Half an hour later, Cal struggles over the yard with part of the bed frame on his shoulders. For a lean guy, he’s very strong. I help him carry it upstairs and then he’s off again, dumping an old TV, the fat-backed kind, on the rickety bamboo table in the corner of the sitting room.
‘You can have this if you want,’ he says. ‘My father used to watch it in bed.’
‘Good. I can watch telly later. Sherlock’s on tonight.’
‘Is it? I haven’t had chance to watch much TV lately.’ He laughs in that ‘not remotely amused’ kind of way and I feel I’ve said something stupid but I’m not sure what.
Polly bustles in with a box of bleach and a scowl on her face. ‘I’ve got some cleaning stuff but I’ll have to bring the towels and linen later. You do know there’s no bed frame up there?’ she says to Cal. ‘The old one had woodworm so I chucked it on the bonfire.’
He glares at her. ‘Then it’s a good job I’ve already found a new one.’
Polly shudders when Mitch sniffs at her ankles. ‘You needn’t think I’ll be cleaning up any dog hairs either. Scraggy thing,’ she says.
‘I’m sure Mitch feels the same way about you.’
Polly scowls.
‘Sorry,’ I say, as Cal stifles a laugh. ‘I didn’t mean to be that rude.’
‘Demi’s perfectly capable of looking after the place herself,’ he says.
Polly flounces off; grumbling, but I don’t care how much she moans. I still can’t believe that Mitch and I have a new job and a place to live.
I’m still having to pinch myself later, when I sit round the farmhouse table with Cal and Polly, soaking up the remains of a chicken curry with a piece of naan. Getting to grips with the Aga was a bit of a nightmare, especially with Polly issuing dire warnings about it.
Judging by the empty plates, they seemed to enjoy the food.
Polly stabs a piece of chicken with her fork and Cal wipes his plate round with his last piece of naan.
‘Was it OK?’ I say.
Cal nods.
‘It wasn’t bad,’ Polly says and I wonder if I misheard her. Was that a compliment? ‘Shame you let it dry out a bit,’ she adds. ‘Agas aren’t like normal cookers.’
‘I’ll get the hang of it,’ I protest.
Cal stands up and picks up his plate. ‘Finished?’
Polly gasps. ‘You’re not clearing up!’
‘Why not?’
‘She can do that. That’s why you’ve hired her.’
‘She is not a bloody skivvy, Polly, and she’s been cleaning the cottage and working all day.’
Acting innocent, I swig my beer. Cal walks round to my side of the table and stacks my plate on his. He brushes against me and smells faintly of clean sweat and beer. He’s been working all day too, helping me put the bed frame together and trying to fix the door of the barn.
‘Thanks.’ I ignore Polly’s laser stare.
‘Don’t get used to it,’ he says. ‘I don’t expect you to cook for me every night and you won’t want to eat in here all the time.’
‘I can cook tons of stuff and I don’t mind eating here.’
‘You’ll want your own space,’ says Cal, carrying the plates towards the hall.
‘Yes, you will.’ Polly casts a triumphant glance at me. I wonder what her problem is, apart from worrying about the extra work of looking after me. She needn’t bother.
I finish my beer at the dining table and let Mitch lick my curryfied fingers while Polly goes back to her cottage to watch Emmerdale. In the kitchen, I find Cal cursing and fiddling with the settings on the dishwasher.
In frustration, he stands back. ‘Jesus, you need a PhD to work it out.’
‘Here. Let me have a go.’
A few presses later, I get it to start. ‘We had two at the cafe,’ I explain.
‘Thanks. I’m going to work in the study for the rest of the evening but tomorrow I’ll get your contract sorted out. Can I ask you to be patient with Polly? She’s very protective of me. She is an old friend.’
‘I understand. I’m the newbie. It’s me that has to fit in.’
‘Thanks.’ He hesitates. ‘Will you be OK in the cottage on your own tonight? Kilhallon is a bit out of the way. You might find it too quiet and isolated.’
‘You mean, me being a city girl who can’t live without a nightclub and a Starbucks within spitting distance? It’ll be a change not to sleep in a shop doorway, and besides, I have Mitch for company. We’ll sleep like logs.’
‘Well, you know where I am if you want me or Polly. I’d better get you a phone sorted too.’
While the dishwasher burbles and Cal throws the empty beer bottles in the recycling crate, I hover by the sink.
‘Cal … thanks for the job and the cottage. I mean it.’ Damn the quiver in my voice.
‘You might not thank me when we get the business up and running. There’s going to be a lot to do. Goodnight.’
I hate to admit it, but Cal was right. I couldn’t sleep, not even with a brand new bed and a thick down duvet and my own bedroom with pink curtains. Not even when I got up and made a cup of tea in my own kitchen and sat and drank it while I watched the midnight news on my new old TV. The wind rustled the curtains most of the night and I thought I could hear the waves crashing against the cliffs across the fields.
I don’t believe in ghosts but all sorts of weird and freaky thoughts kept filling my head. I couldn’t go back to bed so in the end I had to unroll my sleeping bag on the carpet and sleep in front of the hearth, with Mitch on my feet. I dreamt I was at home with my mum before everything started to unravel. I thought I’d be happy when I got a job and my own place: if someone would only give me a chance. But no matter what we have, we always want a little bit more.
I woke up early, wondering where I was at first. Mitch was already pawing at the cottage door to be let out so I put on his lead and took him out for a walk. No one else was around so I walked down the valley towards Kilhallon Cove and watched Mitch play ‘tag’ with the waves. On the other side of the cliffs, there was an old engine house. It’s a ruin now, the roof has long collapsed but half the chimney stack still stands.
I walked back to the cottage, fed Mitch and made myself some toast in my kitchen. The cottage still needs work but I’d better go over to the farmhouse and find out what Cal wants me to do. Last night, he said he wanted me to discuss my contract and terms and conditions and I want to get off on the right foot with him. After settling Mitch in the kitchen with a dog chew, I have a bath – oh, the luxury – put on my freshly washed jeans and top and set off.
Polly meets me halfway across the farmyard. ‘You’re out of bed then?’ She raises her eyebrows as if she’s surprised.
‘I’ve been up for hours,’ I say, determined not to rise to the bait.
‘Hmmph.’
‘Is Cal around?’
‘Yes, but you’d better keep out of his way.’
‘Why?’
‘You’ll find out. He’s in his office, last I saw of him. If you dare.’
This is not encouraging news on my first morning but I’m not going to be put off by her.
Greasy breakfast plates are piled on the worktops in the kitchen, and someone’s left the bacon and milk out in the sun. One of the plates has half a sausage left on it and despite the toast I ate earlier, I can’t see good food go to waste so I eat it, enjoying the luxury of not having to share it with Mitch. Sidestepping a piece of tomato squashed on the tiles, I walk down the gloomy hallway and knock on the study door. There’s no answer but I can hear someone tapping away on a laptop.
‘Cal. Are you in there?’
There’s a pause then he grunts. ‘Go away, whoever you are.’
‘It’s Demi.’
‘Go away.’
‘OK.’ I turn away, thinking I may as well clear up the kitchen; that’s what he hired me for. Just as I reach the door, there’s a shout behind me.
‘Come back.’
Cal pokes his head out
of the study door.
‘It’ll wait until later,’ I say.
‘No. We’ll get it over with now.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m not at my best,’ he growls.
To be honest, I haven’t noticed loads of difference but I keep that to myself.
‘Sit down,’ he says gruffly, sweeping papers off an old wheeled chair in front of his desk.
I sit; suddenly worried that he might have changed his mind about having me at Kilhallon.
‘I have to finish this email first,’ he mutters, eyes fixed on the screen again. He hasn’t had a shave, again, and he has dark circles under his eyes. He looks awful but drop dead gorgeous all the same.
He glances up briefly, obviously having caught me perving over him. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’ Heat rises to my cheeks again. ‘I really can come back later. Polly said you were busy.’
‘She’s right but I’ll be even busier later. Wait a minute and I’ll be done.’
Frowning at the screen, he taps away with two fingers while I try to focus on the study and not on him. It’s like a junk shop – antique shop, if I’m being generous – and bigger than I expected, despite being crammed with stuff just like the sitting room. Two of the walls are lined with bookcases from floor to ceiling; proper old-fashioned leather-bound books as well as paperbacks. The desk must be centuries old and among all the letters and paperwork, Cal’s laptop whirrs softly. If it was me, I’d put the light on because even though it’s a bright April morning, not much sunshine penetrates the dimness.
‘OK. I’m done. Let’s talk about your role here.’
My role? I try to stay serious, while longing to dance around the study, shouting ‘yes!’, listening to Cal outlining what he wants me to do: generally helping around the place and supporting him to get the holiday park back on its feet. He also asks me if I want to go to college in September to do some tourism and catering courses.
‘We need stationery from the office supplies store and I’d like you to get some costs for refitting the reception. You’d better get some new clothes too.’
I glance down at my only pair of jeans and T-shirt, wondering why he’s brought up the subject again. ‘I don’t need a handout.’
‘Fine. In that case, will you accept an advance on your salary? You can pay me back if you like but you may as well get some work clothes and safety boots on the business. The agricultural store on the road to St Ives should have what you need.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, wishing I hadn’t been quite so dismissive.
He pulls out his wallet. ‘Here’s my card so you can get some cash, though we’ve still got an account at the agricultural and office stores.’
‘I could run off with this,’ I joke.
‘Not without Mitch. He’s my hostage.’
I snort. ‘He’d never stay with you.’
‘Want to bet?’ He grins in such a sexy way, I get the funny fizzing feeling low in my stomach. I half-wish he was fat and old and picked his teeth or something, rather than this hot. It would make life so much easier.
The door opens and Polly stands in the doorway blocking out the light. ‘Cal? I thought you’d like to know you’ve had a letter.’
‘Leave it on the desk, please.’
Ignoring him, Polly holds an envelope under his nose. It’s the kind you see in costume dramas, with elaborate, old-fashioned handwriting on the front.
‘I thought I should bring this one over personally.’ She waggles the envelope, a sly gleam in her eye.
Cal looks at it but doesn’t take it. ‘I said, leave it on the desk. Please.’ The please is added with sarcasm, almost menace.
Polly lays it on top of a pile of other papers but makes no attempt to leave.
‘You can go now.’ Cal’s voice is quieter, and his finger taps the table. ‘And you.’
It’s a second before I realise he means me.
‘See you later,’ says Polly, smirking.
I push myself up from the chair. ‘So, do you want any lunch?’
‘Just leave me.’ His head snaps up. God, he looks angry – but that’s nothing to the pain I see in his eyes. I don’t say any more, just do as he asks. He was moody before I walked in here. I don’t know what’s in that letter, but it looks as if it’s almost destroyed him before he’s even opened it.
CHAPTER SIX
I knew it had to happen. I knew it was coming but that doesn’t lessen the pain or make it any easier to take. I brush my fingers over the embossed script, and the handwritten insertion of my name. It sounds so formal and so final. Did Isla write it herself – or her mother? I can’t believe it was Luke’s idea but maybe I don’t know him any more.
WE’RE ENGAGED!
Isla and Luke
invite
Mr Calvin Penwith
to celebrate their engagement with them
On Saturday June 25th
from 7 p.m.
At Bosinney House, St Trenyan
RSVP to Isla Channing
The date is more than two months away, which makes me feel that Mrs Channing has had a hand in the invites. She obviously wants to send a signal out to the world that Isla and Luke are officially together. She never liked me and perhaps I don’t blame her if she thought I was making Isla unhappy by trekking off abroad all the time.
Perhaps Luke wants to send me a signal and formalise the engagement. Last night, all I could think about was Luke lying in bed with Isla and contrasting it with the times I lay with her in the barn here at Kilhallon, and in the warm dunes and the cool cave on the beach.
I’d been with her on that last night before I went to the Tinner’s Arms for a farewell drink with my mates. Luke had warned me that evening to tell Isla how I felt but I’d held back. I thought she already did know without me saying it and as for marrying her, I thought we were too young, that we had years to do all that stuff when I’d got back from the Middle East. I could never have married her then, I told myself, until I’d at least tried to help the people I saw on the news and the internet. How could I sit here at Kilhallon, in my comfortable home, doing nothing, when I had the skills to help those people? What kind of a man would I be? What kind of a husband and father …
Two years is a long time to wait; when you’ve hardly heard a word and when you think all hope is lost. But the irony is that it was the thought of Isla that kept me going through the long, dark days and months. A few times, I’d have topped myself if it hadn’t been for her, when things got too terrible to bear.
I can’t tell her the truth, of course, the reason why I was away so long and why I couldn’t contact her for the past few months. When I first went on my trips abroad I used to send her ‘vintage’ postcards – my retro joke – but on my last assignment, there were no cards to buy or even shops still standing in most places. It was a miracle if I could get a decent signal or Wi-Fi or even access to a computer and, if I’m honest, I’d been so wrapped up with my work I sometimes didn’t have a moment to even think about home. When you’re dealing with people in a life or death situation, your priorities tend to change but I should have made more effort. Perhaps I can’t blame Isla for thinking I wasn’t interested any more. Then, when I finally wanted to speak to her, and had time on my hands at last, it was impossible.
I slam the lid of the laptop shut and throw the invitation on the floor.
Is it really too late? Maybe I should ride over to Bosinney now and speak to Isla on her own? If I see her face to face, I can let her know how I feel and change her mind. The study door slams behind me as I hurry out to the yard.
‘Cal, can you come and look at this tractor?’ The mechanic from the garage calls over to me.
‘Not now, mate.’
‘But it needs a new clutch. It can’t wait any longer.’
‘Not now!’
‘OK but it’s your funeral.’ He folds his arms. ‘And without a working tractor, you won’t be able to do a lot of the work you’ve planned he
re.’
‘OK. Good point.’ After I’ve heard Baz tell me how much work the tractor needs and how much it will cost, I seek solace in the stables with the one creature that doesn’t seem to have changed, and who is waiting patiently for me. At least Polly made sure my horse, Dexter, was taken care of while I was away, even if the park fell down around her ears.
Dexter snickers softly and stamps impatiently as I tack him up. I mount him and catch sight of Demi with a clipboard, in front of the admin block. I asked her to do some research on other resorts and give her opinion on what facilities she thought we needed and how the park should look. She’s no expert but that’s what I wanted: a fresh pair of eyes to view this place as if she might love to come on holiday here herself.
Have I done the right thing in bringing her here? She’s a bright girl and she’ll probably be out of here in a year, maybe less. She’ll want more than I can offer her.
Demi glances up from her clipboard and waves at me. She looks really happy and I’m glad but I don’t wave back. I act like I haven’t been watching her, and I don’t really know why. Perhaps I still haven’t got used to people reading my emotions. I’ve had to suppress them for so long, just to survive.
With a kick on Dexter’s flanks, I urge him to a gallop along the coastal path. If I ride until the land ends, maybe I can ride Isla out of my system.
At the milestone, I spot a dark hunter galloping over the moor towards me. I’d know Robyn’s horse anywhere, and the rider’s style. I urge Dexter on and our horses both meet by a ruined engine house.
Both of us are breathless and laughing. ‘Hi, Robyn,’ I say when I’ve got my breath back. ‘I could tell it was you from miles away.’
She pushes a lock of purply black hair back under her helmet. Her face is pink with the sea air and the effort. ‘Have I improved?’ she asks.
‘You’ve got worse, if anything.’
She leans over her horse and hits my arm. ‘That’s harsh and anyway I can tell you’re way out of practice … ouch, sorry, great big foot in even bigger mouth.’
‘There’s no need to tiptoe around it.’
‘I know but it must have been tough helping people out there and then you come back and found out about Luke and Isla. They’d only just told us.’
Summer at the Cornish Cafe Page 6
