Summer at the Cornish Cafe

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘D’you want a nightcap? I’ve got a fresh bottle of whisky somewhere.’ Cal’s voice, coming from the depths of the winged armchair by the fire, startles me.

  ‘I thought you gave orders there was to be no more whisky in the house?’

  ‘This one is for emergencies.’

  I could tell him he’s had enough; I could say ‘goodnight’ and leave him on his own but something keeps me here, unwilling or unable to leave him. ‘I’d rather have a beer,’ I say.

  ‘Fine.’

  He hands me a beer and I curl up on the sofa, Mitch acting as my duvet as he has so many times. Cal takes his father’s chair, cradling another glass of whisky. The wind is a dull roar that I’ve almost ceased to notice, but every now and then, the old house lets out a groan and a flurry of hail hurls itself against the windows. Isla must be wetting herself, worrying about the party marquee at Bosinney, and I don’t blame her. It’s me that’s here with Cal now. I wonder if she’d swap places with me?

  ‘What are you smiling at?’ His voice cuts into my alcohol-fuelled memories of my first ‘interview’ with him and how he reminded me of a sexy TV vampire.

  Instantly I’m not smiling any more but blushing instead.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Yes, you are. You have that look on your face.’

  ‘What look?’ I look at him, smiling again now, because I have a secret he doesn’t know, which makes a change from the other way around.

  ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’ He puts his glass on the table and leans forward a little.

  ‘No, there’s not … not really.’

  If he had ears like Mitch’s, they’d definitely prick up and instantly I regret what I said.

  ‘Not really?’

  ‘It was just something silly. A stupid name I had for you once.’

  ‘A silly name? Come on, out with it.’

  ‘No. It wasn’t really a nickname, just a silly idea.’

  He wags his finger at me. ‘You can’t say that and not tell me.’

  I wink at him, enjoying the banter but vowing to die rather than tell him. ‘I’ll never talk, no matter what you do to me.’

  He puts his glass down on the table and leans forward. ‘Oh, really? You’d be lucky to last ten seconds.’

  My bones are tingly and shivery. The words somehow pop out of my mouth.

  ‘Try me.’

  He watches me, his expression dark and smoulderingly sexy, then shrugs and picks up his whisky glass again. He might as well have chucked a bucket of icy water over me but I’d rather die than show him how disappointed I am so I reach for my beer, to hide my embarrassment and frustration. As soon as I’ve finished my drink, I’m off to bed; things are becoming dangerous in here, in every way.

  The bottle slips out of my fingers. Two hands haul me along the sofa and off it. My bottom thumps onto the rug.

  ‘Ow! What d’you think you’re doing?’

  Cal says nothing but his expression is steely, determined. What have I started? I wriggle and try to scramble away from him but it’s useless.

  ‘Stop!’

  My heart races wildly and my bottom throbs from hitting the carpet. Cal pins me down on the rug, sits on top of my thighs facing away from me and tickles my feet mercilessly.

  ‘Argh! No. No!’ I try to push myself up on my elbows, collapse back to the carpet. His fingers dance along my bare soles.

  I shriek and writhe. ‘No, stop!’

  ‘Not until you tell me this name.’

  ‘No, I can’t. I cannnnn’t!’

  His fingertips dance over my soles. It’s absolute agony. I batter his back with my fists but he ignores me, running his finger from my toes to my heels until I scream for mercy.

  Mitch starts barking.

  ‘Mitch will bite you!’

  ‘Down, boy!’ Cal orders. ‘Demi and I are only playing.’

  ‘We’re not! We’re so not. Mitch! Help!’

  Mitch, the traitor, sniffs at my feet and starts licking them.

  ‘OK! I’ll tell. I’ll tell!’

  Cal holds my toes in his fingers. ‘Go on.’

  ‘It was the Hot Vampire,’ I mumble, my face burning with shame.

  Cal keeps hold of my foot. ‘The what?’

  ‘The Hot Vampire. OK, Satisfied? Now let me go!’

  His hands circle my ankles. Cal releases me and stands up.

  I turn over and bury my face in the carpet.

  ‘Hot Vampire?’ he repeats.

  ‘Go away, Cal,’ I murmur to the rug.

  ‘Get up.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Get up.’

  Turning over, I open my eyes. He is six feet above me, holding out his hand. I grasp it and he pulls me to my feet. His eyebrows meet over a deep frown.

  ‘I can understand the hot part …’ he says.

  I gasp. ‘You arrogant …’

  He smirks. ‘But a vampire? Where the hell did that come from?’

  ‘It was a joke, just some stupid thing on the TV.’ I rescue my flip-flops from the sofa. The gale rumbles around the house and the rain sounds like the house is under a waterfall.

  ‘I’d better get back to the cottage; see if the roof’s still on.’

  ‘No way. You’ll drown in this rain and anyway I don’t think I can let you go … now, I’ve got you in my lair …’ he adds in a horror film voice.

  I stare at him. ‘You’re pissed.’

  ‘No, I’m thirsty … thirsty for you.’ He holds up his arms and zombies towards me. Shaking my head at him, I back away from him towards the door to the hall. Mitch watches, cocking his head from side to side.

  ‘You’re nuts.’

  ‘I’m coming to get you,’ Cal booms, a metre away from me now. On cue, a crack of thunder seems to shake the rafters and Mitch whimpers faintly.

  ‘You won’t get me,’ I whisper and make a dash for the hallway. Cal follows me. I laugh at him. ‘Rubbish vampire you make. Rubb-ish.’

  I’m giggling helplessly but my heart’s pounding as I run towards the stairs.

  ‘There’s no escape,’ he says in his voice of doom, advancing on me. ‘I’m coming …’

  I scamper up the stairs, with a vague plan to lock myself in the bathroom, out of harm’s way, not that there’s any real harm but you know, just in case, because my breath’s short and my pulse is racing and I may actually have a heart attack before the vampire even gets me. The stairs creak madly and I stumble up the top step, stubbing my toe on the wooden riser.

  ‘Ow!’ The vampire’s hand clamps around my ankle. ‘Argh!’

  At my shriek, Mitch barks from the bottom of the stairs. He doesn’t know this is only a stupid game between two drunken idiots.

  ‘Get off me!’ I twist my foot out of Cal’s grip and scramble onto the landing but I’ve only managed a few feet before he catches up with me. He grabs my arm, pulls me against him and bares his teeth, showing me his canines.

  ‘Don’t you know there’s no escape from the Hot Vampire?’

  I try to look unimpressed. ‘Will you please stop saying that? I told you it was a joke.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I’m not joking, Demi.’ He kicks the bedroom door open and it bangs against the plaster wall. He pulls me through into his room and grabs my upper arms.

  ‘Come into my lair.’

  ‘You’re completely mad. And completely pissed.’

  ‘I’m stone cold sober. And thirsty.’

  With a Hannibal Lecter hiss, he bares his white teeth again. I giggle but my stomach swirls like mad. We tumble onto the bed and Cal looms above me in the half-light that spills up from the hall below. We’re face to face, inches from each other. His eyes burn, not with blood lust but a desire for something else, for someone else: me. My body is alive, glowing, and my heart beats thick and fast.

  ‘This is a joke, right?’ I whisper.

  ‘No, I’m deadly serious.’ He touches my cheek and every cell and nerve ending fires into
life.

  There’s a sharp tug in the pit of my stomach, so hard it hurts.

  ‘If you’re hoping for a virgin, you’re going to be disappointed.’

  He smiles. ‘Good. I couldn’t handle the responsibility.’

  We both look up at a whimper from the doorway. Mitch watches us, cocking his head on one side.

  Cal climbs off me, and ruffles Mitch’s ears. ‘Sorry, boy, but I don’t need an audience for this.’

  Then he shuts the door and drops the latch.

  With roughened fingertips, he traces the line of my jaw from below my ear lobe and under my chin. He tilts my chin up with his fingers and holds it while he kisses me, so deeply, I wonder if I might drown in pleasure. This can’t be real …

  My limbs feel liquid. I have no bones left so I give in, crushing every rational reason why having drunken sex with my boss is the worst idea in the world. My body tells me it’s the best idea, and the only thing I want to do. My body, tingling, hot, and zinging with lust, only wants one thing: Cal Penwith, as deep inside me as possible.

  He is a shadowy figure in the darkness, lit up in a brief shaft of moonlight before the room is plunged into darkness again. Perhaps he is a vampire, a fantasy man.

  His body feels real. Solid and lean under my hands as I push up his T-shirt and press my fingers into his back. His tongue is hot and probing in my mouth, seeking out my secrets, demanding a response. He tastes of whisky, bitter and sweet at the same time. Before I met him, I always thought food was better than sex but now I’d starve if I could have sex with Cal for the rest of my life.

  ‘Oh …’

  I’m ashamed of my moan of pleasure as his palm closes around my breast but I can’t hold it back. I hear the rasp of a zip as he undoes my jeans. The gale howls like a banshee and rattles the panes. It feels as if the storm is squeezing the life out of Kilhallon and the whole house seems to shudder.

  Cal slips his hand inside my knickers and touches me. I groan and whimper. He rolls his fingertip over me. This is too much, I can’t cope, but I want him so much.

  I grab his wrist and stop his hand. ‘Cal …’

  His face is clear in a brief shaft of moonlight; puzzled, edgy. ‘What’s the matter? You do want to do this?’

  ‘Yes, I want it. I really want it but I know I said I wasn’t a virgin but it’s been a long time for me.’

  His features relax. ‘Demi, I don’t care. Just enjoy it.’

  He flicks the buttons on his jeans. Lightning flashes, showing him above me, shoving his jeans and boxers down his legs. A huge crash of thunder sends tremors through the house. Mitch starts barking from the landing. The house creaks and groans, glass shatters and I scream.

  ‘What the hell …’ Cal’s mouth gapes, a black hole in the moonlight.

  I look up in time to see a great black mass crashing down on top of us.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Can’t move. Can’t see. Don’t think I breathe. The storm roars in my ears and chest, ten times louder than a moment ago. My face is wet, but I don’t know if it’s rain or tears or blood, mine or Cal’s. Layers of darkness press down on me: Cal, the bed canopy and something spiky and sharp. I try to lift him off me but I can’t even move my arms.

  ‘Cal. You. Have. To. Get. Up.’

  In the darkness, he groans and stirs. Lightning flashes and shows a huge, black mass of branches filling the room like an evil giant.

  The pressure eases. ‘Cal! I think a tree came through the window. The bed canopy’s on top of us. I can’t move.’

  ‘Hold on,’ he says, easing himself off me. I let out a big breath. Cal manages to lift a tangle of broken wood, branches and curtains from us and the lightning flashes again. Branches, twigs and broken glass litter the floor and leaves race round the room. Above the roar of the wind, I hear barking.

  ‘Mitch!’

  ‘He’ll be OK. Good job I locked him out of the room.’

  ‘I must go to him. He’ll be terrified.’

  We wriggle out of the jumble of bed and tree. My leg hurts but I’m more worried about Mitch. Cal helps me off the bed and pulls his jeans up, and we duck under the branches and force open the door.

  A furry ball leaps on me, licking me madly. ‘I’m here, you silly dog. It’s OK. Stay out of here. I need to help Cal.’ Reluctantly, I close the door. The clouds have parted and the moonlight filters through the branches, showing Cal with his hands on his head in despair.

  I flick a switch but know it’s useless. ‘The electric’s off.’

  ‘That strike will have knocked out the power for miles. Is Mitch OK?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes. What can we do?’

  ‘Not much tonight. The window frame’s gone and will need replacing along with some of the masonry. Best see if I can board the hole up but we may have to wait until morning. You’d better stay inside.’

  My leg throbs. I think I’ve cut it. ‘I’ll help.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ll need all the help you can get to shift that tree.’

  Downstairs, Cal pulls on his Barbour and boots and heads outside with the torch while I find an old lantern with a stub of candle in it. The flickering light reveals a gash on my shin, not long enough for stitches but bleeding and sore. Before I put my jeans back on, I quickly wash it and stick a plaster on it before finishing getting dressed and going down to find an old coat and Polly’s wellies from the porch. The wind takes my breath away and blows my hood off. Rain lashes my face, and whirling debris stings my skin.

  Cal has rigged up an arc light linked to the generator. His head is visible among the branches of the tree. ‘This oak’s been there for centuries. I knew it needed felling but I was putting it off because of the cost.’

  ‘Should we call someone to help?’

  ‘No point. The fire service will have enough to do and it’s too rough to start clearing the mess. It’ll have to stay like this until morning.’

  ‘It’s the last thing we need.’

  ‘It could have been worse. It could have brought the whole house down.’

  Cal shakes his head at the spiky bulk of the tree propping up the wall of the farmhouse. ‘The structure of the house could be damaged. I’ll have to get the builders to look at it tomorrow. What happened to your leg?’

  Despite the plaster, blood oozes down my leg. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘As long as you’re sure. Come on, we can’t do anything here and the old house has stood for four hundred years. It’ll last ‘til morning. I need to check the new building. I hope the roof tarpaulin has held.’

  We battle across the field, almost blown horizontal by the wind. Twigs and leaves fly through the air and I can feel the tang of salt carried from the sea. The tarpaulin on the amenities block is still in place but one end is flapping wildly against the stones.

  ‘We need to lash that down!’ Cal picks the metal ladder from the ground.

  ‘Be careful!’

  A few minutes ago, we were in bed and now we’re both stone cold sober and neither of us has time to talk about what happened while we work to secure the roof tarpaulin. My hair whips around my face, catching my eyes. Cal is up the ladder, balanced precariously. I hold the bottom while the tarpaulin flaps like a huge winged monster but eventually, we get it fixed over the gaping hole. God knows how much it will cost to fix the roof; it’s money Cal doesn’t have but I suppose it could have been worse.

  And we’re all alive; me, Cal and Mitch. I suppose there’s a lot to be said for that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ‘Demi!’

  I wake to Cal shouting and banging on the door. Dragging my hand over my eyes, I push myself up off the sofa and twist the lock. My leg is sore and my arms ache. Cal points to the chunky watch on his wrist.

  ‘I fell asleep. I’ve not even showered.’

  ‘We need to get going to the food fair and I have to be back to meet the builder about repairing the window. You have ten minutes to get ready. I’ll see you at the house,’
he says gruffly and stalks off again.

  Instantly I know that the spark between us has evaporated. We were both drunk, and it’s probably a good thing we didn’t go all the way. Cal looks like he wants to forget what happened. Rubbing my hair with a towel after dunking myself in the bath, I walk into the bedroom and my heart sinks further.

  ‘Oh, no …’

  My ‘party’ outfit lies on the carpet in a pool of water under a dark brown patch on the ceiling. There’s nothing I can do but pull on my least scuzzy T-shirt and an old pair of jeans. I hug Mitch goodbye, tell him again that Nina will be over to feed and walk him while we’re at the food fair. He doesn’t know he’s also being ‘dog sat’ while we go to the party.

  We got back from the fair in Helston in the early afternoon. Cal and I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to make running repairs until the builders can fit us in, because there were many people in a far worse state than us after the storm. Nina said that some of the dog runs at the animal sanctuary were damaged and Robyn posted an Instagram picture of a gazebo at Bosinney that had been blown down in the gale.

  Far from being cancelled, as we’d feared it might have been, the food fair was packed. Luckily the south coast missed the worst of the gales. Cal and I toured the food market, earmarking potential suppliers and setting up meetings. The sun broke out of the clouds, the winds eased and hordes of people descended.

  There was a fringe market too, with stalls selling bric-a-brac and vintage clothing – and a dress. While rummaging around the stall, congratulating myself on rescuing pieces from the barn that would have cost hundreds, I spotted The Dress. I think it’s a 1950s cocktail dress and it is in decent condition apart from a tear in the hem and missing fastener. I tried not to show too much interest and I managed to walk away from it, telling myself I couldn’t afford twenty pounds but I kept imagining myself in it at Isla’s engagement party.