Phillipa Ashley - Spring on the Little Cornish Isles - The Flower Farm

Phillipa x

August Bank Holiday Monday

St Mary’s Airport, Isles of Scilly

O h no, surely that wasn’t her ?

Jess Godrevy’s heart sank as she spotted the girl standing guard over a wheelie suitcase in the arrivals hall at St Mary’s airport terminal. She was all of five feet tall and looked as if she’d blow away in the first Atlantic gust. Was this really Dr Gabriella Carter? Her head-and-shoulders photo had given no indication of how tiny she was – more like a sixth-former than a twenty-seven-year-old with a PhD. Just wait until Will saw her …

Jess smiled to herself as Gabriella pulled her case even closer, though no one was likely to run off with it on Scilly and they certainly wouldn’t get away with the crime if they did. Jess had already nodded or exchanged hellos with most of the staff and locals in the terminal, all of whom she knew by sight. None of them was a criminal mastermind, although some people would say Hugo Scorrier came closest. His unruly black Labrador, Basil, was sniffing around people’s luggage while Hugo was deep in conversation with a good-looking, dark-haired man who Jess didn’t recognise. Judging by the stranger’s sharp suit and laptop bag, he and Hugo were probably discussing some big business deal relating to Hugo’s luxury resort on Petroc.

Jess worked her way through the holidaymakers towards Gabriella, hoping the friendly smile on her face would reassure her new recruit.

‘Hi there. It’s Gabriella, isn’t it? I’m Jess Godrevy from the flower farm. Welcome to Scilly.’

‘Oh, thank goodness. I’m so happy to see you.’ Gabriella’s voice was beautiful but so quiet Jess had to strain to hear it over the plane engines and boarding announcements. She was very pretty in an English rose sort of way, with creamy cheeks sprinkled with freckles and a mane of strawberry blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She’d have to be super careful with the sunscreen while she was working outside, thought Jess, ever practical but also aware of her own scruffy jeans, Flower Farm sweatshirt and wild hair. There was never any point in styling it: the wind and the sea spray would dismember any blow-dry in minutes.

‘Someone’s waiting in the car park to give us a lift down to the quay so we can get the island boat across to St Saviour’s,’ said Jess cheerfully. ‘My brother, Will, is busy at the farm. If he’s remembered that you’re coming, that is, and hasn’t decided to go rowing instead. Brothers, what are they like?’

A brief smile flickered across Gabriella’s lips but she still looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

‘It’s this way,’ said Jess, regretting her ‘joke’ about Will, mostly because he might well have forgotten.

‘Thank you so much,’ said Gabriella as if she’d been invited to tea at Buckingham Palace. She was so sweetly polite, Jess was beginning to think she’d hired a mouse to work as a flower picker and packer at the Godrevys’ flower farm. However, during the phone interview a few weeks previously, she’d shown an impressive knowledge of horticulture. The excellent references from the plant nursery she’d worked for during her vacations also proved she must be used to hard work in all weathers.

Jess led the way out of the terminal and through the passengers on the car park. Outside, half a dozen jovial drivers shepherded the new arrivals towards the minibuses that would take them to their accommodation on St Mary’s or down to the quay to the smaller ‘off islands.’

‘How was your flight?’ she asked while they walked towards their lift.

Gabriella pulled a face. ‘Rather bumpy, I’m afraid.’

‘It can be interesting, but at least you got here. It’s not unusual for flights to be cancelled.’

Gabriella’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’

‘In the winter, mostly,’ said Jess, glossing over the fact that the isles could be completely cut off by fog and storms at any time of year.

‘Oh well, I survived on this occasion at least.’ Gabriella’s smile reappeared, this time for slightly longer, lighting up green eyes, flecked with gold. Jess detected a keenness behind them. She’d already noticed that Gabriella took in everything that was going on around her, as if she was storing away a mental snapshot for future reference.

Jess decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. It was no use judging someone on a few minutes’ acquaintance, but if she’d been a betting woman, she’d have staked fifty quid on the flower farm’s newest employee not lasting the week.

Personally, she really hoped Gabriella would stay the course. The farm needed extra seasonal workers for the harvest of early narcissi that bloomed in the mild climate at the start of September, long before any varieties on the mainland. Over the summer, the Godrevys also let out a few holiday chalets and there were also goats and a small beef herd that needed tending to. Thankfully, the farm animals were the domain of Jess’s mother, Anna, who left Jess and Will in charge of the flower growing and holiday business.

‘There’s our taxi and chauffeur.’ Jess pointed towards a very tall, well-built man in his mid-thirties who was leaning against a golf buggy, chatting to two elderly, but sprightly, sisters. They were all laughing and one of the ladies gave the man a hug.

‘Are they friends of yours?’ Gabriella asked, pulling her sunglasses over her eyes and peering at the group.

‘You could say that. That’s Una and Phyllis Barton who run a B&B on Gull Island. The driver’s Adam, my … um … boyfriend.’

Her toes curled at the description, because it sounded so teenage and she was way past that at thirty-five, but what else could she call Adam? They had been dating – and sleeping together – for six months now, although they’d known each other for almost two years. They weren’t living together yet, although Jess was pretty sure that the next step was imminent, given the heavy hints that Adam had been dropping about her moving in to his place.

Phyllis and Una roared with laughter at something Adam had said, and Una batted him coquettishly on the arm. Jess had often teased him that the Bartons were his personal fan club, but now she and Adam were a couple, he’d joked that only Jess would have him.

It wasn’t true. It was so not true. Adam had plenty of offers from both sexes, locals and tourists. No wonder. At six feet four, he stood out from the crowd in every way. His collar-length curly hair refused all attempts to be tamed into submission so he left it to the mercy of the elements. He was a year older than Jess and his lifestyle kept him in great shape. When he wasn’t lugging parcels around as postman or volunteering with the island’s part-time fire service, he was playing sport; rugby in the winter and rowing over the summer. Appearances could definitely be deceptive, thought Jess, sliding a glance at Gabriella again. Take Adam. No one wanted to face him in a scrum, but he was a big softy underneath.

‘I’ll pop round and give you a hand with the gate after fire training on Tuesday!’ Adam called after the Barton sisters. ‘Don’t miss your flights and have a good time on the mainland.’

‘Thanks, Adam!’

With a wave to Jess and curious glances at Gabriella, the Bartons scuttled off into the terminal, clutching identical tapestry bags. They’d doubtless be speculating about who the new arrival was all the way to Cornwall and back, thought Jess, but her attention was all for Adam. His tawny eyes lit up when he spotted her and her stomach did a little flip when he walked over and kissed her on the cheek.

He smiled at Gabriella. ‘You found her among the crowds trying to escape then?’ he said to Jess.