“Where’s that cameraman?” asked Petroc. “Should I go and look him out?”
“Don’t be daft!” Merryn chuckled. “This doesn’t need to go on the telly, does it? Oh, Pet, I don’t think I’ve ever told you what a rock you’ve been. There’s times when I thought I’d crumble, and there you’d be. You’ve always done what you can to help, and I’ve always admired you for it.”
“I shouldn’t have let him go back out that night.” Petroc looked down at his hands, knitted on the tabletop. “I should’ve put my foot down and said, enough’s enough. Home.”
“You know as well as I do what a stubborn bastard that Jory could be!” Merryn laughed even though, inevitably, there was a rueful note in her voice. “He wouldn’t have been happy if he hadn’t gone back out there again.”
“But he’d have been here.”
“He would,” Locryn whispered. “But the half-dozen fellows on that stricken trawler wouldn’t.”
“Who can say?” Merryn shook her head. “Another storm, another boat sinking out there, and he’d only have gone out again. And you were so brave to go out there with him. And when you dived off the boat—”
Merryn’s voice caught. Jake bit his lip. Would Petroc bolt?
He felt Locryn’s hand tighten around his and knew he was having the same thought. Then Petroc picked up one of the blue gingham napkins from the table and passed it to Merryn, the gesture undeniably gentle for such a big man.
Merryn nodded to him as she took it. She dabbed her eyes and leaned her head on Petroc’s shoulder. “You did what you could, and I just hope that when you lost Bev, I helped you as much as you’ve ever helped me.”
“You’re a treasure,” he told her. “And a true lady.”
“And you, Petroc, you’re a gent.” Merryn didn’t move her head and Petroc didn’t appear to have tried to move away from her. Jake gave Locryn a tentative thumbs-up.
“Nearly…nearly…” Jake whispered.
“Me and the boy are going to get our wedding suits tomorrow,” Petroc told her, every word careful. “We’ve got to have the cameras along just for that, but…well, it means I’ll be having a day off even though it’s not Christmas. Would you like to join me at the pub to drink a toast to the youngsters?”
“I’d love to!” Merryn lifted her head and filled the café with her fruity laugh. “Would it be…would it be a date, Pet?”
“Yess!” Jake gave Locryn a fist bump, then he peered around the curtain again, eager to hear Petroc’s reply.
“Say yes,” Locryn whispered, biting his lip as he waited.
Petroc looked momentarily adrift. Then he asked, “Would that be all right with you?”
“It bloody well would!” Merryn chuckled as she took Petroc’s hand. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time, Pet!”
“We had our youngsters to raise,” the trawlermen told her. “But I reckon we’ve both done a good job on that score.”
Locryn kissed Jake’s cheek and whispered, “Your magic nibbles did it!”
“It was your flowers! And your lovely café! And—look!”
Merryn had inclined her head, her brow almost resting against Petroc’s. It looked a lot as if they were about to kiss, but Merryn drew away, even though she was still holding Petroc’s hand. Maybe deciding to go out on a date was enough for one evening, without a kiss as well.
There was one last gesture though, as Petroc lifted their joined hands and kissed Merryn’s hand very tenderly. It seemed to undo Locryn, and he blinked rapidly, then dabbed a handkerchief to his eyes.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
Jake put his arm around Locryn. “It’s okay—they’ve got me going as well! This doesn’t happen very often!”
“A wedding, and a romance.” He offered Jake his handkerchief. “Two romances.”
Jake took the handkerchief, and smiled at its embroidered, italicized LT in the corner. As he wiped his eyes he said, “Porthavel is a magical fucking place!”
Chapter Seventeen
By the time they got back to Jake’s house it was past midnight and as well as a burgeoning romance, they had the makings of a wedding menu. From breakfast to sit down to evening nibbles, it now just a matter of finishing the galleon and getting to work in the kitchen.
Jake woke before his alarm but Locryn had already departed for his café. There on the pillow beside Jake, neatly written in his elegant handwriting, he had left a note.
See you at lunchtime, darling! Xxx
It was supposed to be a day off for the production, but in reality it never was. Jake headed down to the galleon, where photographs of old Porthavel were going up on the walls. He was especially pleased when a photograph of a carnival float had been found by one of the locals, showing gap-toothed seven-year-old versions of Zoe and David dressed as pirates.
Once twelve o’clock arrived, Jake took advantage of being the undisputed captain of his galleon and shut down production for the day. Not something that would’ve happened under Fionn’s auspices, but Jake wanted a happy team and that’s just what he got as everyone packed up to leave until tomorrow.
And that left Jake free to head up to Locryn’s.
He had his own key to the cottage now, but still he knocked on the door anyway. It seemed that Locryn was waiting for him as no more than a few seconds passed before he opened the door and said, “Welcome, Captain, to ye olde smugglers’ cottage!”
In his best attempt at a Cornish accent, Jake asked, “Got me some contraband baccy and booze?”
“Think of me more as a dandy smuggler?” Locryn took Jake’s hand and drew him into the hallway. Then, his face poker-straight, he asked, “Would you like to explore my tunnels?”
Jake tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t hold it in and spluttered with mirth. “It’s rapidly become my favorite past-time! Oh, hang on, you mean the tunnels?”
“What else?” He kissed Jake’s cheek. “So keep that sexy jacket on, because it can be chilly down there.”
Jake gave a theatrical shiver before swooping in to give Locryn a kiss. “Go on, then, show me the way!”
They paused for just as long as it took for Locryn to put on his coat and scarf, then Locryn led Jake into the kitchen. Locryn was clearly going for authentic because there on the table was an old glass storm lantern, the candle within already flickering. He picked it up and told Jake, “It was this or a torch and you are a pirate captain, so…”
Then, like a magician unveiling a trick, he caught the edge of the rug with his toe and flicked it back, revealing the outline of a trapdoor that was almost invisible against the stone floor.
Jake took a step back in surprise. “Don’t tell me, you’ve got the Famous fucking Five down there?”
“I don’t think Enid Blyton ever released that particular spin-off!” Locryn stamped heavily on one of the stones and the trapdoor lifted slowly, revealing a steep flight of steps beneath. The smell of the ocean and the earth rose up from the darkness into the cozy room. “Just imagine the smugglers by lamplight, ready to go out and face the waves. Naughty but romantic, in my mind at least!”
“And your ancestors really were smugglers?” Jake glanced at Locryn, imagining him in breeches and a cravat. The picture was actually rather pleasing, and Jake added an imaginary smudge of dirt to his cheek. Rakish, Jake decided.
Locryn led the way down the steps into the tunnel as he said, “I like to think they were dashing. All thigh cuff boots and ruffled shirts.”
Jake followed, placing his feet carefully on each step as the light from the kitchen diminished and they were thrown into a darkness relieved only by the glow from Locryn’s lamp. “You know there’s a fucking great TV special in this, Loc? Can I get you to carry about a flintlock pistol?”
“I’d love that.” Locryn kissed Jake’s cheek. “Can I wear a cloak too? And look dashingly disheveled?”
“Yes, please!” Jake fanned himself. “I’m getting excited just thinking about it!”
When he heard tha
t, Locryn paused and whispered, “Breeches? A big floaty shirt…bit of sea spray plastering it down? When I was a little boy, I loved it down here. I used to be sure I could hear the smugglers’ footsteps behind me or see their lights at night but I was never frightened because—” He smiled. “I had my granny’s Cornish pasties, so I decided I’d just give them the pasty corner if they got too spooky.”
“And being Cornish, they’d be placated with a pasty, of course!” Although not by one of mine. In the silence that followed, he thought he could hear the sigh and rush of the waves on the beach. “Can I hear the sea?”
Locryn nodded. He held up the lantern and the farther reaches of the tunnel were illuminated by its flickering flame. In the darkness Jake listened to the waves and he could understand just why young Locryn had imagined the ghosts of Trevorrows past following in his footsteps. Here the world above was forgotten, generations sloughed off in the bowels of the earth.
Jake stroked the damp stone wall. “Did they carve this tunnel out themselves?”
“They worked with what the land gave them. There’s a natural cave system down here, so all they had to do was dig down and put the steps in.” They began to walk on toward the sound of the ocean. “And I usually put the table leg on the trapdoor because nothing would move that!”
“It’s amazing down here.” Jake saw tiny fringes of stalactites clinging to the some of the ceiling, and all around them the sharp tang of salt and seaweed, like the smell of the ocean’s breath. He felt as though being brought into this secret place by Locryn meant something more than a simple sightseeing tour. This was a place where his lover had dreamed of ghosts and romance, and a place that he had heard no one else in the village mention at all. Perhaps they didn’t even know it was here.
“When my grandad first showed me it, he said that I must never, ever come down here alone.” Locryn smiled. “I was only four, so it was probably sensible. But eventually the gramps decided that I wasn’t going to get swept into the sea, never to bake again, and I turned it into my den. When they were asleep, I’d pack up a midnight picnic and come down here. They hadn’t worked out the table trick, but I was too little to stamp on the release stone, so I used to put a cushion down and wallop it with Gran’s rolling pin until it opened. I still roll dough with that pin too!”
Jake pulled his jacket closer around him. There was a draught down in the tunnels. “A smugglers’ rolling pin! Growing up in London, we never had anything like this. The only den we had was under our nan’s kitchen table when we stayed over.”
“But I bet you had hundreds of friends, didn’t you?” He lifted the lantern, illuminating an incline in the path. “Be careful here, it’s a little bit steep.”
Jake slowed his pace, picking his way along the incline. He reached for Locryn’s sleeve. “Yeah, I had loads of friends. We’d go off down the park, or we’d play by the gas-monitors or the empty garages by the flats. Kids have adventures in all sorts of places. We were a big gang!”
“I would’ve loved that,” Locryn admitted. “Don’t get me wrong, I had friends, but I was in boarding school— Oh, it’s dull, let’s not! So, Chef, can you hear the smugglers yet?”
“Smugglers?” Jake wasn’t surprised that Locryn had been to boarding school, but there was something missing from the anecdotes he’d heard about his childhood. There were the adoring grandparents in the smugglers’ cottage, and now boarding school, but what about his parents? Jake tried to return to their conversation. “Yes, I think I can hear their footsteps. Each time we take a step, I can hear theirs, just behind.”
Of course, Jake meant the echoes of their own footsteps, but it was just the sort of thing he’d have said as a child to make the other children jump.
Locryn laughed. The lantern’s flame illuminated what looked like a cul-de-sac and Jake wondered where they could go from here. That was, until Locryn angled the lantern just a little differently and he saw that the tunnel turned sharply, almost going back on itself.
“Take the lantern,” Locryn urged, standing aside. His voice was filled with excitement, as though he was handing out Christmas gifts. “I want you to get the full impact of my childhood den when you go round the corner!”
Jake gripped the handle. Locryn tapped his bottom, a playful prompt to see what lay around the tantalizing corner. Jake trod carefully, having no idea what would be there. Maybe a mountain of Beano and Dandy comics from Locryn’s youth?
But what he saw instead made him gasp in wonder.
Locryn had set out an afternoon tea inside a cave. There were cake stands everywhere Jake looked, loaded with delicately cut sandwiches and cream horns, eclairs and the sort of fairy cakes Jake hadn’t had since his nan had made them when he was little. The walls of the cave were garlanded with fairy lights and bunting and at the mouth of the cave, where Jake could see no sign of life other than footprints in the sand, was a campfire.
“Smugglers’ afternoon tea?” Jake set the lantern down on a rock and smiled as he took Locryn in his arms. “You gorgeous bastard.”
“I wanted it to be perfect,” Locryn told him, his voice gentle. “Something we’ll remember forever.”
Forever?
Jake was only in Porthavel for a couple of months. Was forever a possibility?
“I will,” Jake replied. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before!”
“I’ve never done anything like this for anyone before.” Locryn kissed him. “Lovely and cozy with the campfire too, good for cuddling!”
“You—you haven’t?” Jake was surprised. Wouldn’t a bunting-decked afternoon tea in a cave be something Locryn did on a regular basis?
He shook his head. “You’re the first person I’ve brought here.”
“I’m touched. I don’t know what else to say.” Jake ran the back of back of his hand against Locryn’s cheek. “I’m not sure what this sweary chef has done to deserve it.”
“Do you believe I have passion now?” Locryn asked with a smile. “Because I’ve never felt so much as I do for you.”
“Oh, yes, I do believe it.” Jake softly kissed Locryn’s lips. “Very much so.”
Because passion wasn’t only a lot of yelling—it was dedication, too. And Locryn had that in spades. Wheelbarrows full.
“Lunchtime?” he asked, taking Jake’s hand. “I hope you’ve got an appetite.”
Jake gave Locryn’s hand a squeeze. “After that walk through the tunnel, yes!”
Locryn beamed, then told him, “Then get to it, Chef, because there’s a lot to get through!”
Jake chose a spot on the tartan rug laid out on the floor. It reminded him of picnics in the park with his nan when he was little, and he wondered if the rug had once belonged to Locryn’s grandparents. He took off his socks and boots and sat them to one side, to enjoy the feel of the wool and the breeze from the sea against his bare feet.
He took one of the sandwiches and peered at the filling. “Salmon? Just like I tried to put in the squabs!”
“Everything here is a Captain Jake favorite.” Locryn settled beside Jake, his legs nearly curled beneath him. “I hope I haven’t missed anything. An afternoon tea should be special, made to measure, like a good suit.”
“I’d never thought of that. A bespoke afternoon tea.” Jake slipped his arm around Locryn. When he bit into the sandwich it was, of course, amazing from the first bite, not least because Jake knew Locryn must’ve baked the bread, and that the afternoon tea had been designed for him.
They sat for a while in companionable silence, watching the sea beyond the mouth of the cave, eating the delicate sandwiches and sipping tea from china cups. There was no wonder young Locryn had fallen in love with the place. It was wild and romantic and ancient, filled with magic and mystery.
Jake held up his cup, thinking. “Didn’t the smugglers bring in tea? It’s fun sitting here, drinking tea where they used to hide the illegal stuff!”
“Tell me more about when you were growing up,” Locryn said. “
How did you get into cooking? Was it terribly hard to break into?”
“It was a hell of a lot of work,” Jake said. “I really put the fucking hours in and learned everything I could. Took every chance that came up. And I was lucky to get a job where a chef decided I had potential and let me cook. After that, I was unstoppable!”
“And world-conquering!” Locryn offered another plate of sandwiches to Jake. “When I saw your programs—once the shouting and swearing was done—I was always struck by how much you cared. These failing restaurants, desperate wonders, bad food…but you really wanted to get them back on their feet. It would’ve been so easy to make it into a circus, but you cared too much to do that.”
“I hate seeing people’s dreams crumble,” Jake explained. “All those places started out like me and the Lucy May. Someone throwing every bit of money they have at a scheme, borrowing from their friends, working every hour that God sends, then the whole thing starts to fall apart. I’ve had some hairy times with my places, I won’t lie, and being able to help those other restaurant owners when people had helped me. Well, it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?”
Locryn nodded. “It’s not all about making money for you. You’ve got integrity, and so many people don’t care about that.”
Jake smiled. “Thanks for saying that. I worry sometimes that I’ve turned into a ridiculous fucking parody of myself. Everyone just wants to see me shout and yell. And I don’t want that anymore. I want to cook fab things with great food. I’m close to losing that, Loc.”
“You’ll never lose that. Since Fionn left I haven’t seen much of that bratty chef. I’ve seen a man who can inspire other people, who works just as hard as they do and who really, really cares.” Locryn rested his head on Jake’s shoulder. “I wondered how you fit it all in though. Does the TV take away from time in the restaurants?”
Jake nodded. “I’ve got a fucking brilliant team. I trust them, but… I dunno, when Fionn said you’d turned down that stint on Good Morning America, she couldn’t understand why, but I know why, I think. Because you wouldn’t be here, baking, would you? And that’s the one thing you want more than anything.”
The Captain and the Baker Page 18
