Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun (13 page)

I shrugged. ‘That's sensible. Kids can be picky.'

He nodded. ‘Plus we've invested in a toast-making machine for guests to use—Kensa's suggestion. And on some days I'll bake muffins.'

‘I know it isn't easy for you, but the resort can't carry on it has been. Will you set out the breakfast buffet style?'

‘Yeah. Only one waiter, Greg, will be needed in the morning, to show guests to their seats and supply them
with hot drinks.' He ran a hand through his ruffled hair. ‘It's an experiment—to see if guests go mad for seconds and thirds or, in the end, we make a profit.' He shrugged. ‘Personally, I don't think it's going to be that popular. Most people eat in their chalets first thing and would only make the effort to go out for something special like eggs Benedict. Not stuff they can buy from the supermarket.'

I caught his eye and he laughed. ‘I admit it. I'm a food snob. Nothing gets past you, does it?'

Wasn't he just charming? The complete opposite to his boss, who was probably just jealous that Lucas knew how to put women at their ease and he didn't.

‘But you may have a point … I trust that you are still going to offer your lovely fried breakfast?'

‘Yeah. Cereals, yogurt, toast, croissants, that will all be self-service, but if guests want anything hot they will have to order off the menu.' He shrugged. ‘I suspect many of those out to grab a morning treat will simply head to Izzy's place next door, for a coffee and doughnut.' Lucas gave a good-humoured smirk. ‘I can't believe she invented a pizza-flavoured one. Pure genius.' He gazed sideways at me, the smirk morphing into a smile. My eyes scanned his face. I just couldn't get over how much he looked like the lead of mine and Saffron's favourite telly series.

‘What?' he said and rubbed that chin. ‘Have I got yogurt on my face?'

‘No. Nothing. I was just … you see …' I picked up my coffee and took a large glug. Oops. Big mistake. It went down the wrong way. Cue a coughing fit. Firmly, Lucas prised away the cup and then clapped me on the back.

‘Hey. Never knew I had that effect on women.' His eyes sparkled.

Bet he did. ‘No … I drank too quickly … you see …'

He took my hand. ‘Kate. I'm messing with you. It's OK. Just relax.'

His fingers squeezed mine before he took away his hand. At that moment, the Peppards came in and the woman shot me the dirtiest of looks. Lucas stood up to greet them both and her face melted like an ice cream on a Cornish beach. Subtly she rubbed his arm. Hmm. Looked like somebody had a crush. But then I couldn't blame her. And her husband didn't seem the nicest of chaps. Yesterday I'd heard him criticise her tight skirt, saying it was too short and totally unsuitable for a woman of her age.

Bravo for Lucas, who discreetly moved away from her touch. Truth be told, I thought she looked great. Bet then I rarely thought bitchy thoughts about people, which was why I'd found it hard to accept how Saffron had changed, once we'd started high school. I'd just rather see the good in people. Plus, a kind word or compliment cost nothing. Not that I was a doormat.
Growing up in a busy household, with an eternal list of chores, you soon learnt not to let yourself be taken advantage of. But people rarely got to me in a bad way. Not even the postman who always hissed at next door's cat. He just didn't like animals but would do anything for a human, including picking up one pensioner's prescription for her, while out on his round.

However, Tremain kind of proved to be the exception to the rule. For some reason I found his abruptness and quick mood changes hard to overlook. And here he came, face screwed up as if he'd just eaten one of Izzy's sage and onion doughnuts (occasionally her creations caused the gag reflex and that Christmas flavour, that never made the menu, was one).

‘Why don't we hook up later,' Lucas muttered to me, ‘and you could help me brainstorm further ways to make this rebranding work? In fact, why not let me take you to dinner?' Before I could answer, he picked up my dirty crockery and headed back to the kitchen.

Tremain sat down in his place. ‘So, is this a holiday romance brewing? The chef and the singer who ignored my advice?'

‘You may not say much, but when you do it is certainly to the point,' I said and heat surged into my face. ‘Why the interest?'

Tremain gave me full eye contact and my heartbeat sped up. ‘Just looking out for one of my guests—that's
you. I don't trust him. Never have. I respect his cooking but he's … he's …'

‘What?'

‘A bit of a player, I reckon, when it comes to romance—especially with the type of well-heeled female guest who used to frequent our resort.'

‘Hmm, that Mrs Peppard couldn't keep her hands off him, just then.' I shrugged and wondered if Tremain was simply jealous of Lucas's easy manner with women. ‘But that's good for business, no, if he's popular with the opposite sex?'

Tremain stared at me for a moment and then his shoulders bobbed up and down. ‘So,' he said, eventually. ‘Breakfast? Your verdict?'

‘Excellent,' I said. ‘Really tasty. A good choice. And you'd never notice where you and Lucas have cut costs.' I raised an eyebrow. ‘As we agreed last night, today are you putting up that temporary wall and helping Izzy paint her side of the restaurant, while I put together some song lists for the music evenings and help Guvnah with the Rocky Rabbit signs and merchandise?'

‘Yep. I just bought one hundred white toy rabbits, with T-shirts, each printed with the word “Rocky”. I paid extra for the order to be pushed through quickly.' He shrugged at me. ‘I hope the investment is worth it.'

‘You say that as if it will be my fault if the whole Rocky Rabbit-branding concept fails.'

He swallowed. ‘No … no, Kate, look, whatever happens, I can't tell you 'ow grateful I am. For the first time in ages, last night, my mum didn't take the books home or talk to me about something to do with work.'

‘You live with her?'

He shook his head. ‘We've got separate lodges. I'd just popped around to fix a wonky shelf. It was great—seeing her relaxed. Smiling.'

Oh gosh. Those intense leaf-green eyes. Pulling me in. Feel like I'm drowning.

‘She's been so worried and spent every night, since as long as I can remember, at her kitchen table, poring over the accounts.' His voice cracked. ‘I'm so grateful—to you, Izzy, Guvnah, Geoff … even if all our plans don't work.'

I welled up. If ever there was a case of someone or something being neither black nor white, it was Tremain. And no, that doesn't make him my Mr Grey. But you see, he was blunt, didn't do small talk and in several days I'd only heard him laugh once. He made no effort whatsoever to be alluring, yet there was an aura about him that I found … For a second I stopped breathing. Did the word ‘adorable' really just pop into my head? As he chatted about his ideas for my music evenings, a volcanic heat rose from the pit of my stomach to my cheeks. What was going on? One minute my heart
fluttered because of gorgeous, debonair Lucas, the next deep feelings rocked me because of his stand-offish boss.

‘Kate? What do you think? How about a seventies night on Monday and jazz later in the week? I'd pay you the going rate, of course.'

Focus, Kate, focus. ‘No, honestly, that's not necessary. It'll give me an opportunity to hand out my business cards—you never know, some guests might live in London.'

‘I insist.' He pursed his lips. ‘White Rocks isn't a charity and—'

He sounded like me when Izzy had offered to pay me more than her other staff. Perhaps I could work out a way to make him feel better, without actually being paid.

‘Wait—OK, I do have a few demands, as payment in kind.' I cleared my throat. ‘An all-day breakfast whenever I want one and … you not telling me off if I want to go to the golf course and admire the swallows.'

‘'Ouse martins,' he corrected, and we smiled.

‘As for the seventies night, I'd simply call it “disco”. That way I can include any modern dance songs for the younger guests, such as those by Beyoncé and Calvin Harris, alongside old favourites by the Jacksons and Bee Gees.'

‘Su
rrr
e.'

‘And the jazz evening … I've been thinking—that's probably going to alienate younger guests. Why don't
we do an ABBA night instead, just to play it safe this week? Everyone has seen the film
Mama Mia
and—'

‘Not me.'

‘How did you miss that?'

He shrugged. ‘Not really my thing.'

‘Oh, come on, even husbands, boyfriends, dads loved that movie.'

‘Which year did it come out?'

‘In 2008,' I replied, without hesitation. ‘I went for my twentieth birthday.'

‘I wasn't in England that year. Out fighting, I was. The Middle East,' he said, voice suddenly monotone. He stared past my shoulder and instinctively I knew not to pry.

‘Come on. We'd better get busy,' I said. ‘I'll head back to my chalet and see how Izzy is getting on with phoning her mum. We're hoping she can send down some branded items for the café-bar.'

Tremain cleared his throat. ‘I'll go pick up the plasterboard for the temporary wall.'

I headed back to the chalet and enjoyed the breeze, glad that the humid weather had broken for a while. White clouds fluffed themselves up proudly in the sky, which was just as well, as the day ahead made for hot work.

I rearranged the bar and tables of the new Donuts & Daiquiris, to make it stand out from the restaurant next door. Then I then helped Guvnah produce some
signs. Lucas made us sandwiches for lunch while he experimented with new dishes—the classics by the sounds of it, including chicken tikka masala and apple crumble with custard. Geoff parked his van up outside, having decided to clean it up on site—sixties music blaring out, of course. Tremain and I gave him a hand to polish the frying plates and wash down the outside. Then Tremain drove him to the wholesalers to buy big squirty bottles of mustard, hot-dog rolls for freezing, tins of the sausages and kilos of minced beef. Just like in the old days, Geoff insisted he'd make what he could from scratch.

‘It may be fast food,' he said, ‘but the preparation doesn't have to be fast too.' His next few days would be spent making his own burgers to freeze, plus chilli sauce and coleslaw from scratch.

With a yawn, at around seven, I made my way back to the chalet, leaving Izzy behind to—there is no other word for it—
flirt
, with Greg, under the guise of him taste-testing her cocktails. I felt desperate for a shower and a slug of something icy. I took out my keys and stepped onto the decking porch. Out of nowhere, Lucas appeared, looking pretty hot in a tight black T-shirt and fitted jeans. Talk about bedroom hair! He smoothed it down—pointlessly, as the feisty breeze ruffled it again. A cigarette hung casually out of the corner of his mouth, giving him a dangerous edge, like a cowboy about to draw his pistol.

‘Have you forgotten our dinner date?' he said, with one of his teasing half-smirks.

I blushed. How did I manage that? ‘Um, of course not.'

‘Then you and I can go over any new ideas Tremain and Kensa have had and see what we can add to help turn the future of this place around.'

My chest glowed. What a dedicated employee. Clearly Tremain wasn't a very good judge of character. I mean warning me off, because Lucas was supposedly trouble with the ladies? From what I'd seen that had to simply be down to jealousy. Lucas was polite, complimentary, an industrious worker …

I beamed. ‘Just give me fifteen minutes to shower and change.'

‘No problem.' He ran a hand across his stubbly chin.

Lucas must have been in his early thirties, but there was no hint of a receding hairline. He was manly. Confident. Virile. Everything a modern woman could want. Forget this namby-pamby metrosexuality. Who wanted a guy who'd borrow your bathroom products? Whistling in the shower, I washed away the grime of the day, humming one of the cheeriest songs ever, ‘Walking on Sunshine'. I couldn't believe my luck that, after the bad news of losing my flat and the Stanley Hotel singing gig, just days later I was spending lots of lovely time with Guvnah and … I bit my top lip. Deep breath. Yes, I was, to some degree, mixing again with the opposite sex.

Once dry, I yawned again and pulled a grey lacy blouse out of my cupboard, along with a white flared vintage skirt. I released my hair from the shower cap and ran a brush through it, before applying a smudge of fudge eyeshadow and slipping on my platform sandals. Even though we'd been inside most of the time, my skin had tanned a little and long-lost freckles had reappeared across my nose. I turned to leave the bedroom, just happening to spy the red heart wind spinner, hanging from the ceiling.

I stood still for a moment and realised today was the first day, in a long time, that I hadn't thought much about Johnny and the brutal way he'd been taken from me. The police at the door. My sobs as they said the words ‘flooded road', ‘skidded' and ‘fatal car accident'. My trembling voice as I insisted I would be the one to inform his parents. His mother's wail.

I shook myself, locked the chalet behind me and smiled as Lucas jumped up, quickly ending a call. He shoved his mobile into his back pocket, dropped his cigarette onto the ground and stubbed it out with his foot. Then he placed his hands on my shoulders. A woodsmoke smell distracted me for a second. There were no guests—who on earth would be preparing a barbecue?

‘You look beautiful, Kate. Understated but sophisticated. It's an honour to be seen out with you tonight.'

I gazed into those charcoal eyes that promised all sorts, but mainly an escape from the last ten months; from staring at the wind spinner, full of regret, wishing time and time again that Johnny wasn't dead. I swallowed. For some reason, on this holiday, I seemed to making progress with accepting that Johnny would never, ever come back and, before I knew it, I'd leant forward, and as if on automatic, my hands wrapped around Lucas's neck. Our lips touched. Then parted. I was in the process of taking a huge emotional step when a woman's scream interrupted the first kiss I'd had for a very long time.