Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun (19 page)

He snorted yet didn't pull his hand away from mine. ‘Abroad? I've done enough travelling to last me a lifetime. I like it here. It's familiar. No one takes any notice of me.' He looked up. ‘So, ten months ago … ?'

My breathing quickened. With his eyes wide and fingers still in mine, somehow I felt unable to avoid the implied question.

‘My boyfriend. He—'

Right at that moment, my phone rang again. I wasn't sure if I felt relief or disappointment. I'd taken the step
to unfriend Johnny on Facebook. Perhaps now was the time to talk about exactly what happened.

‘Sorry,' I muttered and pulled my mobile out of my waterproof's pocket. ‘I'm Miss Popular tonight, for some reason. Hello … ?' A few seconds later, I ended the call. ‘A cold caller. No, I don't need solar panels.'

‘So … for whatever reason you aren't with your boyfriend any more.'

‘Gets lonely sometimes, doesn't it,' I said, ‘not having anyone to just do nothing with? I mean, Izzy's great for the cinema or a meal out, and for a heart-to-heart chat. But I miss having someone to chill alongside me, just lazing in front of the telly, not watching anything particular—I miss the familiarity. The closeness. The security.'

Tremain shrugged. ‘Not sure I've ever had that.'

Oh. No close relationship. So maybe what happened a couple of years ago wasn't anything to do with a deceased girlfriend. But why the red roses? His lips pressed together in a firm line. I wouldn't ask any more questions. Not tonight.

Tremain shook himself. ‘I'm guessing by the way you wolf down those all-day breakfasts that a woman with your appetite is starving, after an afternoon on a rainy beach.'

‘Don't be cheeky!' I said. ‘But who could blame me? We haven't even had lunch.'

He jumped up. ‘Come on then. Let's go to the Rocky Roadhouse kitchen. I haven't got the cooking skills of Lucas, but can make a mean omelette. They'll go well with a couple of beers from the bar.'

‘Sounds like a date,' I said and got up. ‘I mean, obviously it's not, you see—'

For the first time today, Tremain laughed. ‘No … You're definitely not my type. Too inconsiderate by far. Any woman with half a heart would have left me by the golf course to wallow in self-pity. Not … given me the best kiss I've had in a long time.'

My cheeks felt hot, a voice in my head begging for a repeat of that lip action. ‘I've spent months doing that,' I said quietly.

‘What, kissing?'

I smiled. ‘No. Wallowing in self-pity. I tried to put a normal face on it. Ever punctual for work. Paid my bills. Still helped out my elderly neighbour and looked after next door's kids whenever their babysitter let them down. I've been shopping. To the cinema. Laughed with customers. I've only really felt true to myself out on stage at a singing gig. There is no pretence there. And people who know me well have been able to tell inside, the hurt, it's still raw. Yet just lately, they've prodded me into change … I'm so grateful I've finally seem to be waking up to the fact that life has to go on—and it's up to me whether it does that in a miserable way or with fun.'

The wind tousled my damp hair. He tilted my head. ‘Glad to see that bruising from the orange juice glass is almost gone.'

The pulse of my heart rang in my ears.

‘And by the way,' he said, eyes not leaving my face, ‘you give great hugs, Kate Golightly. Really. On the beach today … just now … it meant a lot; was just what I needed. I haven't let anyone hug me like that for a long time.' His voice broke. ‘Didn't feel I deserved it.' He swallowed and then looked at me, smiled and crooked his arm for me to slide mine into. Side by side, we walked back to reception, as if we we'd known each other for years.

Such an innocent gesture felt good. Comfortable. One hundred percent right. And—unnervingly—ten times more of a turn-on than getting hands-on, snogging Lucas. Lucas. Oh God. What a mess.

CHAPTER 14

How adorable. The first guests on Monday afternoon were the Jones family—meet Shirl, Earl and Pearl. That is a mum and dad with a seven-year-old daughter who had the cutest choochy cheeks and tightest black Afro curls. Big smiles. Thumbs-up. Lots of thanks to reception. Just what we needed. ‘Best of luck with the rebrand, mate,' Earl said to Tremain, who was personally taking them to their lodge. He and I smiled at each other. We'd barely had time for a chat since Saturday night. Yesterday he'd darted around the resort with a clipboard, helping housekeeping and updating the information folders in each chalet with the week's activity and entertainment plan, plus Rocky Roadhouse's new menus. We'd caught each other's eye occasionally, me getting the tickliest sensation in my stomach.

I spent most of the day to-ing and fro-ing from Guvnah's, deep-frying, filling and decorating
doughnuts and delivering them back, on site, to Izzy. She'd stayed at the resort, using the second-hand fryer she'd bought. Between us we made a great array, most of them in Tupperware boxes for the week, but some on display. When I'd returned from Guvnah's last night, Tremain was apparently snowed under, in the office, doing last-minute updates to paperwork. Kensa cornered me. Squeezed my shoulder. Said that to her amazement, since Saturday, Tremain had seemed more cheerful. She'd probed me to see if Tremain had fully explained what happened two years ago I made it clear that he hadn't. Curious as I was, I didn't want to trick Kensa into revealing his secret. Tremain had to tell me himself. If he wanted to share, he'd do it in his own time. If not, I could understand how sometimes, despite what counsellors said, the only of coping was to internalise stuff.

Geoff was already outside, frying onions for his hot dogs. I exited the reception building with Tremain and the Jones family. Oh my, what a savoury, caramelised smell wafted our way.

Earl patted his generous belly, which slightly overhung the top of his shorts. ‘We didn't have time to stop off for lunch and don't really want to wait to make sandwiches.'

Shirl smiled and peered out from under her black dreadlocks. ‘Guess a burger or a hot dog wouldn't hurt. After all, we are on holiday.'

‘Yay!' said Pearl and punched the air, looking cute in a mini version of her dad's red football shirt. Earl took the site map from Tremain. ‘Don't worry about showing us the way.' He jerked his head towards the drive. Four cars had pulled up. ‘Looks like you're in for a busy few hours. We'll go and suss it out on foot, while we eat, and then come back to pick up our car.'

Tremain nodded and took me to one side. ‘Everything all set for the disco evening? It kicks off at seven, right?'

I gave him the thumbs-up.

We smiled at each other. Both of us cleared our throat. I couldn't help staring at that little scar above his lip. It reminded me of that scar on his torso. Was that anything to do with the roses on the beach?

‘Right. So. Perhaps I'll see you later,' he said.

‘Why not pop by for a doughnut?' I forced myself to look away from the lips that had reawakened parts of me on Saturday night. ‘Made by my fair hands. Payment, if you like, for that omelette after our wet day on the beach.'

‘About that … we're good, right.? You … you don't think I'm some kind of nutter? Roses … yelling on the golf course?'

I leant forward and kissed his cheek. ‘Nuts are good. You ask Izzy. Our peanut-butter crème doughnut is the top seller.'

He took my hand and looked down at it, before raising it to his mouth. His kiss sent hot waves of pleasure to places that I'd almost forgotten existed. ‘Thanks, Kate. I don't think I said that at the time.' Shyly, he looked up. ‘I'd like to get to know you better, if that's all right? Guess it takes one nutter to know another.'

I swallowed. Squeezed his fingers and then grinned. ‘Speak for yourself! I'm one of the most rational, logical people I know.'

He raised one eyebrow. ‘I don't know many people who eat omelette between two slices of bread or pour their beer into a wine glass.'

With mock disapproval, I pulled away my hand. ‘Clearly I am way too sophisticated for you.'

However, I grinned back at him; felt all fuzzy inside. On closer inspection, those leaf-green eyes had such a depth of colour—shades of pine, moss and seaweed. Whereas Lucas's charcoal irises seemed more one-dimensional. Oh, my days. Listen to me. What a difference one weekend can make.

A lightness entered my chest as the realisation dawned on me—impressing Saffron, finding this plus-one for the wedding, now wasn't as important. Lucas was charming. Broody. Would no doubt be seductive as hell if shirtless and brandishing a scythe. But the appeal was on the surface only. Whereas kissing Tremain had
moved the core of me. I wanted to know his past, his present, his regrets, his dreams …

‘See you later then—for one of those peanut-butter beauties.' Consulting his clipboard again, Tremain headed back to the reception building.

As it happened, there were hardly any doughnuts left and for the next day we'd need to thaw out more trays than planned. Many families arrived at around 3 p.m., in between lunch and dinner, so that when they spotted the doughnut counter it seemed like the perfect snack. Those with a less sweet tooth, stopped at Geoff's van before checking out their chalet. By the time six o'clock came, in other words cocktail o'clock, there were no doughnuts left decorated with anchors, flags or Rocky Rabbits.

‘I see you've already taken a dip in the pool, Pearl,' I said, as she sat in the café-bar, eating the mini pizza doughnuts their mum and dad had ordered with their Mojitos. Her wet hair curled tighter than ever and wet armbands lay on the tiled floor. In her hands, she clutched one of the white Rocky Rabbit cuddly toys. Shirl looked down at her towelling sarong.

‘Not the usual outfit I wear when I'm out for a drink. And I don't think I've ever been to a specialised cocktail bar before. Wait until the girls at the office hear about this. They're all youngsters, out every weekend—this will give me some much-needed street credibility.'

She grinned and then took a sip. Shirl glanced at her husband. Ooh. Usually customers closed their eyes or made some appreciative noise. Instead she put down her glass and grabbed a mouthful of savoury batter.

‘Could have made one of these better myself,' said a snooty voice from across the room. Mrs Peppard. I turned to see her nose wrinkling as she put down a Chocolate Martini and straightened her tight cerise skirt.

‘I'm not sure the cocktails are going down well,' I said, back at the bar.

‘What?' Izzy stood up. She'd been bent over, having just stacked away some clean coffee cups, ready for tomorrow morning.

‘The cocktails—people aren't raving about them like they do back at home.'

Izzy showed me her watch. Ten to seven. ‘Shouldn't you be setting up? And, as for the drinks, I wouldn't worry—people are probably tired from long journeys. It'll take them a good night's sleep to get into full holiday-mode. Chill, my lovely.'

Perhaps she was right. And Mrs Peppard always was fussy—apart from when it came to Lucas. She never found fault with his food, but last week complained about the wet floor in the swimming pool changing room and even though the resort wasn't officially open, moaned that the grass outside was too long for her stilettos.

As for the Joneses, Shirl had said herself that cocktails were a real treat—perhaps she'd never had a Mojito.
The first time I ordered a Grey Goose le Fizz, talk about bitter. It tasted like the saltiest lemonade. And
never again
would I order a Smoker's Cough. To you that's Jägermeister with mayonnaise. Gunky or what?

Mrs Peppard shot me a critical glance, as I passed her table, and pointedly pulled at the collar of her exquisite silk blouse. While her style wasn't mine, it shouted ‘quality' from a mile off and her blouses reminded me of the detailed vintage pieces I picked up from charity shops. Yet as I exited the café-bar, and entered the open-plan entertainment area, I took stock of my own outfit: a grey fifties jive dress with a slate silk scarf around my neck. Smart enough—even by Mrs Peppard's standards. Perhaps there was something else about me that she didn't like.

‘Let's have Michael Jackson to start, babe,' said Lucas, holding a tea towel. He smiled. ‘I've just popped out to wish you luck, and to take a break from making nuggets and burgers.' He half grimaced. ‘At least children are eating my healthier versions, although I have to hold back on any sauces and garnishes. I'm wondering if I'll ever use my full set of skills here again.'

‘For the moment, I'd just do whatever keeps the customer happy,' I said. ‘Especially the kids—if they're smiling, so are their parents.'

He looked serious for a second. ‘Let's hope your performance goes as well as—if not better than—my cooking. And if not, well, just remember that despite
my overall success, one kid just vomited up on one of my home-made breaded fish goujons.'

He patted my shoulder and hurried off. I glanced at the reception clock. One minute to seven. A few families sat in the comfortable chairs, holding drinks. Children played cards on the coffee tables, or drank Coke while playing on Nintendos or phones. Kensa passed through and beamed at me. The Joneses came over, carrying their cocktails.

‘Right. Great to see everyone here,' I said, into the mike. ‘Let's kick off this disco evening with one of my favourite classics … “Can You Feel It” by the Jackson Five!'

I flicked on my CD player, knowing the exact order of the songs. Hmm. It was way too quiet. That was annoying. I'd set it to exactly the right volume during my soundcheck, earlier in the afternoon. Cheeks flushing, I turned it up. When I faced my audience, phew. No one seemed to have noticed. Someone, probably Kensa, had dimmed the lights. Feet started to twitch. Shirl and Earl swayed in their seats. As I reached the first chorus, the Peppards came over to the lounge area. Mr Peppard seemed oddly interested and for once wasn't taking refuge behind a newspaper. They sat at the back and stared at me intently. Next up was ‘We Are Family' by Sister Sledge, followed by ‘Crazy in Love' by Beyoncé for the teenagers, who were just starting to lose interest.