Phillipa Ashley - A Perfect Cornish Christmas

Published by AVON

A division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2019

Copyright © Phillipa Ashley 2019

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2019

Cover illustrations © Hannah George

Phillipa Ashley 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: 9780008316150

Ebook Edition © October 2019 ISBN: 9780008316167

Version: 2019-10-14

For John, Charlotte and James

Contents

Cover

Title Page A PERFECT CORNISH CHRISTMAS Phillipa Ashley

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Phillipa Ashley

About the Publisher

Brushing sleet from her eyes, Scarlett Latham hesitated over the sign on the door of the Smuggler’s Tavern.

Feeling lonely and lost? On your own on Christmas Day?

Join us for a free festive dinner.

No need to book! Just walk in!

Everyone welcome.

Scarlett wrapped her arms around her body, trying to hug some life into her frozen limbs, but her thin party dress offered no protection from the biting wind.

The streets of Porthmellow were deserted as all the normal people of the Cornish harbour town prepared to enjoy Christmas lunch with their friends and families. In contrast, the windowpanes of the pub glowed with warmth and the sound of laughter and music drifted out onto the quayside. Scarlett looked at the sign again, teetering on the brink: step into the light, or stay out here in the sleet? The board’s words were becoming fuzzy as her tears mingled with the wet snow, but she could still make them out.

Feeling lonely and lost?

A sob caught in her throat. She hadn’t felt lonely or lost until two hours before. Now she’d never felt more alone in her life … She caught sight of her reflection in the dark glass of the outer door. It was even worse than she had thought: she was soaked to the skin in her Christmas Day finest, her mascara running down her face in rivers. Did she dare cross the threshold? What would people think?

She read the last line again.

Everyone welcome.

Some instinct deep inside propelled her through the tavern’s entrance. It seemed bizarre to join someone else’s Christmas festivities when her own had gone so spectacularly wrong. Maybe she wanted to prove that Christmas could and should be a happy time when people set aside their differences and enjoyed each other’s company for a few hours. Or maybe she was simply afraid she’d otherwise freeze to death and be found huddled against a pile of lobster pots, covered in snowflakes, like the Little Match Girl.

The oak door creaked open onto a scene of warmth and light that was a world away from the frozen gloom of the deserted harbour. People in paper hats were letting off party poppers and blowing tooters in each other’s faces. Crimson and green cloths covered the tables, which were laid for a Christmas feast, while tinsel shimmered in the glow from the fire. The smooth voice of Michael Bublé was crooning from the speakers, ‘Tis the season to be jolly …’