A Perfect Cornish Christmas

by Phillipa Ashley

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Hello. Are you still up for a bit of foraging?’

  Jude Penberth beamed when Scarlett opened the door to him later that week. She’d almost given up on ever hearing from him again, and thrown herself into her writing, but the previous evening, he’d pinged her a WhatsApp message with an apology that he’d been bogged down in the final proofs of his new wild food book.

  Wow. The dodgy lighting in the pub hadn’t done him justice. In daylight, his shoulder-length hair gleamed with rich tones: honey and cinnamon glinted in the autumn sun. His skin was burnished. It was as if delicious foods had infused him. He was almost edible and she had to resist the urge to reach out and touch him. And possibly taste him.

  Now, that would have been weird.

  She shook away the disgraceful idea. ‘How could I refuse an offer like that?’ she replied with a friendly smile, pleased that Jude didn’t actually have the second sight or magical powers capable of seeing into her mind.

  Scarlett had opted for jeans, her green and allegedly ‘Cornish hurricane-proof’ mac, and Ellie’s wellies.

  Jude was in walking boots and a dark blue waterproof, good quality and probably very expensive, but well used. He picked up a large blue rucksack from outside the door and shrugged it onto his shoulders.

  ‘That’s a big one,’ Scarlett said.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Jude looked nonplussed, as well he might.

  ‘I meant your backpack is huge,’ Scarlett gabbled. ‘It must have a lot of stuff in it.’

  ‘Ah well,’ he replied with a serious expression. ‘You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?’

  Scarlett cringed at her unintended innuendos but thankfully Jude took it all in good part. ‘It’s full of kit for our foraging expedition. I suppose I could have driven round but I’d much rather walk as it’s not far via the coast path. My place is right on the harbour front.’

  ‘Oh really?’ Scarlett said, happy to hurry on from her faux pas. ‘Which one?’

  ‘The pale blue fisherman’s cottage near the Net Loft restaurant.’

  ‘I think I know it. Is it next but one?’ she asked, picturing the blue cottage near to Gabe Mathias’s stylish bistro, with its balcony overlooking the boats. It seemed to fit perfectly with Jude’s personality: modest but attractive.

  ‘I bet the aromas drive you mad. I’d love to eat there … maybe I can treat Ellie,’ she said, trying not to fixate on Jude’s face and body. Or she could take their mother there, if peace broke out between them. Her sense of nervous anticipation about the visit had heightened, which was one reason why she’d been looking forward to today as a distraction.

  ‘I supply him with a few local sea veg and herbs from time to time when I can gather them. Foraged and seasonal foods are really popular with his clientele.’

  ‘They’re very trendy at the moment. Um … do I need to bring anything today?’ Scarlett asked, thinking what a very pleasant diversion Jude was.

  ‘Just yourself and a good appetite.’ His gaze travelled to her feet. ‘Erm. I’d suggest walking boots if you’ve got any instead of wellies though, as we might be doing a bit of climbing.’

  ‘Climbing?’

  ‘Only a bit of scrambling. Nothing dangerous, I promise, so you’ll be fine.’ He gave a reassuring smile.

  After she’d found her boots, they set off towards the far end of the grounds of the manor by the stream that ran down the valley and spilled into the cove. The early November day was the kind that lured you into imagining winter wasn’t around the corner, and laughed in the face of the fact that Christmas was less than eight weeks away. The granite manor was softened by the morning sunshine and crows cawed in the trees, competing with the seagulls wheeling overhead. Now the leaves had fallen, there was a better view from its upper floors to the sea, particularly from her room. She thought how lucky she was to have such a bolthole to escape to, and wondered again how long she might stay.

  She missed her friends, but the list of reasons to linger was growing.

  As she walked alongside Jude, she was struck by the contrast of the peace around her with the city, which would be packed with shoppers, Christmas pop songs blaring out and huge Christmas trees reaching up to the atrium in the malls. Here, there was only the distant sigh of the sea and the wind and birds. Porthmellow’s Christmas lights hadn’t even been switched on yet, although its tiny shops had their own charming displays. And while she would miss going for a meal and drinks in the Mailbox with her friends this year, the community events and festival would doubtless have a quirky charm of their own.

  ‘Hang on a sec.’

  Jude paused by the hedgerow and shifted a clump of leaves.

  Scarlett perked up. ‘Anything?’

  ‘No. Thought it was a scarlet elfcup.’

  ‘An elfc-cup,’ she spluttered, fighting back giggles. ‘Are they really a thing?’

  ‘Yes, bright red, and very tasty, but alas …’ He picked up a crumpled bag of Walkers Ready Salted. ‘This is only a crisp packet. Let’s move on.’

  Still bubbling with glee at the idea of Jude sipping from an elfcup, she followed him down the path.

  ‘It seems a funny time of year to go foraging,’ she said, wondering, despite what he’d said in the pub, how they could possibly cook up a meal from weeds and toadstools, even if an elfcup did materialise. ‘Is there really anything worth collecting?’

  ‘November isn’t the ideal time of year, but there will still be plenty of interesting plants to find in the valley and down by the cove.’

  ‘How do we know what’s edible? I mean, what happens if we pick up a poisonous mushroom or some deadly nightshade?’

  ‘Then we’ll probably be found in the woods by some dog walker and the whole of Porthmellow will come to the wake,’ he said in a gloomy voice.

  Scarlett emitted an actual squeak. ‘That won’t really happen!’

  ‘There’s always the possibility. People have become seriously ill from eating the wrong type of fungi or berry or even worse …’ Jude’s tone was still grim, but then he smiled. ‘Which is why you need to go with someone who knows what they’re doing. To start with, at least. You don’t want to be playing Russian roulette every time you put something in your mouth, now do you?’

  Scarlett felt heat rush to her cheeks. She definitely didn’t trust herself to reply.

  ‘I can’t imagine ever being confident enough to gather anything more exotic than a blackberry.’

  He handed her a small field guide. ‘This will help for now. It’s what most foragers use.’

  The little guide called Free Foods was obviously well-thumbed and read.

  ‘I’d have brought you a copy of my book if it was ready … though it’s actually aimed at older kids as well as adults.’

  ‘Older kids?’ She laughed. ‘Sounds about my level.’

  He seemed relieved that she wasn’t offended. ‘Well, I’m hoping it’ll be available for the Solstice Festival. I can bring you a copy as soon as I get one, if you’d like it?’

  ‘Only if you sign it.’

  ‘I’d love to. Shall we start around the grounds of the manor?’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, I’d love to know what’s lurking in my own backyard.’

  He laughed, and she relaxed a little more. This could be a fun day and she sorely needed that. ‘OK. Here are the golden rules of foraging: get the landowners’ permission if it’s private land and only ever take what you need and what you recognise. Shall we make a start? I can see some lovely Alexanders over there.’

  Fascinated, Scarlett followed Jude to a far corner of the gardens where a clump of bright green leafy plants was growing on a sunny bank. They looked like any old weed to her, but Jude crouched down beside them and pulled a small knife from the side pocket of his rucksack.

  Scarlett knelt down next to him as he cut off the base of one of the plants and held it out to her. ‘Alexanders are a forgotten vegetable that only grow by the coast. They’re a wonderful winter
green.’ He smiled at Scarlett, clearly amused by her sceptical expression. He cut off the base of the stem and stripped a few stringy pieces from it before handing it to her.

  ‘You can eat the leaves as a salad, and the stem is great in a stir-fry. Here, try some.’

  Used to buying her fresh food from the local Tesco, often pre-washed and chopped, Scarlett hesitated.

  ‘It’s fine. I promise.’

  She bit off a chunk of the Alexander’s stem. It had a satisfying crunch and a slightly peppery taste. She chewed it. It wasn’t bad at all; in fact, it was fresh and tangy.

  ‘Mmm. It tastes like celery, only stronger,’ she said.

  He smiled. ‘Exactly. Before celery was commercially available, people would use Alexanders all the time. They grow all year but they’re much nicer now, before they flower.’

  Jude cut some more leaves and added them to the smaller canvas bag.

  ‘Let’s move on, I’m sure we can find some sea beet as we walk towards the cove.’

  Jude scoured the hedgerows and banks, as curious as a wild bird, darting this way and that. In no time, he’d pounced on another patch of humble-looking green plants. It was a very ‘mindful’ experience, immersing yourself in the natural environment, focused only on the best plant. She could see why he enjoyed spending so much of his time doing it.

  ‘Aha!’ he declared, as if he’d found a nugget of gold. ‘Here we go. Beta vulgaris subspecies maritima.’ He cut the base of the emerald green plant and offered out the shiny clump of leaves to her. ‘This is exactly like chard or the perpetual spinach you can grow in the garden. You can eat it raw, but I think it will be much nicer with our main course.’

  Her stomach rumbled as she examined the leaves. She wished she’d had more than a slice of toast as all this talk of food was making her hungry. ‘Um. It looks delicious and very healthy, but won’t we need something more substantial for a meal?’

  ‘Yes. That’s why we’re going down to the cove. Eventually.’

  As they walked further up the cliff, Jude homed in on plants nestled in the hedgerow or behind bushes and beckoned her over to crouch next to him. She might still be young, but years of slouching on the sofa with a laptop balanced on her knees hadn’t helped her flexibility. Her thighs were killing her and it was all she could do not to utter a granny-ish ‘ohhh’ as she got up and down.

  ‘Wow. I can see that foraging keeps you fit,’ she said.

  ‘It’s healthy in all kinds of ways. You’re out in the fresh air, away from a screen, you can end up walking miles and, as you’ve seen, it’s better than a gym workout. What’s more, the food you get at the end of it is healthy and fresh and hasn’t spent days or even months in transit.’

  ‘Healthy unless you pick the wrong kind of mushroom, of course.’

  ‘True.’ Jude grinned. ‘Come on, autumn is fantastic for finding fungi. I’ll show you some of the best types. In fact, they’re going to form a major part of the dish I’ll cook you.’

  By the time she’d reached the top of the hill, Scarlett was puffing hard. She could see the castle on St Michael’s Mount to the west, the wavelets lapping at the base of the island. To the east, the pastel cottages of Porthmellow tumbled down the hillside, fishing boats crowding its double harbour.

  Jude had stopped at the top to let her catch up.

  ‘I think we can take a short cut to the cove, if we’re careful,’ he said. ‘There’s a narrow path down the side of the cliff. It might be a bit steep in places but it’s safe enough.’

  Deciding to trust him, she followed through the gorse, pushing aside the scratchy branches until halfway down to the beach the path seemed to peter out completely. She had no shame at all in accepting a helping hand to clamber down of them a punch on ther ten-foot drop to the beach and let out a breath of relief when her boots sank into the shingle of the cove. From there it was a thigh-busting, lung-sapping scramble over the shingle and onto the beach proper. The tide was out, exposing silvery sand glistening in the pale autumn sun. An oystercatcher pecked around the tideline with its bright orange beak.

  He slipped the backpack from his shoulders and rested it against a rock. He took out a deep metal pot and a bottle of wine, which he popped into a rock pool to chill.

  She brushed sand from her hands. ‘I love it here,’ Scarlett said. ‘No wonder Auntie Joan never moved.’

  ‘She said that Cornwall was in her blood. You can definitely tell that from her books.’

  ‘You read her romantic fiction?’

  He frowned. ‘Are you surprised?’

  ‘No. OK, yes. Her readers were mainly female and some people do like to dismiss that kind of book as trashy.’

  ‘I loved her descriptions of the landscape and enjoyed spotting places I like in the books. They were addictive too. I always wanted to know what would happen.’ A smile lifted his mouth. ‘Though I can’t say that I’ve ever met anyone like some of her heroes. Not in Porthmellow, anyway.’ His eyes twinkled with amusement.

  ‘No, but I suppose she must have based them on someone, even if they were an idealised version of people from real life. Although I’m not sure I’d like to meet some of her heroes either. Dirk Masterson is one that springs to mind, and the Wicked Earl of Trewarren. I’d have probably had to give both of them a punch on the nose, no matter how broodingly handsome and tormented they were.’

  Jude laughed. ‘They’re certainly a lot to live up to.’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t try,’ she said emphatically.

  He wiped his forehead with his palm. ‘Phew. Good. I don’t suppose they made their heroines pick their own lunch from the hedgerow either. Come on, let’s collect some mussels.’ His confident tone slipped. ‘Unless you’re allergic to seafood?’

  ‘No. I tend to see food, and I eat it.’

  ‘Ho ho,’ Jude said.

  ‘Sorry. Terrible, terrible joke.’

  ‘It is. But at least it means you’re going to love my mussels.’

  Scarlett managed to keep her response to herself. Gosh, she was doing well today.

  Jude showed her the best places to find the shellfish and soon they’d filled his pan with gleaming purple-black shells. They took them to the backpack and he pulled out a portable gas ring, small chopping board and knife, and plastic bowls. Scarlett laid them on a flat rock that was perfect for a table.

  ‘It’s like Mary Poppins’ carpetbag,’ she said as he dug out a pot of double cream and added it to the other ingredients.

  First of all, he cleaned, sliced and fried the mushrooms with some of the herbs and tipped them into two bowls, with a splash of wine and cream. Scarlett helped him wash and check the mussels, making sure they were all tightly closed. Then he popped them into the pan along with the wine and put the lid on. Soon they were bubbling away. He poured the rest of the wine into their glasses.

  Scarlett tucked in, admittedly a little warily at first … How long did it take for the effects of mushroom poisoning to kick in? The wine helped though, and soon she and Jude were laughing and learning a lot more about each other.

  ‘Have you always lived in Porthmellow?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, my whole life. My parents still live just outside the village in the Granary.’

  ‘Not sure I know it.’

  ‘It’s tucked away up on the hill. They used to have a restaurant in St Ives, but they’ve always lived here. They’re semi-retired now and have a street-food business, selling fresh seafood. You’ll see them at the Solstice Festival.’

  So, the Penberths were Porthmellow stalwarts too. If they were friendly with Joan, maybe they’d met her mother in the eighties too and might know who she’d hung around with. Not that Scarlett could possibly think of a way of bringing the subject up at this precise moment. ‘Did you get your love of food from them?’ she asked. The smell of the seafood was driving her mad.

  ‘Partly, but I was more fascinated by where the food came from. Mum said I should have had webbed feet, I spent so much time in t
he sea or rock pooling. I used to bring all kinds of creatures home in a bucket.’

  Scarlett pictured him as a small blond boy, knee deep in a pool with a bucket and net.

  He lifted the lid off the pot. Scarlett’s stomach rumbled loudly.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Nothing wrong with working up a good appetite. Luckily I think the mussels are ready. We’ll just wilt the leaves on top of the pot.’ He added the sea beet, Alexanders and plantain, let them wilt for a minute and then opened the bubbling pot. The smell was divine: fishy, herby, winey. Scarlett was positively drooling. She helped him transfer the shellfish into their bowls, discarding any that hadn’t opened. Finally, Jude produced his final surprise from the backpack – a small crusty baguette from the Porthmellow Bakery.

  Scarlett perched on a smooth rock, with her bowl balanced on her knees, dipping the bread into the delicious broth.

  ‘The mussels were to die for. I’ve never had anything so fresh and tangy.’ She wiped the last of the juice from her plate with a piece of bread.

  Jude gave a smile of quiet pride. ‘Glad you like them. This is one of the best places for them on the whole coast. One of my first memories is of coming down here with my dad and your auntie Joan once. I must only have been around four or five but I remember your mum was staying too.’

  Scarlett almost choked on a crust. ‘Oh. R-really?’ she croaked, when she’d finally swallowed the bread.

  ‘Yes. Obviously, I was only tiny but I do remember it was a hot day and I was paddling around the rock pools. Joan had given me a new fishing net and I was so excited …’

  ‘Was my dad there too?’ she asked, nibbling a piece of bread.

  ‘I don’t remember him being there but like I say, I was very young.’

  ‘Dad was probably working abroad. He was a civil engineer until he retired and he often had to go on foreign trips,’ Scarlett said, admiring Jude while they talked. He was one of those Peter Pan types who probably never aged. Even his outdoor lifestyle hadn’t added too many lines to his face yet, but had given him a subtle golden tan.