Phillipa Ashley - Christmas at the Cornish Café

‘ You’ll write the ad copy and upload my photos?’

‘No, but I’ll clean the floor, put away the drinks order and iron the aprons.’

‘You do ironing?’

He tuts. ‘That’s sexist, Ms Jones. I can iron. I did work in a warzone for several years, you know.’

‘Yes, but I don’t expect there was much call for ironing in the desert, was there?’

He smiles. ‘Not often, no. Either way, we’re in this together. I’ll deal with the yurt people and clean the washroom block.’

I pull a face, glad this isn’t my job.

‘And then I’ll meet you at the cafe.’

By late afternoon, the sun is sinking and the horizon is tinged with orange and pink. The lights are on in Demelza’s, highlighting the sparkling clean floor as Cal hangs the last of the freshly pressed Demelza’s aprons on a peg in the staff room.

All our perishables and groceries are stored in the correct places and the new steel kitchen gleams so brightly you can see your face in the surfaces. I’ve double checked the fresh and chilled stores and chalked up the specials on the blackboard. In the end, Cal helped me write some copy for an ad and he’s now sending a ‘friendly’ mass text to make sure the staff are OK and ready for tomorrow.

Throughout the day, I’ve been working on my blog and scheduling some posts for social media. I suspect that it’s going to take all my ‘days off’ when the cafe is closed to get through the admin and marketing.

Cal scrolls through his phone where he keeps an app to keep track of the park bookings. ‘Great. We’ve just had an Internet booking for Poldark Cottage and had an enquiry about two of the yurts from a family who want to celebrate a fortieth birthday party here next weekend. I’ll have to tell the large party that they can have the yurts at the far end of the copse, away from the other two. We don’t want complaints when we’ve promised people peace and tranquillity, but we don’t want to lose a big booking like this.’

‘Oh. If it’s a party, they might want catering provided too.’

‘I’m sure they will, but don’t take too much on yet. You’ve got enough to do with the cafe opening tomorrow. I don’t want the cafe manager having a meltdown in the middle of us launching the empire, do I?’

‘You’re all heart,’ I say, but I know he means it and I must admit, I’ve been feeling knackered lately, even though I’m ‘living the dream’ right now. I’ve come so far from the day I lost my job and my home and ended up sleeping in the doorway of a fish and chip shop in St Trenyan.

Mitch woofs a hello from the corner. He seems totally at home in the cafe, which is great. Canine comfort is one of our USPs. Demelza’s is even going to have a special doggy treats menu for all the four-legged guests who will stay at the park and take their owners on a walk along the coastal path that runs past the cafe.

Cal crouches down to stroke Mitch’s ears. Mitch turns his head this way and that, closing his eyes in pleasure at Cal’s touch. Did I say Mitch was my dog? Even though he’s faithful to me and has stuck with me through a tough couple of years, he’s rapidly becoming our dog: mine and Cal’s dog, even Polly’s dog at times, though she pretends she doesn’t like animals at all, apart from her hens. I caught her sneaking him a treat from the jar when she thought I wasn’t looking, and she let him sit next to her on the sofa while she was watching Countryfile on iPlayer the night before she went to visit her daughter.

Mitch and I, we’ve become as much a part of Kilhallon as the stone house, or the holiday cottages or the cafe.

‘How are the opening-day plans going? Is there anything else I can do to help?’ Cal says.

‘I’m sure there’ll be tons tomorrow. We’ll be chasing our own tails,’ I reply, and Mitch wags his as if he can understand me. ‘I’ve tried to think of everything but there are bound to be hitches and teething problems until we’ve actually served some real customers.’

‘Let’s hope the weather keeps improving so we have lots of people out on the coastal path. The walking festival run by the tourist board should help,’ Cal says.

‘I hope that dog-friendly cafe-trail website and leaflet I signed up to pays off. It’s hard knowing what marketing is worth spending my precious budget on. I’m bombarded with sales people and emails wanting me to part with cash all the time. I guess we’re going to make mistakes along the way. Although I’ve worked in a few cafes now and done so much research and talked to other owners, I still have so much to learn.’

‘Will Eva Spero be coming?’ Cal pops the leftover crust of a cheese and bacon pasty in his mouth. We ate them cold with pickles and salad, washed down with cider.

‘I don’t know. She’s still a bit miffed with me for turning down her job offer, although she said we can work together on the homemade dog treats book and possibly launch them into the market. I’ve had to put it on hold for now, until I’ve got Demelza’s up and running.’ I shrug off a pang of regret about turning down Eva Spero’s offer of a job at her restaurant in Brighton. It was my decision, even though Cal also wanted me to stay here at Kilhallon and run Demelza’s. Then, of course, there’s the small matter of my being in love with him …

Cal pulls me into his arms and for a few moments I enjoy the warmth and comfort of his gorgeous body against mine. I can’t believe how far I’ve come. The project I’ve started overwhelms me sometimes and I have the urge to run away instead of facing down the great big wave that’s rushing towards me, faster and faster.

‘I’d better get some work done,’ I say, escaping his embrace before I’m lost again. ‘Then I really do need an early night.’

He folds his arms, a gesture that only shows off his magnificent guns, honed by all the outdoor work and labour he’s put in on the renovation of the park since he returned from working in a refugee camp in the Middle East. ‘Of course,’ he says with the kind of serious face that’s even sexier than his smile. Despite all my resolve, I know an early night will mean going to bed with him.

Cal scratches Mitch’s belly. ‘If the cottages let, they let, and if they don’t, then we mustn’t panic. Same with the customers for the cafe. It’s going to take time to build up our custom and reputation … and it might be better not to have full occupancy to start with while we learn the ropes.’

I turn away to find the keys, ready to lock up.

‘By the way, I meant to tell you, Isla called me earlier,’ he says.

At the mention of this name, my stomach tightens. ‘Did she?’

‘She’s coming down here from London in a couple of weeks’ time.’

Mitch snickers and yips like Scooby Doo on Red Bull as Cal fusses him. My stomach ties itself in even tighter knots. I knew it had to come sometime. I knew that she’d be back, but I haven’t heard Cal talk about his ex-girlfriend and childhood sweetheart since she left Cornwall a few weeks ago. Even though Isla has been kind to me in the past, part of me hoped she might not come back at all.

I keep my voice casual. ‘Does she still want to use Kilhallon for the film shoot?’

Cal glances up at me. Is that relief on his face that I haven’t reacted to his news, or have I imagined it?

‘Yes. She wants to use the ruined tin mine as a backdrop, and possibly the exterior of the cafe for the filming. Isla says that the far, gabled end could still double up as a farm barn for some of the scenes. She said that Bonnie and Clyde will also want to come and visit to discuss their hand-fasting arrangements at some point.’

These are codenames we’re all using for the very famous and very actor friends of Isla’s. Did I mention she’s a film producer? A stunning, blonde, award-winning film producer with some seriously A-list mates. Two of her friends plan on holding their wedding celebrations at Kilhallon next year, although the engagement is secret for now.