Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun

by Samantha Tonge

  ‘At the expense of the Maddocks? No thanks.’

  He squeezed my hands and let go. ‘You like him, don’t you?’

  We both knew he was talking about Tremain.

  ‘It’s OK.’ He shrugged. ‘You’re a great girl but not my regular type.’

  ‘And I only hooked up with you, initially, to get a plus-one for this wedding, to impress my friend,’ I spluttered. Oops. There had been no need to let that slip.

  ‘What?’

  Ears hot, I explained the sorry tale—my school experiences with Saffron … our mutual love of Poldark.

  Eventually, he chuckled. ‘Guess I should be flattered. So, you’re no better than me. We used each other—me to pump you for information, you to use my eighteenth-century looks to stick two fingers up at the nemesis from your youth.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not ruining anyone’s living in the process.’

  Lucas snorted. ‘Oh come on, this place hasn’t got a hope, with or without my intervention. I’m just hurrying up the process.’

  ‘You don’t know that. It’s early days. Without your tampering this week could have been great.’ I folded my arms. ‘Look. I get it Lucas. Why it’s so important to you to succeed. But you can’t go trampling over other people’s dreams to achieve that.’ I straightened. ‘I may not have proof of your involvement in things going wrong last week, but I have got proof of your affair.’

  His brow furrowed.

  ‘The police will still have that leopard-print bra. It will only take a word from me to raise Mr Peppard’s suspicion. Unless you call off this plot with the Peppards and get them to leave, I’ll tell him about you and his wife.’

  ‘Whoa. Now wait a minute. You can’t.’

  ‘I can and I will. You must leave too. Immediately.’

  He gasped. ‘Wait a minute, Kate, don’t be so hasty.’ He ran his hand up my arm. ‘Mrs Peppard is no competition for you. Let me take you out tonight. Make it up to you.’

  ‘Lucas.’ I pulled away my arm. ‘That charmer crap doesn’t work on me any more. And in any case, I’m not interested.’

  His jaw tightened. ‘Fine. Suit yourself. Go break up a marriage.’

  ‘You think I won’t? It’s not as if they look happy together.’ I made for the door, but he grabbed my arm.

  ‘All right. All right. Don’t.’ He looked away. ‘She … Angie … doesn’t deserve that.’

  I raised my eyebrows.

  ‘He’s not the easiest person to live with.’ Lucas gave a wry smile. ‘It’s kind of sad, how grateful she is for the smallest attention I pay her.’

  ‘But you like her. Why not ask her to leave him?’

  ‘Nah. She’s too used to the lifestyle. This set-up suits us both.’

  I stared at him. He really was like Poldark, who had feelings for a woman married to another.

  ‘I mean it,’ I said. ‘Get them to leave or I will make the affair public. I saw the knickers matching that bra in the swimming-pool changing room, when she was taking a dip. Mr Peppard would no doubt recognise them too, if shown the other half of the lingerie set.’

  ‘OK! OK. Just give me some time.’

  ‘Today, Lucas—before you do any more harm. Or I’ll tell Tremain everything,’ I said, as the swing doors opened slightly.

  Lucas snorted. ‘How? Done a runner, hasn’t he?’

  The doors opened wide. ‘No. I’m back.’ Tremain glared at us both. ‘What’s going on?’

  CHAPTER 18

  ‘You’re back!’ A warm sensation burst from my heart and flooded my chest. With difficulty I fought the urge to throw my arms around his neck.

  ‘What were you going to tell me?’ he said and turned to Lucas. ‘Or perhaps it’s better coming from you?’

  Lucas sneered. ‘Nothing less than you deserve. You’ve always had it in for me.’

  ‘No. I just prefer team players.’

  I looked pointedly at Lucas. ‘Shall you tell him or will I?’

  He shifted from foot to foot. ‘What does it matter? Fine. You get your own way. Me and the Peppards will leave tonight.’ He cleared his throat and gazed at Tremain. ‘It was never meant personally,’ he muttered. ‘And good luck with this dump, although you’ll need a miracle to turn it around. Say goodbye to Kensa. She’s always been decent enough.’ He took my hand and lifted it to his lips. After a gentle kiss he let go. ‘Take care, Kate. Hope you find a better plus-one for your wedding.’

  I swallowed. He wasn’t all bad. A bit dangerous like my fantasy Poldark—just lacking the integrity.

  He left through the swing doors. As they whooshed closed again, Tremain took a step towards me.

  ‘How are you?’ I mumbled. ‘We’ve all been worried. Kensa—’

  ‘It’s OK. I’ve seen her. Apologised. I’m an idiot.’

  I stepped nearer. Wrapped my arms around his neck. ‘As long as you’re OK.’

  ‘I am now,’ he mumbled. His strong arms circled my waist and he lifted me up into the air. My legs entwined around his hips and I closed my eyes as our mouths connected. Tenderly, his lips kissed mine and then deeper, with more urgency. Jets of warmth shot through my body, as if I were made of volcanic liquid. Finally, he set me down. ‘Come with me. To a beach I know. We need to talk. You need to know everything.’

  ‘Only if you’re ready.’

  He stared for the longest moment, those leaf-green eyes searching mine. Then he nodded and, by my hand, led me to his van.

  On the journey towards Port Penny, I told him about Lucas and Mr Peppard’s plan. Face flushed, his fingers tightened around the steering wheel until, in a small voice, I got to the part about me needing a Poldark lookalike.

  Tremain burst out laughing, as we drove through the small town, past tiny cottages and bumpy cobbled roads. ‘Guess I should be proper insulted. I mean, you’ve seen me at Guvnah’s, cutting grass, with a naked torso. Obviously you weren’t impressed.’

  ‘How do you know about that scene from the TV series? Don’t tell me you’re a Poldark fan?’

  ‘Nope, but Mum loves it. I get a full recap of each episode, when the series is on,’ he said and pulled a face. ‘It’s the one pleasure she allows herself, amidst the stresses and strains of running this place.’

  To my surprise, we drove past the pottery—I thought Tremain was going to park there. Instead, we carried on, through the busy centre, and out the other side, going up a hill.

  ‘So, from what you have heard, who do you prefer?’ I teased. ‘Streetwise urchin Demelza or refined Elizabeth?’ As I said those words, I chuckled inside, comparing economically challenged me to posh Mrs Peppard, and Poldark-lookalike Lucas being caught in between. Talk about real life mimicking fiction.

  ‘Oh, definitely Demelza. Airs and graces don’t do anything for me.’

  I shrugged. ‘Funny, isn’t it? I think Lucas really cares for Mrs Peppard—it’s not just the money.’

  Tremain snorted. ‘That’s a first then. For years he’s used his looks to flirt and get favours from wealthy women customers. I sensed there was something between them last year. Mrs Peppard looked devastated when it was time for her to leave.’

  ‘He’s … He’s not always had it easy. His dad asks a lot of him, I reckon, in terms of success and his position in the workplace.’

  Tremain didn’t answer for a while and then his shoulders relaxed. ‘Yep. Expectations are hard, whether they come from someone else or within.’ The hill evened out and I enjoyed an amazing sea view, watching trawlers chug along the horizon and seabirds swoop at the back of fishing boats.

  ‘So, where is this beach?’

  ‘Almost there now’

  I glanced sideways and he turned briefly, the look in his eyes melting me. The hill veered down and we followed it, finally turning into a narrow avenue. The occasional cottage lined the way and eventually the road just came to a dead-end at a mass of sand dunes. We parked to one side.

  ‘Not many people know about this cove,’ he said, as we got out. He locked t
he car and I fanned my face. The early afternoon sun made me squint. Tremain held out his hand. My fingers slipped in between his. What was this all about? He seemed so much more sure of himself and calmer. Where had he spent the night?

  I soon had my answer as we reached the snuggest part of the cove—a patch of sand, right in front of a small cave. Remnants of burned sticks lay on the ground.

  ‘Here? This is where you slept yesterday?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Oh, Tremain …’ We sat down on the sand and I held his hand in both mine and squeezed. ‘So, you want to talk?’

  With the other hand he circled in the sand. ‘I do. Finally, I do. That’s why this morning, I did what I’ve been refusing to do the last couple of years.’

  I raised my eyebrows.

  Still staring ahead, he took a deep breath. ‘I … went to see the doctor. He’s referring me for counselling.’

  I squeezed his hand again. ‘Losing someone—it’s hard,’ I said. ‘You’ve done the right thing. Was … the red roses … two years ago … Did you lose someone special?’

  Tremain pulled his fingers out of my grip and held his head in his hands. ‘Yep.’ He said, in a muffled voice. ‘And it was all my fault.’

  ‘I’m sure it wasn’t,’ I said gently. ‘Talk to me. What was her name?’

  ‘His.’

  ‘Oh.’ I straightened up. Wasn’t expecting that. ‘OK, so …’

  He took his hands away and glanced at me, the smallest of smiles on his face. ‘No. It wasn’t like that. We were just proper good mates.’

  ‘But the roses …’

  ‘It had become a joke, you see …’ Tremain brought up his knees and hugged them tight. We sat in the shade of a rock and had the beach to ourselves, apart from the noise of breaking waves and an inquisitive gull that stood about two metres away and cocked its head, before flying off.

  Tremain stared ahead. ‘He was called Ben. We joined up together and ended up in the same battalion—deployed in Afghanistan. A couple of years ago we were there, at the tail end of the action before the war came to an end.’

  I nodded, not quite sure what to say.

  ‘One day we were out in the field. Bullets everywhere. Adrenaline high. Ben got shot in the leg. I wanted to stay with him, but spotted a group of colleagues ahead who needed cover. It was simply a matter of numbers. There were three of them. Only one of him. I acted on automatic. Training kicked in. I was only gone for a few minutes. Ten tops. When I got back Ben had been hit by the blast of a hand grenade. I …’ His voice wavered.

  ‘Carry on,’ I said softly.

  ‘It’s not pretty,’ he said and gulped.

  ‘Go on. Tell me what you found.’

  ‘The bottom half of his body was missing. I’ll never forget the smell of his burning flesh.’

  I shuffled up and put my arm around his shoulders, throat feeling thick. ‘You were doing your job, Tremain. Ben would have done the same.’

  He turned to face me, eyes wet. ‘Would he? Perhaps he’d have put me first and taken me with him. We were mates.’

  I swallowed and recalled him talking about firing Lucas. ‘There is no room for sentimentality in some jobs,’ he’d said. ‘How old were you when you joined up?’ I asked.

  ‘Sixteen. So was Ben. He heard me talking about travelling the world and wanted the same.’ He bit his lip. ‘Juliette—his childhood sweetheart—wasn’t happy.

  Ah. Ben must have been the friend he was talking about when he mentioned the mate with a Parisian girlfriend.

  He half smiled. ‘A ballsy woman, she is. One Valentine’s Day, Juliette was determined not to behave as a stereotype so she sent a dozen red roses to Ben. He never lived it down, and every Valentine’ s Day after, me and the lads would club together to buy him a bunch.’

  ‘You didn’t force Ben to sign up, Tremain. He would have known the risks, the dangers, when he followed you into that career.’

  Tremain wrung his hands. ‘I went to see Juliette, after his death—after the funeral. She wouldn’t talk to me at the service. I knocked on her front door that evening. She opened it and slapped me around the face. Said I’d promised to look after him. Told me it was my fault he ever became a soldier; my fault that he died. That I was a joke of a best friend.’

  ‘But that would have been her grief talking. Have you seen her since?’

  He shook his head. ‘I couldn’t face the resentment.’

  I remembered, when we first met, on the golf course, he muttered something about please not resenting him.

  ‘I’m sure she won’t now—time gives people perspective,’ I said gently. ‘You must have mutual friends you can talk to about this.’

  ‘I don’t open up. Don’t want to get close. Don’t want to get hurt again. But then …’ His voice cracked. ‘I met you. Mad, isn’t it? We’ve not known each other long but from the first minute I saw you, talking about swallows, caring about that injured rabbit and trying to sneak back onto the golf course, the banter, I don’t know … it sparked something in me. It felt easy. And it made me mad to see you with Lucas. Then the fire …’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ I whispered. ‘It must have been hard to come in and get me—amongst the smoke … all the memories.’

  ‘But it made me realise I cared. Apart from my parents, I haven’t cared about anyone in the slightest, for a long, long time.’

  ‘And the fireworks?’

  ‘Mum knows I don’t like them. The noise. Takes me back. The rotting smell. Ears hurting. Men’s screams.’ He glanced at me. ‘Kate. Walk away now, if you want. Honest. I’ve … I think the phrase is—got baggage … on a diva-like scale. Walk away if it’s too much. I’ve taken that first step for help. I’ll be OK.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere—I’ve coped with you so far, haven’t I? Is this … post-traumatic stress disorder?’

  Tremain wiped his face and straightened up. ‘No. Not full-blown. To me that’s like people saying they’ve got OCD just because they like to, I don’t know, arrange their groceries in a certain way. I’ve got a mate with PTSD. He’s lost it a couple of times in the last year. Ended up with a conviction.’

  I flushed, remembering how Izzy and I wondered if Tremain might have been in prison.

  ‘Once, after a drunken rampage, his family couldn’t find him,’ he continued. ‘The poor sod had taken refuge in a wheelie bin. So …’ He cleared his throat and moved to sit opposite me. ‘That’s not me but I … I just need to talk it out, I guess. The guilt I feel about Ben’s death. The graphic memories that mean I don’t sleep well.’

  I took a deep breath. Perhaps now was the time to tell him about Johnny. But then no. This was Tremain’s moment; time to concentrate on him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘It can wait.’

  ‘Kate. No more secrets between us. Let’s start with a clean slate. Please.’

  My heart raced and said open up to him. Follow your heart, Kate Golightly. ‘I can sort of relate to the guilt. Ten months ago … my boyfriend, Johnny …’

  ‘He left, right? I remember you saying. What happened? Did it end badly? You think you were to blame?’

  ‘I’d been on at him all evening—said I had cravings for a takeaway curry. I’d had glass of wine and didn’t want to drive. I could tell he didn’t feel like going out but I persuaded him. Johnny was so good-natured.’

  ‘And he never came back?’

  My vision went blurry. ‘No. It was October—when we’d had all that torrential rain and flooding. He had an accident. Straight into a lamppost. Killed instantly.’

  ‘Oh, Kate.’

  ‘I felt so guilty—my stupid cravings sent him out. But I hated him for a while too—for months—because he’d lost control after trying to avoid a cat in the road, according to a witness. He skidded on the saturated road.’ I threw my arms in the air. ‘He died for a cat. Appropriate really—him working for the RSPCA.’

  Tremain studied my face. ‘You do what you h
ave to do in that split second. Me charging forward to cover colleagues. You rushing into the burning chalet.’

  ‘Yes, but I thought there was a person in there.’

  ‘What if you’d heard a dog yelp?’

  I swallowed. ‘I know,’ I said eventually. ‘Over recent weeks I’ve finally become less angry—and had talked it out with him.’

  Tremain’s brow furrowed. ‘How?’

  My eyes filled again. ‘His family memorialised his Facebook page. Plus, they were keen for me to stay in touch with them as I was a link to their … their dead son.’ I swallowed. ‘But it meant I could still message, even though all my words remained unread. Just as well, really—I was furious at first. Swore at him. Asked how he could risk our future like that. Then, over time, I just messaged when I felt low. Or needed advice. Or just to tell him the things I’d never tell anyone else.’ I smiled. ‘Must make me sound bonkers.’

  Tremain shook his head. ‘No. Sometimes I still talk to Ben.’

  ‘Right at the beginning—’ my voice wobbled ‘—I so wanted him to reply. For the first weeks I almost managed to convince myself that we’d only broken up and that he was reading my messages and then just marking them unread.’

  ‘Weirdly, that must have been a comfort,’ said Tremain. ‘A coping mechanism. Better than drinks or drugs.’

  ‘How did you manage, in the early days?’ I said.

  ‘I haven’t told Mum this, but I slept rough for a while. Got beaten up a few times. Didn’t bother me—I felt numb, like I deserved it.’

  ‘And what made you leave the streets?’

  ‘Say what you want about Dad, but we’d kept in touch—I didn’t want to upset Mum who is on her own. He had his new girlfriend for support. I still didn’t tell him everything but he worked out I hadn’t got a place to live. He tried to persuade me to move in with him but … I needed the time on my own. Anyway, eventually, Dad let slip that he’d heard on the grapevine Mum was struggling. Unless he said that on purpose because he knew it would shake me up.’