Читать книгу A Perfect Cornish Summer - Phillipa Ashley - Страница 12

@Porthmellowchick: Wow. Gabe Mathias is heading the #summerfestival. Can’t wait. @cornishmaid

@pastyman: LOL. he is a Grade A Tosser. #summerfestival #snitch

‘Mizzle’s coming in.’ Troy brushed water from his cap as he walked into the Fisherman’s Institute for the committee meeting. Sam had rarely seen him out in public without it. It was a classic fisherman’s cap with a soft top and a peak, and must once been black but was now faded by the sun and creased by saltwater. Beneath it, she knew Troy still had a decent growth of hair, having glimpsed it when he’d removed the cap briefly to attend the funeral of a local sailor.

‘It is,’ said Sam, laying out her notebook and tablet on the table in the upstairs meeting room. ‘How’s Evie?’

‘All right enough. Knee’s playing her up. Always does when mizzle comes in.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Sam liked Evie a lot. In fact, everyone liked Evie and Troy was devoted to her, but over the past few years, painful osteoarthritis had reduced Evie’s mobility massively. She was waiting for a knee op in the hope that would help.

‘She doesn’t complain, my Evie. Is there a brew on?’ Troy asked hopefully.

‘Not yet. I’ve only just got here myself.’

Troy grunted. ‘I’ll put one on. If you want a job doing, you know what they say.’

‘I do,’ Sam said, smiling to herself. Troy rarely required an answer to his questions. Irascible and grumpy, with a very dodgy sense of humour, he drove a few people up the wall. He also knew every inch of the town and everyone in it. Small and lithe, he still worked part-time for the harbour commission even though he was now eighty. His official title was ‘Festival Facilitator’, which really meant ‘Fixer’. Troy liaised with the harbour commission and numerous other local issues and people, who could otherwise have been very tricky to deal with.

She heard him whistling ‘Trelawney’ in the kitchenette off the smaller upstairs meeting room. The granite building had ceased to be a refuge for the fishermen many years previously and was now a community venue that anyone could use. Downstairs, the larger function space played host to always-sozzled parties, sometimes-sozzled wakes, the ‘Knit and Knatterers’ and many other local groups. The festival committee met there at least once a week in the run-up to the festival. During the event itself, the Institute acted as Festival HQ, providing a hub to deal with any problems or emergencies and a place where all the volunteers could refuel and refresh.

In addition to Troy and the other six main committee members, there were dozens of people who helped to manage all the different aspects of the event. There were countless issues to think about: she’d been astonished when she’d realised quite how much. Without all her helpers, it would never even have got off the ground. With scores of stalls, thousands of visitors over the festival weekend and a budget of tens of thousands, it had evolved into a proper big deal.

Word had travelled that Gabe would replace Kris, as she’d known it would. It had to. Chloe, Sam and their helpers had spent the past day taking down the posters. Fortunately, Kris’s name had only gone on around a hundred flyers and his name wasn’t on the festival banners, thank God, so that had saved money and work.

Zennor had also taken charge of altering all the online website literature, while Chloe had drafted a press release about the change and sent it out to her contacts. It had generated a few stories in the regional media, Kris’s bad fortune had a silver lining for Porthmellow, attracting some extra and much-needed publicity. But as for dealing with the return of the man himself, Sam was still dreading it. Many of the locals would still remember that she’d split with Gabe and why. She’d gone to the meeting at the Fisherman’s Institute, bracing herself for comments about their past relationship. She’d already begged Zennor not to make any sarcastic remarks about Gabe, which would make the situation even more awkward than it already was.

A few minutes after Troy, Zennor arrived, chattering nineteen-to-the-dozen with Ben and Drew. Ben said very little in reply and slouched by the table, as if he was trying to melt into the background. Sam was amused because if Ben had wanted to be inconspicuous, he’d have been better off not wearing black motorcycle leathers and eyeliner that made him look like a character in the steampunk novels that Zennor loved so much. He’d ridden into Porthmellow from his place, a wooden chalet on a site near Mousehole. He really had turned into a stunning young guy, but was still painfully shy.

Sam did hear him say a few words to Drew about his new bike; some exchange about engine capacities that temporarily silenced Zennor. Ben had known Drew since childhood, and besides, Drew was the type of guy who was so unobtrusively approachable, you felt you could tell him your deepest darkest secrets.

Zennor flitted over to Troy who was carrying a tray out of the kitchen. ‘Want any help with the drinks?’ she asked.

Troy chuckled. ‘Thanks, my maid. We’d better put the kettle on again now the rabble have arrived.’

Zennor whipped a teabag out of her messenger bag. ‘Will do. I’ve brought my own tea.’

Troy did his best gargoyle impression. ‘Not that scented muck?’

‘If you mean Earl Grey, no. It’s Moroccan mint. I got it from the deli in Newlyn.’

‘Why d’you waste your money on that? I’d have dug you up a few plants from my garden. Bloody garden’s overrun with mint. It’s only a posh nettle, you know.’

‘I like it,’ said Zennor firmly. ‘And it’s very good for your gut health.’

Troy chuckled. ‘Mebbe I will try some then. You know I have a few problems in that direction.’

Zennor paled. ‘I’d better put the kettle on!’ she said, zipping into the kitchen, leaving Sam trying to hold in her laughter. Troy wasn’t shy in discussing his digestive problems, in front of anyone, friend or stranger. None of them seemed too serious, but they often surfaced – apparently – when he’d had too many pickled eggs in the pub.

Soon everyone had a steaming mug in front of them, and Sam steeled herself for a brew that was bound to be strong enough to strip paint off a trawler’s hull.

‘So, the local hero is finally coming back to Porthmellow, eh?’ Troy sipped his tea and smacked his lips. ‘Mind you, he probably wants to get in our good books himself on account of how we’re going to be seeing a lot more of him from now on.’

‘What do you mean?’ Sam asked, disquiet rippling her stomach.

Troy’s bushy eyebrows waggled in surprise, like a couple of excited caterpillars. ‘Haven’t you heard? I’d have thought you’d have been up to date with all his movements. He’s taken a lease on Clifftop House and I reckon he might be interested in expanding his empire down here. You know the old Net Loft is empty? The one that was a Thai restaurant … or was it Malaysian? Or Spanish? I dunno, I don’t eat much foreign food.’ He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

‘No, you’re only on the committee of one of the south west’s most successful food festivals, aren’t you, Troy?’ Drew said, shaking his head, and Troy chuckled at the joke.

Sam was less amused. Her stomach swirled again as the implication of Troy’s comment sank in. Gabe was renting Clifftop House? That was moments from her own front door … and he was possibly looking at buying a restaurant in Porthmellow? This got worse and worse …

‘I’m strictly here to advise on matters relating to the harbour. Ask me about moorings or vessel wash, and I’ll give you chapter and verse, but I’m no gourmet. Unless it’s out of the sea. I know my dab from my whiting,’ Troy said proudly.

‘Sorry to interrupt the culinary discussion but where did you hear all this?’ Sam asked.

‘And moving into the big house? That’s almost next door to us!’ Zennor shot Sam a none-too-subtle glance.

‘Where did you hear about Gabe being interested in the Net Loft, Troy?’ Drew asked, his interest obviously piqued. Even though he’d been older than Gabe, Sam knew they’d got on well.

‘Maddie Mylor’s auntie told me,’ Troy said. ‘Mind, she did say it was confidential and Maddie had asked her not to pass it on but she won’t mind you knowing. Half the town does anyway or will soon enough. Maddie said that some London type called her about empty premises and about a house for rent. That’s probably why he could step in at short notice, because he’s moving down here … Didn’t you and Gabe have a thing a while back?’ Troy said, turning to Sam. ‘You were sweet on him until that business with young Ryan, weren’t you?’

Even though she could have cheerfully throttled Troy, Sam managed to keep her tone light. ‘We went out briefly, a very long time ago. We were only kids.’

‘You were twenty. Gabe was twenty-one,’ said Drew. ‘From what I can recall.’

‘Sometimes, Drew, I wonder why we’re friends,’ said Sam, with a smile in her eyes.

‘So do I.’ Drew’s cornflower eyes twinkled in his face as they exchanged glances. He was in his late thirties now, with caramel hair naturally highlighted from his life outdoors brushing his shoulders. He was rugged, fit and gave off an air of easy capability that was very appealing, especially tonight, dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a dark blue shirt that suited his colouring really well. Sam was slightly surprised to see him out of his usual T-shirt and work trousers and wondered if he had a date. Sadly, his marriage to Katya had only lasted a few years, and Connor, now eleven, lived with his mum. As far as Sam was aware, there hadn’t been anyone ‘significant’ since. They had that much in common. A thought suddenly struck her … Gabe … what if he brought a partner with him? A girlfriend. Oh God.

Sam’s mind churned at the prospect of Gabe’s love life.

‘Sam?’ Troy’s eyes bored into her. ‘You were miles away, maid.’

‘Sorry.’ Sam forced herself to focus on the festival. ‘Well, if Gabe does intend to move to Porthmellow, it can only make our job easier,’ she said briskly. ‘If he’s around, it will be simpler for the committee to deal with him, not that I expect he’ll want to get his hands dirty by talking to us direct until the day itself. He’ll have a team of people for that. I’ll put Chloe in charge of liaising with them, since she dealt with them in the first place and has contacts.’

She was aware she sounded a bit stuffy and pompous but she didn’t care. It was inevitable she’d have to speak to and see Gabe at some point, but she intended to have as little to do with him as possible. After what had happened between them the last time they’d seen each other, she was absolutely sure he felt the same.

She checked her watch. They should have started the actual meeting almost fifteen minutes ago, but one of their party was missing. ‘More importantly, where’s Chloe got to? It’s not like her to be late. I hope there’s nothing wrong.’