Christmas at the Cornish Café: A heart-warming holiday read for fans of Poldark. Phillipa Ashley

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       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘Hello there! Welcome to Kilhallon Park. How was your journey?’

      The man scowls from beneath the hood of his jacket and tosses his car keys on the shiny new reception desk at the front of Kilhallon House. He can’t be more than thirty and his face would be handsome if his expression wasn’t even more thundery than the weather. ‘Does it ever stop raining down here?’ he grumbles. ‘It’s been pouring all the way from London and I’ve had a nightmare of a journey.’

      ‘I’m sorry about that, sir, it must have been awful, but I’m so glad you’re here now and the forecast did show the weather brightening up later this afternoon. We should have a much drier day tomorrow. Would you mind filling in this card with your car registration while I collect your keys and welcome pack so I can show you to your cottage?’ With a smile, I hand him a pen.

      He pushes his hood off his face. His dark blond fringe is stuck to his forehead and a raindrop trickles down his nose as he takes the pen and frowns at the card. Meanwhile, I collect his cottage keys and welcome pack from the drawer below the reception desk, hoping that the rain will stop. Instead, a rumble of thunder shakes Kilhallon House and our guest glances around him as if we’re about to be zapped by aliens.

      He pushes the card towards me. His writing looks like a drunken spider has been doing the salsa with the felt tip, but I’m not going to ask him to redo it. ‘Your website said there’s a cafe on site. I’d like some lunch. Can you show me the way?’ His voice is tight and the news I’m about to deliver isn’t going to help his mood one bit.

      ‘I’m afraid the cafe doesn’t open until the day after tomorrow … Mr Bracken.’

      ‘It’s not Bracken. It’s Bannen. Kit Bannen,’ he adds, stressing each word as if I’m a toddler. Mind you, I don’t blame him, our first guest and I’ve got his name wrong. I should have spent more time preparing, instead of baking.

      ‘What’s that about the cafe being closed?’ he goes on. ‘The on-site cafe is one of the reasons I chose this place and I’ve held off from having lunch. It looked great on your website and I didn’t dare stop once I finally got moving after all the hold-ups. I’d hoped to grab a late lunch as soon as I arrived.’

      ‘I’m sorry, Mr Bannen, but we’ll be open for coffee on Thursday morning. The website and information we sent you does say our opening days are Thursday to Sunday in the autumn and winter.’

      ‘That’s no good to me, is it?’

      ‘I appreciate that, sir, but it’s only two days away … less than that, technically speaking,’ I say, aware that the hours are ticking by fast.

      Mr Bannen cuts across me. ‘Is there a pub or a restaurant close by?’

      ‘The pub’s just over a mile away at the crossroads. You’ll probably have to drive.’ Oh dear, this is not going well. I can understand that he’s tired and grouchy, but there’s no need to be rude.

      ‘Great. I’ve just spent seven hours crawling down here in the car from London and now I have to get straight back in it.’

      ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Bannen, but the good news is that there’s a welcome hamper in your cottage, with fresh bread, butter, eggs and cheese and some milk and a bottle of wine. They’re basic but high-quality supplies and enough to rustle up a sandwich or an omelette.’

      He glares at me, then frowns. ‘Did you say there was wine?’

      ‘Yes, a bottle of red from a local vineyard, though I can swap it for a white if you’d prefer. I do have a chilled bottle in the fridge here. There are tea- and coffee-making facilities ready in your cottage, of course, and some Cornish apple juice in your own fridge, if it’s too early for wine …’

      ‘It isn’t too early for wine!’

      I half expect the reception desk to shake.

      He sighs and flashes me an apologetic smile. ‘Look, I’m not always this grouchy but I’ve had a fraught time at work and the journey from London was even more crap than I’d expected and it’s pouring down and I’m starving.’

      ‘I understand, Mr Bannen, and I’m sorry the cafe’s not open yet, but if you like I could sell you some of the spinach and ricotta quiche I made this morning to add to the supplies in your luxury, free welcome pack?’

      ‘Quiche, you say?’

      I smile. ‘Uh huh. Homemade here at Kilhallon.’

      ‘Hmm. Well, thanks, I may just do as you say and stay in. I do need a break.’

      ‘Good idea. Now, if you want to follow me in your car, your cottage is only a few hundred yards up the lane to the left of the main farmhouse. I’ll get your keys and show you around Enys Cottage. Would you like some mince pies with your quiche, by the way?’

      He frowns. ‘Mince pies? But we’re barely into October.’

      ‘Yes, um, I’ve been practising some recipes for when the cafe opens.’

      ‘Practising?’

      ‘Trialling,’ I correct myself, because he seems worried again. ‘I’ve created a new boozy mincemeat recipe actually, and I’ve been trying out different toppings for the pies. I’ve made glazed stars and cinnamon and orange crunchy crumble tops … the crumble ones СКАЧАТЬ