Spring on the Little Cornish Isles: The Flower Farm. Phillipa AshleyЧитать онлайн книгу.
sound calm and positive, while thinking it might be kinder to turn the buggy back now and put Gaby straight on a plane home.
‘Um. There are a couple of pubs here and it can get quite lively during the gig rowing championships or if we have stag parties from Penzance over for the weekend. As for St Saviour’s, that has a pub and a smart hotel and we sometimes have nights out on the other islands, but there aren’t any actual clubs.’
‘Oh. I see …’ Gaby pulled a face. Then suddenly she let out a giggle. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. That was naughty of me. I’m joking. I came here for a quiet life.’
Relief flooded through Jess, combined with surprise at being taken in. Yes, there was definitely a steely side to Gaby Carter.
‘Oh, you’ll get that … after work, anyway. We’ll keep you occupied during the day.’ Very occupied, thought Jess. Late summer through to Christmas and beyond to Easter was by far the busiest time of the year at the flower farm. While frosts and festive mayhem took hold on the mainland, the farm’s packing shed would be also manic as they picked, sorted and sent millions of narcissi to bring golden light into the dark nights of people throughout the rest of Britain.
The buggy rattled over the cobbles onto the quayside, which was packed with tourists piling onto the ‘tripper’ boats that were moored two and three abreast. As usual, there was organised chaos as visitors clambered down the steps, asking if they’d got the right boat and climbing over vessels to get to the one they needed.
At the end of the stone quay, more passengers collected luggage and kayaks from the Islander ferry that made its daily round trip from Penzance between March and November. It dwarfed the open tripper boats, jet boats and yachts bobbing about in the harbour on the high tide.
‘We’re down here,’ said Jess, heading for the steps that led to the pontoons where the Godrevys’ motorboat, Kerensa, was moored alongside the floating rafts.
‘I’ll park the buggy while you get aboard. I’ll bring the bags,’ said Adam.
Jess took Gaby down the steps and along the pontoon. Gaby didn’t seem very happy with the wobbly surface.
‘You’ll soon get used to all of this,’ Jess said reassuringly. ‘We live and breathe boats here.’
Gaby nodded, but she didn’t seem too sure at all. ‘Kerensa. That’s a lovely name.’
‘It’s Cornish for love,’ said Jess, jumping deftly onto the boat.
She held out a hand to help Gaby, who climbed aboard more gingerly.
Adam was soon back, handing over Gaby’s case and some shopping from the Co-op. He untied the boat and Jess manoeuvred it away from the pontoon and between the smaller craft.
As they skirted the hull of the Islander, Gaby stared up at its crew who were unloading freight and getting it ready for its return journey to Penzance. Even as they passed it, she gazed at the ferry as if she was saying goodbye to an old friend.
‘Does the ferry come every day?’ she asked.
‘Every day throughout the summer except Sundays,’ said Jess. ‘But when winter comes, we only get the supply boat a few times a week.’
‘If we’re lucky,’ said Adam cheerfully.
Gaby gave a weak smile. ‘Oh.’
The little boat puttered out of the harbour and into the lagoon that separated St Saviour’s and the other isles from St Mary’s. Jess had been brought up around boats since before she could walk but she still had to concentrate on keeping Kerensa within the channel markers. The water was so shallow between the isles, there were even rare occasions when you could wade between St Mary’s and St Saviour’s, though Gaby was unlikely to be on Scilly long enough to witness one of those. She sat in the stern, her strawberry blonde ponytail streaming behind her in the breeze and her dark glasses hiding her eyes. Jess noted the way she gripped the edge of the seat with one hand, and kept the other firmly on the rail of the boat.
Jess had a sneaking admiration for her or anyone who was willing to give up a comfortable life in a lively city like Cambridge for a remote place like Scilly. But she wasn’t convinced that a desire for ‘a quiet life’ and a love of flowers was the whole reason for Gaby’s decision to abandon Cambridge and head all the way out here.
Twenty minutes later, Adam threw the rope around the bollard on the small quay at St Saviour’s and secured it to the cleat. Jess helped Gaby off the boat and up the steps with her bag. The quay rose out of a small rocky outcrop at the bottom of the island road. Deeper water lapped one side, while the other looked out over creamy sand, currently covered in a foot or so of translucent peppermint sea.
Gaby looked around her and shook her head in wonder. ‘Wow. It’s so beautiful. I’ve seen pictures on your website of course, but I hadn’t imagined the real thing would be anything like this. It’s still England, but as if England were set in the Greek islands.’
Jess followed Gaby’s gaze towards the long sweep of white sand that ran half the length of the island and the myriad rocky skerries dozing in the lagoon between the main isles. St Saviour’s, like Gull Island and its neighbour Petroc, were all clustered around the shallow ‘pool’ with only lonely St Piran’s lying to the west across a deep-water channel.
‘It is lovely on a day like this,’ she said, quietly proud of her home.
‘Not so lovely when you’re trying to get the mail delivered in a howling gale or when the fog drops down,’ said Adam.
Gaby turned to him in surprise. ‘Oh, you’re a postman, then?’
‘Yes. I deliver the smaller islands’ mail.’
‘You must have the best post round in Britain.’
He grinned. ‘You can say that again.’
Jess squeezed his hand behind Gaby’s back. ‘Better get going. Will’s going to be … um … eager to welcome you too.’ She mentally crossed her fingers that her brother was in. ‘We can walk to the farm from here.’
Despite Gaby’s protests, Adam carried her case and the shopping. Jess had given up trying to stop him long ago. She took the chance to chat to Gaby as they trudged up the slope from the quay and onto the road that ran along the spine of the island.
With Adam a few feet ahead, Jess slowed her pace to allow Gaby to take in her surroundings. She stared out over the Atlantic and spoke softly, almost reverently.
‘I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely seas and the sky
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.’
Jess waited, a little taken aback.
Gaby turned towards her with a smile. ‘Sorry, couldn’t resist. That’s from Sea Fever by John Masefield. Do you know it?’
‘I think I might have heard of it but I’m not that great on poetry to be honest,’ Jess replied, quietly amused and also, if she was honest, thinking the lines were very apt for the way she often felt about the spectacular spot she lived in: drawn to the sea.
‘The view is incredible,’ said Gaby, echoing Jess’s own thoughts.
‘Yes, you practically see most of Scilly from up here and Land’s End too on a clear day. Look, there it is.’ Jess pointed out a shadowy but unmistakable hunk of land on the horizon to the east.
‘Wow,’ said Gaby. ‘Exactly how far is it?’
‘Twenty-eight miles, though it may as well be Canada on some days. The fog can roll in and you can’t see the sea at all, let alone the mainland,’ said Adam, waiting for them.
‘Wow. That must feel like being cast adrift in the middle of the ocean.’
Jess felt a quiet sense of pride in Gaby’s awe. ‘It can be but on days like this,