Читать книгу A Perfect Cornish Summer - Phillipa Ashley - Страница 10

Gabe’s PA strode into the office above his London restaurant, brandishing a tablet. ‘Hey, Gabe. What’s this in your online diary?’

Gabe braced himself. Suzy was on the warpath and Gabe couldn’t blame her.

‘Why have you blanked out a month in your diary with the words Porthmellow Festival?’ she asked.

‘I won’t be away for the whole month, just the festival weekend. I just wanted to make sure you knew I might have to make a few re-adjustments to my schedule.’

‘Gabe. I love you to bits but you might have run it by me first. You have a meeting with a publisher in Scotland the weekend of this festival.’

‘I thought this was more important.’

‘Really? A little Cornish knees-up?’

He smiled. ‘A, it’s not little. B, it’s in my hometown. And C, they’d booked Kris Zachary as star chef.’

Suzy opened her mouth then shut it and opened it again. ‘Ahhh. I see. So, you wanted to go riding to the rescue on your white charger?’

He grinned. ‘Something like that. The call came from a friend of a friend too. I could hardly turn it down.’

‘You find it easy to turn most things down. I thought you’d cut your ties with Porthmellow. I always had the impression you felt you owed the place nothing. You told me you never go to the place now, even when you visit your parents.’

Suzy was correct. Gabe hadn’t set foot in Porthmellow since his parents had sold the chip shop. They lived in the countryside ten miles away now and on his regular visits to them he had no reason to go back to the town itself. No matter how much his heartstrings had tugged, or how strong his curiosity to see Sam Lovell again, any sentimental or romantic feelings had been blown apart after Sam had thrown him out of the house the night that Ryan had been arrested. In the months afterwards, he’d not exactly had a warm reception from some of the villagers. He’d been spat on and called a ‘grass’ and much worse. They had no idea of the impossible decision he’d had to make and he couldn’t tell them.

After over eleven years, he’d thought he no longer cared … then the call had come from Sam’s deputy, Chloe, via a mutual friend. While Chloe hadn’t explicitly mentioned that Sam had asked him to step in, Gabe had wondered if she might – just might – have suggested his name. Perhaps Sam was holding out an olive branch.

‘What’s so special about this festival, then?’ Suzy asked, cutting into his thoughts. ‘It must mean a lot to you.’

‘Like I said, I didn’t want to let down a friend,’ he said, being deliberately vague about who that friend was. ‘Besides, anything I can do to get one over on Kris bloody Zachary is fine by me. Rumour has it that two of his suppliers will go bust because he’s been cooking the books and I’ve already had calls from some of his staff who are out of a job. Most of us in the business knew he was on the fiddle so it was only a matter of time before he was caught. I don’t want the people at this festival to suffer too, so this is my small way of helping out.’

Suzy raised a perfect eyebrow. ‘So, you do have a heart. You’re not the ruthless super chef that everyone thinks.’

‘I’m just a regular Cornish bloke who loves his food. Haven’t you read my PR, Suzy?’

Suzy laughed. ‘I wrote some of it, Gabe.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll get on the phone and grovel to the publisher and rearrange your stay in Edinburgh.’

Suzy left, leaving Gabe pacing his office. When the call had come from Chloe Farrow, via a hotelier friend, he’d been ready to refuse … Porthmellow Festival. He’d seen it grow year on year to become the well-regarded event it was now. He’d heard good reports of it, although he’d never been. Once or twice, he’d wondered why no one had ever asked him to take part. Then he’d answered his own question. He was hardly one of Porthmellow’s favourite sons and most of all, there was no way he would ever be invited to any event run by Samphire Lovell.

This Chloe, who’d said she was deputy chairman of the committee, hadn’t sounded local which meant she might not know the history between him and Sam. She’d been so charming and breezily unaware of what had gone on that Gabe had been swept along. He shook his head, recognising that Sam would never have asked him for anything ever again. It was wishful thinking on his part to think she was behind the invitation.

This realisation brought the powerful emotions of the past flooding back: anger, bitterness, determination to show that he’d moved on, was a new person now. This festival would be the perfect way of demonstrating that.

Gabe opened the browser on his computer. He clicked on a page he’d bookmarked after Chloe had called.

Gabe picked up his phone. ‘Suzy?’

‘Yes, Gabe.’

‘Um … Can you do me another favour?’

‘That’s what you pay me for,’ she said.

He smiled to himself. ‘What’s my schedule looking like over the next four or five weeks?’

‘Four or five? Er … hang on.’

He waited while she hummed and ahhed then she said, ‘There are a few meetings here in London. An after-dinner speech you agreed to do in Birmingham.’

‘Besides that. Anything really vital?’

‘Not really vital … apart from running the restaurants, of course. Can I ask where this is going?’

Gabe ignored her sarcasm. ‘You know that new offshoot I was thinking of buying in the south west.’

‘The one in Brixham or Salcombe? Actually, I’ve had the agents on asking for a decision on the Brixham restaurant. They have another offer on the table.’

‘Tell them to accept the rival bid. I’ve got another idea.’

‘Wow. That’s two in one day.’

Gabe laughed. ‘I’m on a roll. I’ll send you the details of the restaurant later. After you’ve phoned the agents, would you mind finding me a place to stay in Porthmellow for a couple of months? Not a hotel. I need my own space. A short-term rental if there is one. Holiday cottage or something like that. Make sure it has a great kitchen.’

Suzy let out a squeak of horror. ‘A couple of months! You want to disappear off to Cornwall for months.’

He smiled to himself. Suzy was a great PA, but one of those types who thought civilisation ended at the M25. ‘I can do most of my work things online and drive or fly back here for anything else. Porthmellow’s not the moon, you know.’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never been.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll get onto it but it won’t be easy. Finding a place for that long in prime holiday season … I’ll do my best, but you might end up in a caravan.’

‘I don’t really mind what it is as long as it’s close to the village. Pay what you have to.’

Gabe put down the phone. A mix of fear and exhilaration coursed through his veins, but he couldn’t deny the truth. Despite all the ill feeling and bad memories, when it came to the crunch, he didn’t have the heart to let down Porthmellow in its hour of need – and certainly not Sam.