Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun (12 page)

Tremain shook his head. ‘It's such an exclusive language. Asking for a beer is much simpler. At least I'm not likely to offend anyone.'

‘I have to say, nothing quite beats a refreshing Mojito,' said Kensa.

‘Funny you should say that, because Izzy has an idea for bringing business and fun times into the resort that will mean Mojitos galore.'

Izzy took a deep breath and placed a sheaf of papers on the table. While Greg brought out drinks, she pitched her idea. Guvnah and Geoff both mmmed in ecstasy at the descriptions of doughnuts. Izzy had ideas to give her menu a real Cornish theme, which included warm doughnuts filled with local ice cream and others drizzled with Cornish fudge. Plus, the mini cocktail doughnuts she would decorate with iced seashells, anchors and flags and, of course, she'd sell ones bearing an edible rice paper sticker of Rocky Rabbit.

Tremain sat with his arms folded, but gradually let them fall apart, hand resting in his lap. Kensa's eyes remained narrowed but, as the pitch went on, they widened and her forehead lines disappeared. I was on to my second glass of red wine by the time Izzy had finished. Silence hung in the air—apart from the chat of the smart couple from earlier, across the room, who were actually talking to each other tonight.

‘Thanking you so much for such a detailed presentation,' said Kensa.

‘Your doughnuts sound mouth-watering,' said my gran.

‘With my hot-dog van and your cocktail bar, guests won't want to go back home,' said Geoff, with a wink.

We all looked at Tremain.

‘Donuts & Daiquiris?' he said. ‘Hmm. You wouldn't catch me in such a sugary place. But granted, I'm not your average holidaymaker. Izzy, you've made a good case.'

Kensa's eyes glistened. ‘We appreciate that you're prepared to invest in this place. Not many would. But we've every confidence that we can turn things around.' She straightened in her chair. ‘I've no intention of seeing my family's heritage fall victim to the recession.'

Tremain ran a hand over his short, bristly hair. ‘I could easily put up a temporary wall, coming out from halfway across the bar. We could paint your side of the restaurant a different colour, and theme it with accessories like tablecloths.'

Izzy nodded. ‘And it makes sense for the front to be open-plan as the evening entertainment is just outside it, in the reception, where you have an area set aside for bands or comedians and lounging chairs.'

‘Yes,' said Kensa. ‘It means guests spending the night in the building have easy access to the bar.' As the meals arrived, she beamed. ‘Let's talk over the details later. I don't know about anyone else but I could eat the whole of a fisherman's catch.'

My stomach rumbled, but I didn't pay much attention to the food as my eyes studied the brooding face of Lucas, looking for some way in which he didn't suit
the role of Poldark. Fortunately, I found none! His dark colouring looked so much the part. With strong arms, he held the hot plates with a tea towel, dealing them out easily, as if they were playing cards.

‘I hope you approve of the new selection of dishes,' he said and draped the tea towel over his shoulder.

‘Sound perfect to me,' I said and wondered why everyone else was so quiet. Briefly he nodded—the first step towards a connection between us and him saving my reputation at the wedding. Then I glanced down at my lasagne. Oh. ‘Why is the white sauce in a pot by the side?' I asked. ‘And the pasta sheets and lasagne filling are separated.'

‘It's called a deconstructed lasagne,' he said in a bored voice and wiped his hands on the white apron tied around his waist. Clearly the first impression I made wasn't dazzling.

‘I've seen this on
MasterChef
,' said Izzy as she stared at her supposed fish and chips—a delicate piece of grilled … trout—was that?—with sweet potato wedges and, by the looks of it, minted peas. I glanced at Geoff's plate—he'd ordered sausage and mash. The latter was orange—presumably swede.

Tremain tutted.

‘What?' said Lucas and ran a hand across his stubbly chin, his inky eyes looking darker than ever. ‘You said to dumb down the menu, boss. So, as a start, I've been
making my breakfast available all day and now this is the next step. But I still have certain standards when it comes to the overall concept and presentation.'

Tremain pushed away his plate. ‘You've got until tomorrow to change this menu again and get on-board with us fully, Lucas, or you're out. Get it? Stop pissing about. We still want quality when it comes to taste, but you seriously need to rethink your concept of what appeals to the masses.'

He snorted. ‘Where will you get a chef of my calibre, at such a late stage?'

Kensa reached out and put a hand on his arm. ‘Lucas. Please. Try to understand. We've got to undergo a complete image transformation. You'll still have the opportunity to use your skills—for example, we're thinking of holding bake-off classes.'

‘You want me to teach snotty kids how to make fairy cakes? Could things get any worse?'

From across the room the smart man coughed. Lucas turned around then turned back.

‘Whatever,' he mumbled, clearly now aware that guests were in hearing distance. ‘But giving away food to these people—' he looked at us ‘—isn't a good start.'

Brilliant—at the moment he even begrudged me a free meal.

‘These aren't just any people,' said Tremain. ‘They might just help us turn this place around.'

Lucas raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? Miracle workers are, they?' He shook those unruly curls.

Tremain wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up. ‘I think you and I would be better off discussing this in the kitchen,' he said and headed that way, followed by the chef.

‘Must be hard for such a qualified chef,' said Guvnah eventually, as we all busied ourselves with our food. ‘I'm sure he'll come around.'

‘Perhaps I should contact the recruitment agency tomorrow,' muttered Kensa. ‘See if there's anyone suitable to replace him. We've no time to waste. My son's right.'

Eventually, Tremain appeared and, tight-lipped, sat down. Not much later, with a surly expression, Lucas brought out slightly less refined desserts, including a chocolate sundae and a sticky toffee pudding. Afterwards, I left everyone discussing the new options for evening entertainment to take a brief walk outside. The restaurant's humidity didn't go well with the red wine. However, I stopped, with a jolt, as soon as I left the building. There sat Lucas, on a wall, drawing deeply on a cigarette. I hovered, not knowing whether to talk or give him space. Then he looked up. Held out his hand. His mouth quirked up.

‘So, you're helping Tremain and Kensa save White Rocks?'

I went over and almost fainted as his fingers curled around mine and pulled me down to the wall. Almost fainted because, for just a split second, I felt as if I were back in the eighteenth century—a damsel about to be taken advantage of!

He offered me a cigarette. I declined. Lucas dropped his onto the floor and stubbed it out with his foot. ‘Disgusting habit, anyway.' He looked back up and stared me straight in the face. Gosh. Talk about earthy and dirty yet charming, as he sat their confidently with his legs wide open—Lucas was everything I'd been looking for in my plus-one.

‘It must be difficult for you,' I said. ‘But what choice do you have? Things have got to change.'

‘I know. And, to be fair, Tremain and Kensa have given me a bit of time to adapt,' he said and gave a big sigh. ‘But I came here five years ago to serve highfalutin food. It's what I'm trained to do. It's what my dad always taught me to be—the best of the best. And it's what I love. There's no chance of a job elsewhere at the moment. Cornwall overflows with great cooks. So, I … I just need some time.' He shoulders moved up and down. ‘At least the Maddocks agree we shouldn't compromise on the quality of our ingredients or buy in processed stuff. Do you work in the catering business?'

I told him all about Donuts & Daiquiris. Izzy's idea for expansion. He hung on every word.

‘Great idea,' he said. ‘In fact, I'd love to hear your take on Tremain and Kensa's plans.' Those charcoal eyes twinkled. ‘Perhaps you could help me brainstorm how I might better fit in with their rebranding ideas.' Lucas flashed me a smile.

Super swoon!

‘How about we meet here, first thing tomorrow? You can test out the new breakfast menu I've thought out.'

This was good, right? Operation Impress Saffron was making progress. ‘It doesn't involve deconstructed croissants or omelettes, does it?' I grinned. ‘I don't think I could eat a spoonful of butter or flour.'

He gave a wry smile. ‘No. I promise.' He squeezed my fingers. ‘Say, nine o'clock?'

‘Great! OK. Right!' Feeling flustered. ‘I'd better get back. Everyone will think I got lost.'

‘Dig the dress, by the way,' he said. ‘Classy. Sexy.' His voice went all husky and, almost tripping over I thanked him and turned to go. Needless to say, my trip outside hadn't cooled me off at all.

It felt like an eternity since a man had complimented my figure. Not that I'd needed nice words during the last ten months, as I'd lived off memories of Johnny's conversations. He'd loved my full boobs. And my small waist. OK, apologies, that's probably too much information. Yet the last couple of days, I don't know … perhaps it was doing me good to get away. It was as if the trip was holding up a mirror in front of me. It was hard to
see me during the last year and a half reflected back. The angry thoughts. The obsessive behaviour on Facebook. I swallowed. That time could have been much better spent.

The reception doors swung open as I approached and Tremain appeared. His eyebrows knotted together. ‘Kate, Izzy wants you. We're measuring up the restaurant and she wants you to help her decide a room-plan and exactly how much space the mini Donuts & Daiquris is going to require.'

‘Gosh, already?'

‘No time like the present.'

Lucas came up to us. ‘Er, sorry, boss. About the menu. I'll rethink it.' With that, he headed back indoors.

‘I'd steer clear of him,' said Tremain. ‘He's a stellar chef but has got a reputation amongst the ladies at the resort. Bit of a charmer.'

‘Thanks for the heads-up, but I think I can look after myself,' I said and smiled.

‘I mean it. Watch out.'

Whoa. OK. Don't take the knight in shining armour act too far.

‘He seems pleasant enough to me. I'll make up my own mind, thanks. Appreciate you looking out for me, though.'

‘I just don't want any upset—there's enough going on this weekend without that.'

‘Don't you think you and Kensa are overreacting a bit, considering a replacement?' I said. ‘Lucas seems to be coming around and has already created a new breakfast menu. I'm testing it out tomorrow morning.'

Tremain shook his head. ‘What is it about Lucas that has women falling at his feet?'

My cheeks flushed hot. ‘I don't do falling.' And perhaps you'd be more popular if you smiled once in a while, just to be friendly, I felt like adding. ‘Isn't it a bit cold? That man has worked for you for five years. Where's the team spirit? You can't just leave him trailing behind your grandiose plans.' And, OK, selfish moment, but I needed him to hang around so that I could get to know him better.

‘You don't know what you'rrre talking about,' he snapped.

‘Huh? I know better than anyone. With five siblings growing up, we had to pull together to help Mum, share clothes and housework—if one of us slacked it affected all of us, so we learnt to support each other.'

‘You're saying, as I'm an only child, I couldn't possibly understand the concept of teamwork?'

‘No, of course not. Just …'

‘There is no room for sentimentality in some jobs,' he said curtly, with the slightest of wobbles, and my chest squeezed as he left me and headed back inside.

What was it about Tremain that intrigued me? His random comments loaded with underlying emotion?
I guessed that no, there hadn't been much room for sentimentality in the army, but Tremain was in civvy street now. Why was he finding it so hard to chill out?

I exhaled slowly. Whatever. For the moment I was going to forget Mr Frosty Robot, as tomorrow morning I had a date with a smokin' heart-throb.

CHAPTER 9

‘Wow. Those croissants melt in the mouth,' I said and took another bite, tiny flakes of pastry disintegrating on my tongue. ‘Did you order them in from a local bakery?'

This was me, trying hard to concentrate on the breakfast-tasting session, with Lucas just centimetres away. A lock of black hair fell over his eyes and I had to pin my arm to my side in an attempt not to brush it back. His mouth quirked up on one side and he leant back. I fixed my gaze on my plate, determined not to gawp at the chest hair that poked invitingly out of the top of his polo shirt. I could just imagine him riding a horse, or standing on a cliff side, on a rainy day, looking as moody as the landscape. Gosh, he'd look dashing in Poldark's redcoat army uniform.

‘Nope. Ultimately, the resort is trying to cut costs, so Tremain and I decided if we have to compromise a little on quality—which neither of us really wants—breakfast
might offer a few possibilities. I bought packets of part-baked croissants from the local supermarket, then heated them up here. I'm glad they've passed the test. Now, what about this?'

Using a spoon, he scooped a mouthful of creamy Greek yogurt out of a pot and sprinkled muesli on top. Hardly able to breathe, I leant forward as he fed me.

Mm mmm. ‘What's in the muesli? There is something sharp that really complements the creaminess of the yogurt.' I cocked my head. ‘And a spice that reminds me of Christmas.'

Lucas smiled and took a mouthful himself, afterwards licking his lips slowly. ‘Well done, Kate. It's cranberry, to give it that punch, with an underlying smattering of cinnamon. It doesn't cost much more to make your own muesli.' He pulled a face. ‘And to cater for the new budget family market, we've decided to stock a small selection branded sugary cereals for children.'