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

She’d call her parents shortly to let them know she was here and absolutely fine . She might even call Carly, if she could track her down between her high-powered job in the City, and her personal training appointments, yoga and mindfulness classes.

Gaby shouldn’t be too harsh. Throwing herself even more crazily into her job had been Carly’s way of coping with Stevie’s accident and the agonising decision that the Carter family had been faced with four weeks later. Carly had decided to leave no space or time for grieving, and Gaby had decided to run away from it.

She didn’t just have her own grief to deal with. She was worried how her parents would be able to cope with the loss of a son at only twenty-one. She phoned and Skyped them regularly and intended to go home over Christmas. In the midst of their grief, the one thing they’d been adamant about was that Carly and Gaby should get on with their lives. After Stevie had passed away, her mother and father had virtually pushed them out of the door insisting that their daughters should ‘make the most of every minute’.

Had they really meant it, thought Gaby, gazing around this strange little room on a tiny island where at least two of the inhabitants – Frosty Will and Scary Len – were hardly delighted to see her. Was flying out here to work on a flower farm ‘making the most of every minute’ or just a way to hide from pain that would resurface again at any moment? She wished she could fix her grief and sorrow as easily – and miraculously – as the water pump. She was sure things wouldn’t run so smoothly in the weeks to come, from any point of view.

Gaby’s gaze lingered on the photo of Stevie again. The only personal touch in that bare little room so far from home. It lingered that bit too long and she had to squeeze her eyes hard as the tears stung the back of them.

She mustn’t get homesick or maudlin when she’d only been here ten minutes. She wasn’t a snivelling postgraduate any more: she’d chosen to come here. Stevie would be rolling his eyes and telling her to grow a pair.

‘Everything up to scratch?’

Gaby swung round at the sound of a gruff voice.

‘Mr Godrevy. Sorry – Will. Yes, I’m just trying to find room for all my stuff.’

Was that a flicker of amusement as he took in the few possessions?

‘It’s not Buckingham Palace, but we’re planning to do up the entire staff house next season, so I hope you can manage for now,’ he said, returning to saturnine mode. ‘Not that it’s any help, since you’re only here for a short while.’

‘It’s better than a lot of places I’ve stayed in. I know I’m fortunate to get somewhere to stay on site,’ she said, surprised that he felt the need to apologise for the standard of decor. ‘And besides, I approve of recycling.’

‘Good job.’ Will took a sudden interest in the rickety bedside table with its short leg. ‘Anyway, I was passing by and I wanted to say thanks for the tip about the pump and I er … thought I’d mention if there’s anything you need, let us know and we’ll do our best. The basics we can probably do, the Earl Grey and the gluten-free sponge might take a little longer.’

Oh my God, thought Gaby, was that an actual smile making his eyes crinkle at the corners? His actually rather gorgeous eyes … His dirt-streaked jeans were still tucked into the muddy indigo Hunters and it was hard not to giggle because Gaby thought she was one of the few people who could find a man in wellies sexy. He looked a few years older than her, his hair was tousled and his eyebrows could do with a bit of a trim, but she had a feeling he might scrub up pretty well. Very well – she could imagine him in black tie at a college ball … though he’d probably rather wear a clown outfit and stick a feather up his bottom, she thought and had to suppress an actual snort.

In fact, if he wasn’t such a sarcastic git with no charm or people skills, Will Godrevy would do nicely as a younger hot presenter of Countryfile or Gardening Today , two programmes she still secretly caught up with on iPlayer. Come to think of it, this place had better have decent wi-fi or she really would go mad. Dare she ask Will?

He glared at her.

OK. Perhaps not right now.

He gave a sort of humph that could have meant anything from ‘get lost’ to ‘hope you have a lovely stay’, shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and gave the room a glance.

‘Jess has shown you where the bathrooms are, I take it?’

‘Yes, and the kitchen and um … common room. Very practical.’

‘That’s one way of putting it. Is that your family?’ He inclined his head towards the photo.

‘Yes.’

‘Hmm.’

And? And? What the hell did ‘hmm’ mean?

‘Long way from Cambridge, aren’t we?’ he said.

Gaby’s hackles rose. ‘Three hundred and twenty miles, actually. That’s as the crow flies.’

His brow furrowed. ‘That’s not what I meant. I meant that this place is different to what you’re used to. A big change.’

‘That’s why I’m here,’ said Gaby firmly, determined not to show a moment’s weakness.

He exchanged a glance with her, very like the one they’d shared when she’d teased him about his buns. This one lasted slightly longer but had the same effect: giving her a prickly sensation that was both pleasurable and a little bit worrying.

He glanced away first though. Re-sult .

‘Right. I’ll leave you to it,’ he said, taking a strong interest in the tassels on her bedside lamp for some reason. ‘Oh. I’ve remembered the reason I wanted to pop in in the first place. I don’t know if Jess told you. Training starts tomorrow. Seven-thirty sharp at the packing shed. Len will show you the ropes and we’ll see how you shape up.’ He smiled encouragingly as if he regretted his choice of words. ‘I’m sure you’ll be OK with the right training, is what I meant. We’ll give you plenty of support.’

‘Sounds terribly exciting. I can’t wait.’ She tried to keep the edge of sarcasm out of her voice and failed miserably.

Damn Will Godrevy, how dare he come in here being nice to her – because he was trying to be nice in his own blunt way, she was convinced. Whereas she was acting defensive because she was tired and suddenly horribly afraid she had , in fact, made a huge mistake in running away to this outpost where no one gave a monkey’s that she had a PhD in poetry and only cared if she could pick a daffodil correctly.

‘Exciting?’ He gave the kind of tiny smug smile people do when they think they know some great truth about the world that you clearly don’t and wait until you do … ‘That’s one way of describing Len’s training. I expect Jess’ll be back later to see how you’re getting on and you’ll get to know everyone in the common room tonight. Enjoy yourself. See you tomorrow.’

Enjoy yourself? Gaby picked up the photo and sighed, then pushed up the corners of her mouth with her fingers. She was here. She knew what he was thinking, what they were all thinking: Grouchy Will, Scary Len, Gentle Giant Adam and even kind-hearted Jess. Despite fixing the pump, they all thought she was an airy-fairy flake and that she’d crumble within five minutes.

Gaby ran her finger over Stevie’s face. ‘And, Stevie, forgive me, but I may well do exactly that.’

After showing Gaby to her room, Jess was waylaid by Len to deal with a problem with the flower refrigeration room. Adam came to help her and when it was sorted they found Will in his office, tapping away furiously at the desktop computer and muttering curses.

‘I decided to reorder some cardboard boxes because we’re running low, but the order site keeps throwing me into a loop. Every time I think I’ve cracked it, I get thrown off the site and have to do it all again. I should be down at the quay now, helping to unload a new load of packing materials. And please don’t mention it’s a bank holiday.’ He lifted his hands from the keyboard and sat back in disgust.