Kitabı oku: «The Cornish Cream Tea Bus: Part Two – The Éclair Affair»

Charlie Quilter squinted into the sun that was coming in through the windscreen of the vintage double-decker Routemaster like a searchlight, and ran her palms down her skirt. It was early on a Saturday morning, but already the light was filling the bay of Porthgolow, making the water glitter encouragingly. And right now, in the midst of a meeting that she had called, but which was beginning to feel like a very bad idea, Charlie needed encouragement.

‘Do you want this place to survive, or don’t you?’ said Hugh, the owner of The Seven Stars pub, more impassioned than Charlie had ever seen him.

‘It’s not falling into the bleddy sea, is it?’ Myrtle shot back. Myrtle Gordon, long-standing Porthgolow resident, had taken against Charlie and her bus the moment she arrived in the village, so she wasn’t surprised to learn that her new suggestion wasn’t getting a seal of approval either.

‘No, of course not,’ Juliet said in a calm, even tone. ‘But what Charlie – we’re – suggesting, is simply a way to bring a few more businesses to Porthgolow. A small festival to brighten up the beach. The bus has been well-received, mostly, and this seems like an obvious next step.’

‘Obvious for you, mebbe. You young things, coming here and taking over. Emmets, the lot o’you.’ Myrtle picked up a mini toffee tart and popped it in her mouth, then turned purposefully towards the window.

Charlie had heard the term several times over the last couple of months. It meant interlopers – non-Cornish people who’d moved to the county. She couldn’t deny that she was one, even if Porthgolow was only her temporary home, and the term wasn’t exactly friendly. She was wondering how to follow Myrtle’s outburst when Daniel Harper caught her eye and her entire vocabulary deserted her.

After the successful launch of The Cornish Cream Tea Bus the week before, Charlie’s active mind had conjured up the next step of her plan to revitalize the quaint Cornish village that seemed forlorn and unloved, despite all its potential. A festival. Every Saturday. Down on the sand.

Her bus had been embraced by a lot of the locals, and with a few more food trucks, a wider selection of culinary delights and some intense online marketing, she knew she could bring people flocking to the village. But she couldn’t do that without agreement from the residents. She had already discovered that they weren’t all easy to please, and although she had gone ahead with The Cornish Cream Tea Bus regardless of what anyone else thought, for something that would potentially have a huge impact on the village, she wanted to tread carefully.

Juliette, her best friend and Porthgolow resident, had added her to the village businesses’ WhatsApp group, and she had invited them all to join her this morning, providing hot drinks and some of her bakes as a sweetener. The mood didn’t feel very sweet at the moment.

The Instagram photo she had posted, of the bus’s interior with her treats laid out and the caption: Planning something exciting on the #CornishCreamTeaBus this morning now seemed wildly over-optimistic. It was doubtful whether they’d manage to agree on anything at all.

The group was split in the same way they had been about her bus. Hugh, the Kerr family who ran SeaKing Safaris (today represented by Paul and his son Jonah, because Amanda had taken an early tour out), and Stella and Anton from the bed and breakfast – they were all enthusiastic about her beach festival idea. Myrtle, owner of the Porthgolow Pop-In, was not. She had bought her friend Rose for support, and the woman, with honey-blonde hair rolled under her chin in an immovable bob, had barely greeted Charlie and was sitting like a thundercloud, her jaw set. Myrtle had probably told her to behave like that.

Daniel Harper, owner of luxury hotel Crystal Waters, had turned up with his colleague Lauren. They were sitting at the back, and had contributed little, but Daniel kept sending glances Charlie’s way, exuding his usual amused demeanour that, so far, hadn’t failed to put her hackles up.

She had spent hours making mini toffee and lemon tarts, muffins with gooey chocolate-ganache centres, blueberry jam or orange cream, as well as ginger biscuits thick with crystallized ginger pieces. They were all going down a lot better than her festival proposal.

‘Myrtle,’ she said, clasping her hands together. ‘I do understand why you’re not keen on the idea, and why you don’t think Porthgolow needs an influx—’

‘Invasion,’ Myrtle shot back.

‘Needs a … a—’

‘I think what Charlie is trying to say,’ Daniel cut in, ‘is that from her point of view, seeing this village as a newcomer, she has spotted some areas where it could do with livening up. And from a business perspective, that’s entirely sound.’

Charlie resisted the urge to hug him. Even without his supportive words, he was a rather huggable prospect, in jeans and a black T-shirt, the sleeves tightening over his biceps when he folded his arms. His hair was wavy on the top, a few strands falling over his left eyebrow.

‘Sound how?’ Myrtle asked. ‘She wants to take over, is all.’

‘Daniel’s right,’ Hugh said. ‘The more people who come to Porthgolow, the more they’ll use the pub and your pop-in. They’ll see Stella and Anton’s B&B, maybe book a stay there. Crystal Waters will undoubtedly get more custom.’

‘Gis-on! From royals and celebrities, mebbe. But they’re not goin’ to come to a scruffy little festival, are they?’ Myrtle was unrepentant. She picked up one of Charlie’s cream-filled muffins and started to devour it methodically. Irritation flashed across Daniel’s face.

‘It will attract all sorts of people,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ve made some contacts since setting up social media for the bus, and I’m off to the St Agnes Head Festival in a couple of weeks, so I’ll talk to other vendors there. Couldn’t we try it once and see what happens? If it doesn’t work, or if it all goes wrong or nobody turns up, or if the village is damaged in any way, then I won’t do it again. But where’s the harm in putting on one festival, just to see how it goes? I promise I’ll be careful about noise and rubbish and parking; I’ll draw up a set of guidelines all the vendors have to follow.’

‘I think it’s going to be ace,’ Jonah said. ‘Are you going to get a Mexican food stand? Burritos are my favourite.’

‘I’ll see, Jonah. I’ve got lots of people I can ask.’

‘It’s a mistake,’ Myrtle said, ‘mark my words.’

‘Mine too,’ Rose added, raising her head and then quickly dropping it again.

‘It is going to make this place very noisy, very crowded.’ Daniel snapped a ginger biscuit in two, examined it and then put one half in his mouth. ‘Porthgolow won’t feel tranquil, like it does now.’ He gestured outside, and everyone turned to look. The water was flat, blue and glistening. The sand was empty apart from a couple walking an enthusiastic spaniel. There were murmurs of agreement.

Charlie rubbed her head. ‘You just said it was a good idea.’

‘It is, from a business perspective. I’m examining all the arguments.’

‘Out loud?’ She couldn’t believe it.

‘What’s the point of having a meeting to discuss this idea, if we don’t look at it from every angle?’ He raised an eyebrow and Charlie wanted to push it back down his smug face.

‘Our guests won’t be happy if it starts too early,’ Stella mused.

‘I get a few delivery drop-offs on a Saturday morning,’ Hugh added, rubbing his chin. ‘If the place is gridlocked, that’ll make the drivers angry.’

‘We run a mindfulness session at Crystal Waters on a Saturday morning,’ Lauren said, scribbling in a notebook she’d brought with her. ‘Do you think it will impact on that?’ She touched Daniel’s hand and pursed her lips.

‘I really don’t know, Lauren.’ He sighed dramatically. ‘It is a risk, though, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Juliette muttered. She began refilling mugs, the milk frother whistling noisily.

‘I’m not going to start it at 7 a.m.,’ Charlie said. ‘I was thinking about ten o’clock, so it’ll miss early morning wake-ups and deliveries and mindfulness sessions. It’s a few food trucks, a bit of fun and laughter on the beach. I honestly think you’ll thank me once it’s here. Give me one chance, one Saturday in June. A trial run.’ Her heart pounded as she waited for their verdict. ‘If it gets in the way of anything or causes problems, I won’t do it again.’

She had been prepared for opposition, having lots of questions to answer about her idea, but she hadn’t anticipated having to plead quite so hard. She was pretty sure the only reason she had ended up on the verge of begging was stirring his coffee slowly, nodding abstractedly at something Lauren was saying and keeping his eyes trained on Charlie. He was definitely smirking.

The answer, when it came, was less than enthusiastic. She could try her festival, once, and they would see if they approved. She had hoped to end the meeting feeling slightly more positive, with at least some of the locals embracing her flash of inspiration and excited about the future of their village. That, clearly, had been a pipe dream.

As everyone filtered off the bus, Daniel lingered. ‘If you need any help organizing it, let me know.’

Charlie folded her arms. ‘And will that help be actual help, or will it be meddling?’

‘I do think it’s a good idea,’ he said, leaning on the doorframe. ‘But you have to consider how it’s going to change the village. Not everyone is a fan of change.’

‘You don’t need to mansplain progress to me, Daniel, I get it.’ She hadn’t meant to snap, but he was as relaxed as ever and, on this occasion, probably right – which made it worse. She had been daydreaming about being the saviour of the village with her brilliant festival plan, but it was only logical that some people were sceptical. Daniel had simply been trying to bring her back down to earth.

He grinned and leant towards her. For a moment, Charlie thought he was going to kiss her cheek, but he reached over the back of the seat and pinched one of the few remaining lemon tarts. ‘These are great, by the way,’ he said, hopping down onto the sand. ‘I can see them being part of the taster menu at Crystal Waters. We should discuss that sometime. Catch you later, Charlie.’ He disappeared in a waft of aftershave and confidence.

Charlie turned to find Juliette watching her, a disapproving look on her face.

Within half an hour of being at the St Agnes Head Festival, Charlie was rushed off her feet. It was her first large event since the disastrous Fair on the Field, but any fears she’d had about sinking were allayed when a smart young woman with a clipboard greeted her on arrival and directed her to the refreshments area, where various food trucks, ice-cream vans and hot-dog stands were laid out in a large semi-circle. Charlie’s was the only double-decker bus, but she felt a lot more confident than she had in Ross-on-Wye.

Gertie wasn’t pretending to be a café any more – she was the real deal. Her journey had also been less hair-raising than it might have been. Pete had tinkered with the engine and the ride was smoother, not to mention that the lanes she’d driven down were on the large side for Cornwall, and she hadn’t got stuck in any hedges.

While she’d been setting up, laying out her cakes and scones and uploading photos to Instagram, she’d heard a few appreciative exclamations outside, people praising Gertie’s glossiness or intrigued by her café on a double-decker bus. She even heard one person say, ‘I saw that on Facebook last week, we’ll have to check it out.’ The Cornish Cream Tea Bus, it seemed, was already getting a reputation.

As a family arrived and she directed them upstairs, telling them she’d be up in a moment to take their order, she glanced at her watch. Juliette was joining her at lunchtime so Charlie could have a break. She could have done with her friend’s help all day, but Lawrence had surprised her that morning with two tickets to an exhibition at The Eden Project, and there was no way Charlie was going to get in the way of that. Besides, she’d single-handedly managed The Café on the Hill on more than one occasion when it was full of summer tourists. She could do this. And she would do it well if Marmite stayed asleep in his crate like a good little Yorkipoo.

‘That was wonderful,’ said a woman wearing a ladybird scarf, as she paid for her and her son’s cream teas. ‘You don’t often get café food at these places, and he’s getting a bit of a burger habit.’

‘Like cream and jam’s any healthier than burgers,’ mumbled the boy, who was excelling at being a grumpy teenager.

‘Having a cream tea with your mum is much more civilized than wolfing down a burger while we walk round,’ the woman countered. ‘Don’t mind him,’ she turned back to Charlie, ‘he loved it, but he can’t show a single ounce of happiness. It’s in the game plan.’ She winked, and Charlie laughed.

‘Understood.’ They said goodbye, and Charlie was left wondering if Jonah would ever be a sullen teenager.

She was doing a stock-take of the items in her fridge when the bell sounded. She stood up quickly, just missing hitting her head on the counter.

‘Sorry,’ said a voice. ‘I didn’t know how else to get your attention.’

‘Is everything OK?’ Her words drifted away as she saw who the voice belonged to.

‘Small world, huh?’ Oliver’s smile was broad. ‘And the bus is looking much better than the last time I saw it. Very shiny and red.’

Charlie shook his proffered hand. He was wearing a sand-coloured jacket over a black T-shirt emblazoned with The Marauding Mojito logo in mint green. ‘Oliver! I never got a chance to thank you properly, after the field.’

Oliver laughed. ‘You say that like it was an ominous field.’

‘It was ominous,’ Charlie said. ‘How are you and The Marauding Mojito anyway?’

‘You remembered.’

‘Of course I did. You rescued me. But it is also on your T-shirt. What are you doing in Cornwall?’

He shrugged. ‘I go where the work is. This festival has always been busy, cocktails are popular, and it’s not hard to spend time in this part of the world. How come you’re all the way down here? And what happened to the bus? It looks like a fairy godmother waved her wand.’

‘That’s fairly accurate,’ Charlie said. ‘Only the fairy godmother is called Pete, and he didn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart, but was persuaded by quite a lot of cold, hard cash.’

‘Aren’t they all. Got some time off? Want to come and see the rest of the fair?’

‘Give me half an hour? My friend should be here then and I can sneak away.’

‘Sounds good.’ He gave her a wide grin and sauntered off the bus.

Forty-five minutes later, with Juliette and Lawrence in charge of The Cornish Cream Tea Bus, Charlie and Marmite went to find Oliver. He handed his apron to a man with ginger hair, and hopped down from the cocktail stand.

‘So,’ he said, crouching to greet a still-sleepy Marmite, ‘tell me everything. The bus, Cornwall, what happened after that fateful day. Were you banished from the Cotswolds by that woman, what was her name, Bea?’

Charlie laughed as they fell in step. ‘No, she was kind, actually. She forced me to take a few months away from the café, and at first I was furious, but she was just looking out for me, I think. And then – for various reasons – coming to Cornwall seemed like a good idea. It was supposed to be a holiday, but God, I’ve been here nearly two months, staying with Juliette and Lawrence.’ She chewed her lip. There had been no indication that she’d outstayed her welcome, but it was much longer than they’d first anticipated. She would have to talk to them.

‘What various reasons?’ Oliver asked. ‘You seem to be doing a lot better than you were back then.’

His smile was so warm, his attention so touching, that Charlie found herself telling him everything. About Hal and Stuart, about her dad’s grief and Gertie’s resurrection. They walked round the festival, which was huge and busily cheerful, with traders selling all sorts of products from organic local honey to ride-on lawnmowers to massage chairs, and the day, while not as warm as it could have been for the end of May, was crisp and sunny, the sea breeze wafting over Charlie every now and then, so that she longed to be back on Porthgolow beach, soothing her aching feet in the cool water.

‘So you’re a bit of a nomad, are you?’ Charlie asked once she’d got to the end of her story.

Oliver shrugged, his hands deep in his pockets. ‘Not really. I live in Bristol, which is a great base. There are lots of places I can get to easily, and Cornwall, Devon and Somerset have enough going on to keep me busy. Are you planning to travel with your bus, or stay in this area?’

‘I haven’t decided yet,’ Charlie admitted. ‘But I’m organizing a festival in Porthgolow. It’s a beautiful village, but it could – oh!’ Her eye snagged on a smart logo, pale purple writing on a slate-grey background. ‘Oh,’ she said again, and came to a halt.

Ahead of her, next to a vendor selling Jacuzzis, was a sign that read The Crystal Waters Spa Hotel. Beyond it were three large pods made out of glass and wood, with cushioned benches running round the inside and circular tables in the middle, arranged with place settings for a beautiful alfresco dinner. She had seen something similar in her mum’s John Lewis catalogue. A few thousand pounds on a mini conservatory that you could place anywhere in your garden. She hadn’t noticed any at Crystal Waters, but she could see how they would fit perfectly with the surroundings.

‘You OK?’ Oliver asked.

‘Yes, fine.’ A man and woman were standing in front of the pods, wearing navy suits and crisp white shirts. She didn’t recognize either of them. After her initial surprise, her next emotion was disappointment.

‘Should we be heading back?’ Oliver pressed, touching her lightly on the arm.

‘Of course. Sorry, it’s just that Crystal Waters is in Porthgolow.’ She smiled at Oliver in an attempt to cover her strange reaction.

She was about to turn away when Daniel appeared, shaking hands with the dark-suited man and woman. He was dressed casually, in a grey T-shirt, jeans and a battered leather jacket. Charlie had time to notice this before Marmite, perhaps encouraged by the familiar face, launched himself at the closest pod and the beautifully laid-out table within. Charlie froze, unable to think or move as her dog, his extendable lead whirring, set gleefully about his task, taking a matter of seconds to demolish the luxurious, and no doubt expensive, display.