Christmas at the Cornish Café

by Phillipa Ashley

  Mitch stays close, sniffing the gorse and stopping to paw at a hole that might be a rabbit burrow.

  ‘Ouch!’

  A man runs round a bend in the path, slamming into me, knocking me into the gorse. Sharp prickles graze my exposed skin.

  ‘Ow! You should be more…. Kit?’

  I stop, recognising the face above me, which switches from furious to agonised the moment that he recognises me. Kit holds out his hand to help me up from the spiky bush. Mitch starts barking, and not in a friendly way.

  ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m such a bloody idiot. Did I scare you?’

  ‘You startled me. I didn’t see or hear you coming.’ The mist swirls around us and Mitch barks even louder. ‘Settle down, Mitch. It’s OK, I’m fine.’

  With a final warning yip, Mitch closes his jaws and stands by me protectively. Kit rubs his hand over his face, the way I’ve seen Cal do when he feels guilty. He’s wearing grey Lycra running tights and a charcoal top, not the easiest thing to spot in a sea fog.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK? I should have slowed down on the bend, but I was trying to make it to the top of this steep section. It’s so early, and I thought no one would be out in this weather. I was in two minds whether to go for a run at all this morning, but I was hoping it would clear while I ran.’

  Gradually my heart rate returns to normal. ‘It might burn off later, though the forecast wasn’t promising. I probably wouldn’t have walked this way in this mist unless I knew the path well.’

  ‘You’re right, of course, but I needed some fresh air and if I don’t get out early before I’m into my writing, I probably won’t be able to tear myself away from the keyboard until it’s dark. This mist gets into your bones. Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?’

  ‘I’m fine, but you’ll get cold now you’ve stopped moving.’

  ‘I’m almost back at Kilhallon now,’ he says, pointing back along the path. Somewhere, a few hundred yards behind us, shrouded in the mist, is the cafe. ‘Are you going down to the cove?’ he adds. ‘I have to say that it’s possibly even worse down there than here. The path’s very slippery, not that I’m trying to stop you – this is your territory.’

  I consider for a moment. ‘I was going to stay high, to be honest.’ The truth is my arm’s a bit sore after falling into the bushes and even I don’t fancy tackling the steep cove path in these conditions, but I’m not going to tell Kit that. ‘Mitch won’t mind going up onto the moor for a change.’

  We turn back towards Kilhallon along the coast path. To our right, the bushes rise gently up to the open moorland above our park. The sea is on our left. Kit walks ahead of me, and Mitch stays behind, snuffling around my heels. At least I thought he was behind me. The mist swirls around us and when I turn, Mitch has disappeared, but I can hear him bark at an imaginary – or real – rabbit.

  ‘Mitch. Come back here now!’

  There’s a skittering nearby and Mitch emerges from the gorse between the path and the cliff edge. The constant crash of the waves on the rocks many metres below us seems muffled and even the telltale scent of seaweed and ozone is gone today.

  ‘You’ll have to go on your lead if you run off again,’ I say rattling the lead at him. Mitch hangs his head and squeezes his shaggy coat against my legs. ‘Mitch hates the lead, he hardly ever needs it, but it’s too dodgy to let him loose in a fog like this, even so close to home.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s safer than either of us and knows the path better too, but you’re right to be careful,’ says Kit, slipping behind me as we reach a narrow section that’s rocky underfoot. The path twists and climbs steeply for a few yards, then we reach the top of the cliff and it broadens out.

  There’s more space between the path and the edge here, so Mitch runs a few feet in front of us and Kit walks alongside me.

  ‘There’s been a lot more cliff falls of late. Cal said he was surprised at how different the route looked when he came home. He thinks the path’s going to crumble into the sea one day soon.’

  Kit moves alongside. ‘Home? Had Cal been away long, then?’

  ‘A couple of years.’

  ‘That’s a long time. Was he living abroad?’

  ‘He worked for a charity in Syria.’

  He blows out a breath. ‘I’m impressed. Sounds dangerous.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. He doesn’t talk about it much.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s because it was dangerous. I should imagine he’s seen things he’d rather forget.’

  ‘Maybe. Like I say, I’ve no idea. He’s focused on running Kilhallon now. Look, we’re back at the park.’

  I kick myself, feeling I’ve said more than I should have already. People are going to find out that Cal was an aid worker anyway, because he agreed to the photo shoot for the magazine in the summer and it’s scheduled to appear sometime soon. Yet saying that Cal doesn’t talk about his time there is a personal comment; and more than I wanted to reveal.

  Aware that Cal might think I’ve already said too much, I’m happy to see the cafe building looming on the other side of the hedge. Mitch trots ahead, sniffing at the ancient granite gateposts at the entrance of Kilhallon land. On the cafe terrace, dew coats the wooden tables and benches. The terrace gives an amazing view over the coastline, not that you can even see beyond the gorse that marks the cliff edge at the moment. It seems strange that the tables will soon be full of customers again, all eating their cream teas. Mitch runs off to investigate rabbit holes.

  ‘I’ve just realised why the cafe is called Demelza’s.’ Kit’s voice breaks into my thoughts and he points to the sign on the stone wall of the cafe. ‘After you, I presume? That’s what Demi is short for, is it? Or are you named after the American actress?’

  Looking at the name, I can still hardly believe it myself, and I can’t resist a smile. ‘The cafe’s named after my Nana Demelza who inspired my love of cooking. I was always known as Demi at home and, strictly speaking, it’s Cal’s cafe because he owns Kilhallon Park. I’m only an employee.’

  He tuts. ‘Only an employee? Come on now, I’m sure Cal sees you as much more than that. I’ve seen you in reception, chatting to guests, running all over the place. You seem indispensable to me. I bet Cal thinks so.’

  I feel uncomfortable, because I’m not quite sure what Kit is getting at and as a guest, there’s no way I’m going to say anything unprofessional. ‘You’d have to ask him,’ I say with what I hope is a charming smile. Mitch darts out from the hedge and sniffs around Kit’s Lycra-clad rude bits.

  ‘Mitch! Come here, now!’ I dash forward to grab his collar but Kit laughs.

  ‘He’s only being friendly and doing what dogs do.’

  ‘He’s a bit too friendly at times. Not all the guests like dogs.’

  ‘Luckily, I do. I had a cocker spaniel when I was little. Couldn’t look after one now in my flat in London. Couldn’t swing a cat in there, let alone a spaniel.’

  Clicking his tongue, he rubs Mitch’s ears the way Cal does. But Mitch doesn’t know Kit as well as Cal, and while he enjoys the ear rub, he’s not about to roll over and ask for a belly tickle. I’m relieved, I don’t want Mitch getting too intimately acquainted with our visitors.

  ‘Is everything OK at the cottage? We haven’t wanted to disturb you, but we like to know that our guests are happy. Do you need any tips for good places to eat in St Trenyan?’ Mitch takes off in the direction of a scuffling noise in the gorse.

  ‘Everything’s fine, thanks. Polly, your reception manager, sorted out a problem with my Wi-Fi.’

  ‘So I heard.’ I try not to sound too amazed but I still am. Polly’s never been too keen on the idea of taking her turn on reception and is always grumbling about the computer system and our Internet service provider and the keyboard and the blah-di-blah. ‘She was very impressed with the roses you gave her.’

  He smiles. ‘Well, I’m going to be here for a while so I want to get on Polly’s side; I should imagine it’s not a good idea to end up in he
r bad books.’

  ‘You imagine right.’

  ‘And I was very grateful for her help. She did a re-boot of the main router or something. I don’t know much about tech and as long as I can get my work done, that’s all I care about, but she seems to know what she’s doing. Interesting woman; “old school” as my mum would say. She told me she’s worked for the Penwith family for years. Are you connected with the family?’

  I laugh out loud at the idea of me being a Penwith. ‘No. I only work for them, or rather what’s left of the Penwiths. There’s only Cal now on his side of the family. He owns the site, and his parents before him, but that was years ago.’

  ‘I remember it. Never stayed here but walked by a few times when I was a little boy. Lots of static caravans, if I remember, but the site did seem a bit run-down.’

  ‘It was probably on its last legs when you were little, but we’re back now,’ I say.

  ‘Looks great now. Polly said the Penwiths have owned this land for centuries. They used to farm here, she said, and then there were the mines, of course. The guidebook in my cottage says that it was a tin miner’s home at one time?’

  ‘Yes, it was, but there was probably a family of ten living in it then.’

  ‘Hard times, but fascinating,’ he says. ‘Shame that Cal’s father lost interest in the holiday park, though. Still, these things happen.’

  ‘Did Polly tell you that?’ Even though Polly loves to gossip, I’m surprised she revealed a detail like that to a new guest.

  ‘She said the late Mr Penwith was busy with his other interests.’

  ‘Oh. Did she?’

  I daren’t say any more. Surely Polly hasn’t revealed to a complete stranger what Mr Penwith’s ‘other interests’ were? She wouldn’t tell a guest about his affairs with women, would she? I’ll have to speak to her and find out exactly what she has told Kit and our other visitors.

  Much to my relief, wavering headlights appear through the fog at the end of the field, and a red transit van lumbers down the track towards the cafe.

  ‘Good. The electricians are here early. I need to have a word with them about fixing a glitch with the kitchen extractor system.’

  ‘And I’m getting cold,’ says Kit, hugging himself. ‘See you later.’ He gives a little bow, as charming now as he was grouchy when he first turned up a few weeks ago, and jogs across the field towards his cottage. Book or no book, Kilhallon has obviously worked some kind of magic on him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Isla and her production company turned up at six o’clock this morning. It’s now been almost three weeks since we opened and it’s amazing how quickly we’ve all settled into the routine of daily cafe life, but looking after a film crew is a fresh challenge. Being a Monday, we’ve opened specially to cater for them and the guys and I have been up since five, making the cafe into a warm, welcoming haven for the cast and crew. We had coffee and pastries ready for them when they rolled into Kilhallon Park. Their vans and costume and make-up trailers have taken over our small parking area and the main car park.

  Isla’s doing us a big favour by using Demelza’s to feed the crew, instead of a professional location caterer, so we have a lot to live up to. By seven a.m., a queue of hungry actors and crew members snakes back from the counter. I had no idea it took so many people to shoot a few short scenes – or how hungry they got.

  ‘Hi, Demi, thanks for opening so early for us. It smells amazing in here.’ Isla reaches the counter.

  ‘Thanks.’ I smile back, but it’s not easy when you’ve been awake half the night worrying, and dragged yourself out of bed in the pitch black, a howling gale and lashing rain. ‘Can I get you any breakfast?’

  ‘A bacon roll, please. They look delicious.’

  Despite also being up at the crack of dawn, Isla is rosy-cheeked and gorgeous, her blond hair piled up in a messy but chic up-do. She wears navy Hunters and a waxed jacket similar to Cal’s. I didn’t even have the energy to take my make-up off last night and my mascara-clogged eyelids must make me look as if an inky spider had crawled over my face.

  ‘There you go.’ Handing her two crisp rashers of organic Cornish bacon cushioned between two halves of an artisan soft white roll, I think how surreal it is to be dishing up bacon butties and croissants to people dressed in frock coats and corsets.

  ‘There’s ketchup and brown sauce on the tables, next to the serviettes and cutlery. Help yourself to tea and coffee too. You were right about serving everyone a simple breakfast menu and letting them help themselves to hot drinks,’ I tell Isla.

  ‘Glad it’s working out. It’s lovely and cosy in here, and we all need warming up. The wind’s bitter, but at least the rain has stopped. Last night I thought we might have to cancel and do some interior shots. The forecast never said anything about a storm.’

  ‘My Nana Demelza always used to say, “Rain before seven; fine before eleven.” I never believed it, but I guess she was right this morning.’

  Although the storm that raged half the night has blown away, the sky is still marred by clouds as lumpy and grey as an old pillow. As if to remind us of what it could unleash, the wind wails around the cafe.

  Isla smiles. ‘Actually, this is exactly what we want today. Wild, untamed, authentic Cornwall. The weather matches the mood of the scene perfectly. Not too sunny and bright but not too much of a safety risk to the cast and crew.’ She lowers her voice. ‘Can you spare a minute for a chat?’

  I can’t really spare a second, but this must be important so I follow her over to a corner table and sit down.

  ‘Have you seen Cal this morning?’

  ‘Not yet. I headed straight down here from my cottage.’

  I’m not sure if she’s fishing to find out if I spent the night with Cal. She must have guessed by now that there’s something going on between us, even if Cal hasn’t told her straight out that we’re officially together yet. Nothing is ‘official’ anyway. The truth is that Cal and I haven’t spent the night together since our encounter in the cafe before the Harbour Lights. All we’ve managed is a few quick snogs and even then Cal seemed half-hearted about it. In fact, he’s seemed more distant generally since that night I went to the cinema and he had a skinful at the Tinner’s. I wonder if someone said something to him about us in the pub that’s upset him, not that he usually takes any notice of village gossip.

  ‘Really? Oh, of course. You had an early start. It doesn’t matter. I expect he’ll pop down to see how we’re getting on at some point.’

  ‘He’s bound to.’

  ‘Luke’s in London. I’m staying at Bosinney House to keep Uncle Rory company. He misses Robyn since she moved in with Andi Cade, but I know he’s relieved to see her happy. I’m so glad they’re together now. I hope my visit to you in the summer helped iron out your problems?’

  She sips her coffee. I’m pretty amazed to hear her refer to what happened earlier this summer. Mawgan used Isla’s fiancé, Luke, to persuade Robyn to end her relationship with Mawgan Cade’s younger sister, Andi. Luke was in financial trouble with the Cades and didn’t dare to defy them but Isla decided to intervene and tell me that Luke was putting unfair pressure on the girls. It was a tough call, but I decided to let them know that Mawgan was the real person trying to split them up. Andi and Robyn were shocked and hurt, but they’re together now – partly because I told Mawgan just what I thought of her toxic interference in other people’s lives and, amazingly, made her think again.

  ‘It’s incredible that Mawgan had an attack of conscience and gave her blessing for the girls moving into together after all, isn’t it? Perhaps she’s not as bad as I thought,’ Isla says.

  ‘Maybe.’ I shrug, squirming a little. Isla has no idea that I confronted Mawgan and Cal suspects that it was Isla’s intervention that made the difference, which suits me. ‘Who knows what goes on in Mawgan’s mind, eh?’

  ‘No. It’s a mystery. Anyway, I must let you get back to work. Thanks again for putting up with us. I know everyone apprec
iates a cosy haven to retreat to. See you later.’

  A tall man who I think is the director, joins Isla and I go back to serving. I recognise a couple of the actors in the queue. Whether they’re well known or not, the stars seem to line up with the extras and the lowliest crew member. The lead actor and actress didn’t bother with the cooked breakfast, opting for fresh fruit bowls and black coffee. They’re sitting in the far corner, studying scripts.

  I caught them huddled inside their Puffa coats by our bins earlier this morning, grabbing a sneaky fag in the dark. Now I know how they stay that thin. Their life – at least on set – isn’t that glamorous after all. I also think they’re more than colleagues, judging by the way they were giggling and whispering in each other’s ears. The lead actor, Dylan, is an up-and-coming star and has attracted a following of fans already. He’s quite cute, I guess, but he’s not really my type. He also seems very nervy and strung out.

  After breakfast, most of the cast and crew clear out, although a few of the ‘extras’ linger. The dishwasher hums and Radio St Trenyan blares out from the kitchen where Jez and I are doing prep for lunch: a choice of pasties and a veggie quiche, with jackets and salad, plus different sandwiches. Trays of homemade figgy obbin, flapjacks, fly pastry, cereal bars, posh popcorn and fresh fruit are already laid out for the breaks in filming, alongside bottled water, presses, a selection of teas, coffee and hot-chocolate sachets.

  During the morning, people pop in and out constantly, grabbing drinks and snacks to eat on the go. A few of the extras huddle in a corner, waiting to be called, gossiping about the productions they’ve worked on and the stars they’ve met, according to Nina who’s still star-struck and eavesdropping.

  After the shoot is finished, Isla has suggested we can use some exclusive pictures on our social media pages. With the photo shoot we did in the autumn set to be published very soon, the publicity should be a big boost to bookings and business.