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

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СКАЧАТЬ only worry about me and it seems selfish to still be focusing on a lost girl when I should have my mind one hundred per cent on the business and on her. But I can’t help myself. If there’s even a chance of finding Esme, I’ll grab it with both hands.

      Demi is still kneading the dough into submission and humming along to Radio St Trenyan. I scan the rest of the email.

       Cal, I know you will by now be packing your bags to rush to London or even further afield but please, please don’t. Let me try to make some further enquiries and I promise I will send any news – good or bad – the moment I get it. IF I ever hear anything, because this could be another false trail and not have a good outcome. There are thousands – millions – of people displaced and there is still ongoing chaos. Finding Esme could be like finding a needle in a thousand haystacks … but I thought you deserved to hear that there is still a glimmer of hope.

       I have to go. It’s been good to have a few moments to write to you and think of home. I think that when my tour here is over, I might be coming back myself.

       Until then, take care,

       Love, Carolyn x

      It’s a minute or so before I can tear my eyes from the email. I let the words sink in before, finally, Demi’s voice brings me back into the room.

      ‘Of course, they’ve left things way too late and I didn’t expect them to want everything to be organised locally. I thought they’d bring their own wedding planner and a whole pack of stylists …’

      ‘Sorry?’

      Demi stares at me. I feel guilty for not listening. This wedding may seem trivial compared to what I’ve read but it means a lot to her – to Kilhallon – and so it means a lot to me, but I can’t summon up the proper level of enthusiasm at the moment.

      Demi puts the dough into a bowl, picks up a tea cloth to wipe some of the scraps off her fingers.

      ‘You weren’t listening, were you?’ She covers the dough with a tea towel. Her hands are sticky with dough and there’s a floury speck on the end of her pretty nose. She sighs. ‘I don’t blame you. I was having a rant.’

      I long to scour the email for any scrap I might have missed but I close the lid of the laptop. I push a strand of her chestnut hair out of her eyes and look down into her eyes. She gazes back at me with a mix of exasperation and lust. At least I hope it’s lust and not fury that I wasn’t listening.

      ‘You have flour on your nose,’ I tell her.

      ‘Do I?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘I can’t do anything until I’ve cleaned my hands. I’m helpless.’

      ‘Hold on.’ I rub the tip of her nose. ‘And you, Demi Jones, are never helpless and never will be.’

      ‘Sometimes it suits me to be so.’

      ‘Yeah. Maybe. It’s me that’s helpless.’

      I cradle her chin in my hand like a delicate porcelain cup. She is so fragile yet so strong. Her doughy hands hang by her side. I kiss her, trying to obliterate all thoughts of the email and the memories it stirs in the taste of her mouth. I pull her against me, hoping to crush unhappy memories. Demi deserves better than a man whose mind is on anything but her.

      ‘Whoa. I can barely breathe.’

      She breaks the kiss, though her eyes are shining with pleasure.

      ‘Sorry.’

      I release her but feel her hands on my bum, pulling me back to her, just not quite so tightly.

      Her expression changes to one of concern. ‘Everything OK? You didn’t seem to want to let me go.’

      ‘Do I need a reason to feel like that?’

      Although I promised to share my worries with Demi in future, I’m not going to drop this latest news onto her when it may amount to nothing. She has enough on her plate with running the cafe and planning the wedding and helping to write and produce her cookbook with Eva Spero – not to mention she has had a big change in her own family. It’s still early days in her reconciliation with her dad, his partner, her brother and their new baby who arrived at Christmas.

      I kiss her again. ‘I don’t need a reason to keep you close to me.’

      Demi lets out a giggle. ‘Your bum is all floury.’

      Realising what’s happened, I twist around and a puff of flour dust flies into the air. I brush the back of my jeans, and find tiny pieces of sticky dough clinging to the denim and my fingers.

      ‘You minx!’

      She smirks. ‘That’ll teach you to be more interested in your laptop than me.’

      ‘Believe me, I’d far rather concentrate on you,’ I say. ‘But the park accounts won’t wait. The accountant read me the riot act about getting the figures in early and the family finances have been in such a mess for so many years that I don’t want to let her down again. Polly did her best but we really need to keep a tight rein on the money. We might have to get a bit of help with the admin. Polly has enough to do as it is, managing the bookings and helping with changeovers and guests’ needs. We can cope in the low season, but when Easter comes, we’ll need more help on the camping side and the cafe.’

      ‘I’m interviewing some seasonal staff for Demelza’s in a few weeks’ time. I need to get this wedding organised. I’m supposed to be going to a wedding fair in a couple of weeks but I can’t wait for that. We need to get a photographer, florist, cake maker, decorations and a band … Some specialists are booked up years ahead and we only have a few months.’

      ‘I know you can do it,’ I say to reassure her. She still lacks confidence even though I’m convinced she could be UN Secretary General, England football manager and POTUS if she really wanted to. She’d definitely do a better job than any of them. ‘After getting the cafe ready and helping out with the floods, a wedding should be a piece of cake.’

      ‘I think organising a wedding could be worse than both of those put together. Lily has sent over the guest list and that’s convinced me we need a professional wedding planner or I’ll end up freaking out before the big day.’

      ‘That sounds like a really good idea.’

      ‘In theory but I’ve already tried over a dozen within the county and into Devon and almost all of them were already booked for those dates. I interviewed one last week but she seemed very inexperienced. She told me she’d helped to organise some friends’ weddings but she didn’t have a website and only seemed interested in knowing who the couple were. I haven’t told anyone that it’s Ben and Lily until I’m sure we can trust them to be discreet. I even wondered if this woman had already found out their names. Although I’m not sure how she’d got wind of it.’

      ‘I could suggest a few names …’

      She rolls her eyes. ‘Do they include Mawgan Cade?’

      ‘It’s a good bet, although I’m surprised she’s told people at this stage, when she obviously СКАЧАТЬ