Phillipa Ashley - A Perfect Cornish Summer

She poured a glass of iced water from the chiller and took it out onto the balcony. The drizzle hadn’t quite stopped, though she didn’t much care. On the horizon, a shaft of light had pierced the pewter clouds and lit up the angry waves.

Although it didn’t make her feel any better to see the sun, she couldn’t help thinking of how much Hannah would enjoy the view. Her daughter always loved Cornwall, and they’d spent many happy holidays in Porthmellow right up until Hannah had gone to university.

Ruby would love the beach, she was just getting to the age when the sand would be fascinating. Chloe allowed herself a moment to picture her granddaughter – just over ten months now – clutching her granny’s hand while paddling in the sea. She would sit on the beach rug she’d bought in the hope that Ruby would visit, Ruby letting sand trail through her chubby fingers … Ruby giggling and Hannah wiping ice cream from her daughter’s mouth. Later, while Ruby slept in the cot that Chloe had bought for the spare bedroom, she and Hannah would make jiaozi dumplings together and share a glass of wine on the terrace while the sun set over the headland.

However, her fantasy seemed more ridiculous than ever. Hannah knew that Chloe had moved to Cornwall, but it had made no difference. Hannah had responded briefly that she didn’t want to have any contact with either her mother or father and they were to leave her alone. Only that morning, Chloe’s latest email had come back with a terse line saying; ‘Don’t try to contact me, Mum.’

So Chloe had thrown herself into organising the festival not only for the good of the town, or to make new friends, but to blot out the agony of being estranged from Hannah and Ruby, who she’d never met. People thought she was privileged and had a perfect life. If they knew the truth, they might say she hid her inner self and the pain behind her veneer of clothes and make-up and designer interiors.

That would have been far too simplistic. What had happened between Chloe, Fraser, and Hannah was more complicated. It was like a gold chain that had rusted and knotted and tangled until it was now impossible to undo.

However, helping with the festival was one aspect of her life she could control, and she was determined that the chaos of her own family life wouldn’t ruin that.

Gabe’s PA strode into the office above his London restaurant, brandishing a tablet. ‘Hey, Gabe. What’s this in your online diary?’

Gabe braced himself. Suzy was on the warpath and Gabe couldn’t blame her.

‘Why have you blanked out a month in your diary with the words Porthmellow Festival?’ she asked.

‘I won’t be away for the whole month, just the festival weekend. I just wanted to make sure you knew I might have to make a few re-adjustments to my schedule.’

‘Gabe. I love you to bits but you might have run it by me first. You have a meeting with a publisher in Scotland the weekend of this festival.’

‘I thought this was more important.’

‘Really? A little Cornish knees-up?’

He smiled. ‘A, it’s not little. B, it’s in my hometown. And C, they’d booked Kris Zachary as star chef.’

Suzy opened her mouth then shut it and opened it again. ‘Ahhh. I see. So, you wanted to go riding to the rescue on your white charger?’

He grinned. ‘Something like that. The call came from a friend of a friend too. I could hardly turn it down.’

‘You find it easy to turn most things down. I thought you’d cut your ties with Porthmellow. I always had the impression you felt you owed the place nothing. You told me you never go to the place now, even when you visit your parents.’

Suzy was correct. Gabe hadn’t set foot in Porthmellow since his parents had sold the chip shop. They lived in the countryside ten miles away now and on his regular visits to them he had no reason to go back to the town itself. No matter how much his heartstrings had tugged, or how strong his curiosity to see Sam Lovell again, any sentimental or romantic feelings had been blown apart after Sam had thrown him out of the house the night that Ryan had been arrested. In the months afterwards, he’d not exactly had a warm reception from some of the villagers. He’d been spat on and called a ‘grass’ and much worse. They had no idea of the impossible decision he’d had to make and he couldn’t tell them.

After over eleven years, he’d thought he no longer cared … then the call had come from Sam’s deputy, Chloe, via a mutual friend. While Chloe hadn’t explicitly mentioned that Sam had asked him to step in, Gabe had wondered if she might – just might – have suggested his name. Perhaps Sam was holding out an olive branch.

‘What’s so special about this festival, then?’ Suzy asked, cutting into his thoughts. ‘It must mean a lot to you.’

‘Like I said, I didn’t want to let down a friend,’ he said, being deliberately vague about who that friend was. ‘Besides, anything I can do to get one over on Kris bloody Zachary is fine by me. Rumour has it that two of his suppliers will go bust because he’s been cooking the books and I’ve already had calls from some of his staff who are out of a job. Most of us in the business knew he was on the fiddle so it was only a matter of time before he was caught. I don’t want the people at this festival to suffer too, so this is my small way of helping out.’

Suzy raised a perfect eyebrow. ‘So, you do have a heart. You’re not the ruthless super chef that everyone thinks.’

‘I’m just a regular Cornish bloke who loves his food. Haven’t you read my PR, Suzy?’

Suzy laughed. ‘I wrote some of it, Gabe.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll get on the phone and grovel to the publisher and rearrange your stay in Edinburgh.’

Suzy left, leaving Gabe pacing his office. When the call had come from Chloe Farrow, via a hotelier friend, he’d been ready to refuse … Porthmellow Festival. He’d seen it grow year on year to become the well-regarded event it was now. He’d heard good reports of it, although he’d never been. Once or twice, he’d wondered why no one had ever asked him to take part. Then he’d answered his own question. He was hardly one of Porthmellow’s favourite sons and most of all, there was no way he would ever be invited to any event run by Samphire Lovell.

This Chloe, who’d said she was deputy chairman of the committee, hadn’t sounded local which meant she might not know the history between him and Sam. She’d been so charming and breezily unaware of what had gone on that Gabe had been swept along. He shook his head, recognising that Sam would never have asked him for anything ever again. It was wishful thinking on his part to think she was behind the invitation.

This realisation brought the powerful emotions of the past flooding back: anger, bitterness, determination to show that he’d moved on, was a new person now. This festival would be the perfect way of demonstrating that.