Confetti at the Cornish Café: The perfect summer romance for 2018 - Phillipa Ashley

Скачать книгу

      Cal strokes my cheek. ‘I know you are. I know how much Demelza’s means to you and how hard you’ve fought to make it a success but it’s ages until they arrive and I’ll be there to meet them with you.’

      ‘Technically, they’re your responsibility anyway,’ I tease. ‘Lily Craig and Ben Trevone are friends of Isla’s.’

      Cal tuts while dancing his fingers down my chest. ‘Don’t play the Isla card,’ he warns, risking a joke about his ex-girlfriend. Cal used to be an aid worker in Syria and returned to Kilhallon Park last Easter after a series of traumatic events. He was devastated to find Isla was engaged to Luke, although he assures me he’s over her now and I think I believe him. Isla is a glamorous TV producer and she persuaded her actor friends, Ben and Lily, to hold their wedding at Kilhallon Park to help boost our profile. They’ve been so busy filming and doing publicity that they haven’t had time to visit Kilhallon yet or set a date but I really hope they confirm the wedding day while they’re here. It’s our first event of the kind and will mean massive kudos for the resort and cafe, if it all goes well.

      ‘Like I said, I’ll be there to meet them with you. You’re worrying way too much and besides, nothing’s as important as keeping your boss happy,’ Cal says, cheekily.

      ‘You promised never to play the boss card.’

      ‘No more often than strictly necessary.’ He lifts a lock of my hair from my face. I catch a glimpse of it in the rust-mottled mirror on the dressing table. I definitely have morning hair.

      ‘Have I ever told you you look incredibly sexy when you’ve just woken up? Sort of rumpled and wild and up for it …’ He lets my hair fall and kisses the hollow at the top of my breastbone.

      ‘Only when you want something …’ I murmur, unable to keep still. ‘Mitch will want his morning run in a minute …’ I say feebly.

      Cal trails a warm tongue down my cleavage. ‘All the more reason to make hay while the sun shines …’

      ‘There’s no sun,’ I murmur.

      Scratching and whining from outside the door tells me that Mitch is awake and restless already. Crows caw loudly from the trees behind the farmhouse, as if to warn me. Cal disappears under the duvet, his voice muffled. ‘Mitch will be fine and as for the sun,’ he says as I squirm in pure, wicked pleasure, ‘I’ll make sure things get hot in here.’

      So I ignore my dog and the fact we need to get ready for this important day in Kilhallon’s history and give in to some activities that involve shared body heat. After all, I’m only human, and I told you Cal is dangerous.

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘Oi! Demi, I think they’re coming.’

      Polly’s shout reaches me as I’m trying to stuff a king-size duvet into its cover in the bedroom of Kilhallon House. Our PA/resort manager has worked for the Penwiths for decades and lives in a cottage behind the main farmhouse. It’s now almost ten a.m. and I’ve been up since seven, trying to fit in a list of jobs as long as my arm – including the half-hour first thing this morning that didn’t count as work but did involve getting hot, sweaty and pleasantly tired with Cal.

      ‘Demi! Get in here!’

      The latch door bangs against the oak frame, making me jump. Polly has a voice that can shake walls that have stood for three hundred years but I don’t think she caused this particular earthquake. Abandoning the duvet – I’d got it the wrong way round anyway, I’m so wound up – I hurry across the landing and into the spare bedroom. The window is wide open and Polly is leaning out, a pair of binoculars clamped to her eyes. She obviously hasn’t noticed the wind howling around the house and driving sleet onto the window ledge.

      Shivering, I join her at the window. ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Looking out for them. Like you should be.’

      ‘Well, they’re not due for ages and it’s freezing in here.’

      Lowering the binoculars, Polly turns away from the window, red marks around her eyes. ‘You youths. No hardiness. Generation snowflake.’

      ‘Give me the binoculars. Please.’ I say, grabbing them from Polly and risking being turned into a slush puppy as I lean out of the window for a better look.

      ‘Oh sh—’

      ‘Told you,’ she declares behind me.

      A large black 4x4 with darkened windows rattles over the cattle grid at the top of the track that leads from the main road down to Kilhallon Park. At least it’s not a flashy sports car so it shouldn’t get stuck in the giant pothole that opened up during the Christmas floods. Cal still hasn’t had time to fill it in yet … I’ll have to text him to let him know our wedding couple are early.

      ‘It must be them: Bonnie and Clyde,’ says Polly, using the codenames she coined for Lily and Ben.

      My heart sinks. ‘Not yet. I’m not ready.’ Through the binoculars, I spot the personalised number plate and the driver in the front seat. He has a buzz cut, is built like a rugby player and is definitely not Ben. The passenger seat is empty and I can’t make out anything through the blacked-out rear windows but I bet the stars are in there. It’s not one of our half-term guests’ cars and my cafe, Demelza’s, isn’t open to the public today. And while I was expecting a frozen shellfish delivery later, I don’t think the fishmonger has swapped his van for a personalised BMW 4x4 yet.

      I lower the binoculars, trying to tame the butterflies – make that the fat, furry moths – beating their wings inside my stomach. ‘I suppose it could be someone on business, or a potential guest wanting to look around, but I don’t recognise the car.’

      Polly huffs. ‘Bet you a tenner it’s Bonnie and Clyde.’

      ‘You don’t have to call them Bonnie and Clyde when it’s just us around. You can use their real names.’

      Polly has her hands on her hips. She’s not a big woman and her ash-blonde bob makes her look younger than her fifty-six years but there’s something solid about her that can be very intimidating if you don’t know her. Or even if you do. ‘They’ll always be Bonnie and Clyde to me,’ she declares. ‘I can’t think of them as anyone else – and why they want to hold their wedding here is beyond me. They’ll doubtless take one look at the place in this weather and decide to head straight back to London.’

      ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’

      ‘I speak as I find.’

      ‘It’s not really a wedding. Lily and Ben are calling it a “handfasting” because we don’t have a civil wedding licence for Kilhallon. They’re going to make things legal at their local register office when all the media fuss has died down.’

      ‘Hmm. Right funny way of going about things if you ask me.’ Polly carries on muttering as she wrestles with closing the window against the gale. She works hard and genuinely cares about me and Cal, sometimes too much, to the point of interfering. She also has no problem with voicing her opinions, whether we like it or not.

      The howls of the wind die down and Polly throws me a grim but encouraging smile, as if I’m off to get my head chopped off. ‘You’d better go and meet them, but I shouldn’t bring them into reception. That stray cat that keeps hanging around decided to use the floor as a litter tray earlier and I haven’t had chance to clean up yet, what with looking out for these actors.’

      I wrinkle my nose. ‘Any idea where Cal’s got to?’

      Polly drills me with one of her ‘looks’. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since last night. You should know his whereabouts more than I do, anyway …’

      I should say now that Polly

Скачать книгу