Читать книгу Christmas at the Cornish Café: A heart-warming holiday read for fans of Poldark - Phillipa Ashley, Phillipa Ashley - Страница 11

Kit Bannen’s face is red and he’s breathing hard. ‘Am I too late? I am too late, aren’t I?’

‘Yes.’

‘Damn!’

I laugh. ‘It’s fine. We’re open again tomorrow.’ It’s only a cafe, I want to add.

‘I wanted to be here on your opening day. I was all set to be a difficult customer.’

I lower my voice. ‘Don’t worry, we’ve already had the customer from hell.’

I throw a wave and a smile at a couple from London who are staying in our cottages. Their toddler, George, had a screaming tantrum lasting half an hour and threw every piece of food they offered him onto the floor. George’s wails of protest pierce the air as his parents attempt to strap him into his luxury all-terrain buggy.

Kit winces and we both laugh.

‘Come in and have some coffee,’ I say, reminding myself that he’s a guest and that he was seriously pissed off that the cafe was shut when he checked into Kilhallon. One extra customer won’t matter.

‘I don’t want to get in the way.’

‘It’s OK, as long as you don’t mind the staff clearing up around you.’

He smiles. ‘I’ll make myself useful.’

‘You don’t have to do that. You’re a guest here.’ My smile is fixed on by now. It’s been a long and exciting day and to be honest, all I want to do is clear up and have a debrief with the team then collapse in my cottage.

‘No way. It’s my fault I’m late so I insist on giving you a hand.’

Too tired and frazzled to object further, I cave in. ‘OK, but I warn you, I’m a horrible boss and if you’re so keen, you can help me clear the last of the stuff from the outside tables.’

It’s twenty-past four and a few people had lingered outside, draining their teapots and chatting in the last precious rays of the afternoon sun. However, the clouds are rolling in, so even they start to pack up and leave. Kit helps me gather up the dirty crockery, empty sugar packets and pots of strawberry jam and clotted cream.

‘Looks like you’ve had a busy opening day,’ he says, following me to the bin store at the rear of the kitchens.

‘Yes, the walking festival brought us some good custom and once the sun came out, we had passing trade. Plus George, of course. I need to warn you that he and his mum and dad are staying in Penvenen Cottage. It’s the other end of the row from you, though, so you shouldn’t hear him.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure.’ Kit holds up the bin lid while I throw in the rubbish. ‘If I do, I’ll have to get some ear plugs or turn up my music to full volume.’

I wince. ‘Sorry about George. I’m guessing you came here for some quiet away from the office.’

He glances away from me then throws me a pained smile. ‘Actually, I may have been economical with the truth about working in an office. I tend to take my office with me wherever I go. I’m a writer.’

I resist shouting ‘Yessss’, because I knew he did something creative and arty. Instead I ask politely. ‘Oh, do you write books?’

‘Yes. Thrillers. Correction: a thriller. I haven’t even finished my first yet, though my deadline’s racing up fast.’

‘Sounds exciting. Do you have a pen name?’ I ask him. To be honest, I’m doing most of the clearing up while he talks but I’d much rather it was that way.

‘I will do, I expect. I don’t know for sure because I’ve only just got my first book deal and it’s all new to me. I was a journalist before I became an author and before you ask, it was as an editor for a very dull trade publication about renewable energy. My new thriller is about a woman scientist who finds a way to generate power from water that’s going to change the whole world and do away with the need for fossil fuels. Naturally a lot of countries with less than ideal human rights records aren’t very pleased about that, while others would do anything to get their hands on her research.’

‘That sounds … intriguing,’ I say. ‘I don’t have tons of time to read anything except recipe and business books at the moment, but your book sounds right up Polly’s street. She loves crime and thrillers, the gorier the better. Sometimes I worry she might secretly be plotting to murder us all in our beds.’

Kit’s sea-green eyes glint with humour. ‘I’ve already met Polly earlier today. I popped up to your reception to pick up some leaflets about the local area. She’s certainly an interesting woman. I reckon I could get enough material for a whole series of novels from her tales about the local area, if I wanted to set a book here.’

‘She’s definitely unique,’ I say, surprised that Kit has charmed Polly so fast, and even more surprised that she’s made such an impression on him. Polly is a hard woman to please and can be plain speaking to the point of rudeness, but Kit is a guest so she was obviously being polite.

Kit is silent, thoughtful, for a second or so, toeing a clump of grass with his running shoe. ‘Look, I’m sorry I was such a grumpy sod when I turned up yesterday. You must have thought “miserable git, hope all the guests aren’t going to be like this”.’

‘No … I was thinking poor you, arriving in stinking weather after a terrible journey.’

‘You’re a good fibber, Demi.’ He opens the bin again for me to throw in the final bits of rubbish.

‘No fib. It’s true.’ Or half-true, I think. I was sorry for him, but I also did think he was a miserable git.

‘OK, you’re good at the customer relations, then. I’d never be any good at serving the public. I’d cause any place that I ran to be closed down or I’d be bankrupt within a week. I’m not very good at hiding my feelings, you see. It’s a good job my work requires me to be where people are not.’

‘Isn’t it very exciting, being an author?’

He smiles again, as if I’ve missed a huge point. ‘Most of the time it’s squalid. Spending far too much time in your own company, with the terror of the blank page. You know how it is …’

‘Not really. I tend to have terror of the soggy bottom.’

He does a double take.

‘Of my pies and pasties. If you don’t get the temperature right.’

‘Ah.’ He laughs politely at my lame joke. ‘You do have a proper job, however, whereas I make up stories for a living. Or not, at the moment. I’ve been struggling with my plot lately. And my characters. And the actual words.’ He grimaces but in a charming way, a tiny bit like Cal. He really is handsome when he smiles, though nothing like as handsome as Cal, and of course Kit is blond, whereas Cal has dark, brooding good looks. I guess blonds can be brooding too. I snap out of my thoughts as Kit goes on.

‘You must have thought I’d come here to get away from work, but the reason I was so tetchy was because I’ve come here to work. Normally, I tend to avoid telling people I’m a writer because they ask all sorts of awkward questions. Some people think having a book published is like winning the lottery: just an unexpected lucky windfall you landed on top of your regular job, but you know yourself that any degree of success takes a lot of hard work,’ he says with a nod at the cafe.

‘That’s true. I imagine some people think that running a cosy little tea room would be a great way of escaping a real job too. I’ve worked in catering before so I had an idea of what was involved, but it’s a completely different ballgame being responsible for the cafe rather than simply serving customers.’

He nods and pauses, looking awkward. ‘Sorry I was grumpy when I arrived. I promise to behave from now on.’

‘It’s fine. I know how to handle tricky customers.’

‘Yes, I’ve experienced your people skills first hand. You were very good at calming me down. In fact, you’re very good at all of this.’

He waves a hand at the cafe and the park. I feel myself blushing. I’m not used to the flattery, and not sure I like it that much.

‘I think that will do for out here. Let’s go back inside,’ I say.

Kit follows me in. Shamia is wiping down the last few tables inside the cafe while Nina washes up the items that can’t or didn’t fit into the dishwasher. Without the spurts and gurgles of the coffee machine and the buzz of customers, it seems quiet. The dishwasher hums softly and there’s the odd thunk and clink of pots being washed as a backdrop. Jez has gone so the girls chat to each other about some of the stranger requests and comments we’ve had today. Robyn offers to check the online review sites. I think she cajoled her student friends into writing a few. I’m not sure I can face reading them, but I know I have to, to get some feedback and politely respond to any negative comments.

That thought makes me feel faintly sick. I remember Sheila ranting when she steeled herself for her weekly reviewers’ ordeal. That pleasure’s now all mine. Suddenly, I feel like a wrung-out dishcloth, but there’s still work to do. Closing the door on the customers is only the start of the end of our day.

‘I need to mop the floor,’ I say, feeling as if I don’t even have the energy to lick an envelope.

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but you do look like you need a break,’ Kit says.

‘I don’t have time.’

‘Yes, you do. Do as he says.’ Nina pulls back a chair from the table.

‘She hasn’t stopped all day and hasn’t eaten anything,’ Shamia tuts.

‘I had that broken fairing at lunchtime.’

Kit smiles. ‘Not enough to keep a flea alive. I think you should do what your staff say, boss.’

‘But the floor needs a mop. I can’t sit around while the team are working.’

‘Chill. We’ll manage to clean the floor round you both. Now, sit down! We’re going to bring you a nice apple and elderflower presse and there’s one slice of bacon and tomato quiche left.’ Nina turns to Kit, every inch the seasoned professional. She’s blossomed in just one day. ‘And what can we get you, sir?’

‘I’ll have a cider, please, and thanks for the offer of food but I already ate in St Trenyan. My research trip took longer than I’d expected.’

‘Not even an apricot scone?’

Kit pauses then says. ‘Oh, go on then. I can’t resist.’

Delighted to have persuaded him, Nina scuttles off to the kitchen. The moment my bum makes contact with the seat, I realise how knackered and weak I feel. I haven’t eaten or drunk much and I’ve been running on adrenaline and excitement since six o’clock this morning.

It’s weird to sit in the cafe with the staff working around me, chatting to a guest about how I started the cafe business and Kilhallon, but this is my life now: it’s begun to sink in that I’m in charge and living my dream, even if that dream is harder work than I ever imagined. Slowly, the tension ebbs from my body and in between devouring the quiche and the slice of figgy obbin that Nina brings me for dessert, I finally begin to relax and realise that for today, at least, it’s job done.

‘This is a stunning location,’ Kit says, accepting his scone from Nina with a dazzling smile that brings pink to her cheeks. ‘I can see why you and Cal fought so hard to keep it going.’

His remark catches me off guard. It seems a bit funny that he’s talking about Cal as if he knows us already but I suppose Polly’s been gossiping to him and we should make the guests feel like old friends.

‘You wouldn’t believe the difference between the park today and when Cal first showed me round at Easter. The location itself is fantastic. The views are incredible, even when you’ve lived round here all your life, you realise that. The moment I saw the barn that was here, I knew it would make a great cafe.’

‘I chose this place because it had last-minute availability and it was good value, thanks to your opening offers. It also seemed to be out of the way of distractions, apart from the Internet, that is. Sadly, I need that to keep in touch with my agent and editor and I still do a bit of freelance work for my old trade publication.’

‘I knew you must do something creative, even though you said it was boring admin. I thought you’d had enough of work and didn’t want to talk about it.’

‘Yes, and no.’ He grins. ‘Talking of which, I was going to ask you a favour.’

‘Ask away,’ I say, suddenly wondering – I don’t know why – if he’s going to ask me out for a drink or something. No, that would be silly. He would never do that here with everyone around and he’s not here for long and he must have guessed I’m ‘with’ Cal – except I’m not, in any formal sense. We’re not living together or even acting like a couple in public. Which I’m fine with, I remind myself.

‘Miraculously, I’ve managed to get on with my novel pretty well so far this week and I put that down to the peace and tranquillity here. People can hardly drop in and ask me for a pint or to help them fix their bikes. The setting’s inspirational too. Even the storm and the rain. Especially the rain.’

Tell that to the yurt people, I think, although judging by the noise last night, they were having a good time.

‘Glad you’re enjoying it,’ I say, wondering where the conversation is leading and thinking it doesn’t sound like he’s about to ask me on a date.

‘And I know I only intended to stay for two weeks but I was wondering if you might be willing to negotiate on a longer-term let. It’s a long shot because you may be booked up.’

Relief floods through me. ‘I’m not sure. I know Enys is booked at half term but it might be free until then and afterwards, it’s our quiet season so I can probably let you have a discount then.’ I harden my heart, knowing I can’t do him a deal until after half term. ‘How long were you thinking of staying?’ I ask.

‘Until the week before Christmas, if you have the availability.’

‘Christmas!’

He breaks into a grin. ‘Don’t sound so surprised. There are worse places to stay, you know.’

‘I know. Kilhallon’s great but it won’t be cheap … and what about your place in London?’ I say, knowing I’m doing a terrible job of selling the site. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Nina and Shamia watching us from the servery.

‘I’ve a friend who’d be happy looking after my flat. He’s just finished a contract abroad and wants a short-term place to stay in London while he hunts for a new job and his rent will cover my stay here. Plus there are trains, you know, if I can’t face the drive back when I need to go to a meeting.’

‘I didn’t mean to be nosy. Of course, Kilhallon’s perfect for peace and quiet and I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. I’d have to ask Cal, of course.’

‘Of course, if you need to square things with him, as he’s your boss …’

Something in Kit’s tone irritates me and I remind myself that I don’t need Cal’s permission to take a booking from a guest. ‘I’ll check the bookings when I go back to the house. I’ve got the live booking chart on my phone, but the signal’s not great down here.’

Kit puts his hand on my arm to stop me leaping to my feet, not that I could leap, my legs feel wobbly. ‘No rush,’ he says. ‘Later will do and as for the phone signal: that’s another reason for staying here. My agent can’t keep ringing me to ask how the book is going, and no one else can reach me either.’

‘OK. I’ll come round or call you later when I’ve checked, but it should be fine for a long-term let, even if you have to move cottages halfway through.’

‘That won’t bother me. Great. Now that I know I’m staying, I can settle into my novel. It’s a relief, to be honest, I was dreading having to go back to the smoke. There’s something about Kilhallon that really inspires me.’ He flashes me a smile then tips the cider bottle to his lips. He really is very good-looking when he turns on the charm, but I can’t quite fathom him out. When he first arrived, you’d have thought he was furious with the whole world.

He reminds me of Cal a little: one moment sunshine and the next showers, but Cal doesn’t seem to be able to switch the seasons on and off in the same way that Kit does. I’m not sure Cal’s so in control of his climate, and to be honest, I prefer it that way. Cal’s unpredictable in a predictable way, but Kit’s just unpredictable … Oh sod it, he’s only a guest. As long as he doesn’t start wailing the place down and chucking food on the floor like George, he can be as quirky as he likes. More importantly, his money’s as good as anyone else’s and it looks like we’re going to get rather a nice chunk of it.