What is it now?
Jake strode in, rubbing his hands together. He did his best to smile. “Evening, everyone. You must all be tired, having to shoot so late? Fionn, can these lovely people be allowed home now?”
It was David who spoke, one of the few occasions Jake had heard him speak. “Mr. Brantham, we thought we’d be dealing with you, but—”
Zoe looked at Merryn, then at Jake, and said angrily, “This isn’t the sort of program we want. I want to get out of this contract. She’s upset Mum with all her talk!”
Merryn heaved a sob. “I said it wasn’t to be talked of, I said, then she told me there wouldn’t be a wedding if we didn’t, and when she said reconstruction in a water tank—!”
Jake’s newfound calm collided with a rapidly advancing wave of rage. He shoved his fingers into his mouth and emitted a shrill whistle that could’ve been heard in Taunton. “That’s it. Fionn, get over here now!”
“Sympathetic mood-building reconstruction,” Fionn corrected. Petroc said nothing, but patted Merryn’s shoulder, the gesture as gentle as he was hulking. Fionn pocketed her phone and looked at Jake. Then she clicked her fingers, but she remained where she stood. “This is the Christmas special. Think Noel in a children’s ward with a sled full of presents!”
“Yes, Christmas special. What’s supposed to be festive about forcing a family to revisit something as painful as—as—?” Jake threw up his hands in frustration. “Fuck me, Fionn, do you not have an ounce of cocking compassion? And I told you, it’s not to go in the program in the first fucking place!”
Merryn started to cry in earnest now, and Jake shook his head as he offered her his hanky. Petroc put his arm round her shoulders too, hushing her gently as Zoe rose to her feet and addressed Jake.
“She’s horrible! I wouldn’t have anything to do with her if I was you.” She jabbed a finger toward Fionn and dashed away her own tears with the back of her hand. “Because she’s a cow! And if I knew a cow like her, I wouldn’t want anybody to think she was a mate of mine!”
Fionn emerged from behind the counter, shaking her head as though this was all too much. She told them, “It’s reality telly, love. You don’t get the wedding of your dreams without a few tears.”
“They’re meant to cry over my crap attempt at Cornish pasties,” Jake said, “or because the cake topper gets trodden on and someone replaces it with Barbie and Ken! Not because you’re forcing everyone to relive trauma! It’s not happening on my show, Fionn, and you know that because I’ve already said no!”
“Jake, have an eclair and calm down.” Fionn plucked up an eclair from the counter and threw it. It landed short, splattering on the polished wooden floor.
And as Locryn’s voice suddenly thundered across the café, Jake knew once and for all that even the king of Cornwall could be pushed too far.
“That’s enough!” Everyone looked at him and he blinked, apparently as surprised as they were. When he spoke again, his usual calm was restored. “Consider yourself barred, Fionn. You’ve upset my friends, shown no respect to my café or my eclair and— Please leave. And before you ask, no, I won’t sign a release so you can put this on air.”
Jake clapped his hand on Locryn’s shoulder. “Nice one,” he whispered. Then he looked up at Fionn. “Go on, sling your hook. We’re having a meeting tomorrow, us two. And to borrow one of your favorite telly phrases, you won’t want to miss it!”
Fionn shrugged and said, “I’ll have to check my schedule. I’ve got a full day tomorrow.” Then she put her handbag over her shoulder and strode across the café toward them. When she reached Locryn she told him, “I think they’d go a bundle over you in the States. If you fancy it—”
“Goodnight,” he replied. “I won’t ask you to clean up the mess you’ve made.”
With a cheeky wink, Fionn turned away. She was a picture of composure until her spike of a heel came down in the splattered eclair then, with a shriek of, “Fuck me, you fu—” Fionn flew up into the air and landed with a smack against the floorboards.
“Ooof! You want a good pair of stout wellies for Cornwall, Fionn! Not those spiky things!” Jake started to laugh, but as he did, he noticed that Fionn’s leg was stuck out at an angle that no human limb had any right to be at.
Oh fuck it.
“My sushi!” she wailed. “Bloody hell!”
“Someone ring an ambulance!” Jake had done his first-aid training and knew a broken leg when he saw one. “Petroc, you take Merryn and the happy couple to the pub, okay? Locryn and me’ll see to this.”
“Should I?” Petroc asked Merryn, “Fancy a drink, Merryn? Oh, and the youngsters, of course.”
“I’d love a drink.” Merryn shook out her hair, and with that one gesture was the sassiest woman in Porthavel. She looked over at Fionn and rolled her eyes. “Shame you weren’t filming that,” she said as she got up from her seat.
“Weren’t we?” Fionn asked the cameraman, who shook his head in response. “Call it a night, boys. And, Jake, pass me my phone. I can’t walk but I can still Skype.”
Jake shook his head as he passed the phone to her. “Try not to move, okay?”
He took out his own phone and rang nine-nine-nine. The remaining crew began to pack away for the evening, taking down the lights and folding down the reflectors, but not one of them approached Fionn to see how she was.
“Tell them I need the air ambulance, and some gorgeous guys in uniform,” Fionn instructed with a saucy wink.
A quarter of an hour later, the beat of helicopter blades heralded the arrival of the air ambulance.
Jake whispered to Locryn, “Surprised she’s not being taken away on a broomstick, the old witch!”
Fionn hadn’t wasted a moment though, and was instead making phone calls to one high-powered executive after the other, discussing filming schedules and money, transport and star names. Only when the café door opened and the ‘gorgeous guys in uniform’ appeared did she put her phone away.
“Knights in armor,” she called. “Thank God!”
As Fionn was assessed, all the time asking the medics if they’d considered reality TV, Locryn was tidying the café. He looked so domestic, so at home, Jake thought. But still gorgeous. Jake waited with a mop to clear up the squashed eclair. He didn’t want Locryn to have to do it, especially not when the sight of wasted baked goods were upsetting to him.
“I’m going to Plymouth,” Fionn advised Jake. “Not for sushi, sadly. Can you manage without me for a day?”
“It might be a little bit longer than a day,” one of the paramedics told him. “Your wife’s leg looks pretty bad.”
“She’s not my wife, she’s my producer,” Jake said coldly. “Don’t hurry back, Fionn. You take your time and get that leg nice and better.”
It couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.
Locryn handed the helicopter crew a large box of delicacies and, with Fionn still barking into her mobile, they stretchered her from the café. Before the door closed one of the men darted back inside and asked Jake, “Can I get your autograph for my wife? And can you write fucking scallop on it?”
Jake grabbed a napkin with Locryn’s carefully printed italicized name on it. He scribbled sod off with your fucking rancid scallop! and signed underneath.
“There you go, now fuck off!” Jake laughed. With a cheery slap to Jake’s shoulder the man departed, leaving Jake and Locryn alone.
Jake puffed out his chest. “Well, that spares me the job of sacking her from the series.”
“I’ve never barred anyone before.” Locryn sighed, surveying the café. “How on earth did you end up saddled with her?”
“She seemed okay when I started working for her, but the more successful she’s become, the more terrifying she’s got. She’s a fucking media monster, and she’ll probably do well for herself and exploit every last fucker in her path.” Jake put the last finishing touches to his mopping job and admired the clean floor. “You’d never know the creator of My Haunted D
ildo had broken her leg on the floor just there, would you?”
“My Haunted— That can’t be real?”
“The dildo or the program?” Jake asked. “She really did produce that show, and, yeah, it made me question a lot of things. Such as, what the fuck is wrong with people who watch this fucking twaddle?”
Locryn turned off the main lights, bathing the café in the gentle glow of the soft bulbs behind the counter. Then he said, “And kneading dough can actually be very sensuous, I’ll have you know. More sensuous than a haunted dildo, that’s for sure!”
“Sensuous? So that’s why you do it in your dressing gown?” Jake smiled at Locryn. “I don’t think I’ve ever got the knack of kneading, sensuous or otherwise.”
“I couldn’t sleep the other night on account of this infuriating, bad-tempered, gorgeous, leather jacket-wearing Londoner who’d swaggered into the village and kicked up a stink.” Locryn pursed his lips, then smiled. “Kneading took my mind off him until he turned up at my cottage and took his clothes off.”
Jake laughed awkwardly. “Timed that well, didn’t I? Did the kneading help a bit?”
“It did. Right up until you wet T-shirted your way into my kitchen.” Locryn ruffled his hand through his hair and told Jake, “And if you don’t have the knack of kneading, I’ll be happy to teach you.”
“Will you?” Jake waggled his fingers at him. “Have I got the right tools?”
Locryn took off his coat and was already unfastening his cufflinks when he assured Jake, “It’s all a question of what you do with them.”
Jake peeled off his leather jacket, revealing his fitted T-shirt beneath. “It’s not wet this evening. Is that okay?”
“I’m sure you’ll do.” Locryn rolled up his sleeves then crossed to the sink. As he washed his hands he glanced over his shoulder and asked Jake, “What about the Merryn and Petroc conundrum, then? You know about them?”
Jake went over to the worktop and leaned against it. “Yeah. Merryn told me they’d been dating but Petroc just won’t… He’s lost his friend, he’s lost his wife, and I suppose he got scared when he realized he was getting close to Merryn. Maybe he thought he’d lose her too?”
As Locryn spoke he moved around the kitchen, adding ingredients to a large mixing bowl. What surprised Jake wasn’t that, but that he made no effort to measure them. In went flour and salt, and more, as though on instinct. An instinct that Jake had never seen quite as well-honed in anyone except himself.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Petroc and Merryn could be at the wedding as the couple they both really want to be?” He was at the fridge now, scooping butter into the mixture. “Does matchmaking ever really work? What do you think? You’re the worldly city chap, I’m just a baker from Cornwall.”
“Matchmaking? Do people still do that? They use apps now!” Jake laughed. “But I like what you’re saying. And now I don’t have a producer on the show. Shall we have some nice scenes with Merryn and Petroc together, showing the viewers around Porthavel, that sort of thing? Write some dates for them into the show, without them thinking they’re dates?”
Locryn grinned. “Yes! They could have afternoon tea here and talk about the progress that’s being made on the boat.” He held up his hand and added, “That’s not me trying to get in on the gig, don’t worry. It’s your show, but it’s a chance to bring two good people together. Since Zoe works here and Merryn did before her, it seems like a good place, don’t you think?”
“It’s a fucking brilliant idea, Loc! Let’s do it!” Jake clapped his hands. “Are you licensed? We can sneak in a cheeky champers afternoon tea too!”
“Am I licensed? Bubbly afternoon teas are my summer staple!” He returned to the worktop where Jake was leaning and began to mix the ingredients. “Petroc’s camera shy but Merryn’s a natural. If anyone can put him at his ease, it’s her. People are going to love her, aren’t they? The West Country’s answer to Liz Taylor!”
“Just a bit! I’m glad you were the one to say it though. Lovely woman. And the last thing we need is to see her in tears on screen.” Jake bobbed his head. “You know, I think we make better producers than Fionn. We get a romantic wedding, and we get a romance!”
“I never would’ve had you down as a romantic.” He glanced across at Jake, a little too casual when he asked, “And there’s no handsome fellow waiting for you in London?”
“Nope.” Jake shook his head. “I’m—I’ve been too busy. I’ve had the odd bloke here and there, obviously, but I don’t have a boyfriend or anything like that.”
Locryn said nothing, but the look on his face left Jake in no doubt that he was happy with the answer. For a little while they fell silent, Jake watching Locryn work, the enjoyment of watching someone so accomplished something that had never left him. Nowadays it was usually Jake who was the expert, but this was Locryn’s world, bunting and all.
Eventually Locryn scattered a handful of flour across the worktop. Then he looked up and asked, “Ready?”
Jake rubbed his hands together. “Yeah! Where do you want me?”
“Watch me for a couple of minutes, then we’ll swap places.” Locryn tipped the bowl and the dough landed on the worktop with considerably more grace than Fionn had employed when she had hit the floor. Then he put his hands on the dough and began to knead.
And all Jake could do was watch.
Locryn’s hands were large but elegant and they kneaded the dough with all the care of a caress. There was more tenderness in the way Locryn handled his culinary creations than there had been in some of the lovers Jake had known. He looked like an artist, dusted with flour rather than paint, and it was mesmerizing. Gone was the prim, buttoned-up man who had recoiled from Jake’s efforts at Cornish pasties and in his place was an artist entirely at ease and at one with his work.
There was plenty of passion in Locryn Trevorrow, Jake realized.
Jake leaned his head on his arm, watching, observing not just Locryn’s hands and the dough he was kneading, but the movement of the muscles in his arms and the smile in his eyes as he worked.
This’d make great telly.
They needed more close-ups on Locryn’s face though. Far, far more. Then Jake could watch at his leisure and enjoy the love in Locryn’s expression when he was doing what every baker does naturally.
After a few minutes had passed, Locryn looked toward Jake and smiled. Then he took a step away from the worktop and brushed the palms of his hands against each other.
“Your turn, Chef. Show me how the man with the Michelin stars does it.”
“Erm…badly?” Jake laughed as he took up position. He pressed his fingertips into the dough and it was warm from Locryn’s hands, then he started to knead it but… “Am I more pummeling than kneading?”
Locryn leaned his elbow on the worktop beside Jake and watched, hovering there like a fretful parent. Now and again Jake had the impression that he was about to speak, but he remained silent until Jake spoke to him. Then he said, “Don’t be angry at it. Think of it as though you’re giving a very special massage. Savor it. Experience it.”
“Feel the dough?” Jake asked, remembering his demand to Locryn live on television. ‘Feel the meat.’ But then, he hadn’t thought Locryn capable of comparing kneading bread to a massage of all things. “I reckon I can manage a special massage.” Jake ran his hand over the curve of the dough and whispered, “Look at how round it is, like a buttock. If I pretend that a saucy baker is lying on his bed in his storybook cottage, his bottom on view, all warm from the sun coming through the opened curtains, and I stroke it just like this, then I…”
And with both hands, Jake grasped the dough, then folded it over on itself before pulling and stretching. Then he rolled it into a ball over the floury surface and pressed his knuckles in, rocking against it.
Fucking hell.
Locryn was watching his hands, his fretful expression replaced by something rather different. His lips were slightly parted, his blue eyes dancing as he lifted th
em to meet Jake’s gaze. Another moment passed, the air crackling between them. Then Locryn cleared his throat and asked, “Do you know many saucy bakers?”
“No, just this one guy. He mentioned something about his cream horn.” Jake quirked his eyebrow at him. “He’s so fucking hot. He’s got these strong arms…”
“Strong arms help with the kneading…amongst other things,” Locryn replied, his voice husky. Then he moved to stand behind Jake, so close that the electricity in the air seemed more fizzy than ever. Those strong arms reached around Jake and Locryn entwined their fingers together atop the dough. He was so close to Jake that they were almost touching, almost embracing, Locryn’s cologne filling the space, his hands sure. “Not too rough, not too gentle. Just think of your saucy baker.”
Then, as if they were one, he guided Jake’s hands into the dough.
“I’m thinking of him. I’m struggling to think of anything else.” Jake half-closed his eyes, breathing in Locryn’s cologne and the scent of the dough. “Locryn, you bastard, you’ve made baking sexy!”
“I told you,” Locryn whispered, his lips close to Jake’s ear, “I have plenty of passion. I just don’t always know how to let it out.”
“I can help you with that,” Jake promised. “I hope.”
“Tell me more about this naked baker of yours?”
“He’s got big blue eyes, the sort of blue I imagine the sea is here in the summer. And they sparkle. You know when the sunlight’s on the waves and it’s so bright you should look away but you can’t?” Jake chuckled. “And I forget to swear my head off when I’m around him.”
Locryn laughed gently and Jake felt the slightest brush of his dark-blond hair against his cheek. It must be an accident, he told himself, even as Locryn placed a kiss against the side of his neck, as tentative as it was soft.
“Oh, God, Locryn, do that again.” Jake moaned. “Please.”
Jake wasn’t used to such slow teasing. Men and women flung themselves at him, even if Jake wasn’t interested. And now, that slight touch of Locryn’s hair sent desire singing through Jake’s blood.
The Captain and the Baker Page 9
