Josie is a journalist. I wanted her to cover the food markets and do a profile on you. I thought you could meet each other today, she could get a feel for the event and then set up an interview. I didn’t explain myself. I’m sorry. Are you OK? Dx
She read the message several times, trying to equate what she’d seen with Daniel’s version of the truth. It was smooth – as always – and complimentary. But they’d made a habit of this: her confronting him, him coming up with a plausible excuse. She no longer knew what to believe.
She watched Marmite chasing the waves back and forth, yelping whenever he misjudged them and got his feet wet. When he tired, they started the journey back to Juliette’s. The sky was an oil painting of grey and gold, the sun failing to break free from the clouds.
When she opened the front door, Ray padded down the hallway and stared balefully at Marmite. Charlie rubbed behind his ears, pulled off her shoes and went into the living room. Juliette and Lawrence looked up from the film they were watching.
‘Charlie, what’s happened?’ Juliette asked. ‘Did something go wrong today?’
Charlie sank onto the sofa. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Go back to your film.’
Juliette extracted herself from Lawrence’s arms. ‘You are not fine. What is it? Did Bill not turn up? Or did … did you …’ her eyes widened. ‘Oliver was there?’
Charlie nodded. ‘And Daniel. At the same time.’
‘Ouch,’ Lawrence murmured. ‘Bottle of wine?’
Juliette nodded, and he slipped out of the room.
‘Tell me what happened, Char.’
Charlie pulled her feet up under her and told Juliette everything. Lawrence returned with a bottle of wine and, half an hour after that, a plate of creamy pasta with bacon and mushrooms that Charlie devoured even though, if she’d been asked, she would have sworn she wasn’t hungry. She had reached the mortifying confrontation at Crystal Waters – the second one, she reminded herself – when her phone buzzed again. It was a second text from Daniel:
I promise I’m not lying to you. At least let me know you’re OK. Dx
‘What is it?’
She showed her friend the message, and Lawrence peered over Juliette’s shoulder to read it too.
‘Don’t you think you should talk to him?’ Juliette asked. ‘See what he has to say? If this Josie person really is a journalist, and he was planning all that for you …’
‘It’s a pretty good move,’ Lawrence added. ‘Pretty selfless, coming from Daniel.’
‘It is.’ Charlie read the words over and over until they blurred into nothing.
‘It’s understandable you were flustered and upset after what happened with Oliver,’ Juliette said. ‘But doesn’t that make the path clear, now? For you and Daniel? If you want it to be.’
Charlie nodded, but she couldn’t meet her friend’s gaze. After their kiss on Sunday she had been so sure. She loved how alive she felt with Daniel, even if he sometimes infuriated her, and she wanted to spend more time with him. But now, after he’d used his knowledge about Oliver to score points with her, and after Josie, she didn’t know what to think.
She gave her friends her most enthusiastic smile. ‘I’ll have to sleep on it. Thank you for all of this. I’m sorry I interrupted your evening.’
Juliette waved her apology away, and they watched the second half of Spy together, though Charlie paid little attention to what was going on. Then Juliette and Lawrence said goodnight and she listened to them filling glasses with water, the pipes gurgling as they brushed their teeth, the bedroom door shutting.
The house settled and all was still, except for Charlie’s mind.
Ray, Benton and Marmite were asleep, Marmite snuffling quietly. Charlie finished the last of her wine and looked at her phone. She reread Daniel’s texts, constructed roughly the thousandth reply she had written in her head that evening, and then dismissed it.
She unfurled herself from the sofa, pulled on her shoes and grabbed a light jacket, then stepped outside. The wind had picked up, and the air was heavy with the scent of rain. She walked down to the seafront, where the rhythmic tug of the waves was the only sound. The sea was a vast, dark nothingness framed between the cliffs.
The streetlights picked Porthgolow out in patches, and Gertie’s red paintwork shone like a burst of colour in a black-and-white photo. It was too late for Reenie and her mysterious flashing light, and Charlie didn’t feel comfortable walking to the end of the jetty when it was so dark and nobody knew where she was.
She wrapped her arms around her waist and headed towards her bus, having some vague notion of sitting on the top deck, watching the waves crash against the shore while she worked out what to do.
As she got closer, she saw that something had been stuck over Gertie’s door. It was a large piece of paper, though she couldn’t, from this distance, see what was written on it. She picked up her pace. Had Daniel done it when she’d left his texts unanswered? Was it some act of vengeance from Oliver? She turned on the torch app on her phone, holding it over the notice that had been secured with about a roll’s worth of masking tape. At first, she couldn’t understand what she was reading, but as the words sunk in, she went cold.
STREET TRADING CONSENT REVOKED
She read on, trying to take in the overly formal, legalese phrasing about how she was no longer entitled to sell anything from her Cornish Cream Tea Bus; but the words kept swimming together, so she had to go back and reread them. The consent that she’d applied for, all those months ago when Gertie was being transformed in Pete’s workshop, had been taken away. It explained that there would be a reassessment of her original application in light of new facts, but until that had been completed, she was unable to trade.
Her pulse thumped in her temples and she rubbed them, trying to make sense of it. Who had taken time out of their Saturday evening to do this? Who could she talk to about it? It was unlikely that anyone would be at the council until Monday morning.
She scanned down the document, reading to the very bottom where there was a small box. It had two headings: ‘Petitioned by’ and ‘Actioned by’. Under ‘Actioned by’ it said, unsurprisingly, Cornwall Council, but it was the name and address under ‘Petitioned by’ that made Charlie’s breath catch: The Crystal Waters Spa Hotel, Cliff Road, Porthgolow.
She blinked and looked again, hoping there was some mistake. There wasn’t. Josie wasn’t a journalist, she was from the council. Daniel had brought her onto the bus with some story about how it was dangerous or unhygienic, but the confrontation with Oliver had meant she couldn’t shut Charlie down there and then. So she’d waited up at the hotel until everyone was gone, and then, on Daniel’s instruction, she had come to the beach and finished the job.
This was what he thought of her events. This was how little respect he had for her. It had been a game to him from the very beginning. He hadn’t liked her bus on day one, but had put up with her for months, placating her while she’d set up the food market and brought life back to Porthgolow. He’d distracted her with mind games, and now he’d run out of patience.
Her hands shaking, Charlie opened her messages. No time for mental rewrites now. Her fingers flew across the keyboard:
You lying bastard. How could you do this?
She pressed send and then, her body full of adrenalin, she stomped up to the end of the jetty and stared into the inky water, waves breaking half-heartedly against the sides. She didn’t realize she was crying until the first, salty tear reached her lips. Her phone rang and she stared at his name on the screen.
On his third attempt, she answered.
‘Charlie, what are you talking about? What’s happened?’
He sounded so concerned that her venom dissolved, the anger replaced by hopelessness.
‘You’ve shut down my bus. How could you do that to me? After everything you said?’
There was silence, and then: ‘Hang on, what? Your bus … what’s happened?’
‘I’ve had my consent t
aken away. I can’t trade any more.’
‘But … Why?’
He sounded as confused as she was, and she faltered. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’ she said, wiping her cheeks.
‘Are you at Juliette’s?’
‘The jetty.’ A second later she was listening to thin air.
She didn’t turn round, didn’t watch him jogging down the hill from his house. But she heard his footsteps, the change from dusty road to the solid stone of the jetty beneath his feet.
‘Charlie!’ He was breathless, and when she turned he was leaning forward, his hands on his knees. He was wearing a navy hoodie and jeans, his dark hair untamed. ‘How did this happen? Who called you?’
‘Nobody called me. It’s there, on the bus. A large, obvious sign.’
‘Shit.’ He glanced at Gertie, then turned back to her. ‘It must be some kind of mistake. You’ll be able to fix it on Monday morning.’
‘Why did you do it? Why go to all that trouble to get Josie to shut me down, then pretend you were trying to help me?’
His brows knitted together. ‘What? I didn’t. Of course I didn’t. Charlie, you really think I did this?’
‘It’s right there, on the notice. Petitioned by The Crystal Waters Spa Hotel. You can feign ignorance all you like, but you can’t explain your way out of this one.’
His eyes widened. ‘I would never … Josie is a journalist, I swear it. God, Charlie. Come on. Do you really think that badly of me, that after all of this – everything that’s happened over the last few months – I’d just go “fuck it” and slap some kind of revoke notice on your bus?’
Charlie chewed her lip. ‘But it says that that’s exactly what you did.’ She pointed at Gertie. ‘Why would it say it if it wasn’t down to you? This is just another one of your games, isn’t it? The tricks you play so you can stay in control of the village without anyone realizing. And this is the one where you get rid of me for good.’
‘That is the last thing I want, I—’
‘You offered Juliette that work and then took it away again.’ She didn’t want to let him speak, not yet. ‘You say that Lauren booked someone else without you knowing, but is that really plausible? You care so much about your hotel. Were you just throwing your weight around? Showing Juliette how much power you had?
‘Then you organized that meeting the morning of my first event, making me think nobody was coming, and then swooped in and put on the fireworks. It’s like you have to be in charge, manipulating things so they look like they’re going wrong, then you rush in and fix them, make everyone – me, especially – so grateful that you’re around. That’s exactly what you did with the yoga. And now this. Except maybe you didn’t realize the council would add your name to the notice, leaving absolutely no doubt about who wanted me shut down. How are you going to solve this one?’ She folded her arms over her chest. ‘Get them to give me my trading consent back, and expect me to thank you for it? Expect me to fall into your arms?’
Daniel pressed his lips together. ‘I didn’t do this, Charlie. Whatever it says, whatever it looks like, I am not responsible for putting your bus out of action.’
Her reply lodged in her throat. She had expected him to laugh, to tell her she was right about everything. How could he not, when it was written there in black and white? She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Sea spray hit her face. Behind Daniel, the village was made up of pockets of light and shade, as if it was a mirage slowly appearing out of the mist.
Daniel walked up to her, until he was only inches away. She could smell the linen scent of fresh washing, felt the soft cotton of his jumper as he brought his arm up to stroke her hair off her forehead.
‘I have never done anything to intentionally hurt you,’ he said. ‘I am truly sorry if I’ve ever given you that impression. I care about you, Charlie. You have to believe me.’ He took a final step towards her, bridging the gap. Then he kissed her.
The feel of his lips pushed everything else aside and she parted hers, responding, pressing herself against him. His hand found the back of her head, twisting her hair through his fingers, angling her face up to better meet his. Her body tingled and sang, betraying her anger, and she let it go, imagined it drifting away on the tide. Eventually, Daniel pulled back and untangled his hand from her hair. He ran his thumb tenderly across her cheek, wiping away a droplet of sea spray.
Then he turned and walked away from her, soon lost in the darkness between streetlamps.
Charlie pressed her fingers to her lips. She felt upended. Confused. Dizzy. She walked carefully down the jetty to the soundtrack of thunder, rumbling closer and closer across the sea. She was suddenly desperate for the warmth and light of Juliette’s house.
First thing on Monday she would get in touch with the council, see if she could get her trading consent back, and find out who had set the wheels in motion. Daniel’s business had been on the form for all to see, but if he had been behind it, then why had he denied it so forcefully? Was he expecting her to blindly accept his version of events, as she had done with Rose and Frank’s eavesdropping, and with Belle’s yoga class?
After that kiss, Charlie couldn’t believe it. As she gave her Cornish Cream Tea Bus a final glance, and a silent assurance that she would get it up and running again, she realized that Hal had been right, as always. He had told her that actions spoke louder than words, and Daniel’s kiss had given her more insight into his true feelings than any verbal promises could have done.
Charlie was going to find out who had shut Gertie down, and then she was going to apologize to Daniel. She had a strong feeling, more than just a sneaky suspicion, that he might be part of the solution to her own happiness. And she was determined to find out if, on this occasion at least, her instincts were worth trusting.
Fallen in love with The Cornish Cream Tea Bus, click on the links to hop on for the rest of the journey …
Don’t Go Baking My Heart [ePub edition] 978-0-00-833214-3
The Éclair Affair [ePub edition] 978-0-00-833215-0
The Icing on the Cake [ePub edition] 978-0-00-833217-4
Read on for an extract of Cressy’s heart-warming novel, The House of Birds and Butterflies…
Chapter One
The robin is a small, brown bird with a red breast, that you often see on Christmas cards. It’s very friendly, and likes to join in with whatever you’re doing in the garden, especially if you’re digging up its dinner. It has a beautiful, bubbly song that always stands out, much like its bright chest.
— Note from Abby’s notebook
Abby Field was off the reserve.
She didn’t know how it had happened, but one minute she was treading the well-worn woodland trail, intent on finding the perfect spot for the ladybird sculpture, the final creature in her nature treasure hunt, and the next she had pushed her way through the branches of the fallen elder and was standing at the side gate of Swallowtail House, looking up at the impressive, empty building. As always, she strained to see inside the grand windows, which remained free of any kind of boards, as if she could discover what Penelope’s life had been like all those years ago.
She wasn’t sure why she had ended up here now, deviating from her course and slipping away from the nature reserve, but something about this beautiful, deserted building captivated her, and not just because it belonged to her boss, and had been standing empty for over fifteen years. She wondered if any furniture remained, or if the large rooms had been stripped bare of everything except cobwebs. She passed the house’s main gates on her way to and from work every day, could imagine the trail of cars that had, at one time, driven through them. But now they were kept secure, the huge padlock not to be messed with.
The house might be abandoned, but Penelope Hardinge was still intent on keeping people out.
She owned the Meadowsweet estate, the greater part of which was now the Meadowsweet Nature Reserve. Only Swallowtail House, abutting the reserve but secluded behind its redbrick wall, was off limits. The
stories Abby had been told by long-term residents of Meadowgreen village varied, but it seemed that Penelope and her husband Al had started the reserve soon after their marriage, that Al’s death sixteen years ago had been sudden, and that Penelope’s flight from Swallowtail House had been equally hasty.
She had left it as if it was plagued, purchasing one of the mock-Tudor houses on the Harrier estate, a five-minute drive out of the village, leaving the grand, Georgian mansion to succumb to the nature she and her late husband loved so much, although she had continued his legacy. She had been running Meadowsweet Reserve with a firm grip ever since, showing no signs of slowing down even though she was now in her sixties.
For the last eighteen months, Abby had been a part of it. She had found a job that she was passionate about, and while she occasionally bore the brunt of Penelope’s dissatisfaction, and sometimes felt her confidence shrinking in the older woman’s presence, she could understand why Penelope had to be so strict, especially now the reserve was in trouble.
Abby closed her eyes against the September sun and listened to her surroundings. The wind rippled through the woodland, the dancing leaves sounding like the rhythmic churn of waves against sand. A robin was singing its unmistakable, bubbling song, and she wondered if it was the young one who, for the last few weeks, had been landing on the windowsill next to the reserve’s reception desk, curiosity winning out over any fear of humans. He was a fluffy bird, his feathers never entirely flat, as if he hadn’t quite got the hang of preening, and she and Rosa had named him Bob. But she wasn’t sure he would stray this far out of his territory, and the reserve wasn’t short of robins delighting the visitors with their upbeat chorus.
Somewhere in the house’s overgrown grounds was the melodic trill of a warbler. It could be a blackcap or a garden warbler, their songs so similar that, even now, she found it hard to distinguish between them.
Scones Away! Page 8
