Confetti at the Cornish Café: The perfect summer romance for 2018 . Phillipa AshleyЧитать онлайн книгу.
dog walks. Lily and Ben have been here half an hour and I’m urging Cal to put in an appearance. He may claim to be no PR man, but he can turn on the charm when he wants to and it often seems to have an effect on people. I’m hoping he’ll work his magic on Lily, if not on Ben.
There’s still no sign of Cal but the sun has moved around and is now shining full-on through the windows of the cafe. It may still be February but it’s one of those days when you first feel some real, if faint, warmth in the sun’s rays. The clouds have cleared away to bother people further east, leaving us with a beautiful sky the colour of forget-me-nots. Cal or no Cal, I sense this is the moment to show off Kilhallon while I can. I hope that even sophisticated Lily will be charmed by the setting. I don’t know about Ben but I suspect he’ll go along with anything she wants, which would definitely make things easier for me.
‘Would you like to see the view from the cafe now the rain has stopped and the wind has died down a little bit?’
Lily claps her hands in delight. ‘Oh, I’d love to.’
Having returned with the wrap, Harry offers it to Lily and she fastens it around her neck, under her coat. I zip up my own jacket and we say goodbye and thanks to Nina, telling her we’ll be back later for lunch. Harry and Ben decide to brave the great outdoors without extra layers. I’m not sure even a Cornish gale could blow Harry over anyway.
We step out onto the terrace of the cafe, bracing ourselves against the Atlantic wind. The heavy tables and chairs have survived the winter and are beginning to look weathered, but that’s not a bad thing. We walk through the gap in the low stone wall around the terrace and stand outside on a strip of grass between Kilhallon land and the coastal path. Large pale-grey clouds tear across the sky. Lily’s hair whips across her face and she pulls the strands out of her eyes. I can taste the salt on my lips.
‘Wow.’
Lily takes a deep breath, just like she did when she stepped into Demelza’s.
‘It’s an amazing view. I love the view from Ben’s parents’ house over Mounts Bay but the north west is so wild.’
‘It’s hard to decide which is better,’ I say, aware of Ben standing next to us, not that he seems too bothered as he’s still scrolling through his phone.
‘Is there a signal up here?’ he says, holding the handset up.
‘It’s patchy,’ I admit. ‘But there’s Wi-Fi in the cafe and cottages. We plan to offer Wi-Fi all over the glamping field and events area before your wedding.’
He doesn’t answer me but hmmphs and shoves his phone in his jacket. He joins Lily who has walked the few yards from our land to the coastal path. It’s still windy but I think she’ll be OK.
‘This looks like a scene from The French Lieutenant’s Woman, doesn’t it, Ben?’
‘Yeah,’ he says, standing behind her with his arms around her waist.
‘I haven’t heard of that,’ I say.
‘It’s a book and it was a film before I was born. Isla wants to do a remake but it’s set in Lyme Regis not Cornwall. There’s a scene where the heroine stands in a howling gale almost being blown off the Cobb. I’m hoping Ben will play the hero in it.’
Wow. I think Ben may have actually smiled. Maybe his grouchiness is from pre-wedding nerves or the pressure of his job. I wouldn’t want to live my life under the microscope like they do, even though they’re meant to live for the publicity. I bet they have to do a lot of things they don’t want to as well.
The publisher of our canine cookbook wants my co-author, Eva Spero, and me to do some radio and TV appearances when it comes out later this year. To be honest, the idea makes me go weak at the knees but I guess I’ll get used to it. Cal and I still haven’t quite got over being featured in a Sunday lifestyle magazine last autumn, thanks to Eva who was impressed by our set-up when she turned up to Kilhallon’s launch party last year.
‘Shall we move on to the wedding glade? It’s more sheltered down there,’ I ask, seeing Ben shivering in the wind blowing off the sea.
Lily slots her arm through his. ‘Are you cold?’
‘Freezing my rocks off,’ Ben mutters.
‘Let’s get out of the wind,’ I say, wishing Ben had come equipped for the weather.
On our way to the glade, Harry walks to the left and a little behind, checking around him at intervals. Maybe he thinks an assassin might be hiding behind the cafe bins or the high-banked hedges that protect the camping field from the worst of the Atlantic wind.
Clumps of snowdrops nod their delicate heads in the breeze and early primroses dot the banks that line the lane to the cottages and the edge of the copse. I love the first signs of spring. When I spent a stint sleeping rough, all I cared about was a warm place to stay, but now I’m lucky enough to appreciate the seasons changing from a warm bed and home.
A boy waving a plastic cutlass shoots out of the copse next to us onto the path.
‘Wooo hoooo! Watch out! I’m a pirate!’
‘Jesus! What the—’ Ben steadies Lily as the boy clips her arm.
‘Sorry!’ the boy shouts but races off down the slope towards the yurt field, waving his sword cutlass. He’s wearing a pirate hat and an eye patch but I’m sure I know him.
‘Are you OK, baby?’ Ben asks Lily.
Lily smiles. ‘I’m fine. I’m fine.’
‘Quick! Blackbeard’s after us!’ A little girl in pirate gear shoots out of the copse and clips Ben. He tries to stay upright but slips on the damp turf and lands smack on his bum in a puddle.
The girl shouts ‘Sorry!’ but she’s already on her way, racing down the slope after her pirate friend.
‘Fuck,’ Ben growls, scrambling out of the puddle. ‘You little sods!’ he calls after them, trying to scramble to his feet.
‘Are you OK, Ben?’ Lily reaches down to help him up.
He shakes it off. ‘My jeans are ruined. Little brats could have done me some serious damage.’
I wince. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sure it was an accident.’
‘Whose kids are they?’ he snaps.
‘They’re from St Trenyan.’ I’m in despair wondering why they are here and to be honest more pissed off at the way Ben’s spoken about the children. I recognise them, of course: they’re members of the families who were evacuated here after the flooding. They moved out of Kilhallon last month and into temporary accommodation so I’ve no idea why they’re chasing around the site dressed as pirates today.
‘They didn’t do it on purpose, sweetheart,’ Lily says, taking Ben’s elbow as he gets to his feet. I swallow hard. His designer jeans are soaked with mud and his Stan Smiths are ruined. Where the hell is Cal?
My answer comes a split second later as Blackbeard himself, complete with tricorn and eye patch, jogs out of the copse shouting: ‘Come here, you scurvy knaves. I’ll make you walk the plank!’
‘Sorry, mate!’
Cal screeches to a halt inches from Ben. Lily lets out a giggle but Ben glares at him with open contempt.
‘Are those your kids? You should control the little sods,’ he snaps.
Cal’s smile vanishes and he pushes his eye patch over his forehead. ‘They’re not little sods. They’re playing at pirates.’
Ben snorts. ‘Pirates? They could have broken my neck. And look at my jeans. These were made specially for me by the designer.