A Cosy Christmas in Cornwall: The most heartwarming Cornish Christmas romance of 2019!

by Jane Linfoot

  I pick myself up enough to carry on. ‘Gemma was the super-pretty one.’ It’s probably only human to remember the worst bits. Her faking a broken ankle on the slopes so he had to take her to hospital. Doing the same pretending to fall downstairs. ‘Good job avoiding her, I’d say that was a narrow escape. She was hard work, hideous even.’

  He pulls a face, then he goes on. ‘Well, she got me in the end, we did go out eventually.’

  I’m smiling. ‘Haha, you nearly had me there.’ And then I see he isn’t laughing. ‘Shit, you really did get together, didn’t you?’ I’ve no idea why there is a stab of jealousy shooting through my chest big enough to wind me. I mean, he was bound to be with someone, and that was never going to be me. But even though Gemma was super-attractive with a high flying job, I’m still reeling, simply because she seemed so calculating and blatant for someone as warm as he was. But as my mum and gran always say, if a woman sets her sights on a man and is determined enough, she can usually get him in the end.

  ‘We actually got together shortly after Chamonix. Gemma wasn’t too keen on life down here, but luckily we’d kept our London place, she’s working back there for now.’

  ‘So you’re still in touch then?’ Why the hell did I ask that? It’s obvious they are.

  He gives a hollow laugh. ‘I hear from her most days, yes.’

  Can you kick yourself and die inside all at the same time, because that’s what I’m doing now. ‘I’m soooo sorry.’ It isn’t nearly enough. ‘Double sorry. Triple, even.’ And I’m also waving goodbye to every chance of clemency Merwyn had.

  Bill’s still staring at me like I’m Exhibit A. ‘It must be my turn for a question now. So if you and George aren’t married you must be having the longest engagement ever? Or else you got married and divorced? I mean, he was your fiancé?’

  I have to put him right on this. ‘There was never a wedding or even an engagement.’

  ‘Really?’ He’s screwing up his face like he doesn’t believe me, then he blinks and carries on. ‘My mistake then.’ From the way his brows are knitting he’s definitely confusing me with someone else. And people like him never admit they’re wrong, so there’s something very odd going on here. ‘So where’s George now?’

  I should know the answer to this. ‘New York …’

  ‘And you’re flying out for New Year in Manhattan as soon as you’re finished here?’ Bill might not be giving much away himself, but he’s certainly big on filling in my backstory.

  I shake my head and rack my brain. ‘… or it could be Los Angeles.’

  Bill gives a sniff. ‘I take it from the confusion that it’s not a long distance relationship?’ From his smirk I’d say he has to be looking down on my lack of geographical knowledge too.

  ‘No, George and I are ancient history.’ At least this has taken the heat off my earlier blunder.

  ‘Great.’ For a second Bill’s beaming at me, then he pulls a face. ‘Except, it possibly isn’t so great for you.’

  ‘This is why it’s good to talk about the future, not the past.’ I’m hoping that’ll put a stop to him banging on about ski lodges and let me get back to my current, most pressing problem. ‘So is there any good reason dogs aren’t allowed in the castle?’ If I hadn’t put both my size sevens (on a good day, sometimes I have to admit to an eight) in it so wholeheartedly, I might have been able to fall back on the shared history I’d rather forget. As it is, I’m fighting this at a disadvantage.

  Bill blinks as if he’s having to drag himself back to the moment. ‘It’s an insurance issue. It’s a very ancient structure, we can’t have dogs running wild.’

  I think we both know that’s bollocks. ‘So you’re happy for the place to be wrecked by party revellers, but a tiny dog, who wouldn’t harm a fly, let alone a battlement, is banned?’ My voice has gone high with disapproval. It’s Bill’s turn to look vaguely embarrassed, and I’m not going to waste that show of weakness.

  ‘A castleful of shit-faced stags or a small dog? I know who I’d rather let to.’ I’m about to pull out my trump card. ‘Merwyn doesn’t drink either. He’s completely teetotal.’

  Bill’s wincing. ‘Shit-faced. That reminds me, there’s the poop issue too.’

  Damn that I’m the one who brought this up. But we’re covered here. ‘Merwyn and I come armed with value-range sandwich bags, we scoop before the poop hits the ground. Every time. And we have baby wipes for squelchy days.’

  Bill holds up his hand. ‘Stop! That’s way too much information if you’re not a dog person.’ And in a nutshell, that’s the issue.

  At least we know. Arrogant and a dog detester. How did I get him so wrong? As if he wasn’t bad enough already, he just went down another lift shaft in my estimation. Merwyn’s at his most adorable, waving his paw in the air, quivering with choccie-anticipation. But Bill’s oblivious, so I’ll have to try another route.

  I have one last weapon so I clear my throat. ‘Dogs aside, you’ve done a top-price Christmas let to someone expecting the full works. I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes if Libby turns up and finds the castle is bare. You need my help here, so you might need to ease up on the anti-animal thing.’

  Bill’s squinting at me. ‘Sorry?’

  It never fails to surprise me when someone thinks that people who can afford to pay too much for things won’t want value for money. From what I’ve seen working at Daniels the people with the biggest bank accounts are always the pickiest. What’s more, they can also afford the redress when things go tits up. I’m just surprised that Bill, being one of ‘them’, doesn’t know the score here.

  I’m going to have to tell it to him like it is. ‘I have to warn you, Mrs Johnstone-Cody’s nothing like your no-fucks-given easy-to-please stags. When she sees the lack of space, luxury, privacy, decorations and authentic four-posters, she’s not going to be a happy bunny.’ I pause to let that sink in. ‘That’s definitely an optimistic view. Libby’s larger than life, and she doesn’t take prisoners. Realistically her explosion could blow the roof off – off the castle and whatever business you’re running here.’

  I have to admit most of what I know about Libby is what I’ve heard second hand from Fliss. She’s a couple of years older than us so when we went to stay with Fliss’s mum when we were at uni Libby was already off living her super-expansive and very charmed life. But the stories from Fliss about Libby’s latest exploits have kept me shocked and impressed in equal measure for years.

  Bill groans. ‘If you’re more than five feet tall, ancient four posters are a pain in the butt. And however hard Mrs JC stamps her feet, I can’t make the castle any bigger – it’s the size that it is, end of story.’ The way he’s rolling out the excuses with that sarcastic tone, he has no idea of the shit storm that’s about to hit him.

  ‘But there are things you could do?’ If I’m pushing him, it’s only for the sake of Merwyn’s Christmas.

  He’s straight back at me. ‘If Mrs JC seriously wants to lug in all her own wood and keep the very temperamental fires going, good luck to her with that one, I’m happy to make myself invisible.’ His expression hardens. ‘But if I’m banned from my own kitchen, she can forget borrowing my internet.’

  My mouth’s dropped open. ‘But you said there wasn’t any?’

  ‘There isn’t. Not in the public areas.’

  Oh my. If I’m going to have to crawl on the floor here to beg, I’m going to have to do it. I NEVER use my womanly wiles to get what I want, I’d NEVER NEVER NEVER flirt with a guy like Will. I mean Bill. Except in my head, obviously. Or when I accidentally got all breathy and chesty in those Merino wool incidents, but I swear they weren’t planned. But for something this important, this one time, I’m desperately channelling my inner Audrey.

  ‘I need to upload pictures to Instagram as they happen, or no one will see the Johnstone-Cody Christmas. It’s my responsibility to deliver fabulous photos and I’m getting paid for it. Without internet I might as well not be here, I’m totally stuffed. I kn
ow it’s a first world problem, but I need this job.’

  I can see him soften a little. Then he says. ‘There’s ten meg in my room.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  ‘Ten megabytes per second – that’s how fast the internet works. And there’s signal in there too.’

  ‘WHAT?!!!’ When he invited me to share the hot tub it was a flat out NO! If he invited me into his bedroom to use the internet, however undressed he was, I’d have to shut my eyes tight and dive straight in even though I’d despise myself for it. But I draw the line at pleading stares. ‘So, can I borrow it or not?’ I’m aware my glare’s coming out a bit fiercely. ‘Occasionally? By arrangement? When you’re not in there?’ I’m going for broke here. ‘I am saving your life here with my insider information, don’t forget.’

  He’s shaking his head. ‘Sure. Fine. But don’t tell anyone else.’

  I’m with him on that. ‘Especially not the kids, or they’ll be in there twenty-four seven.’

  It was a throw away thought, but I’m delighted I said it, if only to enjoy the horror spreading across his face. ‘There are KIDS?’

  ‘Only nine of them.’

  His voice rises to a shriek. ‘But we let to adults, nothing about this castle is child-friendly.’

  I shrug and try to look less shocked than I feel. ‘Another bit of small print you should have checked before you grabbed the cash. It’s too late now, they’re coming, you’ll have to upgrade accordingly.’ If he’s a dog hater and a child hater, I can’t imagine how this will ever work out. No wonder the place is so bare and lacking in any traces of emotional warmth. Whatever I picked up on all those years ago, I got him totally wrong. The man obviously has no empathy at all.

  But at the same time I’ve made two unexpected leaps forward. There’s actually no need for Bill to hide anywhere, because how many of Libby’s friends will have their own dedicated wood delivery person? I’m wondering how Bill would feel about smartening up a bit so we could pass him off as a butler in a few of the photos.

  Now I’m sensing I’ve got the upper hand, I’m throwing it all out there. ‘So what about the deccies, then?’

  This time his groan’s louder still. ‘I’m a straight guy, I struggle garnishing a cocktail. Ask me to tinsel up a castle, I haven’t got the foggiest where to begin.’ Which proves he knows one twinkly word, so he’s not quite as clueless as he’s claiming.

  ‘There are always attics rammed with cast-offs in the houses by the sea in Enid Blyton books.’ The more I think about it, the more it goes with the territory. And if we’re stuck with an arrogant arse like Bill, who’s so far failing miserably with this let, we might as well make the most of whatever trappings we can get our hands on. ‘Don’t you have a loft we could plunder?’

  ‘You know the top floor’s full of bedrooms.’ That’s it. Then he takes a deep breath and wrinkles his nose. ‘There is some of the old tat we pulled out of the castle – that’s over in the coach house, but I swear none of it’s usable.’

  I sit up straighter. ‘You’ll be surprised what you can make use of when the going gets tough. And Christmas trees would make a huge difference too. It’s my job to make things look pretty, if you’d stop channelling your inner Scrooge, I’m sure we could sort this. Believe me, anything that stops Libby having a meltdown will be more than worth the effort. She and the kids are arriving late Sunday. If we work our socks off from now until then, we can turn this around.’

  Bill rolls his eyes, then does another shudder at the mention of the children. ‘When you put it like that, what are you waiting for?’

  Time for me to drop my very own bombshell. ‘I can only stay if Merwyn does.’

  ‘Why did I ever start this?’ Bill’s growling through gritted teeth. ‘You’ll have to keep him out of the distillery. The kids too.’

  ‘Obviously. Merwyn hates distilleries anyway.’ I’m not going to admit that yet again I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about. What distillery?

  Bill looks as if he’s close to having smoke coming out of his nostrils and his ears. ‘Fine.’ It’s obviously nothing of the kind, but this is his bed, he made it, he has to lie in it, or however the saying goes. ‘I’m not happy, but you’ve got me over a barrel here – Merwyn can stay.’

  And finally, a result! ‘Did you hear that Merwyn, you got your invitation to Christmas at the castle!’ I let him snaffle his chocolate drop, and he’s so ecstatic that he leaps up on the sofa, jumps straight onto my knee and smothers me in sloppy doggy kisses.

  Bill’s face is crumpling in distaste. ‘Two conditions – no dogs on the sofas and definitely no dogs on the beds.’

  It’s not that we aren’t going to be respectful. But Merwyn and I both know, Bill’s in no position to make rules here. And the faster he realises that, the better we’ll all get on.

  As for me, there was a train wreck roaring towards me at a hundred miles an hour and somehow I’ve managed to avert it. It’s not that I care about this for myself, it’s more that I want to make things perfect for Fliss and Libby and everyone else who’s coming down. It’s going to be a huge challenge to keep this on track. It’s going to be hideous doing this with Bill around. But right now, with three days ahead of me, an empty castle, and carte blanche to fill it with Christmas, I couldn’t feel any more focussed on the job in hand.

  I whistle Merwyn, then beam across at Bill. ‘So where’s this coach house then?’

  4.

  Hello cold days

  Merwyn and I are following Bill around the front of the castle, and when my phone rings it’s such a surprise, I almost drop it. When I see who’s calling, I wish I had.

  ‘Libby! Lovely to chat, how can I …?’ I notice Bill slow to a halt ahead of me.

  Libby cuts me off in mid sentence. ‘There are packages on their way as we speak!!’ Forget EE, her booming voice is loud enough to have carried all the way from London on the wind. ‘I’ve been trying to get you all morning, have you had your phone switched off?’

  ‘Great news on the parcels, the signal’s patchy, that’s all.’ My bad luck to hit a hot spot now. If she’s going to ask about the castle, I have no idea what I’m going to say.

  ‘So how’s the castle?’

  My stomach drops. ‘Practically on the beach, can you hear the sound of the waves?’ I push my phone high in the air.

  Whatever surf splashes she’s picking up, she’s shouting over them. ‘How about inside, is it gorgeous?’

  Yards ahead Bill turns and raises an expectant eyebrow.

  What can I say? She won’t want to hear the truth, I don’t want to lie, so there’s only one option. ‘You’re breaking up … sorry … I’ve lost you …’ I press the red circle on my screen, then switch the phone off completely.

  Bill sends me a disbelieving frown. ‘You find signal and then end the call, what’s that about?’

  I’d call it a survival tactic. ‘I’ll talk to her when I know what there is to work with.’

  He pulls a face. ‘Don’t hold your breath.’

  We have a couple more false starts before we make our way along the path through the shrubbery beyond the side of the castle. Twice more we set off and both times we’re stopped by van drivers with clipboards and sheafs of papers and parcels to add to the pile in the castle hallway.

  As we finally head off Merwyn’s skipping along at my side, his tail waving like a flag, it’s as if he’s decided that now he’s officially on the guest list he might as well look like he owns the place. I pull my hat down more securely to keep out the freezing wind gusts, and get a first glimpse of the coach house buildings through the foliage. They’re long, low and barn-like, but with their dark slate roofs rimy with salt and the late afternoon sunlight reflecting off the shimmering silver of the sea, they make a dramatic group against the fading sky. By the time Bill’s pushing open the wide door at the end of the longest building, he’s still chuntering.

  In Chamonix Will was good te
mpered, and in my head that’s how he stayed. I can’t help being taken aback by how grouchy the passing years have made him.

  As he flicks on the lights, he lets out a sigh. ‘Okay, knock yourself out.’

  I’m staring around a wide space lit by the flat glare of strip lights, up to the rafters of a high slanting roof, taking in shelves full of boxes and lumpy tarpaulins. ‘Go on then, show me what’s under the dust sheets.’

  He sniffs as he lifts up a corner. ‘Bits of furniture, general rubbish, they’re hardly going to satisfy a high end customer are they?’ His eyes flash. ‘And there’s definitely no child equipment either.’

  As I swoop in on an ancient leather armchair, I can’t believe what I’m looking at. ‘How many of these have you got?’ I’m holding my breath, hoping there might be a pair to go either side of one of the fireplaces, or to tuck away to make a cosy corner in one of the tower alcoves.

  Bill frowns. ‘There’s loads, but none of them match and they’re all scuffed.’ He’s saying it like that’s a bad thing.

  ‘That’s not a scuff, it’s patina.’ I lean forwards and breathe in the deep waxy smell of the hide. ‘Better still, Libby’s going to love them.’

  ‘And some are velvet, not leather.’

  I try not to melt into a silent pool of stylist happiness. ‘And what’s in the boxes?’

  Bill takes a couple down and pulls them open. ‘Mismatched crockery and old jars, the kind of rubbish that’s no use at all.’