The Eclair Affair

by Cressida McLaughlin

  Chapter Three

  Charlie groaned and stretched her legs out, her bare feet sliding along the beach. ‘Oh, this is bliss.’

  ‘I thought you’d like it.’ Oliver turned on his side so he was looking at her. His blond hair was tousled, less rigid today, and the blue T-shirt showed off his tanned skin.

  Charlie put her hand above her eyes, shielding them from the sun. ‘A pub actually on the beach,’ she said. ‘I feel like I’m in Spain.’

  The pub in question was a ten-minute drive up the coast road, nestled in a hidden cove only accessible by walking over sand dunes. Its windows were open to the sea, but Charlie and Oliver had taken their drinks and found a spot a little way from the building.

  ‘They should change the name, though,’ Charlie said. ‘Sea View sounds far too Seventies, and they could have loads of fun with it. Even something cheesy like Seaside Shack would be better. They need to get Juliette on the case.’

  ‘Your friend from last weekend? The one you’re staying with?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘She’s a digital marketer. She’s been so helpful with Gertie.’

  ‘The Cornish Cream Tea Bus is a great idea, and perfect for this time of year. Have you got many more gigs lined up?’

  ‘A few. The weekends are packed with events now summer’s here, and there’s a lot I want to do in Porthgolow, too.’ Charlie sat up and rested her elbows on her knees. ‘It needs a new lease of life. At the moment it’s like stepping back in time, and I reckon this festival could give it a boost. I want it to be a weekly event, like a regular market, good enough that people keep coming back. I’ve got a great selection of food trucks booked for the first one, and I can keep improving, making it bigger and better.’

  Oliver laughed. It was a lovely laugh, warm and unashamed.

  ‘What?’ Charlie said, smiling. ‘Why is that so funny?’

  ‘It’s not. It’s … you.’

  ‘I’m funny?’

  ‘Not funny. You’re not …’ He took a deep breath, and waited a beat before continuing. ‘You’re so relentless. After that first time when it all went wrong, I thought I wouldn’t see you again. Or, at least, I didn’t expect to see the bus. But you didn’t give up.’

  ‘Giving up’s for losers.’ Charlie wrinkled her nose. ‘No, that’s not fair. It depends on the circumstances. But I didn’t give up because I had to do something with my uncle’s bus. I had to honour his memory. And he always told me to live life to the full. You only get one chance, so make the most of it – he was forever saying that to me. If everyone stopped the moment something went wrong, nobody would stick at anything. You told me you had teething problems with The Marauding Mojito?’

  ‘It wasn’t all plain sailing, which is why I came to help you out. I know what it’s like to feel out of your depth.’

  ‘And now you’re an old hand. Old and wizened.’ She laughed at her own joke. Oliver looked so fresh-faced she could imagine he had a painting locked away in an attic somewhere. ‘You are over twenty-one, right?’

  Oliver gave her an incredulous look. ‘I’m thirty-three.’

  ‘Ah. Must be all those mojitos. Do they have magic properties?’

  ‘Of course. I only sell the best.’

  ‘Clearly I need to hang out with you more, then. See if a bit of your magic will rub off on me.’ She held his gaze, and the atmosphere shifted. His eyes looked almost golden against the sunset. ‘Shall we go for a walk?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure.’

  He helped her up and they took their glasses back to the bar. They strolled towards the water, and Charlie wished she’d brought Marmite with her. He would have loved this wide beach with its flat sand and rippling breakers. But Juliette had insisted on babysitting him, because Marmite had a habit of getting in the middle of everything. Still, he would have been a useful buffer, especially a moment ago when the space between them had felt charged.

  Oliver told her about setting up the cocktail stand with his sister and how she’d sold her share to him when her new husband got a job in Hong Kong. ‘I’ve never had ambitions for anything more,’ he admitted, as they rolled up their jeans and took off their shoes and socks. ‘I get to travel, talk to people all day, sell them delicious mojitos and see them happy. It’s a great life.’

  ‘You don’t want to settle down, then?’ Charlie dipped her foot in the water. It was cold, despite the lingering heat of the day.

  ‘Not at the moment. But it doesn’t mean that I’m not interested in doing it eventually. I’m just open to seeing what happens, making the most of what’s out there.’

  Charlie nodded and stared at the horizon, the glistening water picking up tones of peach and cherry from the sky.

  ‘How about you?’ Oliver asked, coming to stand next to her. ‘Have you got any idea what you and your bus are going to do after Cornwall?’

  ‘After Cornwall?’ She still hadn’t had the conversation with Juliette about staying on, about how she and Lawrence really felt about it. But she had the bit between her teeth now, and the thought of driving out of Porthgolow, leaving her plan only half executed, felt like a betrayal. Everyone had been so nice to her – even Myrtle had started to thaw – and she was sure she had it within her power to help them.

  ‘You can’t live with your friends for ever.’

  ‘No, I can’t. But … I’ll see how this festival goes. If I do it once and it flops, then at least I’ve tried. Anyway, I’d rather not think about my future career as a nomad, thank you very much. I love Gertie, but I don’t want to end up living on her, even if Pete did make sure one of the benches upstairs folds out into a bed in case I ever get stuck somewhere overnight.’

  ‘Smart thinking,’ Oliver said, following her deeper into the water. ‘Lots of people do live on buses.’

  ‘I’m not knocking it. I just don’t think it’s for me. I like my creature comforts, and I like having space.’ She flung her arms in the air and walked backwards, beckoning him deeper. He obliged.

  ‘Some people would say that living on a bus you have more space than you know what to do with. You could park up somewhere like here, wake up to this view every morning.’ He gestured for Charlie to stop, but she kept going.

  ‘Porthgolow has amazing views, and you can see the sea from one corner of Juliette’s garden.’

  ‘But it’s Juliette’s garden, not yours. Stop now, Charlie, you’re too close to the waves.’

  Charlie saw the panic on his face, and laughed. ‘I could get my own place in Porthgolow, if this all works out. I could be the Cornish Indiana Jones, bringing life back to the village like at the end of Temple of Doom, when he returns the stone to its rightful place.’

  ‘Has Porthgolow lost all its children to an ancient evil cult? You’re going to get soaked.’

  ‘No, but some people are standing in the way of it flourishing. I get that with the locals who’ve lived there a long time. It’s not easy to watch your home change, to have newcomers – emmets – coming in and making decisions about where you live. That’s why I’m trying to include everyone. But …’ She thought about Juliette’s admission, and the way Daniel had argued for and then against her festival idea at the meeting. She couldn’t quite work out his motivations. Was he as protective of his hotel as some people made out? With people like Myrtle taking against it simply because it was a shiny, new building in their traditional village, she could see why he might be. She was certainly protective of Gertie.

  ‘But what?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Most of the villagers have been nothing but—’ Her word turned to a gasp as an ice-cold wave crashed into her back, knocking the breath out of her. She staggered forward, and Oliver caught her before she fell, laughing as he pulled her out of the sea and up the beach.

  She was still gasping, still trying to catch her breath, and Oliver was trying very hard to master a serious expression.

  ‘I told you not to go any further.’

  ‘Th-the waves didn’t look that bi
g,’ she stuttered.

  ‘Do you have a towel in your car? I’ve borrowed a mate’s – easier than bringing the Mojito truck – and I don’t think he’s got anything as civilized.’

  ‘There’s one in the boot.’ She had been using it to dry Marmite down whenever he’d had a dip in the sea, and she didn’t want to get Juliette’s seats wet. ‘God, what an idiot.’ She wiped her face, cold droplets making her shiver as they ran down her back.

  ‘You got carried away, that’s all.’ Oliver smiled. ‘And it was pretty funny.’

  ‘Glad I amuse you,’ she said, grinning back. ‘Ugh, everything feels clingy and cold.’

  ‘You’d best go back and get dry.’

  ‘I better had.’

  ‘I’ve had fun this evening,’ he said softly.

  ‘Me too. Rogue waves aside.’

  ‘Another time, then?’

  ‘I’d like that.’ And she would, she realized, as they strolled back to the car park, Charlie’s jeans rubbing with every step. She didn’t feel a burning attraction towards Oliver, but she enjoyed his company, and who knew what would happen as they got to know each other?

  ‘I’m counting down to the Porthgolow festival,’ he said when they reached her car. ‘I can’t wait to see you in the role of event-organizer extraordinaire.’

  ‘Hopefully a world away from the first time you found us. ’

  ‘Undoubtedly. Night, then.’ He kissed her on the cheek. He smelt of sandalwood and sunshine.

  ‘Goodnight, Ollie.’

  ‘Give my love to Gertie and Marmite.’

  ‘I will.’ She watched him walk away, his blond hair dancing in the breeze.

  ‘I need to have a serious talk with you,’ Charlie said the following morning. ‘And ideally it should be with you and Lawrence, but he’s at work already, isn’t he?’

  ‘It’s just going to get busier from now on, too. I love that he’s found a job he’s happy with, but sometimes it’s hard to get any time together.’ Juliette typed something on her laptop and then put it aside, giving her full attention to Charlie. She was wearing a thin summer dressing gown with songbirds all over it that Charlie loved. ‘Anyway, tell me this serious thing, and I can talk to Lawrence about it this evening.’

  ‘OK.’ Charlie sat down opposite her and stared at her plate. Her toast was covered in Nutella, but she suddenly had no appetite. ‘I’ve been here since April, which is two months – over two months – and you don’t have that much space to begin with, so—’

  ‘You’re going back home? But what about this Porthgolow festival? All your plans for The Cornish Cream Tea Bus?’ Juliette’s eyes were wide. ‘I was looking forward to having you around, to us doing more together.’

  ‘So was I,’ Charlie said, relief coursing through her. ‘I wasn’t planning on going home.’

  ‘You weren’t? So then why—’

  ‘Because I was worried I’d outstayed my welcome. I love being here, and so does Marmite. And I want to do all those things you said: organize a festival on the beach, take Gertie around Cornwall selling traditional Cornish cream teas. But I don’t want to be merrily enjoying my life here when all the time you and Lawrence are wondering how to come up with a polite way to send me packing.’

  ‘Oh God, Charlie! That is not how it is at all. We love having you here – I promise. Stay for ever!’

  ‘For ever?’

  ‘As long as you want. The summer, at least. I want to be a part of the Porthgolow festival.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘That’s brilliant, Jules. And thank you. You have no idea how much it means that I can stay. I feel so much more positive since I’ve been here with you.’

  ‘I told you, didn’t I? You needed a break. And,’ she added ruefully, picking up her marmalade-laden toast, ‘if your kind of break involves starting up a brand-new business and planning to take over the whole of Cornwall, then far be it from me to stand in your way.’

  Charlie grinned. ‘Let’s start with Porthgolow, shall we? Once we’ve got this place back on track we can think about where to conquer next.’

  ‘I wouldn’t underestimate the challenge ahead, though,’ Juliette said. ‘However cool he was in that meeting, Daniel Harper’s not going to be happy if you ruin the peace and quiet of the village with a full-blown festival. He promises his guests seclusion and exclusivity.’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘I’m not here to please Daniel Harper. Besides,’ she said, ‘he told me he was looking forward to it. He can’t have it both ways, and he can’t control what anyone else does, as much as he’d like to.’

  ‘I’ll raise my coffee to that,’ Juliette said.

  Charlie clinked her mug against her friend’s and bit into her toast. She wanted to bring life back to Porthgolow, and the thought of clashing with Daniel again didn’t fill her with as much dread as, perhaps, it should have done.

  Chapter Four

  This time, Charlie wanted to see Reenie’s cottage for herself.

  She left Juliette in her yoga gear and took Marmite with her. She was opening The Cornish Cream Tea Bus at around ten – she had discovered that her custom was limited before then, and while the quiet time meant she could polish the bus until it gleamed, it sometimes got boring. She only opened earlier when Paul or Amanda had an early boat trip, knowing that they, and their customers, would welcome a hot drink when they came in off the water.

  She walked along Porthgolow’s main road, past The Seven Stars on her left and the beach, the jetty and Gertie on her right, and when the road started rising out of the village, she turned down a dusty track that looked as though it led nowhere. Marmite bounced at her heels, excited by the unusual terrain. The morning was sunny and clear, with only a few puffs of cloud breaking up the blue of the sky. The track was precarious, and close enough to the edge of the cliffs that sea spray frequently hit her face. Marmite yelped at each new wave, and it wasn’t long before he was soaked.

  ‘All right Marmite?’ she asked. He barked and bounded a few steps ahead.

  And then the path ended and the yellow house stood in front of them. For the last part of the journey, she had to clamber over rocks. How was it possible for anyone – let alone an older woman, as she understood Reenie to be – to live out here? Carefully, Charlie stepped across them, pulling Marmite close, watching her footing carefully.

  After the rocks came firm concrete, the foundations of the house much more stable than their surroundings. Close up, the walls were worn, but the yellow paint was thick, as if it was given frequent new coats.

  Charlie walked round to the front of the building, feeling more confident now the ground below her was solid and flat. Had this been an old outpost, somewhere to watch the water from, or a weather station? There were often odd little buildings nestled along the very edge of the coastline but, as far as Charlie knew, they were rarely residential. Reenie’s house had two floors, four windows at the front and a white door, though there was no number or name. What had she been expecting? Mermaid Cottage?

  On the small patch of ground between the house and the cliff edge, there were a few terracotta pots containing blue and pink plants that Charlie couldn’t name, and a wind chime hung from a hook screwed into a window frame. Charlie wondered how any of it survived; was Reenie forever replacing pots lost to the wind? Did the waves batter against her front door like unwelcome visitors?

  She knocked; two loud raps that she was sure would be heard, even above the churn of the water below. She waited, staring out at the sea, and was about to knock again when the door swung inwards, and Charlie found herself staring into the sharp eyes of Reenie the mermaid.

  ‘Hello,’ she said.

  Reenie was shorter than her and had long, grey hair streaked through with white. She was wearing a red shirt and jeans, and her feet were bare. No wispy dresses, trails of seaweed or signs of fish scales. Charlie was disappointed that she was wearing jeans; it seemed too ordinary, somehow.

  ‘He
llo,’ Reenie echoed. Her voice was light, as if it might float away on the wind.

  ‘I’m Charlie Quilter.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m staying in Porthgolow, with Juliette and Lawrence. I’ve just started up a new business, running the—’

  ‘Cornish Cream Tea Bus. Yes, I’ve seen it. It’s hard to miss.’ She turned her head, and Charlie looked back towards the bay, but the corner of Reenie’s house was between her and a view of the bus.

  ‘Ah. OK. And this is Marmite.’ She gestured towards her dog, and Marmite, as if being given permission, pattered forward and put a paw on Reenie’s leg.

  Reenie made no move to stroke him. ‘Hello, Marmite.’

  ‘So, I came to see you because—’

  ‘Don’t start your sentences with so, girl. Horrendous habit. You wouldn’t start a conversation with therefore, would you? Therefore I have come to see you. Speak sense; I assume you have got something to say, seeing as you’ve bothered to come all the way out here?’

  ‘I have.’ Charlie’s voice sounded as small as she felt. She would have to give Jonah a few home truths about his mysterious mermaid. ‘I’m holding a festival in Porthgolow,’ she continued, ‘in the next couple of weeks. I know you’re part of the WhatsApp group, but you didn’t come to my meeting, and I wanted to make sure you were OK with it.’

  Reenie stared at her, and Charlie had to look away. She glanced behind the older woman, trying to see inside her house.

  ‘Eyes front, Charlene. Or are you Charlotte?’

  ‘Charlene, but everyone calls me Charlie. It seems less—’

  ‘Whiny? Charlene is the sort of name you can only say with a whine. Charlie it is, then. Charlie, I am not remotely against you having a festival on the beach – goodness knows the village could do with a bit of sprucing up. I have no desire to be part of it, but I do appreciate the opportunity. It has been a pleasure to meet you. Goodbye.’

  She moved back, one hand on the door, and Charlie stepped forward. ‘Would you like to come?’