Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun (11 page)

Since what? Being a kid? Perhaps it was something to do with his dad.

He passed me a menu and I grinned. ‘No need for that. I already know what I'm having—it's the all-day breakfast for me.'

‘Good idea. While Lucas isn't always the easiest employer to work with, nothing beats that dish of his.' He closed his menu. ‘Mum will be along in about half an hour. She's just had to call out the pool maintenance people. Something is clogging up one of the drains, so it is.'

Greg, the young waiter Izzy liked, came over.

‘Two all-day breakfasts,' said Tremain. ‘And coffee?' He glanced my way and I nodded.

‘No kippers for me though, thank you,' I said, and pulled a face.

Tremain's mouth quirked up. ‘Not a fish fan? It's a super-food, you know—all those oils. Good for the brain.'

‘As I demonstrated yesterday, my brain is in perfect working order. It takes a lot of grey matter to come up with the concept of a rabbit called Rocky.'

He gave me the widest smile yet and my stomach kind of tickled inside. I fought an urge to reach across the table and squeeze his arm. I tried to break eye contact, but couldn't, as we started to go over the plans we'd made yesterday. My eyes felt compelled to soak him up as if they had dried out from not seeing anything as pleasing for a long time. When our meals arrived, Tremain passed me the mustard and briefly out fingers touched. My heart raced. I … I didn't understand why. Especially when he polished his cutlery first, with a napkin—that was seriously messed up!

I dived straight into the tangerine pile of baked beans. Mmm. Yummy. And then … Oh dear. A sneeze started. I grabbed a napkin in time and afterwards winced as my cheekbone hurt. Tremain studied me and leant forward, brushing his thumb across my skin. As he did so, my insides kind of … melted.

Oh my days. How could such a sensible, sober, practical-looking guy have such a sensuous touch?

‘Should feel back to normal in a few days,' he said, as if world expert on injuries.

I nodded and cleared my throat. ‘Your mum …' I managed to avoid his eyes for a second and put down my fork. ‘Have you explained the gist of what we discussed yesterday? Does she agree?'

In between mouthfuls of crispy bacon and runny egg yolk, he explained how relieved—how grateful—Kensa had seemed, now that the resort might possibly have some sort of plan.

I finally swallowed the last delicious mouthful of crunch fried bread. ‘Hmm. That was heavenly.'

‘Perhaps you could tell our chef, if I call him out of the kitchen. I'm trying to get him in a good mood before running some more new menu ideas past him—and he did agree to cook for us this morning, even though he's flat out getting things ready for the formal launch next week.'

‘Sure.' I jerked my head towards the smart couple who still weren't talking to each other. ‘Are they firsttime guests as well, like me and Izzy? She doesn't look very happy. Perhaps they didn't read the small print when booking, about the resort not being completely up and running until Monday.'

He shook his head. ‘No. The Peppards have come here every summer for the last three years. They get on very well with the staff. They asked to come as usual—I explained the changes and that catering and housekeeping facilities wouldn't be running as normal until the launch, now that the trial guests have left,
but they weren't bothered. Mr Peppard owns a few golf courses in and around London and loves visiting courses in the South-west—says they are some of the prettiest in the world. Said he understood that the resort wouldn't be firing on all cylinders while we made lastminute preparations. As it is, Lucas will probably be available to cook most of the time as he is spending the next few days in the kitchens, trialling new dishes.'

‘You should ask Mr Peppard to renovate your golf course,' I said and half smiled.

Tremain gave a wry smile back. ‘I'm not sure ours ranks highly in his mind, without a driving range and clubhouse.'

‘Or putting greens that you can actually see,' I said coyly and cocked my head.

Tremain grinned, called over Greg and asked him to go get Lucas, while I swallowed the fact that I, Kate Golightly, for the first time in for ever, had just flirted with a man. An image of the wind spinner flashed into my mind, but only fleetingly. It was soon replaced by the sight of Tremain's soft mouth talking, as he chatted about his golf course and how he might set it up as a more fun crazy-golf activity.

I listened intently, as his plans made sense. Most families coming here would have children too young to play an adult game.

‘You haven't got any brothers or sisters?' I found myself asking.

He shook his head.

‘That's a shame. I mean, it would have been an extra person to share the load of turning this place around.'

Tremain shrugged. ‘No guarantee of that, though—take me, I haven't always worked here. It was only a year ago that I came back here from …' A muscle flinched in his cheek and I leant forwards.

‘From where?' I murmured and my stomach scrunched as his eyes turned dull, like those of an animal that had just been shot.

‘The army,' he mumbled.

I raised my eyebrows. The Armed Forces? Tremain? Of course. With his super-short hair, athletic body and words he used—like saying ‘the best managers get down with the lower ranks' and ‘this is a holiday resort, not a war zone'. Then there was his obvious punctuality and the way he polished his cutlery. And that air of physical capability.

‘Why did you leave?' I said, instinctively knowing to use gentle tones.

He stared at me for a moment. Swallowed. Took a deep breath and opened his mouth just as the kitchen door swung open. I glanced up and a man walked towards us, black curls bobbing, tight jeans showing beneath a white waist apron. He turned to look at the smartly dressed woman. The cut of the denim accentuated rugby player thighs. The top two buttons of a white shirt were open and revealed a taut, hairy tanned chest.

My eyes widened and in my mind played the Marvin Gaye song ‘Let's Get It On', as the chef's gait seemed to go to slow motion, raven hair moving up and down with each step. He caught my eye. Wow. Smouldering charcoal irises with a hint of dirty intent. Chiselled cheekbones. Louche stubble. A strong, teasing mouth. Golden skin. An eyebrow raised as if enjoying a private joke.

Poldark … Poldark had been living at White Rocks all this time, just metres away from me. He stopped by our table and I almost dropped my cup of coffee. Miracles did happen. My fictional hero existed right here, in Port Penny.

CHAPTER 8

‘I thought I might actually die with excitement,' I said to Izzy, as we both put the finishing touches to each other's make-up—for Izzy that meant me applying an extra slash of glitter pink lipgloss to her mouth. For me she had to dab on a smidge more face powder and subtle brown eye shadow. I glanced in my compact mirror and gave her the thumbs-up. ‘He looks exactly like Poldark,' I continued, ‘with that fit physique, the brooding, undressing-you eyes. The only difference is he has a smooth London accent.' We were getting ready for dinner with Tremain, Kensa, Guvnah and Geoff. Izzy carried a folder of paperwork. She'd been busy all day, putting together graphs of profit projections and goodness knows what.

‘Did he talk to you?' she asked, and slipped into her high red shoes. I put on my ballet pumps and straightened my navy swing dress—a favourite for those evenings when I sang jazz. I decided to go smart, for Izzy's benefit—make her look like a viable business
proposition, seeing as I worked at Donuts & Daiquiris too. She wore a lime green and chocolate ra-ra dress—sounds sickly, but on her that colour combination seemed to work.

I picked up my clutch bag. ‘No. Not exactly. I told him how yummy breakfast was and he grunted in return. But Poldark is a moody so-and-so, right? This just makes him more authentic. And I've got a while to work on that distant veneer.'

‘Is he cooking tonight?'

‘Yes. Tremain told him, no arguments—the time had come to produce a more generic menu.' I zipped up my bag. ‘Lucas sat down to chat to this couple after meeting me—regular customers of White Rocks—so he must have a friendly streak in him somewhere. Charm oozed out of his every pore. I heard him tell the woman that her new hairstyle knocked ten years off her, and he complimented the man's shirt. Perhaps having to rethink the menus is just stressing him out.'

‘And how was Tremain?' she said and suddenly busied herself with readjusting the belt of her dress.

‘Quite chirpy, all things considered.' Until my attention had turned to the approaching chef. Inconveniently, Poldark had appeared just at the moment when it seemed Tremain was going to open up about something important.

‘He used to be in the army,' I said, as Izzy and I headed towards the restaurant.

She raised her eyebrows. ‘That explains his sergeant major manner.'

We continued out walk to Rocky's Roadhouse and Izzy explained her business plan. It would mean baking solidly all day Sunday—with my help—to produce the first batches of doughnuts. The cocktails were easy—it was just a matter of buying in the liquor. Her main concern was to quiz the Maddocks over exactly how much time the bank had given them, to start to turn things around, because setting up a mini Donuts & Daiquiris, even for a trial period, would mean purchasing in a good coffee machine at least. She hoped to borrow the cutlery and crockery from the resort, but would buy in fancy cocktail glasses. Izzy didn't want to invest without reassurances that the Maddocks were determined to haul the resort back from the threat of bankruptcy.

As we entered the big white building, my stomach experienced that tickling sensation again. Not sure why. Perhaps it was the thought of seeing Poldark. My mouth upturned. If he were my plus-one, Saffron wouldn't be able to believe her eyes. We headed towards the restaurant. Tremain was already there with Geoff, Guvnah and Kensa, a neat woman with ginger, grey-streaked hair in a practical bun. Tremain stood up as we approached and we sat down, me in between him and Guvnah, who wore the most gorgeous terracotta Indian silk dress. I fanned myself with a menu and
hoped it wouldn't take too long to order a cool drink. Geoff winked. Loved the way he dyed what little hair he had left, plus wore a slim leather tie. ‘Once a roadie, always a roadie,' he'd say. His iPod was never far away from his ears, playing the Beatles, Rolling Stones or Beach Boys.

I kissed my gran on the cheek. ‘It's so good to be spending time with you,' I said. ‘Have you had any more thoughts about the drawings?'

‘I've done better than that,' she said and reached down to the floor, to pull a notebook out of her bag. She set it on the table and opened the front cover.

‘Wow!' I looked up to see Kensa and everyone else staring at the page. Guvnah had drawn the most adorable white bunny wearing a T-shirt bearing a black flag with the word ‘Rocky' written on it in white—the colours of the Cornish flag.

‘Now that's proper handsome,' said Tremain.

Kensa nodded and looked around the table. ‘We so appreciate this input. Geoff, Tremain says you would consider parking up your hot-dog van outside, for the lunch and afternoon trade?'

‘I'd be more than happy to,' he said and loosened his tie, beads of sweat on his forehead. The waiters had set up large fans.

‘I can't tell you how much I've missed my job,' he continued. ‘Chatting with customers and breathing in fresh air. Even if it rains, it takes a lot to beat the smell
of frying meat against the fragrant background of damp grass and wet ground. I've been looking for a part-time job as, well, retirement, it's enjoyable enough but quieter than I thought. It just never struck me to go back to doing what I do best.'

‘Are you implying that life with me is boring?' asked Guvnah archly, before shaking her finger at him in mock anger.

‘Wouldn't dare, my love,' he said. ‘If it wasn't for you, I'd have really gone mad over recent months, just baking, reading the paper or gardening …'

Kensa smiled at us all. ‘Before we get started, why don't we order food and drink?' She handed around basic laminated white menus. ‘Lucas came up with this today.'

I cast my eye down the dishes—lasagne, sausage and mash, fish and chips … that sounded more like it. Greg, the young waiter, came over and Izzy's cheeks tinged pink to match her lipstick. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, having offered to help management in any way he could through this final transition period before Monday's launch. He made a joke about his ‘smart' outfit. Ooh perfect. A man who could make her laugh. Guvnah ordered her usual Martini and lemonade, while young-at-heart Geoff ordered a trendy pear cider. Tremain had a Coke.

‘Teetotal?' I said and jerked my head towards his drink.

‘I just prefer to keep a clear head when talking business.'

Ooh. Abrupt tones. But instead of being put off, I now saw that as a challenge.

‘One little drink won't sway your clarity … or are you a lightweight when it comes to alcohol?'

He snorted. ‘I could drink any of you London jessies under the table, just like that.' Tremain clicked his fingers and actually cracked a smile.

‘Careful. Izzy's a demon for downing Daiquiris.'

He pulled a face. ‘I'm talking real drinks, not colourful concoctions that are more appealing to kids.'

Izzy glared at me. OK, this wasn't going to help her pitch.

‘Cocktails are big business now,' I said. ‘They've made a massive comeback over the last few years. You can't go near a bar on a Friday night without seeing two Angel's Tits for the price of one.'

Gosh. If I thought Tremain's accent was loud, you should have heard his laugh. It bellowed across the table. I felt all fuzzy inside to see his face truly light up for a few seconds.