by Beth Good
She could hardly blame him for keeping that promise.
But … he had still lied.
And a part of her was scared that he had slept with her for a similar reason. To keep up the charade that he was in Tremevissey through his own choice.
‘Thank you,’ she said in a small voice, then watched wistfully as Gideon muttered something about fetching the dirty glasses and left the kitchen with an empty tray.
She hadn’t even dared tell him that she loved him.
But what did it matter? He would be gone soon. She gave a little moan, and hid her face in her hands.
Gideon Petherick was to leave Tremevissey as unexpectedly as he had arrived. Charlie had been snubbing him like the fool she was, thinking of him as a liar and a fraud. Yet this sudden realisation was almost more than she could bear.
But of course he’s leaving, she told herself, suffering the first twists of agony without a tremor. There would be more agony to come, and long nights of despair and loneliness without him, so she might as well get used to it. And she’d always known Gideon would leave, though she’d blithely assumed his departure would be unlikely before the end of the summer season.
Pansy’s surprise reappearance had brought their inevitable parting forward a few weeks, that’s all.
Charlie drifted out into the tea rooms a while later with a tray of her own, meaning to help with the clear-up, and stopped dead.
Gideon was not working, but standing in a large group by the entrance. His tray was sitting on an adjacent table, full of glasses, and there was a tea towel over his shoulder. He was leaning with his hip against the door frame, deep in conversation with Pansy and her friend, Mrs Petals.
He bent his head to say something to the two women. Presumably about needing to leave Tremevissey, because he then ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and Aunt Pansy patted him on the shoulder, her smile warm and understanding.
Charlie thought he had never looked so sexy.
Nor so out of reach.
It was history repeating itself, she thought drearily, and started clearing the tables as villagers streamed out of the tea rooms into the dark Cornish evening.
What had she expected? Gideon Petherick did not want to be with her. She meant nothing to him but a bit of fun over the summer season. Now he was going to leave Tremevissey and go back to his old life before he met her.
And just like Pansy all those years ago, her heart was well and truly broken.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘And this is what we’ve done with the riverside terrace,’ she told Pansy, throwing open the garden door proudly to show her the narrow, paved terrace with its five metal tables and chairs. It was still early, and the tea rooms were still mostly empty, the main flood of tourists not usually descending on the village until after ten o’clock most days, thanks to its remote position on the north coast. ‘Of course, we can only use it in good weather, which basically means the height of the summer in Cornwall.’
‘I remember the weather here only too well,’ Pansy said, laughing. ‘Thank God for blue Australian skies, that’s all I can say!’
‘But I have plans to cover this area eventually, to make it good for all-year-round use. Oh, careful there …’ she added as Pansy peered over at the rushing river below, ‘it’s a bit slippery underfoot.’
‘No worries, Charlie. I think it all looks lovely.’ Pansy straightened up, giving her a wide, beaming smile. ‘You’ve done wonders with my old tea rooms. I scarcely recognised them last night when Joyce Petals brought us in. But then I scarcely recognised dear Joyce, and we were good friends when I was living here with Mum. All that spidery white hair …’ She grinned. ‘Still, I suppose I’m getting that way myself these days.’
‘So you approve?’
‘Oh gosh, of course I approve!’ Her Australian accent sounded suddenly very strong. ‘When I was running this place for my mum, I let it go to wrack and ruin. I wasn’t even half as business-minded as you.’ There was a hint of chagrin in her voice. ‘Too busy falling head-over-heels in love. And without even the excuse of being a love-struck teenager to fall back on. I was a grown woman when I fell pregnant with Jacob. I should have known better.’
Charlie could hardly blame her for that. ‘Well,’ she said simply, ‘love happens.’
‘Yes, but not always at the right time.’
‘True.’
‘Or with the right person.’
Charlie gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘Also true.’
Pansy looked at her closely. ‘You’re not happy, are you, Charlie?’ she asked softly, and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘You smile, but your eyes are so sad. I know it’s none of my business, but maybe you need someone to talk to. Someone who doesn’t live round here and won’t judge. So what is it, poppet?’
Charlie was horrified that her unhappiness was showing. ‘No, honestly,’ she said, feeling herself blush at the outright lie, ‘I’m perfectly f-fine.’
‘Come on, you can tell old Aunty Pansy what’s wrong.’ Her aunt’s eyes narrowed on her face. ‘Is it Gideon Petherick?’
Now her cheeks were aflame. ‘G-Gideon? No, of course not. What makes you say that?’ She bit her lip feverishly. ‘What has he been telling you?’
‘Not a thing,’ Pansy said in surprise, but her eyes widened. ‘Though I can see there’s something to tell.’
‘No, there’s nothing. Nothing at all to tell. Me and Gideon? No, absolutely not.’ Charlie led the way back into the tea rooms, and had never been so relieved to see teenagers in her life as when she spotted Pansy’s noisy three clustered about over the ice cream counter. ‘Oh, look, it’s your … your kids. I feel awful but I’ve forgotten which of the twins is which.’
‘Don’t worry, Charlie, no one can ever tell us apart,’ one of the twin girls said cheerfully, her Australian accent charming. She stuck out a hand, her smile bright and bubbly. ‘I’m Marsha, remember? Marsha with the beads in her hair,’ she added, and twisted her head to show Charlie the colourful string of beads attached to her ponytail. ‘I’m sixteen.’
‘And so am I,’ the other twin said, also grinning broadly. ‘Though I’m Melody. Melody without the beads in her hair,’ she added, and twisted so Charlie could see her unadorned chestnut-brown ponytail. ‘See?’
‘Yes, of course. I’m so sorry for forgetting, you must forgive me,’ Charlie said, smiling and hugging both girls again.
They were really lovely young woman, she thought, and felt sorry again for the embittered old grandmother who had never got to meet them, simply because she was too proud to unbend and welcome her errant daughter back into her life.
She turned to Pansy’s oldest child, a quiet young man with a serious expression. ‘And you are Jacob, and you’re nineteen. See, I got that right.’
‘Indeed you did,’ Jacob said deeply, and shook her hand. He was tall and dark-haired, and really rather handsome in a youthful, unformed way. ‘Thank you for not freaking out when you found out Mum was still alive, by the way.’
Gideon came out of the kitchen, carrying a full tray crammed with scones and cream pots and jam, and a large pot of tea with several cups. In that unguarded instant, Charlie glanced sideways at him, unable to help herself, and found his dark eyes on her, so looked hurriedly away.
Oh good God.
‘Well,’ she muttered, ‘I’d already had my suspicions when I found out about your mum.’
‘I see.’ Jacob glanced at his sisters, and shrugged. ‘Still doesn’t invalidate the bet,’ he told them cryptically.
‘Bet?’ Charlie repeated, mystified, looking from him to the other two teens.
Melody was giggling. ‘We had a bet last night on whether you’d scream and wig out when you found out Mum was alive and here in the tea rooms. Jacob thought you’d be very stiff and British about it. Me and Marsha bet you’d flip.’ She shrugged, her look quizzical. ‘Of course, Jacob won. You were stiff and British about the whole thing.’
‘That’s not quite how I rem
ember it,’ Charlie said, embarrassed to recall how she had hugged Pansy with tears in her eyes.
‘Well, if it had been us,’ Marsha said, joining in with the conversation, ‘we’d probs have screamed and run about with our hands in the air.’
‘Or drummed our heels and shrieked until we were blue in the face,’ Melody said, laughing again now, her annoyance at losing the bet already forgotten, it seemed. ‘But you were infuriatingly calm. Like the Queen.’
‘Hardly,’ Charlie said, but smiled all the same at the idea of being like the Queen of England. ‘But I’m sorry you girls lost the bet.’
Jacob gave her a lopsided bet. ‘Don’t be,’ he said. ‘Be glad instead that I won.’
‘Just like a man,’ his mother said tartly, ‘always thinking of yourself.’
Charlie glanced involuntarily at Gideon, and then wished she hadn’t when his brooding gaze locked with hers. She felt again the pang of imminent loss.
Why didn’t she simply apologise for behaving like that the other night? Maybe if she did that, Gideon would change his mind and stay.
That was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
It was obvious that the too-observant Pansy had spotted that silent exchange between them, because suddenly she was ushering her kids outside. ‘Oh, thanks, Giddy,’ she said irreverently, taking the tray from Gideon’s hands. ‘I’ll take it outside, don’t you worry. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than wait on us. It’s a little early in the day for scones, perhaps, but I think it won’t do us any harm to gorge ourselves this once. We’re going to sit and enjoy a big Cornish cream tea in the sunshine. Doesn’t that sound lovely, kids?’
And with that, Pansy and her three grinning teenagers disappeared outside with the tray, leaving Charlie and Gideon alone.
Alone except for a few tourists in the corner, drinking coffee and munching on toasted teacakes, and watching them both with bored curiosity.
‘Can we talk?’ Gideon asked, and nodded to the kitchen. ‘In private.’
‘Of course,’ she said calmly, though every nerve in her body was shrieking at her to run away. Alone with Gideon Petherick? Alone with that hard body and those dark, smouldering, Poldark eyes? She was shivering just at the thought of it.
‘Unless you’re too busy?’ he added, as though he had spotted her expression of helpless lust and fear.
Was she too busy?
‘Erm … ’ She tried desperately hard but simply couldn’t think of a logical excuse. ‘No, this is fine. Five minutes would be fine, that is.’
‘Five minutes,’ he repeated with a nod, and politely ushered her into the kitchen. ‘I won’t keep you. But I need to discuss my replacement.’
His replacement.
The heat she had been feeling abruptly fled, and Charlie was suddenly cold instead.
‘Oh yes?’ She fiddled with a stack of freshly-laundered red checked tea towels, doing some OCD thing that involved flattening them out and making sure all the little red checks matched up. ‘The replacement chef. So did you manage to find anyone? Because if not, it would be fine if you stayed on for a few – ’
‘I found someone.’ His smile was brief and perfunctory. ‘Darren.’
His phone, perched on a cookery book near the hatch, chimed.
Another text had arrived, she guessed.
He stepped smartly over there, picked up the phone, read the text, made a ‘Hmm,’ sound under his breath, and put the phone down again without replying to it.
‘Darren,’ she repeated flatly.
‘Darren Pickles.’
‘Pickles.’ She stopped fiddling with the tea towels and folded her arms across her chest instead, wishing she could stop feeling inside like the entire world was grinding to a halt. ‘Is that his name or his speciality?’
‘He’ll be coming in first thing tomorrow. He’s a very good chef, huge amounts of experience in hotel and restaurant work in Cornwall, easily capable of running this kitchen for you. More than capable in fact.’
Charlie blinked. ‘He sounds … expensive.’
‘Darren won’t cost you a penny,’ he assured her, shaking his head.
‘What?’ She stared at him, confused. ‘How is that possible?’
‘Because I’ve arranged to pay his wages myself. As an apology for the … the inconvenience you’ve suffered.’
Charlie’s mouth was gaping again, she realised. Embarrassed, she shut it at once, aware that a look of ridiculous incomprehension was becoming a common thing with her where Gideon Petherick’s more bewildering pronouncements were concerned.
‘I’m sorry, you’ve lost me,’ she said. ‘You are going to pay his wages?’
‘Precisely.’
‘Forgive me if this sounds rude,’ she said delicately, ‘but how on earth are you going to manage that when you’re not even working yourself?’
Gideon put his hands on his lean hips, looking down at the ground with a torn expression, then blew out his breath and said, ‘Because I am working. Will be working. Have been working all this time.’ He looked up at her. ‘Elsewhere.’
Charlie’s mouth was open again. Gaping like a goldfish. She gave up trying to keep it shut, and merely said, ‘What?’
‘There’s no easy way to say this,’ he said curtly, ‘so I won’t bother. I own a small chain of restaurants in the South West.’
‘What?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘Just tell me.’
‘A really, very long story.’
‘Well, I’d still like to hear it,’ Charlie insisted, staring at him in blank astonishment. ‘Right now, if you please. From the beginning.’
‘Okay,’ he said, and paused to crack his knuckles.
‘Without the sound effects.’
Gideon met her gaze darkly. ‘Okay,’ he repeated, his eyes narrowing, ‘I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown earlier this summer.’
‘Pardon?’
‘You see, I’d been living for my work for over a decade, building up the restaurant business my dad left me, expanding further and further. I’d made a huge amount of money along the way, of course. Bought myself a big house, and a yacht, and a flash car, and a motorbike. All the typical trappings of success. I’d even been named as one of the top young entrepreneurs in Cornwall.’ He ran a hand through his dark hair, clearly frustrated by this tale of unbounded success. ‘But I’d also broken up with women I loved over my workaholic habits. I couldn’t sleep nights, felt ill the whole time. And then one day … ’ He swallowed hard. ‘One day, I had a bad crash on my motorbike. Walked away with only scratches, but totalled the bike, and only just missed causing a really nasty accident. It was raining. There was a kid crossing the road, and I was going too fast, thinking about work as always, and next thing I knew … ’
‘Oh my God.’
‘I missed the kid, thankfully. But in that instant, as the bike went skidding across the wet road under me, I knew what my problem was. I’d been pouring so much of myself into my work, there was nothing left over. No sense of perspective, no joy in anything, no inner life, no … no Gideon Petherick left.’
‘Go on,’ Charlie said quickly when he hesitated. But her eyes had widened, watching him intently.
I’d broken up with women I loved.
How many women? she wondered unhappily, trying to ignore the splinter of pain working its way deep into her heart. And exactly how much had he loved them?
‘I realised then that I needed to take some time out from work,’ he continued huskily, ‘to explore who I really am, to live at a different pace, to find out if there was a life for me outside the demands of the chain.’ He had not met her eyes, but did so now, his expression surprisingly vulnerable. ‘The same day, waiting to be seen in the hospital, I got a call from Uncle Treve. Asking me if I’d drive up from Truro to check out this little place in Tremevissey.’
Charlie’s heart was beating so erratically, she wondered if she was going to have a heart attack. She did not know what to s
ay, but nodded encouragingly when he paused.
‘He only wanted me to pay a single visit. Maybe have a chat with you about how things were going, though without mentioning the connection with Pansy Cornish.’
‘Of course.’
‘But I knew at once what I wanted to do, and it wasn’t a one-day job. I packed a bag, and got on a bus to Tremevissey, leaving everything behind, even my car, and stayed at the pub across the road overnight. I talked to the landlord about you, pretending that I was on my travels and looking for seasonal work.’
She remembered how he had appeared that first morning, with his rucksack, looking a little unshaven, a little crumpled. Exactly like an itinerant worker.
But a chain of restaurants?
She felt so flustered, remembering how she had treated him as just another member of staff. Maybe even as casual labour at first, someone not quite to be trusted. And all the while, he had been a wealthy and successful business executive, masquerading as a cook …
‘Stew was most forthcoming, of course. He told me about the curse, and the various problems you’d been having …’ He smiled at her, his voice becoming dry. ‘Your staffing problems in particular were heaven-sent, I’m afraid to say. For me, at least. It gave me the perfect excuse to insinuate myself into the business.’
Charlie didn’t like that word: insinuate. But she waited, wondering where he was going with this confession.
‘I understand,’ she told him with a brittle smile, hoping he couldn’t hear the hurt in her voice. But underneath her politeness, she was only too aware that he had come here to escape his other life for a little while. And now he was bored of playing the casual labourer, he wanted to go back to his flash car and his yacht and his executive suits …
‘Do you?’ he asked, searching her face.
She shrugged, not quite able to speak.
‘But things took a more serious turn when … when I started seeing you as a woman. Not just as my employer.’ He sounded angry with himself. ‘I didn’t mean for any of that to happen. I swear it.’
