Beneath Beautiful

by Allison Rushby

  Cassie bit her lip for a moment, wondering how much to tell. Cameron had called her around an hour ago, and had suggested they have a short break in England. “To get to know each other better,” he'd said. He'd also said his personal assistant would help arrange and pay for wherever Cassie felt like going, but she'd felt odd about this for some reason, and said she'd arrange things herself. What she hadn't let on was how she'd known exactly where she would take Cameron the moment he'd mentioned her showing him “her England” in the café the other day. The thought of taking someone she barely knew there shocked her slightly—it was a personal place for her. But for some reason it felt right. And she knew that if she took him anywhere less personal, he would see right through her in a heartbeat.

  “We're going somewhere in England. I'm not sure where yet.” She lied to her sister, not really knowing why she was doing so. Perhaps because it was also a personal place for Jo, and Cassie didn't want to upset her.

  There was silence on the other end of the line, and for a moment Cassie panicked, thinking her sister knew she wasn't telling her the whole truth. Finally, Jo spoke again. “You're sure you want to do this?”

  Honestly, Cassie had no idea. Only time would tell, she supposed. “If I'm not sure, I'll pull out.”

  “Hmmm . . .” Jo put her best “big sister” voice on. “Well, if you have my car, at least you'll be able to make a quick getaway if you need to. Now, when did you want to pick it up?”

  The next call Cassie made was to an old friend of the family, Derwa, who ran a charming B&B that Cassie loved to run away to whenever it was possible. It being autumn, and with school being in, Cassie hoped Derwa would have rooms (plural) available. And as it turned out, she did. That arranged, Cassie rang Cameron back once more.

  “It's all sorted,” she said, rather smugly.

  “That was quick. Where are we going?”

  Should she tell him? No. “It's a surprise. I'll pick you up at your hotel tomorrow. It's Brown's, isn't it? Let's say ten a.m.”

  “Let's say eleven a.m. and let's say we both wear dark glasses, and you bring aspirin in some form. I have a dinner tonight, and it's sure to be raucous.”

  Cassie's eyes widened. “I hope you don't expect raucous dinners where we're going.”

  “I expect exactly the opposite,” Cameron countered.

  It was then that Cassie first appreciated the fact that it might not be so easy for her to run away from Cameron Callahan now in the way she had done just a few days before.

  Be there in ten. Red Mini. Best amputate your legs now. Cassie had texted Cameron roughly twenty minutes ago, underestimating the London traffic, especially on Savile Row where several tourists seemed to want to die on their trip to London by jumping in front of the car.

  “Be good!” Jo had waved her off from Primrose Hill after she'd spent the night there, nestled between her boxes in the spare room (she really needed an apartment, and soon). “And if you can't be good, be careful!”

  “I'll try!” Cassie had called back, struggling with the manual car. She'd never owned a car herself, and it had been some time since she'd driven Jo's. She'd been evasive when it came to telling her sister and brother-in-law where she and Cameron were off to, saying she “wasn't entirely sure”, but that she'd keep her phone charged and at the ready, and her running shoes nearby. You know, just in case.

  Finally, she made it to Brown's in one piece, bringing the car to a stop in front of the iconic hotel's solid pillars and polished gold signage. The top-hatted doorman seemed to recognise the car and began to step forwards, but as he did so Cameron came barreling through the door, carrying his own traveling bag, which was slung over one shoulder (it was a smart looking piece made of black leather, Cassie noted). He paused a moment and spoke to the doorman, pressing something into his hand.

  He then made his way over to the car, crouching down to speak to her through the now open passenger window. “Going my way?”

  “I might be,” Cassie said, staring into his dark sunglasses. She popped a button. “Throw your bag in the boot.”

  “The trunk, the boot . . . I just love all those differences in speech. Think it will fit?” Cameron eyed off the tiny car. He pushed himself upright, and went around to the back of the car. It obviously did, because he came back again bag-less and began to attempt to tuck himself into the passenger seat.

  “I know. I'm sorry. I've put the seat back as far as it will go. I did tell you to amputate your legs . . .”

  “I didn't think Brown's would appreciate the mess.”

  “Mmm,” Cassie said, programming an address into the car's satnav.

  “And before you start, I do know that tipping the doorman at Brown's isn't the done thing in your country. A friend told me that during my last stay.”

  “Did I say anything? I don't think so.”

  Cameron ignored her. “You see, he did a little sorting out of a stray paparazzo for me yesterday, for which I was grateful.”

  “Right.” Cassie gulped, thinking of her father. “And he or she hasn't come back?”

  “No.”

  “Well, good. And quite right of you, then. Now, do you have all of your limbs? We have a bit of a drive ahead of us.” The satnav duly programmed, she checked her mirrors for cars and pulled out. “So you're not too hung-over? I did grab some aspirin on my way out of my sister's house this morning. Just in case.”

  “I've already partaken in everything a pharmacy might have to offer me. But thank you very much.”

  “Big night?” Cassie glanced over as the satnav began to direct her toward the M4.

  “Yes. Oversized.”

  “Well, you might want to have a nap, then. It's going to take us about four hours to get where we're going.”

  “Where are we going? Scotland?”

  “What? It would take a little bit longer than four hours to get to Scotland.”

  “Really? I thought you could drive around this whole tiny island in two or three at the most.”

  Cassie threw him a look. “Americans. Always exaggerating.”

  But Cameron just grinned as he settled back into his seat. “Yes. Especially when it comes to size.”

  It wasn't long before Cameron dropped off to sleep, intermittently waking up and apologizing for being terrible company.

  “It's all right,” Cassie told him, time and time again. “You're better off sleeping now and being awake when we get there.”

  She could only imagine what the dinner he'd been at the night before had been like.

  After a good three hours on the road, Cassie took the nearest services exit and ran into a Tesco Express for supplies.

  “Cameron?” she attempted to rouse him before she left, but he was sound asleep.

  She picked up a couple of sandwiches and coffees, Cameron's slowly turning cold as they continued on their way to their destination.

  “We're almost there.” Cassie shook Cameron's arm as she slowly steered the car through the final few streets that would lead to her favourite B&B.

  “What? Really?” Cameron said groggily, sitting up in his seat. When he saw his surroundings, however, he sat up even further. “What the . . .” He looked out one side of the car, then the other. “You've got to be joking.”

  “Weren't we just talking about size?” Cassie grinned. If she'd opened both windows, the pair could have reached out and touched the whitewashed walls on either side of the car.

  “Where on earth are we?” Cameron took in their surroundings with wide eyes.

  “Cornwall. Trust me. They do everything differently here. Including their streets.”

  “But what if someone comes the other way?” Cameron shook his head as they rounded yet another bend.

  Cassie shrugged. “Then one of us backs up. Hopefully them. And now you see the advantage of the tiny car with the reverse sensors.”

  “I do,” Cameron said, slowly.

  “Anyway, it's just up this hill.” Cassie put her foot down, taking them out into
a wider, more realistic street, “and around this bend, and . . .” Finally she pulled into a small graveled car park with four spaces. “. . . we're here!”.

  “In Cornwall,” Cameron repeated as Cassie turned the car off.

  “Yes. Have you been before?” She looked over at him.

  “No. Never.” He stared outside the car window.

  “Didn't think you would have. It doesn't seem very you.”

  Cameron looked over at her now, his eyes suddenly lighting up. “But it's very you?”

  “Oh, yes. Very.”

  “Well, that's all I need to know then.”

  “Derwa! It's so good to see you.” Cassie left her bag on the gravel behind her and ran over to the old family friend. She was immediately enveloped in one of those classic Derwa hugs that went on forever, smooshing you into her large bosom. She smelt exactly like Cassie remembered—a combination of Yardley's English Lavender, sea salt, and baking. “It's lovely to be back. It's been too long.”

  “It most certainly has,” Derwa agreed.

  “This is my . . . friend. Cameron. He'll be taking the other room.”

  Derwa nodded in his direction, but gave Cassie a look that told her she would want to know more later. “I've given you the two rooms on the top floor. There's no one else here. No one booked in for another week, in fact. We're heading into the low season now, you know. So, dinner at seven?”

  Cassie nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, please. That would be perfect.”

  “Right you are, then. I was just about to duck out for a few things.” Derwa held up an empty basket and passed Cassie two sets of keys. “Would you mind letting yourself in to your rooms?”

  “Of course not,” Cassie said. “I know where everything is.”

  “Good girl.”

  Cassie and Cameron watched as Derwa made her way toward a set of stone steps that led down into the village. When she was finally gone, Cassie smiled at Cameron. “The people are amazing down here.”

  Cameron's raised his eyebrows. “I'm hoping for one of those hugs before we leave.”

  “They're the best.”

  “And how's the food down here? Dare I ask what's for dinner? Chips and beans?”

  Cassie laughed, her eyes darting from his as she began to realise she could like him. As in, really like him. His jokes. His sleeping in the car. The way he looked at her when he woke up—as if he couldn't quite believe his luck that she was still around. “You'll eat those words tonight; you'll see. Anyway, how's your head?”

  “Much better, thanks. But I really shouldn't have slept all the way.”

  “Don't worry, you can make it up to me now. I'm going to take you for a painfully long, hilly walk. Don't forget your coat. You'll need it.”

  “I've been coming to Polperro for as long as I can remember,” Cassie told Cameron as they twisted and turned their way through the narrow streets of the tiny fishing village. “Though usually in the summer, when it's much, much busier than this. In summer it's absolutely heaving. Full of tourists eating fish and chips, seagulls begging for scraps, and toddlers with ice creams bigger than their heads. Come on, then, this way . . .” Cassie took off.

  “This is a village that doesn't do normal, does it?” Cameron said as they passed by a family of four. The two children, both girls under ten, wore wetsuits, and were taking turns diving into the harbor. Cassie smiled, thinking how they looked like seals.

  “That's why I love it. Before we head up, are you starving?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “That's because I ate your sandwich. Wait here a moment.” She parked Cameron beside a small bakery and ran inside. A moment or two later, she exited with a small, white paper bag and passed it to him ceremoniously. “A pastie. Cheese and onion. Local specialty.”

  “Thanks. I think.” Cameron lifted the bag up to peer inside.

  “You can walk it off at the same time.” Cassie started off once again, leading the way up a steep street toward some stone stairs. At one point, she scooted around a man who was painting in watercolor, his easel tucked half under the shelter of a ridge of rock. As they passed by, Cassie stole a look at his work.

  “Not your kind of thing?” she said when they were out of earshot.

  Cameron didn't seem to mind either way. “I've got nothing against it. It was very . . . pretty. But you might have noticed I don't do pretty.”

  “Yes.” Cassie's mouth twisted slightly as she remembered the images she'd brought up on her computer screen in her grandmother's apartment. “I had noticed that.”

  They kept walking up further, toward the rocky cliffs. At the top of the next set of stairs Cassie paused to take a deep breath of the cold, windy air. “Gorgeous.”

  Cameron shot her a look of disbelief, his lips in a half smile. “The English truly are weird. Now, Jamaica is gorgeous. The South of France is gorgeous. The Greek islands are gorgeous . . .”

  The wind stole Cassie's laugh away. “It's a different kind of gorgeous, I'll admit. Just up here . . .” She pointed to a wooden bench in the distance, and the pair made a beeline for it, pushing against the salty wind in order to reach their destination. Cassie sat down first on one corner of the seat. “If you sit down,” she told Cameron, who was towering above her, making her stomach begin to churn nervously, “you're less likely to be blown out to sea.”

  Cameron sat down obediently, slightly closer to Cassie than she’d expected. The black wool of his coat fell upon the back of her right hand unexpectedly and she froze, unsure whether Cameron was aware of this and whether she should move slightly, breaking their contact, or not. Just moments ago she'd felt at ease, but now her head filled with worry. What was he expecting from this weekend? If it was even a weekend they were away for. Would they stay for longer? She didn't know. And that wasn't usually how her life operated. This was the problem with Cameron Callahan, Cassie was finding—just when she thought she had everything under control, even the smallest touch or look from Cameron could show her that this was so far from the truth it was laughable.

  The pair stared out over the jutting, jagged rocks as waves tore at the cliff face below, sending up random bursts of white sea-spray. After some time, Cassie pulled her coat tighter around her, releasing herself from Cameron's touch, and tension pulsed through her body. “Well, I think it's gorgeous. Or at least bracing.”

  “Bracing I'll agree with.” Cameron nodded, tearing open the white paper bag. “Bite?” He held the pastie up to Cassie's lips, and she wondered if he was being deliberately provocative (but with a pastie? Really?).

  “It's all yours.” Cassie shook her head slightly. “I insist.”

  “Well, if you insist.” He sat back in his seat as he took a bite. “Not bad,” he said, eventually. “Not bad at all. Good hangover fare.”

  “They're my favourite,” Cassie said, standing up again. “So, obviously you've got some kind of taste. You can choose the wine for tonight.”

  Cameron looked up at her, taking another bite of his pastie. “You'll have to remind me what goes better with chips and beans. Shiraz, or Merlot?”

  “Very funny.”

  Finished his pastie now, Cameron crumpled the paper bag and thrust it in his pocket. He held out his hand and Cassie, not thinking too hard about it, took it, and pulled him up to standing. What she was thinking taking his hand, she had no idea. When upright, he was again slightly inside her personal space and pressing her for . . . she didn't know. Was he waiting for her to do something? Say something? Make the first move? She couldn't tell. He seemed completely comfortable with the situation. Cassie, however, was not. “Cameron, I . . .”

  But before the rest of the words passed her lips, Cameron had turned slightly to look at something and broken the spell, making Cassie doubt her feelings in that moment. She was supposed to be getting to know him, but kept finding the more she knew, the less she understood.

  “What was that?” He turned back to face her once more.

  “Nothing.” She frowned slight
ly, unsure of every emotion she'd ever had. “Nothing at all.”

  Cassie opened the blue wooden door to the small stone hut with a flourish. “After you.” She ushered Cameron inside, then gave him a moment or two before entering also.

  Inside the room a fire crackled away, ensconced in a large stone fireplace. Candles shone from rocky crevices in the wall. In the final vestiges of the remaining light two large windows, their blue shutters pushed back, showcased the view over the green hills and out over the sea and beyond. A large, rustic wooden table filled most of the warm room, this evening set for just two.

  Cameron placed the bottle of wine they had chosen upon the table. “Now I'm really hoping we're not having beans and chips.”

  Cassie grinned. “Definitely not. Derwa is a brilliant cook. A seasonal cook.” She walked over to a ledge near the fireplace and found what she was looking for. “Catch.” She threw a waiter's friend over to him and he caught it deftly.

  Within moments the pair both had a glass of Shiraz. “What should we toast to?” Cassie looked over the top of her glass at Cameron.

  “Your choice,” Cameron said.

  Cassie hesitated. What should they toast to? Her surviving this experience in one piece was something that came to mind. “To your sculpture. Or the idea of it. Whatever it might be,” she finally decided upon.

  “And the inspiration behind it.” Cameron clinked his glass against hers.

  Cassie took a sip from her glass. “Very nice,” she said. “You have good taste.”

  “In both wine and in inspiration,” he replied, smiling as his eyes met hers.

  “I'd eat my words, but I'm not sure I'd fit them in,” Cameron said, as Derwa disappeared with their plates. Both the small ramekin containing the delicious cheese and leek soufflé and then the fresh cod resting on a bed of runner beans and crispy prosciutto had gone down beautifully, despite their mismatched wine.

  “Pace yourself. You've still got to fit in pudding yet.” Behind Cameron's head, Cassie found her eyes pulled yet again to the outline of a small house down on the hill below.