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

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СКАЧАТЬ I’m nervous and rattled by our first guest not being in the holiday mood that I’d expected.

      Mr Bannen peers at me like I’m mad and then wrinkles his nose, sniffs the air and unexpectedly, breaks into a smile that transforms his face from grumpy pants to golden surf boy.

      ‘I thought I could smell something good. You know, I think a mince pie and wine is just what I need after the time I’ve had at work.’

      ‘What do you do?’ I ask, relieved he’s simmering down.

      ‘Oh, this and that. Boring admin-type stuff, mostly.’

      So, he doesn’t want to tell me. Well, that’s fine. ‘If you’d like to wait here for a moment, I’ll get the food and my coat and you can follow me in your car up to Enys Cottage.’

      He humphs in reply, but it’s the quiet humph of a man who’s calming down and feeling a bit guilty for ranting at me. At least, I think it’s that – as he’s our first guest, I have a lot to learn.

      I grab my wax jacket from the peg in the hallway that separates the reception area from Kilhallon House, the old farmhouse that forms the heart of the Cornish holiday complex where I work. Then I find the quiche in the fridge and pop it into a square, cardboard cake box – luckily I have some in, ready for the cafe opening. I transfer four mince pies of different types from their tin to another box and carry them into reception.

      Mr Bannen is nowhere to be seen.

      Oh dear. I hope he hasn’t decided to do a runner after all.

      After zipping up my jacket and collecting the keys to the Land Rover, I carry the boxes outside. Mr Bannen is standing at the far side of the gravelled car park by the fence, looking out over the fields that, next spring, will become our camp site. For now, we only have four yurts situated in the little copse just out of view of the car park.

      Mr Bannen has his hands spread wide, gripping the wooden rail, and I could be wrong, but think he’s taking some deep breaths of Cornish sea air. It’s still raining, but not as hard, as I stow the quiche and mince pies on the passenger seat. Mr Bannen shows no signs of returning to his car, a large silver BMW that seems too big for one man, but is probably just right for a stressed-out angry person. I haven’t asked, though I have wondered, where his family or friends are.

      I pull up my own hood and wait by the Land Rover.

      The rain is definitely easing as Mr Bannen finally turns away from the view and trudges back towards me. He seems sad now rather than furious.

      ‘Sorry,’ he says, reaching me. ‘I needed a bit of fresh air.’

      ‘I don’t blame you. Are you ready to follow me to your cottage now?’

      He nods. He pushes his hood off again. The edges of his dark blond hair are soaked but I can tell his hair brushes his neck. He also has a thin gold loop earring through one lobe, like the fishermen in St Trenyan. He doesn’t look like he does boring admin-type stuff; I’d have said he was the creative type, more advertising or graphic design or something. He’s probably here for the surfing, though there’s no board on the roof rack of the car.

      He turns back towards the sea and I follow his gaze. Our soon-to-be camping field slopes very gently down to the boundary of the park. It’s separated by a low hedge from the coastal footpath that skirts our land. A few yards beyond the path, the jagged cliffs plunge down to the Atlantic. He turns to me again, his voice gentler. ‘I’m sorry. You must have lots to do and I shouldn’t have kept you waiting, but the view drew me. I stare at four walls for most of my working life and this is pretty special, even in the rain.’

      ‘We like to think so,’ I say, delighted that we finally have a visitor and fascinated by the change in him since he saw the Cornish scenery in its full glory.

      Mr Bannen shades his eyes and points upwards. ‘Bloody hell, am I imagining things or is that a patch of blue sky over there?’

      I follow his outstretched arm and smile to myself. There’s still a hint of rain in the air, and the breeze is bending the branches of the oak trees in the field, but a sliver of blue has opened up between the billowing grey clouds over the sea.

      ‘It looks like the weather front is blowing in sooner than was forecast. Things can change very quickly at Kilhallon,’ I say, seeing the place through fresh eyes. The same way I saw it the day I first arrived here at Easter, only this time, it’s with pride and not the shock I felt when I saw the rundown mess it was in then.

      ‘Wow,’ he says, still shading his eyes as a shaft of sunlight breaks out and the chasm of blue widens. I push my own hood off my head and jingle my keys discreetly. I’d love to stand and appreciate the beauty of Kilhallon but I was in the middle of baking when Mr Bannen arrived. It’s just dawned on me how much I still have to do to get the other cottages, not to mention Demelza’s Cafe, ready for our other visitors.

      ‘Mr Bannen? Would you like to follow me through the gate to the left and to your cottage?’ I ask, noting the puddles that have formed in the car park and thinking of the guests who’ll be staying under canvas, albeit luxurious canvas, in our new yurts. I saw Cal earlier this morning, heading out in the deluge to check they hadn’t leaked.

      Mr Bannen takes the hint and pulls his own keys from the pocket of his Berghaus. ‘Thanks … and please, it’s Kit… Well, Christopher, actually but everyone calls me Kit.’ He takes another lingering look at the view before he climbs into his silver BMW. ‘You know, even in the lashing rain with a howling gale and no licensed premises within spitting distance, I can see why you’d want to escape here.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      ‘All I want for Christmas … is youuuuuu!’

      Humming along to Mariah Carey, I do a little jig in front of the Aga in Kilhallon House, waiting for the kitchen timer to ping. A few more minutes should just about do it.

      I came straight back to my baking after I’d shown Mr Bannen – sorry, Kit – the basics of Enys Cottage. Enys is our cosiest cottage, perfect for two or, in his case, one – so my first guest tour didn’t take too long. I left him not exactly smiling, but opening a bottle of wine and about to tuck in to the quiche. I’m glad that my boss, Cal, and Polly his PA will be taking over management of the park after Thursday, leaving me to concentrate on my main passion, the cafe and its food, of course.

      Cal texted me while I showed Kit to his cottage. He was about to greet a group from Surrey who have rented some of our glamping yurts. If Kit’s journey was anything to go by, they’ll be tired and frazzled too. The field is thick with mud after the storm so I don’t envy him having to meet them, although hopefully this sunshine will lift their mood, not to mention the welcome hamper of treats that awaits them in their yurts.

      Once all my mince pies are cooked and cooled, I need to set up some shots that I can upload to my Demelza’s blog and use on social media to promote the seasonal menus. The more bookings we can get for lunches and events, the better. I need to repay Cal’s faith in me, not to mention his investment in my cafe. It was my idea, after all.

      A peek outside the kitchen door confirms to me that the weather is definitely warming up again, and there is now more blue in the sky than clouds. A late burst of sunshine is just what we need to attract customers to Demelza’s СКАЧАТЬ