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

‘Of course. Gabriella Carter, meet Adam Pengelly.’

Adam held out a large hand. ‘Welcome to Scilly. There’s no getting away from us now.’

Jess laughed. ‘Not without digging a tunnel to Land’s End.’

‘Or Canada if you want to head in the other direction,’ said Adam as Gabriella took his hand gingerly.

‘But I’m sure you won’t want to do that,’ Jess added hastily, not entirely sure it was true, judging by the doubt in her new recruit’s eyes. She had a feeling that if you’d given Gabriella a spade she’d have started digging right there, but then again, if she couldn’t get used to a bit of banter and teasing, she wouldn’t last five minutes in the close-knit farm team.

Gabriella peered up into Adam’s face. He was at least a foot taller than her and built like the semi-professional rugby player he used to be before he’d moved to Scilly from his native Cumbria. Jess bit her lip, trying not to laugh at the apprehension in Gabriella’s eyes. That imposing physique and height must have been quite intimidating to strangers.

‘Off we go then. Can I help with your bags, Gabriella?’ Adam offered.

‘Thanks … and please, just “Gaby” is absolutely fine. Only my granny ever calls me Gabriella. It’s such a mouthful, isn’t it?’ She smiled again, which lit up her expressive eyes, but there was a touch of steel in her voice that took Jess by surprise. Maybe she might last a month rather than a week.

‘Gaby, it is then,’ said Adam. ‘Your carriage awaits.’

Gaby stared at the golf buggy as if it were a toy car. Maybe she’d been expecting a Rolls-Royce.

Adam grinned. ‘It’s safe … Ish.’

Jess batted Adam on the arm and he mimed an ‘ow’.

‘Ignore him. It’s totally safe. We don’t keep a van on the main island because we’ve no use for it and we use a local firm to collect the flowers from the quay to bring them to the airport. We borrow this buggy off a friend to get around St Mary’s when we need to. You’ll see lots of them about. Lots of tourists use them if they can’t or don’t want to do too much walking.’

‘Jump in,’ said Adam. He picked up Gaby’s case as if it were a handbag and slotted it next to her in the rear of the buggy.

Jess climbed into the front next to him.

‘Hold on tight. The roads are busy,’ said Adam as they drove the buggy down the hill towards the quay. There were about two cars in sight.

‘Will it take long to get to the harbour?’ Gaby asked.

‘Five minutes tops, unless there’s a traffic jam at the quay,’ Adam replied.

‘He’s joking, but it could be busy as the Islander ferry has just docked,’ said Jess. ‘How are the Bartons?’ she asked Adam as he steered the buggy around a large pothole.

‘The ladies are fine, but their guesthouse is in a bit of a state. I just offered to lend them a hand repairing the garden gate. The sheep keep getting into the allotment patch and scoffing the produce. I can fit it in after fire training on Tuesday.’

This was typical of Adam. He’d help anyone and put himself out in the process. He had no ego and although he was sociable with his mates and customers, he was also shy around women. Jess liked him all the more for that even if it meant that it had been over a year after they’d first met before they’d finally got together on a ‘date’.

Adam had asked her to go with him to a folk night at the Gannet pub on St Saviour’s at the start of the summer and, since then, Jess didn’t think she’d ever been happier. She helped to run a thriving business and lived in one of the most beautiful places on earth. Of course, she didn’t need a man to make her life complete, but meeting Adam had unveiled a new layer of joy. It wasn’t easy meeting people in a small, isolated community, and finding someone who she’d clicked with so perfectly was wonderful.

‘This is the Oxford Street of Scilly,’ Jess joked to Gaby when the buggy entered the top of Hugh Street, which was lined with shops, cafés, pubs and the isles’ only supermarket.

Gaby checked out the granite cottages and quaint shopfronts. ‘Oh. I see. Is this where I’ll find all the bars and clubs or are they on St Saviour’s?’

Jess exchanged a quick glance with Adam. He was stunned into silence. Jess cleared her throat, wondering how to reply. She turned around, trying to sound calm and positive, while thinking it might be kinder to turn the buggy back now and put Gaby straight on a plane home.

‘Um. There are a couple of pubs here and it can get quite lively during the gig rowing championships or if we have stag parties from Penzance over for the weekend. As for St Saviour’s, that has a pub and a smart hotel and we sometimes have nights out on the other islands, but there aren’t any actual clubs.’

‘Oh. I see …’ Gaby pulled a face. Then suddenly she let out a giggle. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. That was naughty of me. I’m joking. I came here for a quiet life.’

Relief flooded through Jess, combined with surprise at being taken in. Yes, there was definitely a steely side to Gaby Carter.

‘Oh, you’ll get that … after work, anyway. We’ll keep you occupied during the day.’ Very occupied , thought Jess. Late summer through to Christmas and beyond to Easter was by far the busiest time of the year at the flower farm. While frosts and festive mayhem took hold on the mainland, the farm’s packing shed would be also manic as they picked, sorted and sent millions of narcissi to bring golden light into the dark nights of people throughout the rest of Britain.

The buggy rattled over the cobbles onto the quayside, which was packed with tourists piling onto the ‘tripper’ boats that were moored two and three abreast. As usual, there was organised chaos as visitors clambered down the steps, asking if they’d got the right boat and climbing over vessels to get to the one they needed.

At the end of the stone quay, more passengers collected luggage and kayaks from the Islander ferry that made its daily round trip from Penzance between March and November. It dwarfed the open tripper boats, jet boats and yachts bobbing about in the harbour on the high tide.

‘We’re down here,’ said Jess, heading for the steps that led to the pontoons where the Godrevys’ motorboat, Kerensa, was moored alongside the floating rafts.

‘I’ll park the buggy while you get aboard. I’ll bring the bags,’ said Adam.

Jess took Gaby down the steps and along the pontoon. Gaby didn’t seem very happy with the wobbly surface.

‘You’ll soon get used to all of this,’ Jess said reassuringly. ‘We live and breathe boats here.’

Gaby nodded, but she didn’t seem too sure at all. ‘ Kerensa . That’s a lovely name.’

‘It’s Cornish for love,’ said Jess, jumping deftly onto the boat.

She held out a hand to help Gaby, who climbed aboard more gingerly.

Adam was soon back, handing over Gaby’s case and some shopping from the Co-op. He untied the boat and Jess manoeuvred it away from the pontoon and between the smaller craft.

As they skirted the hull of the Islander, Gaby stared up at its crew who were unloading freight and getting it ready for its return journey to Penzance. Even as they passed it, she gazed at the ferry as if she was saying goodbye to an old friend.

‘Does the ferry come every day?’ she asked.

‘Every day throughout the summer except Sundays,’ said Jess. ‘But when winter comes, we only get the supply boat a few times a week.’

‘If we’re lucky,’ said Adam cheerfully.

Gaby gave a weak smile. ‘Oh.’

The little boat puttered out of the harbour and into the lagoon that separated St Saviour’s and the other isles from St Mary’s. Jess had been brought up around boats since before she could walk but she still had to concentrate on keeping Kerensa within the channel markers. The water was so shallow between the isles, there were even rare occasions when you could wade between St Mary’s and St Saviour’s, though Gaby was unlikely to be on Scilly long enough to witness one of those. She sat in the stern, her strawberry blonde ponytail streaming behind her in the breeze and her dark glasses hiding her eyes. Jess noted the way she gripped the edge of the seat with one hand, and kept the other firmly on the rail of the boat.