Читать книгу There’s Something About Cornwall - Daisy James - Страница 12

Chapter Four

By the time they stood on the weather-bleached veranda that skirted the Coolwave Surf Academy, the sun had performed its finale and disappeared for another day. Outside the wooden shack, which doubled as the booking office and a surfing merchandise shop, stood a huge blackboard listing the activities that had been on offer that season: beginner’s taster sessions, surf safaris, aquatic first aid, beach knowledge expeditions, lifeguard skills.

Next to the water sport menu rested a huge metal cage containing an assortment of surfboards in a myriad of sizes, like multicoloured pencils crammed into a jar. The sign hanging on the door declared the academy ‘Closed’ for the season and invited everyone to celebrate its successful and safe conclusion at a barbeque on the beach.

Emily removed her sandals and slung them carelessly into the back of the van, which gained her an eye-roll from Alice who refused to discard her stilettos. She constantly complained about her lack of height and explained how her self-esteem was intrinsically linked to the extra four inches her shoes delivered.

The taste of salty sea floated on the faintest of breezes. Emilie and Alice followed the amber necklace of fiery torches from the wooden shack to the makeshift food and drinks table set with a jaunty navy and white tablecloth on the beach. The waft of burnt charcoal and barbequed meats met her nostrils and her stomach reminded her once again of her neglect to deliver it lunch. As Alice had anticipated, there had been a surplus of cake in which to indulge after the shoot, but Emilie’s stomach had been so tightly twisted from her first encounter with Lucinda that she couldn’t face even a bite.

They grabbed a couple of bottles of Bud from the hunkiest guy Emilie had seen in years and Alice made a beeline for one of the weather-beaten tables on the edge of the dance floor, where the crowd moved as one to the pulsating Caribbean rhythms of Bob Marley. Alice’s eyes were bright with excitement.

‘Coming for a dance?’

‘Gosh! Not yet. I’ll just sit and chill for a while if you don’t mind.’

‘Suit yourself.’

She watched Alice disappear into the melee and marvelled at her stamina. Yet she knew there was something more than exhaustion preventing her from joining in the fun. This was the first party she had been to without Brad by her side and it felt weird. She thought about all the other things she had done as part of a couple and realised with a twist of trepidation that she would have to learn how to do them on her own from now on – and that included her photography ambitions.

If Brad couldn’t be happy for her when her talent as a food photographer had been recognised at the awards party then she didn’t need him in her life or on her photo shoots. At least she wouldn’t have to put up with him constantly breathing down her neck about her untidiness.

She took a chug of her beer and decided to join Alice on the dance floor after all. As she stood she came face-to-face with the guy from the drinks table and her heart bounced around her chest like an energetic space hopper. Wow, was he gorgeous!

‘Hi. I’m Matt Ashby – one of the surfing instructors at the Coolwave Academy.’

The guy brushed his long, sandy-blond hair from his eyes and offered her his fist to bump. Emilie smiled and responded, taking the chance to study his features, which were flashed with flares of gold from the torches around the dance floor. Were all the surfing instructors in Cornwall like Matt? she wondered. If so, she wished her parents had relocated to St Ives when she was a teenager. What fantastic summer holidays she could have had!

‘Hi, Matt. I’m Emilie Roberts, and that…’ she pointed to Alice who already had her slender arms slung around the neck of a muscular Adonis towering a good head above her, even in her stilettos ‘…is my friend Alice Jenkins. It must be a great way to earn a living – teaching holidaymakers to surf and being able to call all this your office.’

‘It’s amazing. I love every second of being out there on the waves, battling nature’s force. It’s a shame it’s the end of the season or I’d offer to take you out. The surf’s been spectacular this year.’

‘Oh, I’m not much of a water baby, I’m afraid. Even a hotel swimming pool looks more inviting from underneath a stripy umbrella, never mind the open sea.’ A ripple of discomfort shot down her spine as the image floated across her mind.

‘Are you saying you can’t swim?’ he asked.

‘No, I can swim. It’s just that when I was eleven one of my friends pushed me in a river for a dare and I had to be rescued by a passing dog walker. Now, whenever I teeter on the edge of a pool willing myself to jump, I start contemplating the long list of things that could go wrong!’

‘You don’t know what you’re missing. I bet with a little time I could help you overcome your fears. It’s just a matter of confidence and you look to me like a person who has acres of that.’

She laughed. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you had seen me this afternoon sprawling on the floor in front of an audience amongst a pile of squashed biscuits.’

Matt scrunched up his nose in confusion and Emilie giggled. She’d forgotten what it was like to chat to someone who was on the same wavelength as she was. She was enjoying herself immensely so she wasn’t about to confess her tendency to attract chaotic disaster wherever she went. Not a good omen for anyone who made their living on the sea.

‘Long story,’ she said.

‘So, what does bring you down to Padstow, Emilie Roberts? Are you on holiday?’

‘No, I’m working. I’m a food and product photographer. I’m shooting on the next Lucinda Loves… cookery book.’ The blank expression on Matt’s face told her he probably didn’t spend much of his spare time glued to the TV set – if indeed he even owned one. ‘I work for a photographic agency in London – Dexter Carvill – but I’m thinking of investing in my dream to go freelance.’

‘Just thinking? If it feels right just go for it, I say!’

‘I did have it all planned out. My boyfriend was a photographer too so we were going into business together, but that was before I found photographs of him with a certain lingerie and swimwear model on his Facebook page, and a few other things like taking my favourite camera without asking and always derogating my chosen field of expertise.’

She stopped, surprised at her frankness considering she had just met Matt. She usually took her time sizing up new acquaintances but Matt made her feel so comfortable and relaxed in her own skin that she felt she could confide her deepest darkest secrets and he wouldn’t judge her.

She lifted her head to check his expression, expecting a sympathetic nod, but what she got caused her stomach to drop like a silver penny down a well. His attraction to her was written clearly in his eyes, the colour of the ocean on a summer’s day. He wasn’t the usual kind of guy she found attractive with his tousled, sun-kissed hair, a natural golden tan from the hours he spent wrestling the waves and a body Ryan Gosling would be proud of. In contrast, Brad spent most of his time indoors, often in a darkened room, and therefore tended to work the pale and interesting look with gym-honed muscles, not the effortless, all-round physique that came from spending life in the fresh air.

Matt was the complete opposite of Brad in other ways too. Brad chose sharp, designer-branded attire, wore a Tag Heuer watch and wouldn’t dream of leaving the house without a comb in his pocket and a liberal sprinkling of his favourite cologne. His appearance was so camera-ready that he could easily have stepped into one of his own photo shoots should the unlikely occasion arise. He exuded impeccability and polish from every pore and thread.

Matt, on the other hand, was the epitome of an easy-going wave addict. Sun-kissed and a little frayed around the edges with his bleached jeans, washed-out tee shirt and the leather thong he wore around his neck. His hair, the colour of liquid corn, sprang from his head in tufts and added to laid-back vibe his presence projected.

But the major difference was in temperament. Brad oozed charisma and sartorial elegance and worked hard at maintaining this superficial veneer, as well as the signature come-to-bed glance from his chocolate brown eyes, complete with long spidery lashes she would have given her Nikon D810 for. However, Matt clearly didn’t give a second thought to his external appearance and was relaxed and content in his own skin. Nevertheless, Emilie detected a deep sadness behind his aquamarine eyes that even when he laughed was never completely erased.

She shoved away her surprise at the zing of desire that had started to fizz through her veins. The last thing she wanted to do was fall for a guy who was leaving the next day – and she had never been interested in one night of passion, no matter how hunky the guy was. She offered Matt a wide, but wary smile.

‘Maybe after this Cornwall shoot is over I will take the plunge and go solo. But as I said, I’ve not made the best of starts, unless you consider it normal to scatter your client’s hand-made biscuits – the very items you have been engaged to photograph – all over the carpet of the photo shoot venue.’ Emilie glanced over Matt’s shoulder and out to sea, again startled at her openness in front of Matt. She felt as though they occupied the same frequency somehow, that they had been friends for years not minutes.

‘Sounds like a case of beginner’s nerves to me. I’m sure things will improve as you settle in to the assignment and understand what your client wants, their quirks and their preferences. What happened after the biscuit fiasco?’

‘I was mortified and only Alice’s swift intervention stopped Lucinda from firing me on the spot. You know, I was never her first choice of photographer – that was Brad, my ex – so maybe it’s best for everyone if I just leave before things go from bad to worse and I’m looking at my career in the rear-view mirror.’

Warmth tinged her cheeks when she realised Matt was staring at her, his mouth curled upwards in amusement. Tiny dimples had appeared in his cheeks like brackets highlighting his plump lips. She felt strangely nervous, agitated even, in Matt’s company so she took another sip of her drink to disguise her surprise reaction. She watched him copy her action and take a swig from his bottle of beer before she asked, ‘So what do you do when the season ends?’

‘I’m packing up my tent and heading home to Northumberland tomorrow. Work as a surfing instructor tends to be seasonal. I’ve travelled down here for the last two seasons. If I’m lucky I’ll get something to tide me over the winter. I’ll stay with my parents so no problem with the rent and they love having me home, then it’ll be back down here at the end of March ready for another summer full of fun!’

‘Don’t they have surf in Northumberland?’ asked Emilie, an involuntary shudder snaking down her spine as she thought of dipping her toe in the North Sea.

Matt laughed, a sound that was both musical and infectious. ‘Actually they do. But the season is a lot shorter and I have to admit the surf is awesome here.’

‘And you live in a tent the whole time?’

‘Sure. It’s not a problem. I love the freedom it gives me. When I get time off I can pack up my rucksack and hike down to Newquay or Perranporth and ride the surf down there. I try to make every minute of my life count. It’s not a dress rehearsal, is it? We have to be prepared to squeeze pleasure from every moment – otherwise what’s the point?’

Once again Emilie saw the spectre of sadness stalk across Matt’s lovely eyes but she didn’t feel able to ask what demons had intruded on his happiness. He pulled his attention back to her and gave her a brief smile before finishing his beer and indicating her empty bottle.

‘Want to try something new?’ he asked, displaying a perfect set of teeth fit to grace any toothpaste advertisement.

‘Well, as it seems my friend has deserted me for the joys of the dance floor, yes please. What do you have in mind?’

‘Come with me.’

Matt took hold of her hand and a surprise jolt of electricity coursed through her body, snaking out to her fingertips. As he guided her towards the drinks table she scoured her brain for evidence that this was how she had felt when she’d first met Brad a few weeks after arriving at Dexter Carvill. Matt indicated a white plastic bowl filled with punch before she had chance to reach any firm conclusions. He scooped up a ladleful of the amber liquid and gently poured it into a plastic cup.

‘This is genuine Cornish Mine Punch.’

She laced her fingers around the cup and inhaled the warm sweet vapour that spiralled into the night air. She took a tentative sip and the smooth velvety liquid slipped down her throat, seeping into her veins and spreading heat to her extremities. She ran her tongue around her lips and smiled. It was delicious.

‘Like it?’

‘I love it! What’s in it?’

‘It’s my own secret recipe.’

‘What? You mean you made this?’

Matt laughed and his whole face lit up. ‘Don’t look so surprised. I’m pleased you like it though. It’s an ancient Cornish recipe with an Ashby twist. Sampling and recreating traditional drinks made from locally sourced ingredients – and not just the alcoholic variety – happens to be a passion of mine. I used to own a microbrewery up in Northumberland with my brother. So now you’ve tasted Cornish Mine Punch, I trust you’ve already sampled a pint of the famous Cornish cider?’

‘No, I haven’t.’ She lifted her upper lip and screwed up her nose in distaste. She didn’t drink a great deal, but when she did decide to indulge white wine was her poison of choice, and even then she often added a generous slug of sparkling water.

‘Well, we’ll have to remedy that, Miss Roberts. Why don’t I treat you to a taster session tomorrow before I set out on my epic hitch-hike back to Northumberland?’

‘Oh, that sounds lovely, Matt, but we’re leaving first thing in the morning for our next shoot down the coast – Perranporth to be precise. Sorry.’

A frisson of genuine regret tickled through her chest. There was something about this man, standing three inches above her in his bare feet on the sand, his bronzed face alight with an easy smile. Yet in unguarded moments his eyes reflected such sorrow she wondered what secrets they masked. She felt an urge to ask, even if it was to be told that his girlfriend had ditched him because she couldn’t stand sleeping under canvas any longer. They say love conquers everything, but there’s only so long a girl can go without craving the magic of electricity.

‘Fancy a dance then?’

‘I’d love to.’

Matt grabbed her wrist and they shot off to the beach dance floor to gyrate to the sounds of Amy Winehouse. The alcohol in the punch had loosened her legs and her awkwardness and she matched his moves, tossing her hair behind her like a wild Medusa, laughing and shouting her answers to his frequent questions. They danced together for the rest of the evening, interspersed with doses of rejuvenating punch and chatting to Alice who had monopolised the attention of one of the DJs.

Beyond the beach the ocean rippled like a sheet of black tar, broken only by the dark silhouette of a ship gliding along the horizon like a mysterious mirage. An ivory moon hung in the canopy overhead, bathing the party with light and shadow to the accompaniment of the rhythmic slap of the waves before the music took over the audio soundtrack once again. A warm glow of pleasure wrapped its mantle around Emilie’s shoulders and she experienced an overwhelming desire to remain on that beach with her present companion for ever.

But the night couldn’t last for ever and on the stroke of ten p.m. the music ceased and the party dispersed. Emilie looked down and realised she was still holding Matt’s hand. She lifted her eyes and saw the pleasure scrawled across his handsome face. Her heart gave a joyous lurch but then her brain nudged its way into her thoughts, reminding her that Matt was leaving for Northumberland the next day.

‘I’ve had a great night, Emilie.’

‘Me too.’

‘Come on. I’ll wait with you in the car park until your taxi arrives.’

‘Oh, actually, sorry I should have said. Sadly, our accommodation and mode of transport for this epic trip is a vintage camper van.’ She cringed as she realised that spending her first night in its embrace was about to become a reality.

Matt chuckled at her expression of disgust, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes creasing attractively. ‘Luxury in the extreme!’

Emilie smiled. Compared to living in a tent for the last seven months she supposed their camper van was the height of sophisticated decadence.

‘This it?’ Matt stopped in front of the van.

‘Yes. Alice calls it the Satsuma Splittie.’

Matt laughed in his deep low voice, edged with a soupçon of northern twang. He moved closer to her until their mouths were inches apart. A kaleidoscope of emotions churned around her body as his cornflower blue eyes delved deep into her soul, turning her heart to liquid and her knees to jelly. In that moment she realised that even in the first few heady months of her relationship with Brad she had never felt such an overwhelming need, a desperation almost, to be kissed.

She curled her arm around Matt’s waist but just as the warmth of Matt’s breath stroked her cheek and their lips brushed, a high-pitched scream erupted from the wooden pathway leading from the beach to the car park. The moment was broken.

Matt released her hand, swung round and sprinted towards the sound, with Emilie panting in his wake.

‘Oh my God, Alice! What happened?’

‘Knew I should have taken your advice and gone barefoot. My heel got caught between the wooden slats. Oh, Emilie, I’m so sorry. I think I’ve broken my ankle.’ And she promptly burst into noisy tears.

The DJ Alice had been dancing with swept her into his arms and Matt directed them to the Surf Academy’s wooden hut. He grabbed the first aid kit, expertly applied an ice pack and secured it with a bandage, but even Emilie could see Alice’s ankle had ballooned to almost double its usual size. Tears streaked down her pale cheeks and she winced with every unintentional jolt.

‘I think you’ll need to have your ankle X-rayed,’ said Matt, casting his eyes around the gathering. ‘Anyone here fit to drive?’

Everyone shook their heads. The Cornish Mine Punch had been a lethal brew and the beer had also flowed in abundance so no one dared risk driving.

‘I’ll call a taxi then.’

‘Oh, Emilie, I’m so, so sorry,’ bubbled Alice. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘Let’s get you patched up first before we think about that.’

The taxi pulled up next to the camper van and they bundled Alice into the back seat. Matt loitered at the passenger door, clearly wanting to say something to Emilie before they left. He whipped out his mobile phone from the back pocket of his denim shorts and asked for her number.

‘Will you ring me? Let me know how you get on at the hospital?’

Emilie smiled and nodded, fighting back tears of her own. She turned to climb into the taxi and a wave of disappointment washed over her. She felt like a slab of concrete had taken up residence in her chest where her heart should be, squeezing out the air from her lungs and making breathing difficult.

She hooked her arm through Alice’s and gave her clammy hand a squeeze, before turning her head to watch Matt’s solitary figure recede from the rear window until he became a dark dot on the horizon. Yet his image remained in vivid Technicolor in her mind’s eye and she knew it would be a long time before her brief encounter with Matt Ashby faded to tinted rose.