herself, it was obviously more tiring to keep watch alone. When the station had first opened all those years before, she’d found herself dwelling a lot on Nate and what might have happened to him.

  From time to time, she also found the swimmer from the beach – though she ought to think of him as Lachlan – stealing into her mind. She’d seen him a couple of times from a distance but no other acknowledgement apart from the nod. This was unusual on Coastguard Terrace where all the permanent residents knew each other, and even some of the second homers had become friends. But he’d already demonstrated that he wanted to keep himself to himself and that was fine.

  So she almost did a double take when he appeared in the sights while she’d been scanning a collapsed section of the coast path for walkers. She put the binoculars down and looked at him with her naked eye. This time he wasn’t in trunks, but jeans and a hoodie. He came from the direction of the Lizard and was obviously heading back to his cottage. Or so she thought. Instead of walking in front of the station, he vanished which could only mean one thing.

  The path ran directly in front and below the station, with a short detour up to the building itself. Most of the time, they left the door open, welcoming visitors, most of whom were happy to leave a small donation for funds. A few seconds later, she heard him climb the steps and reappear in the doorway. After rebuffing her invitation, he was the last person she expected to visit.

  ‘Hello!’ he called from the lobby next to the staff area at the rear of the station. ‘Am I disturbing you?’

  ‘No, come in!’ she called.

  He walked into the operations area, where Marina smiled a welcome, wondering what he wanted. It was such a surprise to see him after he’d brushed off her previous attempt to engage with him.

  ‘You’re on your own up here?’ He scanned the room as if someone might be hiding.

  ‘Yes, but only for this shift. The retired coastguard who was supposed to watch with me has gone down with shingles, poor guy. It’s not ideal, but otherwise the station would have to close … We seem to keep seeing each other from afar,’ Marina said. She held out her hand. ‘Marina Hudson from two doors down.’

  Those hazel eyes were watchful as he shook her hand in mock solemnity. His voice even in offering his name was measured. ‘Lachlan McKinnon. Your new neighbour from the far north.’

  ‘Hello, Lachlan.’

  At least she didn’t have to think of him as Lachlan ‘Something-Scottish’ any more. She liked his name, kept wanting to say it out loud and found his accent was as soothing and rugged as she imagined his home might be. His hair was thick and curly, the colour of a chestnut, and he was taller than she’d recalled, but he had been up to his ankles in pebbles on their first encounter. She wondered how much he knew about her circumstances – probably more than she knew of his.

  ‘I’d heard your first name … Aaron Carman told me,’ he said.

  ‘I knew your first name too.’ She smiled, deciding not to tell him that the post woman had told her. ‘Word travels fast in a small town like Porthmellow. Trouble is, it’s not always that accurate by the time it reaches me.’

  ‘I can imagine …’ His eyes lit up with curiosity. ‘What else have you heard about me?’

  Marina hovered between tact and honesty and decided that Lachlan would respond better to the latter. ‘Almost nothing, other than you were in the RAF military police and you’ve come to work with Aaron.’ She smiled. ‘Excuse me for stating the bloomin’ obvious but Porthmellow is a long way from the Highlands.’

  He smiled. ‘Aye. In every way.’ His eyes darted around, taking in the equipment. She wondered if he was giving it a professional appraisal. Although they were reasonably well equipped, it couldn’t possibly compete with a military set-up.

  ‘Did you find somewhere to swim?’ she asked, breaking a silence that had gone on a fraction too long for comfort. Maybe he was ready to leave now he’d introduced himself properly … funny how much she hoped he’d linger a little longer. She wanted to know more about her new neighbour.

  ‘Yes … I asked Aaron and he made a few suggestions. In fact, I came up here to thank you for your advice. I’m sorry I was a bit offhand when we met down in the cove the other day.’

  Marina almost dropped the binoculars. An apology. Wow, and he’d bothered to come by and tell her. ‘Oh … I see. I have to be honest, I’d wondered if you thought I was being a busybody.’

  ‘No.’ He grimaced. ‘OK. I’ll admit I wasn’t in the most receptive mood for health and safety tips that afternoon, but I hadn’t long been here and let’s say I was out of my comfort zone so I headed out for some exercise to try and sort my head out. I probably shouldn’t have swum in a strange place alone …’ His gaze held hers. ‘Although fortunately for me, someone was watching.’

  A hint of warmth stole into Marina’s cheeks for no reason whatsoever.

  ‘That’s our job,’ she said hastily, reminding herself as much as him. It was her job to keep an eye on people. Thank God he couldn’t see the secret tucked inside her: she’d thought about him a lot since that afternoon; his face, his manner, his body … way more than she should have. Wave watching shouldn’t be a licence to ogle, she’d reminded herself a dozen times, but Lachlan had stirred feelings in her that she’d thought had vanished along with Nate.

  ‘You’re all volunteers here, then?’

  She nodded, keen to move the conversation on to her work. ‘Yes, though some people think we’re employed by the coastguard. When they hear the truth, they often think we’re mad to give up our time for nothing.’

  He laughed softly. ‘Maybe we are.’

  She noted the use of ‘we’. ‘Have you been involved in something like this yourself? Coast guarding, I mean?’

  ‘Not as such … not by the sea, anyway, but I was a volunteer in a mountain rescue team while I was serving on the RAF base near Aviemore. It was a while ago now …’ He took a closer look at the marine radar, resting his hand on the desk next to the shipping log. ‘This is quite a set-up.’

  Marina was convinced he was being generous but didn’t want to pass up an opportunity to tell him more about the Wave Watchers now he was interested in the station. ‘Would you like a mini tour?’

  ‘Aye, as long as I’ll not be disturbing you?’

  ‘No problem. I can still keep watch while I show you around.’

  She showed him the equipment and told him about the duties of the volunteers. Unlike most of their visitors, he had some idea of how the radar and visual equipment operated and seemed genuinely interested. Before she knew it, over half an hour had passed by, during which she’d broken off to give a local weather report to a fishing vessel and kept an eye on the movements of a couple of anglers casting o
ff the rocks off the cove.

  While she did her duties, Lachlan looked out over the waves, quiet and watchful, as if he was searching for something – or someone – just as she had in the days and weeks after Nate had first gone missing.

  She turned to him and explained what she’d been doing, showing him the observation log, and he asked her about some of the incidents they’d helped with.

  ‘I can’t believe you managed to re-open and equip this place on your own,’ he said. ‘When I was a volunteer with the MRT, even though we had professional support from the RAF, they still relied on donations and people to keep going.’

  ‘I should think it was tough working in the mountains. Out in the snow and gales,’ Marina said.

  ‘Sometimes …’ He hesitated, a little wistfully. ‘You get on with it though,’ he resumed firmly. ‘Did you raise all the money to re-open this place?’

  ‘God, no. It wasn’t only me,’ she protested. ‘Loads of people in the town helped – local businesses, the WI, the Fisherman’s Institute, friends, neighbours, students and colleagues at the college where I work. Almost everyone chipped in or helped somehow. I could never have done it or kept it open on my own. It’s a constant battle to raise enough to keep going and to get enough volunteers to keep it open during daylight hours. I’d never have dreamed of doing something like this before …’ Her voice tailed off. ‘Before I realised how much of a need there was for someone to replace what the coastguard used to do.’ She had no intention of volunteering the real reason why she opened the station. If he asked, well, that was different and she’d deal with it.

  He blew out a breath. ‘It’s good going. Respect to you. I know the effort you must have put in and still do.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel like an effort. I enjoy it, in all weathers,’ she replied, realising instantly what a strange thing that was to say, considering she’d started doing it because of losing Nate. She smiled and her next words tumbled out of her mouth before she could chicken out. ‘You could volunteer for us, if you’re interested … you’d have to do the training, of course, but we can do most of it here and with your background in SAR you’d probably breeze through it … if you’re staying in Porthmellow for a while, that is.’