Читать книгу There’s Something About Cornwall - Daisy James - Страница 14

Chapter Six

Shafts of bright sunlight pierced the windows and she cursed herself for forgetting to draw the curtains. But, as the fabric was almost psychedelic in its composition of bold orange and yellow checks, she decided she preferred the natural wake-up call.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, her bones leaden from lack of sleep, and listened to the pure, crystal silence that surrounded the camper van. Only the faint ripple of the distant waves broke the spell. A feeling of pleasure crept over her until the events of the previous night intruded on her sojourn into paradise like a pitcher of icy water tossed in her face, accompanied by the heart-stopping urgency of insistent banging on the camper van door.

‘Emilie, Emilie! Wake up! It’s seven-thirty.’

Her heart bounced into her mouth as she scrambled to let Matt into the van.

‘Emilie? Are you in there?’

‘Hang on a minute!’ she grumbled, shoving her fingers through her tangled hair and dragging it over her head. She groped for the handle and slid back the door of the Satsuma Splittie with a resounding clunk.

‘Sorry, looks like we both slept in. What time did you say you had to be in Perranporth?’

‘Nine o’clock. The shoot’s at ten.’

‘Mmm, better get on our way then. Jump out so I can get my rucksack loaded, will you?’

Emilie stood shivering in the car park of the Coolwave Surf Academy, her arms hugging her waist, watching Matt as he slung his overstuffed backpack into the back of the van before turning to wrestle with the more challenging task of loading his beloved surfboard. No matter how he angled it, it was never going to fit inside.

She rolled her eyes as she watched him clamber onto the roof, his lithe and suntanned body making it look easy, his wide grin and constant banter giving him a ridiculously upbeat air for that time of the morning. But then she realised it was seven-thirty, not early – and they should have been on their way half an hour ago. It wasn’t the best of starts for the culinary road trip that could launch her freelance career and she had so wanted to make a good impression at this next shoot.

Why hadn’t she set her alarm? Once again, without Alice around to keep her on schedule, her knack for complete disorganisation had come back to bite her on the backside. Was she about to undertake a fool’s journey?

‘Okay, all set.’

‘Are you always this cheerful?’

‘Why not? The sun’s out, the birds are well into the second verse of their morning chorus, and I’m about to embark on a fun road trip instead of having to hitch-hike home. What’s not to like?’ Matt leapt into the driver’s seat and began to familiarise himself with the dashboard. ‘Come on. We’re going to be late.’

‘Oh God. My whole career is over!’

She grabbed a bottle of water and a packet of crisps and settled into the passenger seat. She draped a cerise silk scarf with white daisies scattered liberally across the design over her shoulders to ward off the morning chill, because Matt had insisted on having his window rolled down to ‘catch the sea air’.

‘Okay, foodie road trip here we come. It’s going to be an awesome two weeks.’ And with scraping gears and a kangaroo gait they lurched from the car park.

‘For you maybe; not for me,’ she muttered.

‘What do you mean? Isn’t this gig a dream come true for a food photographer? Released from the confines of your studio, up close and personal with the actual preparation of the food from the freshest, seasonal ingredients by a national celebrity loved by all?’

Emilie shot a glance at Matt as she battled with a brief internal crisis in confidence as to whether she could really pull the assignment off without Alice’s organisational genius. Her thoughts lingered briefly on her encounter the previous day with Lucinda and she realised she was kidding herself if she thought she could do this alone. Her heart hammered a cautionary warning signal.

‘Why did you say you couldn’t do the driving?’

‘I didn’t,’ she snapped, then felt guilty. None of this had anything to do with Matt, who seemed to live his life by the mantra of Freedom, Fun and Friendship. ‘Sorry, just ignore me. I’m sure everything is going to work out fine.’

She fell silent, watching the patchwork of straw-coloured meadows, dotted with spools of hay and threaded with narrow hedges and lanes, flash past the window. So Matt decided to take up the conversational baton, regaling her with stories of his surfing exploits over the last nine months.

She tightened the scarf her mother had bought for her after an anniversary trip to Paris and slumped lower into her seat, her feet resting on the dashboard. She loved the gift. Every time she wore it she felt enveloped in a warm motherly hug. With the repetitive drone of the straining engine, the soft background music Matt had selected, and the lack of restorative sleep the night before, it wasn’t long before she succumbed to slumber.

Her head snapped forwards and she woke with a start, confused and disorientated. She turned to look at Matt, her eyes gritty and dry, and the whole nightmare came flooding back. Panic consumed her as she realised she should have spent the journey down to Perranporth studying Alice’s laminated direction cards to cut down on the time it would take to set up the shoot to Lucinda’s exacting standards.

Matt smirked at her, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. He looked surprisingly fresh for someone who had also had very little sleep and had been forced to drive an unfamiliar vehicle for the last hour.

‘I must have fallen asleep,’ she said unnecessarily.

‘You can say that again. I could hardly hear the dulcet tones of Ed Sheeran over your snoring.’

‘I don’t snore.’

‘Well, you weren’t singing along, I can assure you of that!’

‘What time is it?’

‘We had a bit of a hold-up at the turning for Newquay. It’s just after nine.’

‘Oh my God! Oh my God! The shoot’s in less than an hour and you have no idea what Lucinda is like. Everything has to be perfect! And I’ve not even had chance to study Alice’s instructions!’

‘Hey, calm down, calm down. Look, we’re here. I’ll help you carry your gear into the hotel if you like.’

‘Thanks, thanks,’ she spluttered as she shot from the van and sprinted round to the side to extract her prop box as well as dragging Alice’s trunk to the ground with a crash.

‘Oh God!’

Matt looked at her as though she’d grown two heads but she ignored him. Adrenalin was coursing through her body, causing her brain to scatter and all logical thought to disperse.

‘Just lead the way, Emilie. I’ll take this.’

She scampered into the reception and was swiftly directed to the suite where the photo shoot was taking place. At least the table was already set up in the middle of the huge bay window with a selection of fresh flowers and silver cutlery for her to use if that was required.

‘I’ll leave you to it then, shall I?’ Matt loitered at the door as Emilie flung back the lid of Alice’s trunk, extracted the laminated cards and began to study them.

‘Argh!’

‘What’s wrong now?’

‘It must have happened when I dragged the trunk from the van. What am I going to do?’

She held the red and white gingham tablecloth marked ‘Perranporth backdrop’ in her fingers and felt tears sparkle at her lashes. Why, oh why had she deluded herself into thinking she could pull this off without Alice by her side?

‘Ah,’ said Matt, striding across the room to join her. ‘I think this is what’s called a series of unfortunate incidents.’

Emilie stared at the tablecloth that had been stained with a dark splash of crimson from a bottle of food colouring that must have cracked when she dropped the trunk. It was ruined and there was no way she could use it as the background for the photographs. She sat back on her heels, holding the fabric out wide, and a feeling of such overwhelming anxiety pumped through her veins.

In less than ten minutes, Lucinda Carlton-Rose was going to stride into the room and expect a perfect set, dressed as per the specifications carefully designed months ago then communicated to her carefully selected food stylist with the not unreasonable expectation that the backdrop would be waiting for her when she strode from the kitchen with her fresh-from-the-oven desserts.

‘Okay peeps, are we ready for… Oh my God, where is everything? Lucinda will be here with the complete Cornish Cream Tea in five minutes,’ cried Marcus, hugging his overlarge purple clipboard to his chest as he came to a standstill on the threshold. His fingers hovered over his mouth as he took in the scene; his mahogany eyes widened in abject horror.

‘Sorry, Marcus. I…’

‘Erm, I think I should leave,’ announced Matt and made a speedy getaway. Emilie wished she could follow him.

Marcus’s eyes followed Matt’s retreating buttocks for a few moments before he swung them back round to rest on Emilie. ‘She’s going to freak – you know that, don’t you? I heard about Alice’s accident. Poor thing. I’ve texted her and sent flowers, but we were assured by Alice’s agency that you had this?’

‘I’m so sorry, Marcus…’

‘Okay, let’s see what we can do to save your skin.’

Marcus discarded his clipboard and strode over to the prop box and the trunk. Emilie followed him and crouched down at his side, joining in with the impromptu scavenger hunt, scattering the props she had brought with her all over the floor. Every item in her box was as familiar as a faithful pet. She scanned each one for their potential usefulness before moving on to excavate the gems from Alice’s trunk until the room looked like a gang of toddlers had been left to their own devices whilst their parents took a break.

‘Hang on. I’ve just had an idea.’ She unravelled the cerise and white scarf from her neck and threw it diagonally across the table. ‘What do you think?’

‘Pretty.’

‘Now pass me those white china cake stands from Alice’s trunk, will you? And the teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl with the hand-painted daisies.’

Marcus collected the crockery and helped Emilie arrange it on the scarf.