Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun (17 page)

‘Heh, Kate,' said Izzy, in a low voice, while my attention was still focused on my promise to Kensa, ‘why don't I innocently mention Saffron's wedding tonight, when we're all out? Mention that you are looking for a plus-one? I bet Lucas jumps in and offers to accompany you. I get the feeling he likes posh dos.'

I turned to her. ‘Huh? Tonight? I … don't know. I was going to wait a while.' Tremain. I needed to find a way to shadow him today.

‘True, but you can't spring it on him at the last minute,' she said.

‘Yes, I suppose so,' I said, not really listening. I strode over to Tremain. ‘Fancy trying a mocktail?' I owed it to Kensa to try to find out more about his plans for the next few hours.

‘You think I've got time for
that
?' he snapped. Without saying goodbye, he stalked off. I ran after him. ‘Whoa. Hold up. What's the matter? Where's the man who shared a joke with me yesterday?'

He gazed at the ground. ‘Just a lot of my mind, so I have—you know, like the future of my family's business riding on how things go next week.'

I touched his arm but he shook it off and looked up. ‘Haven't you got doughnuts to make or scales to practise?'

Ooh. He'd really grabbed my attention now. I thought we'd bonded a little after Thursday's scorching life and death situation.

‘I … need to go into town; wondered if you could give me a lift.'

‘Nope. Stuff to do. Anyway, what do you need at this late stage?'

‘Cocktail sticks,' I said, remembering that Izzy had to pop out for them later. I could save her the trip. ‘And paper coasters. We forgot to order everything, so rang around a few bars in Port Penny. One called the Cocktail Hour was particularly obliging.'

‘Ah,
rrr
ight—the owner, Tim Watson, knows my dad.'

I studied his face. Perhaps this errand he was so cagey about had something to do with his father and the imminent baby. That would explain not talking about it. He wouldn't want to upset Kensa. Or was Izzy right, he had been in trouble in the army … perhaps he
had
been jailed and had some kind of parole officer to visit? But then what did that have to do with today being the anniversary of something bad? Kensa said it was two years ago his dad had run off with the pool attendant. Could today have been the day he actually left? That might make sense. They say divorce is traumatic for a child, be them an adult or young kid. I stared at him. Not that I'd know. My dad left a month after I was born. The father of my younger siblings came in and out of our lives, but we knew he wasn't reliable so I'd got used to thinking that just having one parent was pretty normal.

‘Surely small things like coasters can wait a few days?' said Tremain.

‘Nooo. Giving guests a supreme doughnut and cocktail experience is all about the detail. We need that from the start.'

He threw his hands in the air. ‘Order them express delivery off the Internet. They'll probably be cheaper.'

I folded my arms. A promise was a promise and Kensa had enough on her mind without her son going AWOL. And the more fuss he made, the more I thought
Kensa was right, he shouldn't be alone. ‘Don't you think it's the least you can do? Since arriving I've been bruised around the eye for breaking up a fight and done my best to save people from a fire.'

‘No one was at risk,' he muttered.

‘I'm sure you jumped into situations like that, at some point during your army career,' I said and eyed him closely.

His shoulders drooped. ‘Yes. And I learnt the hard way that it doesn't always end well.'

I held my breath. Was he about to confide in me? Share his big secret? No. For several moments he just stared into the distance.

Eventually, I raised my eyebrows. ‘Look. I've agreed to be paid for my singing in breakfasts. All I'm asking for is a ride.'

‘I also gave you permission to walk on the golf course, to watch the 'ouse martins.'

‘Swallows, you mean,' I said.

Nearly. He nearly cracked a smile.

‘Oh, for God's sake. You're a rrright pain. So go on, get in my van—I'll be there in a minute.'

A minute? More like twenty. A waste as there was so much to do today. But I bit my lip when he got into the driving seat. No point in complaining, he might change his mind about letting me tag along.

‘You'll have to get a bus back,' he said. ‘I'm going to be out a while.'

‘We could meet for lunch?' I said.

‘No time.'

Back to being a robot, huh? I shot him a sideways glance and longed to curl my arm around his shoulders to give him a hug. His abruptness didn't niggle me so much now. I was beginning to realise, there might be something serious—painful—at the root of it. I swallowed, thinking back to myself, over the last year. Some days, I hardly spoke to my colleagues at work, due to mooning around, missing Johnny. When I was in one of those moods, Izzy always knew a quick fix. As soon as six o'clock arrived, she would make me a strawberry Daiquiri and order pizza for us to eat, out the back, without any questions or judgements. That meant a lot to me at the time. I'd repay the favour by treating her to a cinema trip. Ever so hard I tried, to be cheery and not bring other people down, but Izzy always saw straight through a brave face. I glanced at Tremain again. So, I was trying not to judge his impolite manner.

‘Such a gorgeous view,' I said, as we drove along the coast. Little fishing boats bobbed on turquoise water. Smooth scone-coloured sands contrasted the rugged cliffs. ‘You must have loved growing up here. The most sand I ever saw, as a child, sat in Mum's egg-timer—apart from on our caravan holidays, when I'd spend every moment possible rock-pooling. A pretty shell seemed like treasure, back then.'

‘It gave me a love of fresh air. Every summer was spent crabbing and swimming, when I wasn't helping out at White Rocks.' He shrugged. ‘I guess holidays were rare for you, what with five siblings.'

‘Too right. Guvnah and Granddad were always generous and helped us out, but I never went abroad until Jo—until my last boyfriend bought me a trip to Paris, as a surprise.'

‘The girlfriend of one of my mates from my last job originally came from Paris, moved here as a little girl. Her family gave him fancy ideas about art and music, we always said.' A brief smile crossed his face. ‘I met her parents once. They couldn't understand a word I said.'

‘No surprise there, even I have trouble!' I said and chuckled. ‘Are you still in touch?'

Tremain's fingers tensed on the steering wheel and he shook his head.

We headed downhill, intermittently queuing behind tourist traffic or tractors, angry horns beeping from time to time. As we descended into Port Penny, I once again admired the narrow, cobbled roads and little cottages either side. Seagulls squawked and swooped as we neared the town, no doubt hoping to find scraps of last night's fish and chips. Expertly, Tremain navigated the tiny avenues and visitors, only having to brake once when a dog broke free from his leash which was tied up outside a café.

Eventually we turned into a small car park, opposite the harbour, belonging to a shop called Port Penny Pottery. I climbed out of the van and breathed in. Fish. Seaweed. ‘Ew! What a stink!'

‘You get used to it, over the years,' said Tremain.

‘Good thing I'm just here for a holiday.'

He gave me the strangest of looks before jerking his head towards the back entrance to the pottery. ‘Right. Business to do. The Cocktail Hour is just up the hill. Go out of this car park, turn left then left again at the boatshed. It's next door to the pharmacy.'

‘Thanks,' I said and shivered. Grey clouds had come in and, for the first time in weeks, it looked like England was going to experience rain.

Tremain opened the van door and fumbled in the glove compartment. He straightened up and threw a small, floral umbrella across the van's roof to me. ‘Here,' he said, gruffly. ‘Mum left it last time I took her shopping.'

I smiled and took off my little rucksack to shove it in.

With that he was gone. Right. The Cocktail Hour first. Really quick so that I was back here to see where he went after collecting the crockery. My detective work would be stumped if he got in the van to drive elsewhere. Hopefully this errand was in the town and I could follow him on foot.

I shivered again, wishing I'd brought one of my cardigans. After turning left at the boatshed, I headed up the hill.

Children ran around eating fudge and carrying buckets. Sunglasses and caps had disappeared in favour of raincoats and umbrellas. Not that it affected the number of people shopping and taking photos. I tapped on the window of the Cocktail Hour—Tim had said it would be closed but he'd be waiting for me to call. What a lovely man. He gave me plenty of coasters and cocktail sticks—the colourful, plastic ones that Izzy was so fond of, but couldn't be found in your usual supermarket.

Twenty minutes later, I was back on the cobbled avenue and hurried back to Port Penny Pottery. And just in time. When I arrived and stole carefully into the car park, Tremain was packing boxes into the boot of the van. OK, I admit it. I watched for a while, admiring his strength and those subtle biceps, as he easily lifted the cardboard boxes. His blue T-shirt pulled over his tight body in all the right places. His determined face wanted me to kiss it in an attempt to smooth out the frown lines. Mmm.

Gosh. Did I really just think that? Nah. Must be overtired. I mean, my fantasy figure was a long-haired, eighteenth-century Cornish miner, who wore loose clothes and was more athletic than stocky and firm. Tremain looked up, as if he knew he was being watched and I scuttled behind a bush, almost getting caught with my rucksack. When he'd gone back into the shop, I headed out to the front of the shop, crossed the road and stood behind a red letter box.

Fortunately, I'd had my sun cap in my bag and put that on. A spot of rain fell onto my arm. Great. I'd look really obvious if I put up his mum's umbrella. After what seemed an age, Tremain walked out of the car park. He turned right. Grateful for the crowds that had braved the threatening bad weather and disguised me, I tracked him, at a distance.

We passed a row of shops and then he veered right, up a hill, past a fish restaurant and a post office busy with people buying postcards and stamps. Finally, he stopped outside … a florist's? I stood outside a souvenir shop, opposite, hiding amongst shelves of swimming costumes and surfboards. He disappeared inside and came out carrying a bunch of one, two, three … twelve red roses.

A sensation of nausea rose up the back of my throat as I stepped back. Oh. Tremain must have a girlfriend. Perhaps his errand today was nothing to do with the so-called sad anniversary. But why be so secretive about her? And why … why did I mind? Tremain meant nothing to me. I'd leave him to meet his lover. Yet, as I studied the scene where he stood, something didn't fit … his face. It didn't bear the expression of a man about to spend the afternoon enjoying a romantic tryst. The mouth drooped, to match his shoulders. He took a deep breath then started to walk back, in the direction of the harbour.

I followed him down the hill and the fishy smell became more pungent. Fishermen called out to each other and I saw the female one I'd mistaken for a
man, on my first trip down here. I weaved my way in between holidaymakers on the beach and kept my distance from Tremain, glad for bodies to hide behind. And bless the stoic British, many of those bodies wore bikinis or Hawaiian swimming trunks, despite the drop in temperature. Children built sandcastles with moats. The most sensible person I saw lay fully clothed, behind a windbreaker, enjoying a steaming drink out of a flask. Seabirds swooped to pick up uneaten halves of sandwiches and, as we headed towards the right-hand, rocky side, tots stood holding fishing nets, squealing if they thought they'd seen a tiddler or a crab. Tremain pressed ahead, carrying the bouquet, now climbing larger rocks. My brow furrowed. He'd arranged to meet a girlfriend
here
? The imminent storm wouldn't make that very romantic.

And, of course, this hike had to be on a day I'd decided to wear my platform sandals. I climbed onto a large stone, covered with green seaweed and … Yes. You've guessed it, slipped and fell, right onto my bottom. Just as well. Great padding. As two nearby children giggled, their dad helped me balance as I stood up. I slipped off my shoes and put them in my rucksack, pushing them in carefully, so as not to bend the boxes of paper coasters. It was probably safer to climb with bare feet. By the time I'd thanked the dad and admired the kids' buckets full of the smallest fish you've ever seen, Tremain had disappeared.

I narrowed my eyes. Trickles of rain had turned into fat drops, but I was still loath to ruin my disguise and put up the conspicuous umbrella. I scanned the wall of rocks, squinted and right at the end was a stocky man, in a blue T-shirt, carrying something red. The bouquet of flowers. How on earth had he got there so quickly?

I pushed on, crouching as I crossed slippery stones, other people finally giving up and heading back to cover, off the beach. Noisily, I breathed, as the rocks got larger and I had to jump a couple of gaps. Tremain disappeared around to the right, at the furthest point of the cliff side and I crept up to the edge, clothes wet now, face soaked, wishing I'd tied my unruly hair back. Slowly, I peered around the corner. Huh? Tremain stood right at the edge of the water and one by one threw the roses out to sea.

Palms feeling sweaty, I squinted once more. Surely he wasn't about to do something stupid? My mind raced. My chest squeezed. No. Not Tremain. First, Johnny, and now … I wasn't ready to go through losing anyone else I remotely cared about again. I stuffed my fist into my mouth as I gagged and the tide swept a couple of the flowers back, past me. I bent down to pick one up and smelt it, then put it back to continue whatever journey Tremain had intended. When I raised my head back up, Tremain sat on a rock and hugged his knees. Thank God. Thank God. He'd stayed on dry land.