THE CORNISH CREAM TEA WEDDING
Cressida McLaughlin

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

The News Building

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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

Part One

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.’

‘It doesn’t always matter how much you’ve been driving her, or how hot the weather is,’ he said. ‘Usually, it’s something wrong with the cooling system. A leak, maybe.’ He rolled up his sleeves, treating Ellie to a view of tanned forearms. He leaned towards the engine without another word, and she stood back against the hedge, giving him space.

‘You seem quite comfortable under the bonnet,’ she commented, glancing at her watch. She hated being late for things. She’d left herself plenty of time between her meeting at Crystal Waters and welcoming her new tenant to Cornflower Cottage, but she had no idea how long this was going to take, and she still felt on edge.

He gave a low chuckle. ‘You could say that.’ She waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t, so Ellie turned away, examining the hedgerow behind her instead of the man leaning over her car.

‘You’ve got a leak in the cooling system,’ he said, standing up straight and turning to face her. He didn’t seem remotely smug that he’d diagnosed her problem before even looking at the engine.

‘Is that bad?’ she asked.

He tipped his head on one side. ‘It’ll keep overheating until it’s fixed, but it’s a fairly simple job.’

‘And can I drive it to the garage? Or do I need a tow?’ She smoothed a hand over her hair. This day was not getting better. ‘I need to be somewhere in twenty minutes, and I really don’t want to be late.’

‘She’ll cool down in about half an hour,’ the man said, giving Florence another pat, as if the car was a much-loved Labrador. ‘But I could mend her for you, if you like? I’m moving into my new place today, and it’s not far from here. As long as there’s room to park her up once I can get her going again, I’ll have her sorted for you in no time.’

‘You’d do that?’ Ellie asked, his words flashing warning bells in her mind.

The man nodded and wiped his – now grease-covered – hands down his jeans. ‘Sure.’

‘And you’re moving today? To a new house?’ She supposed it wasn’t that much of a coincidence, considering he would need to go down this road to get to Cornflower Cottage.

‘A rented place,’ he said. ‘I’ve fallen on my feet, really. It’s ideal. Though I’ve not actually seen it in person yet, which I suppose isn’t the usual way of doing things.’

Ellie nodded, wondering how often he rubbed his dirty hands on his clothes. She thought of the biscuit-coloured sofas in the front room of Cornflower Cottage; the light, neutral furnishings that always inspired a sense of calm, except when they got marks on them.

‘You didn’t have time, and were happy to take it on spec,’ she said, remembering his words from their email exchange. ‘And I had your references, I knew that you were a mechanic with regular work, and was prepared to accept on those terms.’ She exhaled. ‘So you’re Jago Carne, then.’ This was her new tenant: Twinkly green eyes, the epitome of laid-back scruffiness.

For the first time since he’d approached her car, he looked alarmed, his brows shooting up towards his hairline. He was cartoon-character startled, and Ellie would have laughed if this whole situation, her entire morning, hadn’t been so emotionally stressful.

‘I’m Elowen Moon,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘Ellie. I own Cornflower Cottage.’

His brows lowered and creased, and then he grinned at her, and she got the full effect of the smile lines round his eyes. ‘You’re my landlady,’ he said. ‘Great.’ He clasped her hand with his own. It was large and warm and strong and, despite his attempt to clear the engine grease off, not entirely clean.

Ellie nodded in the affirmative, but she wasn’t sure ‘great’ was the word she would have chosen.

Chapter Two

Jago’s Golf didn’t smell of lime and nutmeg, it smelt of mustiness and engine oil, and the back seat was full of boxes with things spilling out of them haphazardly. Even if the boot was equally crammed, it didn’t seem like a lot for one person moving their life somewhere new. Perhaps he had a van coming later.

Ellie slid into the passenger seat and, while she couldn’t fault his kindness – he’d helped her instantly, even before he’d known who she was – she felt on the back foot. Poor Florence was going to stay on the side of the road and then, Jago said, he’d walk down and get her when her engine had cooled, bring her up to the cottage and set her right again before Ellie left.

‘This is going to be a bit of a change from Plymouth,’ he said, gesturing to the hedges, the fields beyond, then starting the Golf and checking the road before edging out past Ellie’s Mini. ‘But Cornflower Cottage was exactly what I was after.’

‘Are you moving back for good?’ She assumed it was “back” because of his accent, and she hoped it came across as small talk rather than an interrogation. Obviously, it was up to her how long she rented her cottage out for, and as long as she gave him a generous notice period it shouldn’t be a problem. But, she reminded herself, she needed to do this. She couldn’t think of the cottage as hers any more.

He shrugged, his eyes on the road as he indicated left and turned onto Wilderness Lane, beginning the incline that started gently and then got steeper. ‘I’ll see how it goes.’

Ellie smiled. She wished she could have that laissez-faire attitude sometimes. With her, see how it goes included a ten-point plan at the very least. ‘Which garage will you be working at?’

‘I’ve got a part-time slot at a garage close to the airport,’ he said. ‘And I’m hoping to pick up some other odd jobs around the place – DIY, decorating, that sort of thing. I still have a few contacts in the area, so I’m sure I’ll get work.’ He glanced at the sign to Seascape House as they passed, his brow furrowing. ‘What do you do – other than being a landlady?’ His eyes flicked to her shirt and skirt. The fabrics were silky smooth, the skirt a bright blue. She took a lot of care with her appearance; she enjoyed wearing clothes – and having hair – that made her stand out. The rose gold had worked better than she’d expected; her hairdresser nodding with appreciation and quiet pride when it was done.

‘I’m a wedding planner,’ Ellie explained. ‘And landlady makes me sound like I’m old and frumpy, with those special stockings that help your circulation, and rollers in my hair. Definitely a floral housecoat. Baking my own bread or clotting my own cream.’

‘You’re talking about Nora Batty from Last of the Summer Wine,’ Jago said. ‘I can picture her perfectly from your description.’

Ellie snorted. That was exactly who she was imagining.

‘Firstly,’ Jago went on, ‘she was never a landlady. And secondly, you’re as far from Nora B as it’s possible to be. You could launch a whole new category of landlady. Is this your only property?’

‘Right here,’ she said, gesturing, and Jago made the turn. ‘It’s my only property. It’s …’ She paused. She was supposed to be being professional, but there was something about this man that encouraged complete honesty. It was both reassuring and irritating. ‘I’ve moved in with my sister for a bit.’

‘Oh?’ Jago brought the car to a halt on the gravel driveway. ‘So this is your place. Bloody hell.’

‘Bloody hell?’ Ellie echoed. She was gazing at the front garden, its rose bushes perfectly pruned and ready to burst into colour in only a few weeks’ time; the low privet hedge; the stone birdbath next to the iron chandelier sporting bird feeders for each food-type – peanuts, mixed seed and fat balls. The cottage stood behind, with its white walls and rustic, tiled roof, a bench nestled below the living-room window.

‘It’s like one of those jigsaw puzzles,’ Jago said as he got out. ‘I saw the photos on your ad, but they never do it proper justice, do they?’ He put his hands on his hips and gave a loud huff.

Ellie got out of the car. She had the sense that he wasn’t entirely happy with this revelation. ‘I usually leave the photographs up to experts,’ she said. ‘But I took the ones for the advert.’ She didn’t know why she was making excuses.

Jago turned to her with a wide grin. ‘You know how I said I’d fallen on my feet? It was an understatement. This is a country-cottage show home.’

Ellie flushed with pride. It did look good. In the two years she’d lived there, she’d turned it into a real home. ‘Shall I show you around?’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘And there was something in your ad about a cat?’

‘Oh, Lord Montague – yes! I only moved out of here two days ago, and I’ve been coming back to feed him—’

‘Two days ago?’

‘Just in time for you to move in,’ she said hurriedly. ‘My sister, Rose, is allergic to cats, so he couldn’t come with me. Lord Montague, uhm, Monty, is very affectionate. He doesn’t want just to be fed twice a day; he wants love, too.’

Jago nodded distractedly. ‘Sounds like a sensible cat. But I feel like I’m stepping into your shadow – I thought this was just a rental place.’

Ellie gave him what she hoped was a professional smile; she needed to rein it in. ‘This is going to work out for both of us, Mr Carne. Please don’t worry. I wouldn’t be renting out Cornflower Cottage if I didn’t want to. And for my first foray into the world of non-Nora Batty landladying, I believe I’ve fallen on my feet too, having you as my tenant.’

His shoulders dropped. ‘Please call me Jago,’ he said.

‘Jago. Let me show you where everything is and then I can help bring your things in.’

‘You don’t need to …’ he started, but she shook her head.

‘You’re going to fix my car for free. It’s really the least I can do.’

Ellie showed Jago around the neat two-bedroom cottage, its rooms small but perfectly formed, with beams and slightly uneven floors, and all the other period features she loved so much. Jago’s enthusiasm didn’t dampen, and she was pleased that he appreciated it, because it meant that he would look after it.

At the weekend, she and Rose had cleared out all of Ellie’s personal things, including photos and the few ornaments that had dotted the surfaces, and then they’d put on new pillows and duvet, new linen in a smart white-and-navy print. It wasn’t a cottage that could be devoid of character, but there was no longer any of Ellie’s character left. It was as simple and as appealing as a holiday home. Her heart was still here, but it didn’t show.

Even so, it felt strange showing Jago where she had, until recently, slept every night. ‘This is the bedroom,’ she said, gesturing at the king-sized bed, as if clarification was needed. The early afternoon sun spilled in through the window, bathing the room in a warm glow.

‘Great.’ Jago rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, and Ellie felt a twist of guilt. She shouldn’t have told him she’d moved out so recently; it was too weird. She should have found a landlady class to go to – if such a thing existed. Or hired a company to manage the whole process.

She was trying to think of something to lighten the mood, when Lord Montague came out from under the bed, stretching his back legs out one by one, as if he was shaking off uncomfortable slippers. He had been such a dainty kitten, but now, at two years old, he was a huge hulking tabby, his fiercely green eyes not that dissimilar to Jago’s. And he definitely lived up to the ‘Lord’ moniker. But right now Ellie could have kissed him for breaking the weird tension that had settled around them like dust.

‘Monty!’ she said, as the cat hopped onto the bed and strolled over, lifting his head for a stroke. Ellie obliged, and his purr resonated around the bedroom. ‘Monty, this is Jago.’

As if understanding, Monty padded over the duvet to where Jago stood, but instead of raising his head, he lifted his front paws and clawed into Jago’s shirt.

‘No, Monty!’ Ellie shouted, but before she could take him away, Jago lifted the cat under the front legs and, with a slight groan, hauled him against his chest. Monty’s purring got louder as he butted his head against Jago’s chin.

Her new tenant was laid-back about giant cats too, apparently. ‘You can keep him out of the bedroom, of course,’ she said. ‘I just haven’t shut any of the doors over the last couple of days, because I felt bad about leaving him.’

‘And you think he’ll be happy if I try and ban him now? He’s big enough to terrorize me.’

Ellie shrugged. ‘He might kick up a fuss. But with a bit of coaxing—’

‘It’s fine. Lord Montague and I are going to rub along well together.’ He gave her one of his crinkly-eyed grins, and Ellie relaxed. ‘Your car’s probably cooled down by now.’

‘Don’t you want to bring in your things?’

‘I can do that later,’ he said. ‘Please don’t feel like you have to help. But maybe a cup of tea when I get back?’

‘Done,’ Ellie said. ‘It really is very kind of you.’

‘If I hadn’t come along and helped, I would have been waiting here for you and wouldn’t have been able to get into my new place.’ He put Monty gently on the floor. The cat gave a miaow of protest, then led the way down the stairs.

‘Right,’ Jago said at the front door. ‘See you in a few.’

Ellie nodded, and then said, ‘Keys!’ She rootled in her handbag and gave him her car keys. Then she added another set, this time of house keys. It felt like an afterthought, and she wondered if she should have handed them over in some sort of grand ceremony.

But Jago was already strolling through the neat front garden towards the driveway. Ellie watched him, disconcerted by how easily he’d taken everything in his stride. Strangely, the fact that he was so relaxed made her mildly suspicious, as if it was a front for something. Or else she had unwittingly rented her cottage to the friendliest person in the world. Maybe she should ask him to tend to the garden – she couldn’t imagine him saying no, now.

She went into the kitchen, where she and Rose had stocked the fridge with a few essentials for his arrival: butter and cheese, milk and eggs, some vegetables and salad, along with slices of cold ham and chicken. She’d bought a loaf from the baker’s just yesterday, knowing it would stay fresh in the bread bin. She was also pleased that she’d put a few beers in the fridge door, as Jago seemed like a beer man. Except that was an assumption, and she tried her best not to go in for those. She’d gleaned the barest details about him from their email exchange – though not enough to realize who he was when he’d rescued her on the side of the road – but now, having met him, she had a million other questions.

Why had he moved back from Plymouth now, and why had he moved away in the first place? Who were these contacts he spoke of, and why did he feel he’d fallen on his feet with Ellie’s cottage which, she was happy to admit, was not masculine at all? And what was an attractive man like him, early forties and with such a warm manner, doing moving in, solo, to this remote part of Cornwall? Did he have a girlfriend he was moving back for? Kids nearby? A wife tucked away in Porthgolow?

Ellie got mugs out of the cupboard – the smart Denby she’d bought instead of her World’s Best Gardener and Wedding Planners Need More Coffee mugs, which had gone with her to Rose’s – and pottered about. The kitchen was at the back of the house, looking over the garden, the meadow’s long grass framing the formal plants and flowers in front. She sighed. She could have done a lot worse, and she’d known he was a mechanic when she agreed his tenancy. She should have considered the possibility of oil and grease stains long before they sealed the deal, but it was too late now.

‘It’s for the best, Monty,’ she said, retrieving a packet of treats from the cat food cupboard. ‘You’ll look after each other, won’t you?’

Monty put his head on one side and pawed at her leg. She stepped backwards, saving her bare skin. ‘Uh-uh. No claws.’

The cat chirruped, which didn’t fit with his arrogant bruiser attitude.

‘Go on, then,’ she said, and crouched to give him a treat. He put his paw on her wrist while he nibbled it off her palm. She was going to miss Monty almost as much as she would miss her garden.

When Jago puttered back into the driveway in Florence, Ellie was pulling up weeds from around her lupins. This was the year they would fully come into their own, their first flowers appearing in May. There were purples and whites, a couple of mixed plants and a lemon yellow variety that always made her want a gin and tonic. She loved lupins because their leaves were almost as beautiful as the statuesque flowers; it was only in the colder months when they seemed diminished. She knew she shouldn’t be out here, that this wasn’t her garden right now, but it was hard not to think about what would happen to everything she’d so lovingly nurtured if they were to suffer months, perhaps years, of inattention.

‘Hello?’ Jago called from the hallway, and Ellie hurried back to the kitchen, flicking on the kettle as she went.

‘Florence started, then?’ she asked.

‘Yup, no problem.’ He strolled into the kitchen, his eyes dancing over the light, airy room; the cream cupboard doors and pine worktop. ‘I bet people always gravitate to this room during parties,’ he said.

Ellie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I’m quite proud of how it’s turned out,’ she replied, not wanting to admit that she hadn’t ever had a party here. ‘It gets the best light in the mornings, though. Now, onto the most important question. How do you take your tea?’

‘Strong and milky, but no sugar.’

‘Because you’re sweet enough?’ The words were out before she had a chance to vet them. She resisted the urge to cover her mouth with her hand.

Jago chuckled. ‘Not close,’ he said, and there was something in the tone of his voice that Ellie felt low in her stomach. ‘Thanks, though. I’d better get changed; can’t wear my “meet the landlady” get-up for this next part.’

Ellie glanced at his grey shirt and jeans. ‘No, of course. Do you have a special “fix the landlady’s car” get-up as well?’

‘I’m a mechanic,’ he said. ‘That’s basically what I live in.’ He grinned and sauntered out again, whistling.

Ellie shook her head. ‘Because you’re sweet enough?’ she muttered to herself. ‘Seriously?’ Even Monty was looking at her disdainfully. Or maybe he was just angling for another treat.

By the time she took the tea out to the driveway, Jago had Florence’s bonnet open and a toolbox at his feet. He was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans that made his last pair look almost black-tie appropriate. They were ripped at one knee, and not in a fashionable way.

Ellie put his mug on the bench outside the front door. She and Rose had painted it white one afternoon soon after she’d moved in, with the radio playing and Prosecco flowing. The paintwork was patchy, there were several visible splodges where it had dried unevenly, but because of that the memories remained strong: the two sisters celebrating Ellie’s newly found single status, free from a marriage that had gone stale long before she’d chosen to do something about it.

‘Tea for you,’ she said, and Jago looked up, his forearms already streaked with grime.

‘Thanks.’ He turned his attention back to the engine.

Ellie didn’t know what to do with herself. She couldn’t leave until her car was fixed. She shouldn’t go and tend to her – the – garden again.

‘What weddings have you got on right now?’ Jago called, and Ellie sat on the bench, relieved.

‘I’ve got three at the moment, and I had my first meeting with one couple this morning. They’re in Porthgolow, so it’s very local, and it should be lots of fun.’

‘Is it a nice village?’

‘The best. Quaint and seaside-y, with a vintage bus that sells cakes and a pub that’s upped its food game over the last few months. You didn’t live round here before, then?’

‘No, I was in Falmouth. I grew up there, then ended up travelling for most of my twenties, and settled in Plymouth after that.’

‘So you’ve not been back for a while?’

‘Not to live. I’ve been back to see my folks, but after being in some pretty remote places, I was craving somewhere busier, which is why I settled on Plymouth. More work, more interest.’ He selected a new tool, then returned to the car.

Ellie tried to look everywhere other than his jean-clad backside and the flash of those forearms. ‘Where did you travel?’

‘All over, really. Australia and New Zealand, where it was easy to pick up work. Asia. I spent some time in Africa; helped to build a school in Ghana.’

‘Wow,’ Ellie said. ‘That’s … it sounds amazing. Challenging, but so worthwhile.’ He didn’t reply, and she wondered if he’d heard. She raised her voice. ‘So why the change now? Why are you back here, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Oh, family stuff,’ he said, his voice slightly muffled. ‘What about you? You must get on with your sister if you’re living with her?’

‘We do get on well,’ Ellie admitted, aware that he’d sidestepped her question. ‘She’s a couple of years older than me, and definitely bossier, but she has a big heart. She’s a district nurse, which is a much more worthy occupation than wedding planner.’

Jago turned, leaning on the car and crossing his legs at the ankles. ‘People want to get married, and they want to do it properly. For a lot of them, it’s the most important day of their lives. You shouldn’t belittle what you do. If everyone was a nurse, the economy would collapse.’

Ellie laughed. ‘True. It just doesn’t seem to measure up to helping people heal.’

‘What about fixing cars? Where would that go on your scale?’

‘Up there with nurse,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere without Florence. Especially not in Cornwall.’

‘I’d better get back to it then,’ he said. Instead, he picked up his tea and took a sip.

Ellie was happy to sit and chat to him while he worked. It was enforced, because until her car was better, she was stuck. But the view from Cornflower Cottage – over rolling hills and down to the sea – was one she could gaze at for hours, and had done, frequently. Today, the sun and wind were competing to produce a not-unpleasant afternoon, and her new tenant was easy company.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met anyone this horizontal. He had moved house today – one of the most stressful life-changes you can make – and instead of settling in, unpacking and then sitting down with a beer, or going to catch up with old friends, he was fixing her car. And he seemed completely fine with it. He was the polar opposite to Ellie, who had started to flap the moment her carefully scheduled day showed the first signs of unravelling. Except, a little voice in her head said, for right now. But this was different, she told it, because she was trapped.

She felt a glimmer of disappointment when Jago stood and stretched his arms up to the sky, then gave her his wide, warm smile and said, ‘All done. The leak is fixed. Florence should be as good as new.’

‘Thank you so much.’

‘No problem. Just call me if you have any more issues, but she shouldn’t overheat any more. I’ve also topped up the oil and the washer bottle, as they were both running low.’

‘You didn’t have to.’

He laughed. ‘I sort of did.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll just go and wash these up.’

‘No need,’ Jago said. ‘I’ll do that.’

‘Of course.’ He’d said it easily, but she felt slightly chided. She had to let him get used to his new territory. ‘Thank you again, Jago. And the same goes for the house – if you have any issues or questions, please give me a call. I’m close by.’

‘Thanks, I’ll do that.’ He rubbed his forearm over his hair, flattening some of the strands. He had a sheen of sweat on his brow.

‘See you soon, then,’ Ellie said as she got into her newly mended Mini. She reversed expertly down the driveway and, just before she turned the car around, gave him one final glance. He was smiling at her. With a quick wave, she drove away, leaving Jago Carne, Lord Montague and her treasured cottage behind. She prayed that they would get along well together.

‘It was so weird,’ Ellie said, as she laid the table in the dining room of Rose’s end-of-terrace house. ‘It would almost have been better if he wasn’t so friendly. Or maybe I shouldn’t have been,’ she went on, wafting an empty wine glass around before Rose glared at her through the hatch between the kitchen and the dining room, and she put it on a coaster. ‘It felt like I was showing him my house and then leaving him to squat in it.’

‘That is basically what you’re doing though,’ Rose observed. ‘Except that he’s paying you for the privilege.’ Ellie turned to look at her sister. She was slightly taller, slightly broader, her hair kept to its natural dark brown and always tied back neatly on a work day, even once she’d changed out of her tunic. ‘You’ve not let go of Cornflower Cottage.’

‘I don’t want to let go of it,’ Ellie said. ‘This is temporary.’

‘Of course it is,’ Rose said soothingly, ‘but you don’t want to give him that impression, do you? How would you feel if you were moving to a new place, excited about your fresh start, and the owner was breathing down your neck, constantly pointing out that you were on borrowed time?’ She lifted a saucepan off the hob and drained spaghetti in a colander.

‘I should have put in a clause about the garden,’ Ellie said. ‘It’s going to go to rack and ruin without any attention.’

‘He’s a mechanic, good with his hands, practical. He might be a better gardener than you.’

Ellie gave her a look, which Rose parried with a sweet smile. ‘I didn’t mention it,’ Ellie said.

‘You could,’ Rose replied. ‘Give him a few weeks to get settled in, then go back with a bottle of wine and bring it up in conversation, see how he feels about it. And what I’m not talking about,’ she added, ladling the pasta into bowls, ‘is turning up on his doorstep with a list of all the things he needs to do and when he needs to have done them by. He’s not house-sitting, even if he is cat-sitting.’

Ellie tipped her head up to the ceiling. ‘I should never have rented it out,’ she groaned. ‘I didn’t think it through properly.’

‘All you needed to think about was how to get your business and your life back on track, and this was the best way. You and me, baby. We’ll change the world together.’ She said the last words in a fake American accent and Ellie couldn’t help grinning. ‘Anyway, tell me about this new wedding you’ve picked up. Is it really the woman who owns the Cornish Cream Tea Bus? God, I love her scones. Are you going to have them as part of the wedding breakfast?’

‘I doubt it,’ Ellie said, coming into the kitchen to fill a jug with water. ‘Her cousin brought me in so that Charlie and Daniel wouldn’t organize the whole thing themselves, so I can’t schedule in Cornish Cream Tea Bus cream teas, and if I do cream teas that haven’t come from there, then either they won’t be as good, which would be disappointing, or they will, which would be embarrassing.’

‘She must have other chefs,’ Rose scoffed, ladling a delicious-smelling bolognese sauce on top of the pasta.

‘I don’t think so,’ Ellie said. ‘I get the impression that she’s a one-woman whirlwind.’

‘Just like you, then,’ Rose replied.

Ellie smiled. Her sister might be bossy and intrusive and sometimes altogether too much, but she could always be counted on to back Ellie up, and boost her ego when she needed it. That character trait forgave all the other ones a thousand times over.

‘Oh,’ Rose said, as Ellie walked past her with the jug and a couple of tumblers, ‘don’t think that this is the end of the conversation about your new tenant. I didn’t miss the way you talked about him, and I need to know everything. Has he got a chapter in the Elowen Moon young, fun and single chronicles? He sounds like ideal spring-fling material.’

‘He’s my tenant,’ Ellie said stiffly, ‘so no way. I am not mixing pleasure with landladying. I’ve already made it far more awkward than it needs to be.’

‘You’re not denying you think he’s cute, then?’

Ellie rolled her eyes. ‘I’m forty years old, and he’s about the same. Cute is not a word I should be using, unless it’s about babies or puppies.’

‘All this protesting,’ Rose said gleefully. ‘We are definitely continuing this over dinner.’

Ellie looked at the bowls of spaghetti bolognese, which her sister was sprinkling with parmesan. Even a conversation she really didn’t want would be worth it for Rose’s home-cooked food. She waited until she was in the dining room before letting out a sigh. She loved her sister, and she was beyond grateful that she could stay with her, but she hoped that this new wedding, and renting out her cottage, would help her set a new course for success. She needed to get on top of her life.

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