Summer at the Cornish Cafe

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘Of course I will! How long are you down here for?’

  ‘The engagement party, obviously, then we’re having a few days on Scilly before I have to go back to London. But I’ll be up and down while we’re preparing for the shoot and during it.’

  ‘So you haven’t run off with an actor? When I was away, I always thought that might happen.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Not really. I imagined all kinds of things.’ But none of them involved you marrying my best mate.

  ‘I imagined far worse. Why didn’t you keep in touch?’

  My jaw tightens. ‘I meant to. I tried but it was difficult at times. We were in remote places and time flew by, you know, there were so many people who needed me.’ The lie saws through my guts but I cannot tell her the truth. No matter how much it hurts her and me, I can never tell her the whole truth.

  ‘OK. I understand you don’t want to talk about it but if things were that painful, you should maybe think about getting some counselling.’ Her voice is soothing, which irks me more.

  ‘It’s not that! It’s not what you think.’

  ‘You don’t know what I think and if you won’t or can’t talk to me about what happened out there, then it’s pointless me pushing you. Let’s leave it.’

  ‘That’s probably for the best.’ My fist balls, every bone and sinew screaming to tell her how much I wanted to speak to her, how the thought of her was all that kept me alive and how much I regret leaving her.

  ‘I must go. I should get an early night. This party and planning the shoot have kept me up a lot. I haven’t had my beauty sleep.’

  ‘You still look beautiful to me.’

  ‘Balls. You know I look knackered. Even Luke tells me. And Demi – she’s much prettier than I am. She’s fresh and original. You did a good thing, taking her on.’

  ‘I needed an assistant. She needed a job. I could see she was bright and capable and needed a break and she earns her salary. I can’t afford to be a charity …’

  With a knowing smile, she gives Dexter a final pat. ‘You’ll always go out of your way to help people. You’ll always sacrifice those closest to you for others.’

  ‘I’m not a saint, Isla.’

  ‘I know that.’

  My fingers close over hers on Dexter’s neck. She lets them rest there until the horse whinnies, shakes his flank and we lose contact.

  ‘I don’t expect I’ll see you before the party, but for what it’s worth I’m glad you’re coming. Demi too.’

  ‘I’ll see you there,’ I say, brushing my lips quickly over hers, putting my hand into the fire again to see if I can stand the heat.

  Her eyes widen in surprise, darken with pleasure too, perhaps, but I walk out of the stable as fast as I can, for her sake and mine.

  ‘Cal,’ she calls after me but I keep on walking, giving my answer to the sea and sky.

  I want to take her by the shoulders and ask her ‘Why?’ Why would she be glad I was there to see her tell everyone how much she’s in love with him? Does she want me to prove I’ve moved on, that I’m happy to see her with him? Does she want me to prove to Luke and our friends and relatives that I’m over her? Does she want to convince herself so she can go off into the sunset with him, guilt free? Is that to be my engagement gift to her – letting her go?

  ‘I’m giving you fair warning that you’ll have to look after yourself over the weekend, boss.’ Polly declares a couple of days after Isla’s visit. Her voice penetrates my ears while I’m stacking another load of slates recycled from the roof of one of the cottages. They’ll be needed again when the new roof carcass is in place.

  Polly’s shadow has its hands on its hips. I concentrate on making sure the slate stack is square and stable before I look up at her.

  ‘I’m having the weekend off. I’m going to visit my new grandson in Plymouth, in case you’d forgotten.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ I say, straightening up and taking a swig from a bottle of water.

  ‘Well, I thought I’d remind you so you know you’ve to look after yourself. Though you’ll doubtless be all right on your own, with Demi for company,’ she adds, innocently. As Polly has never done anything innocent in her life, my suspicions are immediately roused.

  ‘Yes, I will. She’s coming to the party with me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Demi’s coming with me.’

  She gasps. ‘She’s been invited?’

  ‘Didn’t she tell you?’

  ‘No, I didn’t even think you’d decided to go.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  Polly tuts loudly. ‘You know why but each to their own. I suppose it’s all right for some to swan off.’

  ‘Yes, it is. I know you didn’t like it when I brought Demi here. Perhaps you felt she was undermining your authority. But she’s bright and hard working – which I think you know full well – and I expect her to be treated with respect. Dad relied on you when he was alive, and I appreciate that you stayed on here while I was away, even if you never thought I’d come back.’

  Polly sniffs. ‘I never gave up on you, unlike some around here, and I don’t think you should be giving Demi ideas.’

  ‘What? Above her station?’

  Polly shakes her head. ‘You really have no idea, Cal Penwith. Well, if you don’t want to listen to my advice …’

  ‘If it concerns Demi, I don’t. I’m grateful for your help and support, more than you can ever realise, in fact, but now Demi’s here things have changed. I want her treated properly. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Treated properly? By me? I’m the one looking out for the girl. You watch out,’ she says.

  ‘For me or her?’

  ‘Her. You can go to the devil in your own way. People will talk if you turn up at the do with her,’ she says.

  ‘I don’t care. Have a good weekend,’ I say sarcastically.

  Polly frowns and then I think I’ve genuinely hurt her.

  ‘Look, Polly, I didn’t mean to be sharp with you.’

  ‘I don’t care what you do. I’m going. I need to catch my train.’

  ‘I’ll drive you to the station.’

  She sniffs. ‘No, you won’t, I’ve got a friend picking me up.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I do have a life outside this place.’ She turns her back on me and I die inside. Blast and damn!

  ‘Polly, wait!’

  But she’s gone, bustling over the yard to reception. Why do I always put my size ten in things? I was only trying to defend Demi, and protect her. I should have known that Polly’s all bluster. Have I become so inept at reading people’s motives and intentions? Which reminds me of Demi’s face when I told Isla I was bringing her. I don’t know who was more stunned out of the two of them.

  Without waiting for a reply, I bump the wheelbarrow over the track towards the guest cottages to collect the remaining slates. Anything I can do myself will save money on labour costs and I need to save as much money as I can to help fund Demi’s cafe. However, if the planning appeal fails, I’m stuffed, along with Polly, Demi and all the people I plan to employ and some of those I already owe money to. Kilhallon will sink into ruin or be sold to the bank and then Mawgan Cade really will get her hands on it.

  Sweat stings my eyes and my shoulder aches. Ignoring it, I cart the barrow of slate back to the yard and return again and again, until I can hardly see straight and every muscle screams at me to rest. Battling the pain and fatigue helps me blot out the reality that if – when – Isla marries Luke, she would be out of reach forever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dark of Cal’s study. This is the first time I’ve had the chance to sneak in here alone since Isla dropped in last night, but now Cal is busy taking the final slates off the cottage roof. Although I have every right to be in here, and an excuse ready if required, I still feel guilty, but I have to know.

  The desk is covered with the usual mishmash of l
etters, bills, spreadsheet printouts, and flyers about heat pumps and solar panels. Polly is meant to file it away but half the time Cal won’t let her move anything. I sift through the latest bunch of crap before spotting the corner of a cream envelope under a self-build magazine.

  The grubby fingerprints on the envelope tell me he’s looked at it many times. After slipping the invitation out, I run my fingers over stiff card that’s almost as thick as my T-shirt. I can even feel the printed letters as minuscule bumps under my fingertips. Isla’s handwriting – it must be hers? – is curvaceous and beautiful and, here and there, the ink from her pen has bled into the card. It’s all very tasteful and classy but there is absolutely no mention of a guest. Not even when I read it all again and whisper the words out loud to the still air of the study:

  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

  So I was right.

  Cal was lying to Isla the other evening and she knows he lied. She hadn’t forgotten; how could she? Because why would she invite a ‘guest’? She knows there was no one else but her in his life, but I’d been fooled for a while. I thought she might have added someone else to console him while he had to celebrate his ex declaring her love for his ex-best friend.

  I also don’t know whether I’m disappointed or happy that he asked me. Was it to make Isla jealous? To annoy her? Because he felt sorry for me and he’s trying to make us both feel better? It had better not be for any of those reasons. I deserve to go as much as anyone.

  ‘Demi?’

  Cal stands in the doorway drying his hands on a tea towel. I hold the invitation behind my back, heart thumping. He’s shirtless – did I mention that? – and he steps inside, all golden and glistening. My body zings with lust and my pulse skyrockets.

  ‘You almost gave me a heart attack!’

  He smiles. ‘Guilty conscience?’

  ‘Yeah, I was thinking of breaking into your bank account and emptying it.’

  ‘You’d have to put something in it first.’

  ‘Ha ha. Actually I was about to print off some of the figures for the cafe, while it’s quiet and Polly can’t keep interrupting me.’

  He drops the towel onto the chair. ‘I don’t mind what you do, I said you could use the printer whenever you want.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Slate dusts his chest and dirt smears his biceps. Any moment now and I might ooze through the floorboards in a pool of lust, if I don’t pass out from guilt first. The envelope is still in my hand. Surely my fingerprints will be all over it.

  ‘How’s the roof going?’ I ask.

  ‘I’ve stacked all the slates in the yard and covered them with a tarpaulin. The builders covered the cottage roof before they left but I ought to go and check it’s secure. The forecast isn’t looking good for tomorrow. I think we might have a storm.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame for the party. Robyn told me they wanted to have drinks outside in the gardens.’

  He shrugs. ‘I hadn’t thought of that but Bosinney’s big enough to cope with a crowd if the weather’s bad.’

  He picks up a letter from the boards and frowns at it. I take the chance to drop the envelope on the desk behind me, hoping I can put it back in place when he leaves.

  With a grimace he throws the letter on the chair.

  ‘Cal, are you sure you want me to go with you to this party?’ I say.

  He frowns. ‘Why wouldn’t I? Don’t you want to go?’

  ‘I don’t really mind but I don’t know these people, apart from Robyn, and if Mawgan’s going to be there, there might be an atmosphere between us.’

  He drops the tea towel on the wooden chest. ‘Do you care about her?’ He says it in the deep, serious voice that bugs the hell out of me, mainly because it’s so sexy.

  ‘No, I couldn’t give a toss.’

  ‘Then what are you on about?’

  I shrug. ‘Nothing, I s’pose. I’m just not really sure why you asked me.’

  He pulls a face, as if I’m some kind of lunatic. ‘Because I wanted you to come with me. Do I need any other reason?’

  Because I wanted you to come with me.

  I tried to hold that thought for the rest of the day while I tested some new recipes for the cafe. I also decided to plant out the basil and coriander plants I’d been growing in one of the old lean-tos in the kitchen garden. I’d already found some mint and rosemary running wild in a neglected corner of the garden and once I’ve cleared the nettles and weeds away from it, it should be useful for roast lamb. I used some of it to make a lamb and mint pasty the other day which even Polly said was ‘quite tasty’.

  Cal stands at the end of the border, with a look of amusement on his face. ‘I never thought you’d have green fingers.’

  ‘My mum liked gardening though I didn’t show much of an interest. Polly’s been giving me some tips.’

  I pat the earth around the last basil plant and stand up, brushing the soil from my hands. Cal unscrews the cap from a bottle of water.

  ‘You’ve done a good job here.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure whether to bother planting them with the gales forecast.’

  ‘If they can’t cope with a bit of wind and rain, they’ll never survive at Kilhallon,’ he says, watching me chase the empty plastic pots rolling around among the herb seedlings. We both make a grab for a flyaway pot and end up face to face.

  Cal hands me the pot. ‘Do you want some dinner? I picked up some sea bass in St Trenyan and thought I’d roast it in the oven. Some of your rosemary would be good on it.’

  I take the pot. ‘You’re offering to cook again?’

  ‘Don’t sound so amazed. I’d make the most of it.’ His eyes glint in the sunlight and then he frowns at me. I wipe my dusty palms on my bare thighs, wondering what he must be thinking. My hair is a wild bramble tangle, my hands are filthy and my shorts are held together with a safety pin because the zip has broken.

  ‘Anything wrong?’

  He smiles briefly. ‘No. I will see you later, then?’

  Cal would rather die than beg anyone for anything but there’s something in his voice: an edge that tugs at me. The party is bound to be difficult for him. He must feel the engagement party is a final nail in the coffin of his relationship. He’ll probably only drink too much if I don’t go round so I suppose it’s my duty to spend the evening with him.

  ‘OK. I’ll finish planting out the marjoram, get changed and come over.’

  He doesn’t thank me, or say ‘great’ or even smile; he nods and walks off but I think he’s pleased.

  Ten minutes later, I chuck the pots in the recycling and wonder how I’m going to get all the dirt out of my nails for the party which starts early tomorrow evening. It sounds very smart. Apparently, Luke and Rory Penwith have hired a marquee because Isla had invited so many locals and TV people from London.

  Should I give myself a manicure? I’ve got varnish I bought from the bargain bin at Superdrug. I could do my toes too. I could paint them now, when I come out of the bath, before I go over to the farmhouse because I tell myself, while I wash my hair, I won’t have time tomorrow. I’ve an early start because of the food fair.

  It has nothing to do, of course, with the fact that I want to look less like I was dragged through a hedge backwards and more like a normal person for the party. Nothing at all to do with the fact I want to look good for Cal – even though he’ll only be looking at one person.

  A pink face with an even pinker nose stares back at me from the mirror but there’s nothing I can do about it now. With my damp mane tied back, I pull on a clean T-shirt and jeans but before I skip downstairs, I decide to get my party outfit out of the wardrobe. The pale-blue summer T-shirt dress cost a fiver in the Next sale and needed a mark washing out. I’ve wor
n it out to the pub a couple of times with Robyn and it will have to do for tomorrow. Robyn let me keep the heels she lent me for the waitress job, she lives in DMs and customised Vans anyway. I can walk to the party in my trainers and change into them there and hope I don’t trip over. Not that anyone would notice if I did. Tomorrow is Isla and Luke’s day and that’s as it ought to be.

  ‘Going to be a rough one.’ Cal parts the faded brocade curtains and peers out of the farmhouse window. It’s already almost dark outside, even though it’s barely nine o’clock. His weather report is also one of his longest statements all evening.

  ‘I spent a couple of nights like this on the streets, but it was cold too.’

  Cal drops the curtain. ‘That must have been tough.’

  ‘I survived.’

  He pokes the embers of the fire he lit before dinner. Iron grey clouds rolled in from the sea and the temperature plunged, turning summer into autumn within half an hour.

  He sinks back into the armchair, and all I can see from the sofa is a hand cradling a glass. Sometimes he seems a lot older than he is. I imagine his father sitting there, a wrinkled, gruffer Cal, waiting and wondering when he’d see his son again while Cal was on one of his humanitarian trips. ‘When I was in the desert I dreamt of nights like this. The rain, the gales …’ Cal says quietly.

  A gust of wind makes the flames dance wildly in the hearth. Mitch lifts his head and whimpers.

  ‘Well, maybe not quite this wild,’ I answer, hugging the cushion, grateful for Mitch lying across my bare feet.

  The wind howls even louder around the farmhouse, rattling the latched doors. Every now and then, a squall of rain patters against the panes as if someone is outside throwing gravel at the windows. The dirty plates, with the remains of the sea bass, have given the room a fishy scent and an empty wine bottle rolls back and forth over the quarry tiles with every gust of wind under the door. Cal can’t be bothered to clear away, and I’m too tired. I was happy he asked me to come over but I’m not sure he’s been that aware of my presence. He’s been drinking steadily all evening and I’ve had more wine and beer than I meant to. Perhaps I should leave. I don’t want to oversleep and miss the food fair in the morning.