Читать книгу The Cornish Cream Tea Bus - Cressida McLaughlin, Cressida McLaughlin - Страница 11

Charlie knocked on the navy front door of Juliette and Lawrence’s terraced house and waited, inhaling the salty freshness of the sea air, feeling it whisper at her neck. It took only a few moments and then Lawrence was standing there, his eyes and smile widening at the same time. He flung his arms around her.

‘Charlie, awesome to see you! We’ve been so looking forward to having you to stay.’ It sounded over the top, even with Lawrence’s soft, Scottish accent, but Charlie knew he wasn’t being false – he was incapable of it. ‘Come in, both of you.’ He glanced at Marmite, asleep in Charlie’s arms, then took her suitcase.

‘Thanks so much for having me, L.’ She followed him down a narrow hallway towards the back of the house, which opened up into an airy but modest kitchen and dining room. It was modern, with white walls and cupboards, and accents in lime green. A back door with a glass partition looked out onto a neat garden with a patio and a lawn edged with flowerbeds. Charlie wondered which corner the sea was visible from.

Lawrence put the kettle on. He was a compact man, with muscular arms and a slightly ruddy complexion, his hair a mess of dirty blond. His eyes were blue, and he was rarely without a smile. Charlie had thought, the moment Juliette introduced him to her, that they complemented each other perfectly: Juliette petite and dark, often reserved, and Lawrence happily chaotic.

‘Tea or coffee? I know it’s getting on for four, but we don’t stand on ceremony in this house, so you can even have a glass of wine if you’d like.’

Charlie laughed. ‘Coffee would be great, thanks. It’s been a long drive.’

‘I’ll bet. Jules has nipped to the supermarket to get some stuff in, but I thought we could go to the pub tonight, anyway. Give you the Porthgolow tour. You can pop Marmite on a chair, by the way. Ray and Benton are in the front room, and I doubt they’ll give him much trouble.’

‘Thanks, but it’s not them I’m worried about.’

‘He’s a mischief, is he? Looks like butter wouldn’t melt.’

‘That’s because he’s asleep,’ Charlie said. She put Marmite gently on one of the dining-room chairs and gratefully accepted a mug of coffee. ‘How’s business going?’

Lawrence worked for a marquee company, Got it Covered, loaning out and putting up tents and marquees for events across Cornwall. He loved being outside, working with his hands, and had the physique to spend days wrestling temporary buildings into place.

‘Ah, it’s great,’ he said. ‘Every day there’s something new to see, someone else to chat to, and it’s a small company but we’re doing pretty well, regardless. I can’t think—’

‘I’m home!’

‘There she is.’ Lawrence grinned.

Charlie raced down the corridor to meet her friend, who was straining under the weight of her bags. Charlie took them, passed them to Lawrence and then, when all the shopping was in the kitchen and Juliette had removed her coat, gave her friend a hug.

‘You made it,’ Juliette said. ‘What do you think of Porthgolow?’

‘It’s lovely,’ Charlie rushed. ‘So pretty – the beach is gorgeous. And it’s … nice that it’s not too packed out with tourists.’

Lawrence made a choking sound, which Charlie realized was a stifled laugh.

‘It’s a bit tired in parts,’ Juliette admitted, ‘but it’s a great place to live.’

‘We’ve not been here during summer yet, Jules,’ Lawrence said. ‘It could be heaving, the roads constant gridlock. It could be a nightmare. Empty in winter, jam-packed in the summer.’

Charlie pictured the old-fashioned shop front and the other, weathered buildings. She tried to imagine it full of holidaymakers. The beach was beautiful, and it had a large enough car park, but it still had distinct ghost-town vibes.

‘How are you?’ Charlie asked, lifting Marmite onto her lap as they sat down. ‘It’s so good to be here.’

‘This is the perfect place to recharge your batteries. You will not be disappointed, I promise.’ Juliette took Lawrence’s hand across the table.

‘So what’s the plan?’ Charlie asked. ‘I’ve left Gertie in the car park by the beach. I can’t believe it’s free – I thought beaches charged through the nose all year round.’

Juliette looked at her as if she’d started speaking Spanish.

‘Jules?’ Charlie laughed nervously. ‘I’m not trying to be negative, I—’

‘You bought Gertie?’ Juliette hissed. ‘Is this an April Fool’s joke?’

‘It’s after midday.’ Lawrence glanced at his watch. ‘So technically it wouldn’t count.’

‘I thought that’s what you wanted?’ Charlie said. ‘You said my café bus idea could work, but it needed more thought. There’s no way we can do that with the bus stuck in Gloucestershire. What if we needed to measure the interior for appliances?’

‘I meant more generally,’ Juliette said. ‘That this could be a chance for you to relax, Char, to let the ideas percolate. Not start working on some kind of café bus action plan.’

‘What’s wrong with an action plan?’ she asked. Marmite lifted his head, his tail twitching as he took in the new surroundings.

Juliette sighed. ‘Nothing is wrong with an action plan. I use them all the time for my marketing projects. It’s only that I thought this could be a proper break for you. You’ve got your sabbatical, and I thought you were finally coming round to the idea of having an actual holiday.’

Charlie was about to respond when her dog jumped onto the table. ‘Marmite, no!’

But Juliette reached over and scooped him into her arms. ‘He’s so gorgeous, Char. Small and fluffy, and funny.’ Marmite wriggled in an endearing way. ‘Ray and Benton will love him.’

‘If he doesn’t torment them. I should apologize now for whatever ridiculous hijinks my puppy gets up to.’

‘That little mite can be forgiven anything,’ Lawrence said, ruffling his fur.

‘That is exactly the problem.’

They left for Porthgolow’s pub early that evening. As they turned left at the end of the road, to head towards the seafront and The Seven Stars, Charlie’s breath caught in her throat. The sun was hovering above the sea, the red, pink and peach of the sky intensely vivid. The whole of Porthgolow seemed trapped in its glow, as if the cliffs weren’t grey but golden, the windows of the houses catching hold of the sunset like fireflies.

‘Bloody hell,’ Charlie said softly, faltering so that Marmite walked into her and started fighting with her boot buckle.

‘I know,’ Juliette breathed.

‘It’s fucking awesome, is what it is,’ Lawrence finished. ‘The best thing about living here.’

‘Porthgolow means cove of illumination,’ Juliette explained as they continued towards the pub, their steps slow and deliberate against the steep decline of the hill. ‘There’s something about this particular spot on the coast, the way the cliffs curve inwards like a hug, that means it holds the light in a certain way as the sun sets. It always looks spectacular in the evenings, even in winter.’

‘It’s stunning,’ Charlie said. ‘I know that sunlight usually shows up every flaw, but somehow, here, it hides the cracks. It makes this place look magical.’

‘It is magical,’ Juliette replied. ‘You’ve only been here a few hours; you haven’t seen it properly yet.’

‘First impressions are important, though.’ Charlie thought of the hours she had spent crafting the window displays in The Café on the Hill, hoping to entice visitors inside.

The Seven Stars was on the seafront at the south side of the cove, its dark stone façade camouflaged against the cliff. Charlie saw again the strange yellow house beyond the jetty. In the sunset’s glow it looked almost fluorescent, and she wondered what it was like inside, with all the rooms full of overpowering light.

‘Here we are,’ Lawrence said cheerfully as he held open the door, and Charlie followed Juliette in. In contrast to its dark exterior, the inside of the pub had cream walls and rustic wooden furniture, booths with seats covered in burnt-orange fabric. It was simple and welcoming, and Charlie could imagine long cosy evenings drinking wine by the fire, or the windows thrust open, walls reflecting the water in summer. There were a few people enjoying an early evening drink, and it might have been her imagination, but she thought that the volume of conversation dipped as they made their way to the bar. Juliette and Lawrence didn’t seem to notice, so Charlie focused on the gleaming optics and the overriding smell of cooking fish. She inhaled deeply, her stomach rumbling on cue.

‘All right, Hugh?’ Lawrence asked.

‘Not too bad,’ said the man behind the counter. He was tall and slender, his ears sticking out below dark hair that was receding on top. Charlie thought he must be in his early fifties. ‘And who’s this with you and Jules?’

‘Hi.’ She held out her hand, trying not to smile at his Cornish lilt. ‘I’m Charlie, one of Juliette’s friends.’

‘My best friend,’ Juliette corrected, slipping her arm through Charlie’s. ‘She’s here for a few weeks, and we thought it was only fair to introduce her to your fisherman’s pie.’

‘Ooh, that sounds great. The smell is incredible.’

‘Charlie’s a cook – a baker,’ Juliette continued.

‘Oh?’ Hugh’s eyebrow went skywards. ‘D’you work in a restaurant?’

‘A café,’ Charlie admitted. ‘Is your fish pie fresh?’

Hugh grinned, and she silently berated herself. They were in Cornwall – literally on the seafront.

‘It’s a melting pot every evenin’, whatever the catch brings in.’

‘And Hugh’s sauce – that’s why it’s so good!’ Juliette added.

‘It’s not my sauce, technically, but … a family recipe.’ He tapped the side of his nose.

‘I can’t wait to try it. I’m starving!’

They ordered a bottle of wine and took it to a booth, a few heads turning to watch them go. The window had small, thick panes, the glass old and warped so that the sun came through it in whorls of colour. Charlie unzipped her boots and wriggled her toes free, and Marmite, happy to explore beneath the table, pounced on them and chewed gently. She was used to it, and his teeth were still too small to cause any damage.

As Juliette poured the wine and they clinked glasses, contentment washed over her. She shouldn’t be worrying about what Juliette’s village looked like, or whether the people were all going to be as welcoming as Hugh. She was here to relax.

‘This pub is lovely,’ she said, sipping her wine. ‘And clearly it has great food. I’m going to indulge in it all while I’m here – fish pie, wine, ice creams. I might have a couple of treatments in that posh spa on top of the hill.’

Juliette bristled, and Lawrence gave her a sideways glance.

‘What?’ Charlie asked.

‘That place,’ Juliette said, ‘is a menace.’

Charlie frowned. ‘How can a place be a menace?’

‘Because it sits up there on the cliff top, catering for people who are prepared to pay three hundred pounds a night for sea-view rooms, God knows what in the restaurant and on spa treatments, and it doesn’t serve Porthgolow at all. The rich people hurtle through the village in their oversized cars, and they don’t use the beach or the shop or come in here. It’s like they want Porthgolow’s landscape and climate, but the thought of stepping outside that glass box and into the real world is too disgusting for them to bear.’ Juliette took a breath, and then a large gulp of wine.

‘Wow,’ Charlie said. ‘You’re not a fan, then?’ She remembered the BMW pushing out of the driveway ahead of her.

Lawrence laughed. ‘Nope.’

‘None of the villagers are,’ Juliette continued. ‘I’ve learnt all about it. It even has a private beach so the guests don’t have to mingle with normal people. You’d think a business like that would want to help the local economy, use local suppliers, be a part of the village. It’s hard enough being a newcomer in a tightknit place like this; you have to make an effort, not do everything you can to alienate yourself.’

Charlie chewed her lip. She hadn’t heard Juliette get this worked up since their gym in Cheltenham had stopped running advanced yoga on a Thursday evening. ‘What about the owners? Don’t they come from the village?’

Juliette shrugged.

‘Daniel Harper,’ Lawrence confirmed. ‘He lives here, a couple of roads back from ours, I think. But he’s pretty much at the hotel all day. And it only opened a few years ago; he came here from Sussex or Surrey, somewhere like that. He’s not born and bred Porthgolow.’

‘You know him?’

‘Bumped into him here and there,’ Lawrence said vaguely.

Charlie shot him a perplexed look and Lawrence gave the smallest shake of his head.

The kitchen door thwacked open and Hugh approached, carrying steaming bowls of fish pie, and the tension was shattered as they soaked up the smell and the steam, the pies’ potato tops perfectly golden and crunchy. A satisfied quiet fell over them as they dug in, blowing on their forks as if that would cool the contents instantly. Marmite scrabbled onto the seat, put his paw on Charlie’s thigh and looked at her beseechingly. Charlie shook her head.

Hugh returned with bowls of peas, cauliflower and carrots. He laughed when he saw Marmite, and a couple of peas spilled off the dish before he’d put it down.

‘Oh God,’ Charlie said, ‘I’m so sorry! I didn’t even ask if dogs were allowed in here.’

‘I would have said if they weren’t,’ Juliette mumbled through a mouthful of pie.

‘It’s a dog-friendly pub,’ Hugh confirmed. ‘I’d get hardly any custom if I banned four-legged friends. D’you want me to see if I’ve got any treats out back? He’s clearly got FOMO.’

‘That would be brilliant. Thanks, Hugh.’ Charlie felt a flush of pleasure as he walked away. She hadn’t even been here a day and already, it seemed, she was making friends.

After they’d scraped their bowls clean and finished hero-worshipping Hugh’s pie, Lawrence nudged the conversation back to Gertie.

‘Do you want me to take a look at her?’ he asked. ‘Juliette said that after the fair she’s looking a bit banged up.’

Charlie sighed. ‘I was far too slapdash about the whole project. I got the alterations rushed through, and I didn’t stop to consider whether the Fair on the Field was the right place to launch the café bus. It wasn’t fair on Gertie, or the customers.’ She pictured Stuart fighting to rid himself of the banner, and then Oliver with his calm, concerned expression. ‘But I had an email today. The sale on my and Stuart’s flat is finally going through. I should get confirmation in the next couple of days. We had a bit of equity, so …’

‘You want to put that into the bus, rather than a new place to live?’ Juliette asked gently. She knew all the ins and outs of Charlie and Stuart’s doomed relationship. ‘What about a deposit on somewhere to rent?’

Charlie folded her arms. ‘I can’t live with Mum and Dad for much longer, and now I’m without a job for the next few months, I can spread my wings. Part of me thinks a fresh start, in every sense, would be best. But I know it’s too soon to decide that,’ she added when Juliette frowned. ‘What I do know is that I can’t sell Hal’s bus. And if I can somehow combine my baking skills with bus tours, pitching up at festivals, then I would love to give it a go. I won’t spend all the money on doing her up, but I think it’s worth investing a bit and seeing what happens.’

‘I know a guy in Newquay who converts old camper vans,’ Lawrence said. ‘He’ll have a good idea about pimping her up, and I bet he’s never done a double-decker before. He’d probably be thrilled to have it as a project.’

‘Thanks, Lawrence. See, wasn’t it a good idea bringing Gertie down here?’ She grinned at Juliette, and her friend punched her on the arm. ‘We could even—’

The door banged open, and Marmite leapt onto Charlie’s lap and started barking. Juliette looked up, and as Lawrence turned in his seat and saw who had walked in, he let out a low ‘Ooooh.’

‘What is it?’ Charlie asked. She followed Juliette’s stern gaze, to where a man was resting both palms on the bar, leaning forward as if anxious to be served. The sleeves of his grey shirt were rolled up, revealing tanned forearms, and his dark hair was cut short around his neck. Standing patiently at his feet, tongue lolling out, was a sleek German shepherd. Charlie couldn’t see the man’s face, but there was something commanding about the way he stood.

‘Hugh?’ he called, his deep voice carrying. ‘Hugh, are you there?’

Hugh bustled through from the kitchen, smiling when he saw who it was. ‘Ah, Daniel, owaree?’

‘Good, thanks,’ Daniel replied. ‘I don’t have long, I just wondered if you knew anything about a bus that’s parked in the beach car park? It’s a vintage-style double-decker, but it’s pretty shabby. I don’t think it’s been there long, but …’ He sighed. ‘I’m keen for it to be moved to somewhere more … appropriate. I’m worried somebody’s dumped it there.’

Charlie flashed Juliette a look. ‘Who is this joker?’

‘That,’ Juliette replied, ‘if you haven’t yet worked it out, is Daniel Harper. Esteemed owner of The Crystal Waters Spa Hotel. Isn’t he charming?’ Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, which was so unlike her that Charlie felt completely upended.

‘I’m not sure, Daniel,’ Hugh was saying. ‘I hadn’t noticed a bus, but I’ve been here all day. Mebbe …’ His eyes slid towards their table.

Anyone could have made the deduction. A new face in the pub, an unexpected vehicle in the car park.

Daniel followed his gaze, and Charlie was pinioned to her seat by a pair of very dark, very direct eyes. She thought she saw Daniel flinch, but that might have been her imagination, or maybe she was the one who had reacted. Her cheeks burned. Her consternation at his unkind words about Gertie, his imperiousness and his direct stare, in a face that was, Charlie was just about capable of noticing, seriously, sternly handsome, all combined to make her feel even more at sea.

Daniel Harper turned fully to face their table, leaned against the bar and folded his arms across a wide, strong chest. His hair was slightly longer at the front, a curl of it softening the line of his forehead. ‘Do you know anything about that bus?’ he asked, without any hesitation, any introductions, or an ounce of embarrassment.

‘Nice to meet you too,’ Charlie said, finding her voice. ‘Now, what is it that you think I can help you with?’