Symon was a Tremaine and the camera adored them all. His blue eyes, fine bones and swathes of sunset hair would be captivating, there was no doubt about that. However, whether he’d want to be filmed was less certain.
“I can’t think of anything worse than being a celebrity. I’m more than happy to leave the showing off to Zak.”
Ella was just about to say that she didn’t think her chef would be interested, when Sara added casually, “We’d film here and give your gorgeous hotel a massive plug. And we’d pay the chef too, of course. I don’t suppose you need me to tell you where this could lead. For all of you.”
Ella certainly didn’t. It was an incredible opportunity and exactly what she’d been dreaming of. Her grip on the card tightened and her pulse raced. This was her chance to put the Polwenna Bay Hotel well and truly on the map and show Jonny just what she was capable of.
Now all she needed to do was find a way to talk Symon Tremaine around. Ella knew she would do whatever it took to win him over, because there was no way she was turning this golden opportunity down. No way at all. Ella St Milton didn’t like taking no for an answer.
Chapter 19
“The answer’s no. Absolutely not,” Symon told Ella firmly.
Standing in the hotel’s plush bar with a glass of celebratory champagne in his hand, all he could think about was finishing up in the kitchen before going home and passing out from sheer exhaustion. The last thing he was in the mood for was a big discussion with Ella about potential television deals and doing even more work at the Polwenna Bay Hotel.
“Symon! Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Ella asked, stepping forward and waving a business card under his nose. “This is F&D we’re talking about! They want to feature the hotel and your cooking in a couple of their flagship shows! This card is from their producer, Sara. She gave it to me herself and she asked personally for you. Come on, Symon! You only live once!”
Symon had heard these words before, another country and a lifetime ago. Claudette had wound her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth against his, flickering her tongue over his lips until he gave in and kissed her back, breaking all the promises he’d made to himself and destroying forever his friendship with her husband.
“None of that matters, chéri,” she’d murmured when Symon had attempted to protest. “Let us enjoy the moment, non? You only live once.”
That may well be true, Symon thought, but he’d died a thousand times since from regret and heartache.
Fortunately these days he wasn’t so easily swayed by a pretty face and a sexy body. And Ella St Milton was gorgeous, there was no denying it. Her mouth was beautiful, whether she was frowning or treating him to a rare smile, and her slender body had curves in just the right places. There was a sensual appetite too that was kept rigidly in check by the same iron will that imposed her strict diet, gruelling exercise regime and long working hours. When he’d watched her bite into those sample dishes, her eyes closing as she’d groaned with pleasure, Symon had glimpsed the passionate woman she truly was. As he’d watched Ella licking flakes of pastry from her lips, Symon’s groin had tightened in a way that he’d almost forgotten. The urge to step forward and wipe the pastry crumbs away with his thumb had been horrifyingly strong. It had taken all his self-control to focus on the next dish.
“Well?” Ella was saying now, her head cocked and her voice softer. “Do you want to give it a go?”
“Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m not interested.”
Symon folded his arms and gave Ella what he hoped was his most determined I have made my mind up expression. What part of “no” didn’t she get? He’d neglected The Plump Seagull for too long already and could hardly wait to return to his own kitchen and the banter of Kelly, Tara and Tony. He couldn’t think of anything worse than having to stay at the hotel dreaming up fancy food for rich and picky guests.
Wait. Yes, he could. How about being filmed dreaming up fancy food for rich and picky guests?
“Look, I know what you’ve said before about not wanting to be a part of the whole celebrity thing, but this could be an incredible opportunity for you,” Ella pointed out, her wide grey eyes holding his as though sheer willpower alone could persuade Symon to come around to her way of thinking. Beneath the flimsy bodice of her strapless party dress her swelling breasts rose and fell, and Symon forced himself to look away hastily. This was the oldest trick in the book, after all. Hadn’t Claudette thought she could manipulate him in just the same way?
And hadn’t she succeeded?
Focus, he told himself sharply. What was wrong with him? It must be the wedding atmosphere or maybe the sense of spring in the air. At this rate he’d have to take a trip to the chiller cabinet.
“And how does that opportunity work exactly? I neglect my own business to generate loads of publicity for yours?”
“Of course not,” Ella replied, sounding exasperated. She took a sip of her drink and then set the glass down on the bar with a determined thump. “The way I see it is that any publicity we get from this benefits us both. It builds the hotel’s reputation and ultimately yours too. You’ll get even more bookings at the Seagull.”
“I’ve already got loads of bookings,” Symon fibbed, but Ella wasn’t listening.
“They’ll pay you too,” she continued, ignoring his protests and pressing home this point. “Believe me, Charlie was earning good money from his appearances on local television but this collaboration with F&D will be in another league altogether. There could be cookbooks, vlogs, even your own show. Think about it, Symon! You’ll make good money, enough to sort out any rent issues you might have, or maybe even enough to buy somewhere of your own?”
He stared at her. “Who have you been talking to?”
Ella tapped her nose with a manicured nail. “I have my sources.”
“Tom, I suppose,” said Symon. Typical. There were no secrets in Polwenna Bay, except perhaps what Big Rog was up to in his garden shed. That really was a mystery.
“I can’t possibly divulge such classified information,” Ella said, but Symon saw her expression shift momentarily to guilt. Tom, then. “Anyway, that’s not the point. Are you up for it? You could make a lot of money, I can prove to my grandfather that I’ve really put our hotel on the map, and between us we can also flip Charlie Barton the bird. It’s a win-win situation.”
Symon wasn’t all that concerned about Charlie Barton or impressing Jonny St Milton, who might or might not still be engaged to Alice, depending on which day of the week it was and which individual you spoke to. He did care about his restaurant though. If he could earn enough from this, it would broaden his options for moving to new premises and he could start making some plans. Having the extra money to tide him over when the current lease ran out might mean being able to keep his staff on during the inevitable upheaval. Usually Symon wouldn’t dream of selling his soul to the media, but if a spot of TV moonlighting could be the answer to his problems then perhaps he ought to consider it?
“Get behind me, Satan,” he sighed.
“Just give Sara a call and talk to them,” Ella suggested, sensing him weakening. She pressed the card into his hand. “You might be pleasantly surprised. Who knows? You may even enjoy it!”
Symon raised his eyebrows. “Don’t let’s pretend this is all for my benefit.”
“I’m not pretending for a minute that this wouldn’t be something that would be good for the hotel,” she said. “You know my feelings on the matter. I’d say ‘yes’ in a heartbeat but the point is that it isn’t just the hotel they’re interested in. They want you too, Symon. In fact, without you there’s no deal. You’re what they really want. So, what do you say?”
She was determined, Symon would say that for Ella St Milton.
“I’ll think about it, OK? I said think!” he added as she punched the air in a most uncharacteristic show of excitement. Symon couldn’t help feeling touched; the gesture made her look about fifteen.
“Thank you for e
ven thinking about it,” she said, her dove-grey eyes full of warmth now. “I really appreciate it and I really appreciate what you’ve done already too. Without you, today would have been an utter disaster – but you’ve made it a huge success.”
The glow her words caused took Symon aback. Careful, he told himself. She knows the effect she has on men.
“It was a pleasure,” he said. “Stressful, yes, but I enjoyed it. Chefs are masochists that way.”
“After spending time with Charlie I’d have said a sadistic streak was more of a requirement,” Ella said bitterly. “He nearly ruined everything. I honestly thought it was all over for the business and for me. He’d have loved that.”
Ella needed this break just as much as he did, Symon realised with a sudden jolt of understanding, if for different reasons. Money would never be an issue for her; however, Jonny St Milton was old-fashioned and everyone in Polwenna Bay knew he favoured the utterly useless Teddy, which was ridiculous. Ella was smart and determined and worked harder than anyone else Symon knew. Just a few days at the hotel had shown him that much. He’d also seen how much respect the staff had for her. Sure, they called her Evil Ella, but they did so in a fond way and they were proud to be a part of her team. Tom sang her praises and now Symon could see why. Mo would never believe him but there was certainly more to Ella St Milton than the spoilt-brat image. Beneath the surface she was fighting for her business every bit as hard as Symon fought for his.
“I promise I’ll think about it,” he told her, pocketing the card. As he did so, it occurred to Symon that if he did agree to the filming it would be because it meant so much to Ella rather than because it offered him a way out of a tight corner. The oddest sensation gripped him – and if he hadn’t known better, Symon would have said it was tenderness.
What on earth was that about?
If Symon had thought Ella was persistent when she’d wanted him to cater for the wedding, this was nothing in comparison to her subsequent campaign to persuade him to film for the Food and Drink Channel. After a few days of being bombarded by press cuttings about the wedding, finding copies of Heat and OK! mysteriously left on the restaurant’s doorstep and receiving flurries of emailed links to glowing write-ups in the national press, Symon was starting to weaken. The final straw came on the Thursday, when yet another huge bill arrived. Paying it would wipe out everything he’d earned doing the wedding and a great deal more besides.
“It’s two only episodes,” Tara said when Symon gathered his team for a council of war. It was a gorgeous March morning and the restaurant’s small courtyard was basking in warmth. Above them, the sun was shining through a halo of cotton-wool clouds; to Symon’s mind it looked rather like a celestial fried egg on a bright blue plate.
“She’s right,” Tony agreed. “What have you got to lose?”
Symon grimaced. “My dignity? My integrity? My privacy?”
“You’ll never make it big worrying about those,” Kelly chipped in from her seat on an upturned milk crate. “My brother’s been working at Rock for months on that new house of his. It wasn’t built by fretting about his privacy and keeping himself to himself!”
Symon was about to open his mouth to make a noble point about some things being beyond a price, but then it occurred to him just how much it cost to buy a house in Rock, never mind demolishing one and starting again. Maybe he was being a little hasty here?
“Hasty and snobbish,” Tara nodded when Symon said this aloud. “There’s nothing wrong with making cooking more popular. It could be amazing. Morgan will be beside himself at all the web opportunities and Instagram updates – and think of the publicity for Polwenna Bay if we have our very own celebrity chef! Tourists will come for miles, just like in Padstow.”
“It wouldn’t matter if we had a wet summer then; the emmets would still come,” Tony added slowly.
“We could open more in the winter!” Kelly gasped. “Or even all year round?”
Everyone looked thrilled at this thought. Seasonal work was hard and although he would have loved to have paid everyone a retainer when The Plump Seagull closed for the quieter months, as things stood Symon couldn’t justify this financially.
He felt horribly guilty. This wasn’t just about him. There were a lot of people depending on the success of the restaurant. Symon knew he had to think of the bigger picture.
“I’m not about to become a celebrity chef. That is not what I want,” he warned, knowing it was important to make this clear – otherwise Kelly would tell her mum and by lunchtime the whole village would think he was the new Rick Stein. “It’s just two slots on a digital channel. I don’t suppose anyone will even see it.”
“Then you may as well say yes and take the money,” said Tara.
Symon knew when he was beaten. He drained his coffee and nodded.
“Fine, I’ll meet Ella and tell her the good news. But just remember: you guys thought this was a good idea. Not me!”
Symon had suggested that Ella meet him in the revamped beach café. Pleased to have a break from working, she was enjoying the walk down the hill into the village. With the spring sunshine on her face and astounding views of the coast everywhere she looked, Ella felt that luck was on her side at long last. If Symon was going to say no, then surely he wouldn’t have invited her out for a coffee? Excitement bubbled deep down inside her. He was going to agree! This was the big break she’d been waiting for.
For the past few nail-bitingly tense days – or rather, anxious days of picking off her acrylic nails – Ella truly hadn’t been able to guess what Symon’s decision might be. He needed the money, that was obvious, but the Tremaines were a funny bunch when it came to finances and fiercely proud too. Mo would rather die than ask for help, Alice was refusing to give up her home to move in with Jonny, and now Symon had made it clear that he thought television and publicity work were nothing more than a sell-out. Apparently, he didn’t want to betray his principles. Several times Ella had been forced to bite her lip very hard, to refrain from pointing out that beggars couldn’t be choosers. It was beyond infuriating that he seemed unable to grasp just what a golden opportunity this was for both of them!
Ella had spent a happy hour that morning sifting through the latest press coverage of the wedding. Predictably, all the celeb magazines had splashed Georgie and Tabitha across their front covers and crammed their inside pages with snaps of boy-band members, soap stars and assorted other guests dancing, eating and latterly falling over drunk. The security team had been briefed to confiscate mobile phones and cameras, so how these shots had been leaked was a mystery. Oddly enough there were none of the bride though, which gave Ella a clue.
She’d been busy taking a snapshot of the lovely write-up from OK!, to be emailed across to her website guy as well as added to the hotel’s Instagram feed and Facebook page, when Symon had called to arrange their meeting. After this she’d been unable to settle back into work; even when Teddy had sauntered in and raided the petty cash, Ella had remained in a state of eager anticipation. She knew with every fibre of her being that Symon’s talent was exactly what F&D were looking for and that, with the hotel’s breathtaking Cornish setting thrown into the mix, they had a winner on their hands. Ella thought she would combust with excitement, and the walk into the village was just what she needed to let off steam. She’d toyed with putting on her running kit but in the end had plumped for indigo skinny jeans teamed with a long-sleeved white tee shirt and a basic pair of pumps. Her make-up was fresh and simple and she pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, reminding herself that it was only Symon Tremaine she was meeting. It wasn’t as if she wanted to impress him.
The beach café was busy when Ella pushed open the door and scanned the room for Symon. Now that it was spring the tourists had started venturing down to the coast, and the simple shabby chic building had broken out in a rash of Joules and Seasalt attire. The sheer number of patterned wellies made Ella feel dizzy.
There was Symon, sitting by the window. He was
gazing out across the beach to the horizon, where a flotilla of sailing boats was heading out to infinity. Ella could tell that he was deep in thought.
“Thinking about running away to sea?” she asked.
“Ella!” Symon rose to his feet and kissed her cheek. He smelt delicious, of newly baked bread and fresh air. “I’ve ordered us both black coffee.”
“Great. I’m still trying to shake off the weight I put on after tasting your menu,” Ella said, sitting down. She glanced at him, wondering if she would be able to guess what it was he wanted to tell her, but as always there was no clue. He played his cards as closely to his chest as she usually did, and Ella was impressed. He was looking great though. His fox-red hair, not tied back for once, fell in thick waves to his shoulders and his skin glowed with sea air and exercise. He was wearing jeans, a blue sweater and an olive gilet that looked perfect with his colouring.
Goodness, Ella thought with surprise, he really was a handsome man. How had she not noticed before? She supposed it was because he was so quiet in comparison with the others and that he kept himself busy with the restaurant. He’d be incredible on screen.
“It’s weird meeting here,” Symon remarked. “I’m used to having to sort out issues. I’m not used to sitting down and relaxing.”
Ella nodded. “I know. Where are the menus? The staff? The countless cock-ups from Charlie that need sorting?”
He grimaced. “Never again.”
The café’s new owner, a sweet-faced man in his late forties, brought them their coffee. Ella sipped hers while wondering what Symon was about to say.
“So, you want to know what I’ve decided to do about F&D,” he said eventually.
Didn’t men just love to state the obvious?
“Yes,” Ella replied. Under the table her fingers, legs and toes were crossed. Maybe she should try her eyes too – but they seemed to be locked on Symon’s and, no matter what she did, they refused to leave his searching blue gaze.
Recipe for Love: A gorgeous Cornish romance (Polwenna Bay Book 5) Page 18
