The Cornish Cream Tea Wedding

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain in e-book format in 2021 by HarperCollinsPublishers

Copyright © Cressida McLaughlin 2021

Cover design Caroline Young © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021.

Cover illustration © May Van Millingen

Cressida McLaughlin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008408787

Ebook Edition © May 2021 ISBN: 9780008408794

Version: 2021-04-19

Dedication

To David, and the perfect day that was the 10th May 2008

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Part One: Down on One Knead

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Part Two: Two Tarts Beat As One

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Part Three: You May Now Eat the Cake

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Part Four: Breaded Bliss

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Cressida McLaughlin

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Elowen Moon drove her Mini Countryman, racing green with white go-faster stripes, secretly called Florence after the cat she’d met in the garage where she’d bought it, along Porthgolow’s seafront. It was a blustery March day, one of the first that felt as if the year was stepping out of winter and into spring, the sporadic cloud cover performing a shadow and light pantomime over the land. The Cornish village was busy, as if, at the first sign of a warmer sun, everyone had decided to make the most of it.

The quaint seafront was bright and welcoming, hanging baskets outside the Pop-In shop the pastel blues, pinks and whites of hyacinths and snowdrops, the Seven Stars pub sign swinging gently in the wind. The beach, the elegant curve of a typical Cornish cove, was busy with dog-walkers, couples and families, most in lighter spring jackets, hats and scarves discarded.

And then there was the Cornish Cream Tea Bus, the vintage Routemaster, taking pride of place on the edge of the sand. It glowed pillar-box red, and Ellie, having had many a cream tea on it, could almost smell the warm, buttery scones as she drove past. It was closed for the time being, something Ellie was directly responsible for. She drove up the hill, turning neatly between the brick posts that signified the entrance of Crystal Waters.

The spa hotel, with its glass front and honeyed stone, looked starring-role beautiful. Still, Ellie thought the building would look impressive in the thickest sea fog; its warm, glowing interior would be welcoming on the darkest night. She felt a rush of nerves, stronger than any she’d had since getting a phone call from a bright, quick-talking woman called Delilah Forest who wanted to hire her to plan her cousin’s wedding.

When Ellie had found out the wedding was between Charlie Quilter, owner of the Cornish Cream Tea Bus, and Daniel Harper, proprietor of Crystal Waters, she thought all her dreams were being realized. It would be the boost she needed for her business, New Moon Weddings, which, despite Ellie’s dedication never wavering, hadn’t been succeeding as well as she’d wanted – no, needed – it to. This wedding would be high-profile; it could get her back on track. Ever since she’d agreed to meet with the couple, however, the doubts had been creeping in. But doubts wouldn’t turn a profit, so she was just going to have to suck it up.

She ran her hand over the steering wheel and wondered, as she often did, if the original Florence was still alive; stalking through the garage with her tortoiseshell tail flicking; prowling over bonnets, overseeing her kingdom. Ellie had had her car almost ten years and felt that, as long as the cat was still thriving, then her Mini would, too.

She took her worn leather handbag from the passenger seat, heavy with her chunky planning notebook, and stepped out into the sea breeze. At the hotel’s glass entrance, complete with lollipop bay trees, she stopped, smoothed her rose-gold hair over her shoulders and her hands down her blouse and skirt to free them of wrinkles, and walked into the foyer.

She had been here for dinner a few times, and the space, with its stone floor and natural hues, a glass wall on the far side proudly displaying their unbeatable coastline views, always brought a sense of calm along with it. And right now, calm was exactly what she needed.

She approached the reception desk, where a young woman with a spray of freckles on her nose smiled at her. ‘Good morning, welcome to Crystal Waters. How can I help?’

‘I’m Ellie Moon,’ she said, ‘from New Moon Weddings. I’ve got an appointment with Mr Harper and Ms Quilter.’

The woman’s face brightened further. ‘You’re the wedding planner! Oh, isn’t it exciting? I can’t wait to see them get married. The whole village is in a spin about it. I don’t think a day goes by when someone – other than Charlie or Daniel, I mean – mentions it!’

Ellie smiled, trying not to feel the added weight of a whole village’s expectations on her shoulders. ‘I’m glad it’s not just the bride and groom looking forward to it,’ she said. ‘Weddings are guaranteed to bring happiness. Not always in the planning, of course – the pressure of getting it right can cause all kinds of frustrations – but that’s what I’m here for. To take that stress away.’

‘It must be the best job,’ the woman said indulgently. Her name-tag read Chloe. ‘So much fun.’

‘It can be,’ Ellie agreed. ‘But working here must be similar. People checking in for holidays or to visit the spa. It’s a beautiful hotel.’

‘It’s Daniel’s pride and joy,’ Chloe said. ‘Other than Charlie, of course. And then there’s Jasper, too. And I suppose Marmite, now he and Charlie are …’ Her words trailed off and she gave a sheepish grin. ‘Sorry. I’ll get them for you. Would you like to take a seat?’ She gestured to a cosy-looking sofa over by the glass wall. Ellie thanked Chloe and went to sit down.

She took out her notebook and turned to the next blank page, then wrote Charlie and Daniel’s names at the top, along with the date. The space was quiet around her, most of the guests already finished breakfast and off sightseeing or exploring the village, and Chloe’s voice was low as she spoke to somebody on the telephone. Ellie took a couple of subtle, deep breaths. She was planning the wedding of two of the most successful businesspeople in this part of Cornwall. Talk about added scrutiny.

‘Elowen, is it?’ She looked up from her doodle of a spiralling trail of vines to find a couple smiling down at her. She stood, smoothed down her pale blue skirt and held out her hand.

‘Ellie,’ she said. ‘Please call me Ellie.’ She shook Charlie’s hand first. She was tall, with dyed red hair and an instant warmth in her twinkling eyes, and Ellie recognized her from visits to the Cornish Cream Tea Bus. Then she shook Daniel’s hand, the confidence almost radiating off him, his features classically handsome. No wonder they were so successful: their combination of friendliness and self-assurance was dynamite. ‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ she said.

‘You too,’ Charlie replied.

‘Thank you for coming,’ Daniel added, and then gestured to a door behind him. ‘We thought we’d sit outside, as it’s a nice day. What can I get you to drink?’

‘A cappuccino, please,’ Ellie said.

‘Coming right up.’ Daniel went to speak to Chloe, while Charlie led the way into gardens that were gently manicured; winding pathways through shrubs and herbs that looked tended but not aggressively pruned. The rosemary and thyme were flourishing, the leaves of the purple sage especially colourful, and Ellie wondered how they were able to stay so healthy in such an exposed environment. She wondered if Daniel would let her speak to his gardening team, but that was off-topic and she needed to stay focused.

‘Are you close to here?’ Charlie asked, turning back to her.

‘I’m in St Eval now, so not too far, but I have a cottage on the outskirts of Porthgolow. My sister and I love coming to your bus for a cream tea.’

‘Oh, really? That’s lovely to hear.’ Charlie gestured to a round table that was part of the outside dining area, one level up from the covered, outdoor swimming pool. ‘I’m sorry I don’t recognize you.’

Ellie took a seat. ‘There’s no reason why you should. You must serve hundreds of customers every week.’

‘Yes.’ Charlie gave an indulgent smile. ‘Gertie’s firmly established in Porthgolow now, and with the food markets and tours I run, she’s getting to be well known all over Cornwall, too.’

‘Gertie?’

‘That’s the name of the bus; my uncle Hal named her when he was touring her round the Cotswolds.’

‘Ah,’ Ellie said, nodding. ‘I’ve been to the food market. It’s hard to stay away when I know there are so many delicious things just waiting to be sampled. Sometimes I fancy I can smell all the tantalizing smells from my cottage. I mean, I could. I used to.’ She gave a brisk smile.

‘Whereabouts is it?’ Charlie took the seat opposite her.

‘A bit further along the road, beyond Crumbling Cliff. It’s on the outskirts, pretty much on its own. Cornflower Cottage.’

‘What a beautiful name,’ Charlie said, tucking her hair behind her ear as the breeze turned mischievous.

‘I think so,’ Ellie agreed. ‘I renamed it when I moved in a couple of years ago. There’s a persistent crop of wild cornflowers which bloom in the summer months right outside the front door, and that was part of the reason I fell in love with it to begin with.’ Even thinking about her quaint, white-walled cottage, so traditional it was almost a cliché, made her ache with pride and longing.

‘But you’re not living there right now?’ Charlie pressed. Ellie could see she was genuinely interested, and thought that was part of the secret to her success; she wouldn’t give any of her customers only cursory attention.

‘I’m renting it out for the time being,’ Ellie explained. ‘I’ve moved in with my sister, Rose, in St Eval. It’s different of course, but we get along, so it’s going to be fun.’ At least, she hoped it would be. ‘But I know Porthgolow well,’ she went on, trying to get the meeting back on track and away from the fact that she was struggling so much she had had to rent out her beloved home to raise some extra income. ‘So I think I can do you and Daniel proud.’

‘I’m sure you can,’ said Daniel, putting a tray with coffees and a plate of mini sausage rolls on the table. ‘I’ve had a look at your website, and the photos and testimonials are impressive.’ He sat next to Charlie, and Ellie saw him take her hand under the table. ‘Please, help yourself.’

‘Your sausage rolls?’ she asked Charlie, and the other woman nodded. Ellie took one and nibbled a corner, the buttery, flaky pastry and well-seasoned sausage meat like a culinary hug. ‘Wow.’

Charlie seemed pleased, but not surprised. ‘It’s taken a while to perfect the recipe, but I think I’m there now.’

Ellie nodded, her nerves returning. This couple oozed competency, and Ellie was about to ask the one question that had been on her mind ever since she’d found out the details from Delilah Forest, but Charlie was ahead of her.

‘To be honest, Ellie,’ she said, ‘we probably could have done this ourselves. The wedding, I mean.’

Ellie nodded but didn’t reply, waiting for her to go on.

‘But this year, well – the last couple, really – have been so busy. The bus is growing in popularity, and Daniel’s making some changes to the hotel, too. There’s so much to think through and we just thought—’

‘Charlie’s cousin thought,’ Daniel interjected, ‘that we should have it taken off our hands. I think we need to admit that we’re both worn out.’

‘We could do it,’ Charlie said, and Daniel looked at her.

‘It’s OK to admit you’re human, Charlie,’ he said softly, his dark gaze meeting hers. Affection radiated between them, stronger than the sun on an August day, and Ellie swallowed. Her nerves felt slightly different all of a sudden; slightly less panic-ridden.

‘And do you ever do that?’ Charlie asked Daniel with a cheeky smile.

‘I’m going to now, for the sake of our wedding – the sake of us. Let Ellie take charge of it all. Pass the responsibility over to a professional.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Ellie said. ‘But shall we have a chat about what you’d like, first? We need to see if we’re a good fit, if I can do everything you’re hoping for. But,’ she added when Daniel raised an eyebrow, ‘I would love to plan the perfect wedding for you. Something uniquely tailored to the two of you, that you will remember for ever – for all the right reasons. Something that speaks to both your hearts, and kicks off the next stage of your lives, like a football pro scoring the most outlandish penalty in a World Cup final; never to be forgotten by anyone who witnessed it.’

Charlie and Daniel both laughed.

‘Great speech,’ Daniel said.

Ellie returned his smile. ‘It wasn’t my usual one, but I feel inspired. By both of you; by your attitude. The fact that you could do this yourselves, could squeeze it in alongside everything else, but want to give it the attention it deserves.’ It was true, too. She had started off with her usual spiel, but she suddenly felt more fired-up than she had done in a long time. She had made a resolution at the start of this year to make New Moon Weddings not just good but great, but her confidence had been dealt a blow by the need to rent out Cornflower Cottage to a total stranger; temporarily give up her beautiful home and the garden that was her sanctuary. She was meeting her new tenant after this, but she wouldn’t think about that now, because here was a loving couple who were putting their trust in her to plan the best day of their lives, and it might well be the event she needed to turn her fortunes around.

‘Do you want to tell me your wedding hopes and dreams, and we can start thinking about how to make them a reality?’ She took another sausage roll from the plate, and Charlie’s smile widened.

‘Sounds good,’ she said, with a laugh. ‘Where to start, though?’

‘Ready to admit you’re human, Charlie?’ Daniel asked.

‘For now,’ she said. ‘But on my wedding day, I want to be a princess.’ She said it with a gleam in her eye, as if such a statement couldn’t be said entirely seriously.

Daniel laughed, and Ellie quietly marvelled at how they switched easily from calm professionals to doe-eyed lovers. ‘Wedding-day princesses I can definitely do,’ she said, opening her notebook and tucking a few stray bits of paper inside. ‘Now, tell me exactly what type of princess you want to be.’

When Ellie got back to Florence, the wind was whipping the sea into a frenzy, and she could hear the waves breaking against the rocks far below. Charlie and Daniel had been enthusiastic and receptive to her ideas and so, despite the suggestion that they could have been organizing the whole thing themselves, she was encouraged.

She unlocked her car and climbed in, found a radio station that was playing hits from the Noughties – was it possible to listen to ‘Rule the World’ by Take That and not want to sing along? – and started the engine. She patted the dashboard when Florence gave a little groan before puttering fully into life, then drove out of the car park.

The moment she left the confines of Crystal Waters, her confidence began to fizzle and die. That meeting wasn’t ever going to be the most difficult item on today’s to-do list; this next bit was – officially handing Cornflower Cottage over to the new tenant.

Even the sunshine making the sea sparkle, and the huge bunch of scarlet roses in the window of the B&B on Porthgolow’s seafront couldn’t stop her feeling apprehensive, and the roses reminded her that, along with her house, she would be giving up her garden.

The generous patio outside the back door where she loved to sit and watch the sun come up with a cup of coffee; the formal flower beds with a swathe of daffodils, crocuses and snowdrops in spring; lupins, delphiniums and gladioli as the summer months came in, the few trees – silver birch and hawthorn, a flourishing laburnum – that provided architectural detail all year round. It was a much larger garden than the small cottage deserved, but Ellie had been overjoyed with the amount of land it came with. Two years later, there was still a large, wild area beyond the flower beds that she hadn’t had a chance to tame, and which she referred to, somewhat optimistically, as ‘the meadow’. But last summer it had been rich with the yellow and white of yarrow and oxeye daisies. She’d been planning to tackle it this spring, but now that would have to wait.

She’d almost put ‘must be good at gardening’ on the list of rental requirements, along with a commitment from whoever moved in to keep an eye on all her flower beds, but Rose had told her that was far too specific and nobody would be interested. Now she wished she’d listened to herself instead of her sister.

She drove up the hill on the other side of the village, automatically slowing to a near crawl as she reached Crumbling Cliff. It was much safer now, with sturdy barriers at the edge, but she was always careful. Florence made a wheezing noise as if she couldn’t cope with the incline – or maybe she was sensing Ellie’s reluctance. Ellie put her foot down and kept going.

Cornflower Cottage was outside the built-up area of the village, ostensibly in the middle of the countryside, though it had a Porthgolow postcode. It was halfway up the hill, the sea visible from the front-facing windows, beyond a patchwork of rolling fields. A care home called Seascape House was the first and only other obvious building on her road – aptly called Wilderness Lane – though a couple of muddy tracks led off it, which she assumed went to farm buildings nestled deep in the rural landscape. Whenever she passed the slightly weatherworn sign, with Seascape House written in sky blue on a cream background, her spirits lifted, because it meant she was nearly home. Now, that pleasure would go to someone else.

As she neared the turning to Wilderness Lane, she slowed the car and then felt the unevenness of the road beneath her as the Mini bump-bump-bumped, and then let out a sound equivalent to what Ellie imagined a dying monster would emit.

‘Shit,’ she muttered, as she came to an unplanned halt. After fruitlessly trying the engine a few times, she leaned over to the passenger door, pressed the button that released the bonnet catch, and got out. This road wasn’t quite as narrow as Wilderness Lane, but her blocking it would still make life difficult for other drivers. At the moment, though, Ellie didn’t have a choice.

She yanked open the bonnet, glanced hopelessly at her cream silk shirt, and leaned over to get a better look. Parts of the engine were steaming. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure which parts those were, whether they were meant to do it and, if not, what that signified. She prided herself on being an excellent trouble-shooter – it was one of the most important skills of a wedding planner – but the innards of cars were not her strong point.

She heard another vehicle approaching and stepped towards the hedge. The silver Golf looked twice as old as Florence, and she waited for it to pass so she could go back to her puzzling, but instead the car slowed and pulled in behind her Mini. Ellie felt simultaneously grateful and irritated. She had no idea how to fix her car, but she was conscious of what she must look like, standing there in her smart blouse and skirt with a bemused expression on her face. She turned back to the engine, trying to arrange her expression into something less clueless.

‘Are you OK there?’ The voice was low and soft, and Ellie looked up and saw a man who, on first glance, was as scruffy as his car. His hair was the colour of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk, but it looked like either he’d let a toddler give him a haircut, or he’d recently been tasered: it stuck up in all directions, the strands rebelling against any kind of cohesion. He was about her age, she thought, with a jaw she could only call chiselled, and as he got closer, she noticed crinkles around eyes that were the colour of sea glass when the light shone through it. She hadn’t realized eyes could be that green. He was wearing a grey shirt and dark jeans, straddling the border between smart and casual.

The man cleared his throat as he walked round the car. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘You can’t have heard me.’

‘I … what?’

‘Are you OK?’ he repeated. ‘You look shell-shocked. Can I take a look for you?’ He gestured at the engine. It was still steaming which, while good on frothy cappuccinos, was less desirable when it came to cars. The man was glancing between her and the open bonnet, and his expression turned wary. ‘Did you crash?’ His voice was sharper, concerned, and Ellie noticed that he had a Cornish accent, his deep tone making it seem stronger than her own. It was warm and lyrical, comforting.

‘No,’ she said, finally. ‘No, I didn’t crash. She just gave out … one little moan and that was it.’

‘She?’ The man came to stand alongside her, but kept a bit of distance between them. Despite that, Ellie could smell his aftershave: lime and nutmeg, sharp and spicy all at once.

‘My car,’ Ellie explained. ‘She’s called Florence.’ She had no idea why she’d admitted that.

The man nodded and tapped the bumper. ‘She’s a beauty. It looks like she’s overheated.’

‘Overheated?’ Ellie repeated. ‘It’s only March – the sun’s not that hot. And I’ve only been driving for ten minutes. Half an hour, earlier in the day. I’m not pushing her to the limit, or anything.’