Christmas at the Cornish Café

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘Well, maybe I provided some moral support at times.’

  ‘Mostly immoral, actually.’ Leaning forward, I kiss him and push my tongue into his mouth. As if on cue, Mitch lets out a growl, but his eyes are shut tight and he goes back to his dream, twitching as he chases imaginary rabbits.

  When our kiss ends, my lips tingle from the warmth of his lips and the tang of the whisky. Cal smiles and takes my hands in his. ‘It’s a lot of cash. A big commitment.’

  ‘I’ve already made up my mind about investing in the business so don’t try to persuade me out of it.’

  His eyes light up with pleasure. ‘If that’s your decision, I’m happy – delighted – to go along with it, but we’ll have a proper contract drawn up to formalise the arrangement. You’ll be a partner in the business.’

  Partner? In my own business? My heart might just explode, but I try not to squeak in delight because I’m a hard-headed businesswoman now.

  Cal raises his eyebrows at me. ‘But remember when you’re as rich as Mawgan Cade, not to screw me over and turn me off my own land.’

  ‘I’ll never turn into Mawgan Cade!’ I stroke my chin Dr Evil style. ‘Then again, it could be fun, having you at my mercy.’

  ‘Fun for who?’ he asks with a sexy eyebrow waggle.

  ‘Both of us.’

  Cal stands up, pulling me with him. My limbs are liquid, yet I’m trembling too. Without a word he leads me out of the sitting room, where Mitch snores softly by the armchair. The stairs creak as they always do and I follow him upstairs, my hand still in his. My breath is shorter now, desire building deep inside me at the sight of his gorgeous bum and thighs in his new Christmas jeans. In his bedroom now, he flicks the switch of the lamp and sits on the edge of the bed.

  I stand between his legs and he holds me and looks up at me. ‘There’s no escape from the Hot Vampire this time,’ he says, referring to the silly name I had for him when we first met. He bares his teeth. ‘There’s no tree to crash through the bedroom window and save you like last time.’

  ‘Maybe this time I don’t want to escape …’

  He smiles. ‘You don’t know what I’ve got in store for you yet, maiden.’

  ‘I think you know that I’m not a maiden by now …’

  ‘And I’m not a vampire, but who cares. Come here!’ My shriek echoes as Cal pulls me downwards and rolls me on top of him. I kiss him, actually I’m devouring him. My hands are pushing up his sweater and I’m tugging his shirt out of his jeans. There’s a bit of a tangle as he pulls both off at once and soon he’s naked from the waist up, his summer tan fading but his chest and abs still firm and muscled, and all mine …

  I wake on Boxing Day morning as the first slivers of light creep into the room. Cal’s eyes are shut and his lashes brush his cheek. I prop myself up on one elbow, hardly daring to breathe in case I wake him. He looks beautiful, peaceful, innocent, then I remember some of the things he did to me last night and my own cheeks glow.

  ‘I hope you’re not watching me sleep,’ he mutters, opening one eye.

  ‘How can I watch you sleep, when you’re obviously awake?’

  He opens the other eye and pulls me against him. Realising I’m still naked, I snuggle back down under the covers. Cal’s most definitely awake from the feel of him, but he doesn’t try to make love to me again. Yet. He pushes my hair out of my eyes and looks at me intently.

  ‘Will you be staying over with me again?’

  ‘If you want me to.’

  ‘Just for tonight?’

  ‘Yes, for tonight, and tomorrow if you like. And after that, let’s take each night as it comes, and reassess the situation every morning.’

  His smile is one of intense pleasure, almost joy. I’m worried he might hear my heart beating, then he nods, as if he’s satisfied to have finally got what he wanted. We lie next to each other on the bed. Cal stares at the ceiling while I try to tame a feeling of wild happiness that is so intense and out of control, I’m worried. It’s too late now to back away from Cal, from the commitment. I’ve flown so high, perhaps now the only way can be down, but I’m not going to crash. He won’t let me.

  His fingers lift my hair and tease it gently away from my eyes. ‘Demi?’ Cal murmurs.

  ‘Mmm.’ My voice is dreamy. I may float away at any moment and although it’s probably a post-sex lull and lack of sleep, I wonder if it’s possible to die of happiness.

  ‘Did you persuade Mawgan to back off from Kilhallon?’ he asks.

  My body tenses. ‘Me?’

  He turns to face me. ‘How many Demi’s are there around here? Why didn’t you tell me, before?’

  ‘Because when Mawgan called me that night, she made me swear not to. She said she’d ruin us if I told anyone else and she also said some other things about your dad that weren’t very nice and might have been a pile of crap. And then you assumed that Isla had made Mawgan back down and, at the time, you and Isla were close … I know you’re still close … so it was easier for all of us to let you go on thinking that.’

  ‘You should have told me.’

  ‘No, I shouldn’t. It was my decision. You know now. How did you guess it was me?’

  ‘Isla told me it wasn’t her when she came to dinner and since then, I’ve been putting the pieces together and then something Kit said made me suspect it was you.’

  ‘Please don’t let on. Mawgan could still make a lot of trouble for us if she really wanted to.’

  ‘What did she say about Dad? Was it about him having an affair with Mrs Cade?’

  I nod. ‘You know about that too?’

  ‘Yes, Kit told me.’ He strokes my arm. ‘How did you get her to change her mind?’

  ‘I don’t honestly know. I just told Mawgan that she was hurting Andi and herself and basically she went batshit and weird and threw me out. I never expected her to drop her opposition. In fact, at any moment I expected her to fly round here on her broomstick and say I’d made things worse, so when she called to say she didn’t want Kilhallon, I was even more amazed than you and Polly.’

  Cal keeps looking at me. He keeps stroking my arm and my thigh. His gaze is intense and makes my skin tingle and my body fizz. My stomach is in knots, but in a good way.

  ‘What? Why are you looking at me like that?’

  He breaks into a smile. ‘Because, once again, I’m gobsmacked by you. You never stop surprising me or driving me mad. Like inviting half the town for Christmas or making me desperate to share my house, with a big smelly hound in my bedroom.’

  ‘Mitch does not smell.’

  ‘He does after those sprout dog treats.’

  ‘Experimental. Not everything can work.’

  He laughs. ‘Now you tell me you went to my worst enemy, a woman devoid of a heart or a soul, and appealed to some shred of conscience that must be buried deeper than radioactive waste. And you persuaded her to stop harassing me and saved my business, home and sanity in the process.’

  I shrug. ‘All part of the job.’

  He gathers me to him. ‘No. It isn’t. It’s way beyond the call of duty.’

  ‘And you won’t tell anyone about my visit to Mawgan? Not Polly or Isla for God’s sake. If it gets out that Mawgan has a heart after all, or at least she thought she did for a second, then she’ll go ballistic and she’ll come after us even harder.’

  ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

  ‘But do you swear on your life?’

  He puts on his ‘serious’ face. ‘Demi Jones. I solemnly swear on my life and Mitch’s that I will never divulge your secret as long as I live. Satisfied?’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘You don’t trust me?’

  ‘About ninety-nine per cent of the time,’ I say, enjoying teasing him, but I’m also being honest. No one can ever trust anyone absolutely, not even themselves. Especially not themselves.

  He whispers in my ear. ‘Thanks. Whatever you did or said. Thanks.’

  My throat’s too clogged to reply with anything sensible so
I think I say something about him owing me for a very long time. Then we hold each other, although I don’t think it will be for long from what I can tell. We’re still naked and there’s no hiding place when you’re pressed this close together under a warm duvet with a hot man you love to bits and fancy the pants off.

  The inevitable happens. The wonderful, sweaty, rampant inevitable and we’re lying in a tangle of duvet again, wondering whether Boxing Day is even worth getting out of bed for. I trace my initials over Cal’s bare chest, although he won’t know, flattening and raising the springy hair. I’m so glad he doesn’t go in for waxing.

  ‘Why are you giggling?’

  ‘Nothing. We really ought to get up.’

  He sighs. ‘Do we have to?’

  ‘Mitch will need his breakfast soon, and a run.’

  ‘Hmm. I’ll get up and feed him and take him out.’

  ‘We can do it together now,’ I say, glowing with post-sex euphoria and bursting to get up and enjoy the rest of our day together.

  Cal, in contrast, frowns as if I’ve just suggested we should invite Mawgan Cade round for brunch followed by naked Twister. He props himself up on one elbow and takes in a breath.

  ‘You once asked me where I was last Christmas and what Kit knew that could cause me so much pain. You haven’t asked me since we had our row and I’m grateful for that. I didn’t think I could ever tell you, but things are different between us now. I owe it to you – no, I need to tell you. I wasn’t angry with Kit because he was going to tell everyone what he thinks he knows about me. I was angry because I still can’t forgive myself for what happened.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  ‘There’s one thing I want you to know. I wasn’t a soldier or a spy, whatever Kit may have implied. We need those people and they have their own shitty nightmarish job to do, a job I couldn’t do. I wasn’t one. I never meant to be … but it was my fault. They’d both still be alive if it wasn’t for me.’

  The mention of people dying sends a shiver down my spine, but Cal needs to tell me this. I want to hear it, no matter how awful it is. ‘Kit hasn’t told me anything. I’ve no idea what happened to you, but I swore to him you’d never ever do anything wicked or cruel,’ I say softly, pulling the covers back over us both.

  ‘Not intentionally, but you have more faith in me than I do in myself.’ He turns his face away from me and stares at the ceiling. My hand rests lightly on his and under my fingertips, his pulse quickens.

  ‘There was a woman. Her name was Soraya and she had a daughter called Esme who was nine years old. She’d be ten now, of course …’

  ‘When did this happen?’ I ask, half afraid to break the spell, but wanting to encourage him.

  ‘It was not long after Christmas last year, I’m not even sure of the date because each day blurred into the rest and they were all pretty awful. But I do remember that I’d just had an email – in a rare moment when I had access to a laptop and some Internet – from Robyn moaning about her dad.’ He shakes his head. ‘Actually, it was a relief to hear about some trivial silly problem for a change rather than dealing with life and death and horror. I meant to reply, but I never got the chance.’

  His shiver is unmistakeable, but he carries on.

  ‘I remember thinking that I’d email her back and I’d try to pick up some presents once I got to civilisation, and get a postcard for Isla.’

  ‘Oh God, the postcards …’ I say with a groan, remembering the day earlier this year when I found a bundle of cards that Cal had sent to Isla while he’d been working abroad.

  He smiles briefly but his expression quickly darkens. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sorry. It was an accident that I found them in your room …’ My face heats up as I recall sitting on Cal’s bed and reading some of his private messages to Isla. I’d only just started working for him then and I could have melted with shame at being caught by Cal.

  ‘I knew you’d read them.’

  ‘I only read a few. Once they’d fallen out of the box I couldn’t help myself.’

  He shakes his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. To be honest, I was so low at the time, I didn’t really care and I also knew, even then, you’d never tell anyone else my private business.’

  ‘I’m still sorry for prying.’

  He squeezes my hand then lets it go. ‘Forget it. Isla had insisted I take them all back shortly after I came home at Easter, as if to underline that it was the end of things for us. She told me it wasn’t right to keep them now she was engaged to Luke. Anyway, all that’s behind me, but I can’t leave everything behind me so easily. I don’t want to.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’ I brush my lips over his, hoping the postcard reminder won’t stop him from continuing with his story. ‘Carry on. You can’t stop now.’

  ‘I need to go back further than Robyn’s email for you to fully understand what happened. You know that I worked for a charity in Syria that provided shelter, food and medical aid.’

  ‘I know some of it, but you’ve never told me the details.’ Cal’s mentioned his time in a desert landscape a couple of times, but never specifically. He’s made it obvious he wants me – and all of his friends and family – to leave that part of his life well alone, which is why I’m so amazed to hear him talk about it now.

  ‘We set up an aid station in a refugee camp on the Syrian border with Iraq. We were only a few kilometres from a Syrian town where local fighters were constantly battling with violent insurgents. The insurgents were drawing closer every day and shelling the town, but the locals refused to leave. Who could blame them? They were desperate not to be driven out of their homes, even though they were in great danger. Sooner or later my charity colleagues and I knew we might have to retreat even further from the town if things went badly for the locals and the town fell into the terrorists’ hands. But we wanted to stay for as long as possible to help those refugees who did want to flee, and support the townspeople who insisted on staying in what was left of their homes.

  ‘You see,’ he tells me quietly. ‘It’s not as simple as “them” and “us” out there. There are so many different factions, so many people with different agendas, all prepared to kill to get their way. Insurgents, terrorists, government troops, local rebels and fighters battling their own government, UN peacekeepers – even some of “our” own Special Forces, most of whom were there unofficially. You don’t know who your enemy is half the time, let alone your friends, but Soraya was a true friend.’

  A true friend. I’m not sure what Cal means by that phrase. Is he trying to tell me that there was more than friendship between him and Soraya even while he was in love with Isla? I’m still reeling from the fact that he’s decided to finally open up about his experiences at all. I must tread very carefully. ‘Was Soraya an aid worker too?’

  ‘Not officially. She wasn’t on the staff. She’d been a nurse before the war started but her husband, siblings and parents had all been killed and she’d had to leave her job when the hospital she worked at was bombed. She helped us by setting up a clinic in the makeshift buildings near to the hospital.’

  ‘Oh God, how horrible for her to lose her family.’

  ‘It’s horrific, but she was one of many people to lose loved ones and she had no choice but to carry on for the sake of her daughter, Esme.’

  ‘If Esme was nine, that’s the same age as the Tennants’ girls …’ I think of the twins and myself, too, at that age. I was still secretly playing with dolls and teddies even though I made out I was way too grown-up. Then I picture Esme growing up surrounded by bombs and danger and chaos. ‘Imagine being so young and afraid in such an awful situation.’

  ‘People had to do their best and try to survive somehow,’ Cal replies. ‘Soraya still had some cousins and her elderly grandparents left. All of them refused to leave the town so Soraya decided to stay there with Esme for as long as she could. And one of her cousins led a group of local fighters who were trying to push back the insurgents.’ He grimaces. ‘I say “in
surgents” but their main aim was to reduce the place to dust or take it back to some kind of medieval hell – both, if they could.’

  I shudder. ‘I can’t even think about something so terrifying.’

  Cal kisses me briefly. ‘Then don’t try. Although Soraya still lived in the town, she used to help us when she could, bringing injured children to the camp, treating people and interpreting. She also acted as a bridge between us aid workers and her local fighter friends. Without her, we couldn’t have treated or sheltered as many people as we did. She built up trust with the locals so that we could go into places we wouldn’t otherwise have been able to. They trusted Soraya so they trusted us.’

  He takes a deep breath, then carries on. ‘What she didn’t know was that I’d already been persuaded to help out a small UK group of soldiers. They were supposed to be there for reconnaissance and security reasons but I now realise they must have been from military intelligence or Special Forces. Looking back, I already suspected as much and chose to ignore it.

  ‘I’d got to know their commanding officer while I’d been working. I trusted him as he’d helped us out of some very tricky situations and his guys had even saved me and my boss’s life on more than one occasion when we’d run into trouble. He asked me to open up some lines of communication with the local fighters who were led by Soraya’s cousin, so I agreed to persuade Soraya to broker a meeting between them.

  ‘I knew we weren’t supposed to become involved in military activity of any kind. I’m not a soldier and I was meant to be as neutral as you can be in that seething mess. But how can you be neutral when you believe that something is right and you want to protect people? The lines had become blurred – my lines, everyone’s … you understand?’ He hesitates.

  ‘Not really, Cal, but please don’t stop.’

  ‘I was reluctant to ask Soraya to help me, but I was convinced I’d be helping the people we were caring for and she was in contact with them anyway. I’m not making excuses. I knew what I was doing and I made the call. I arranged the meeting and I started to take stuff between our military and the local fighters via Soraya on my regular runs into town with our charity truck.’