Daisy James - There’s Something About Cornwall

‘Come on, Em, you have to admit it sounds like a lot of fun. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to get away from the frazzle of London and plan the next stage of your life. Take the time to really think about when you’re going to launch your own photography business. If you do this shoot on Lucinda Loves… it’ll be a massive boost for your portfolio. You’ll have clients hammering down your door to work with you, maybe even famous ones.’

‘Or to look at it another way, if it all goes pear-shaped – and there’s a better than fifty per cent chance it will from what Suzie said – I’ll be flushing my whole career down the toilet!’

‘So, you prefer to play it safe, is that what you’re saying? Nothing exciting ever happened by playing it safe! Okay so Brad won the star prize this time but you’ve got the chance of a fabulous consolation prize.’

Emilie opened her mouth to bat back an indignant response but Alice was on a roll.

‘It’s just the excuse you need to banish the whole Brad fiasco from your befuddled mind. Get some distance.’

‘We have distance! Have you forgotten already that he’s probably, as we speak, soaking up the atmosphere in St Mark’s Square whilst sipping an ice-cold Bellini in Harry’s Bar?’

Alice ignored her. ‘Keep reading.’

‘“This time it’s Lucinda Loves…Desserts, so there’ll be a cornucopia of cake, a tower of tarts and a plethora of pastries.”’ Then there’s a whole list of cakes and biscuits and pies. What the hell is Figgy ’Obbin?’

‘Mmm, I can feel the drool forming already.’ Alice paused, and softened her voice. ‘You have to do this, Em. It’s time to work on building your confidence. You are an awesome photographer and getting away from Brad’s influence will help you realise that.’

Emilie knew Alice had a point. Not only had she ended her relationship with Brad after discovering his dalliance with a lingerie model whilst on a shoot in Barcelona the previous month, but she had also recently found out that he had been bad-mouthing her to Dexter, and several of her clients, forcing her to work even harder to prove her worth. Whilst she was devastated at Brad’s disloyalty and missed him greatly, his disparaging remarks to her boss about her creative talent had hurt her the most.

How could he have said those things when they had been planning to go freelance together? She had thought he was proud of her achievements, appreciated what she brought to their professional partnership, believed that they made an awesome team. In fact, he had told her so on frequent occasions.

Clearly Brad had been lying to her about that too, and whilst the numerous awards on her office shelf should reassure her she was good at what she did, she wasn’t sure that without Brad by her side she could continue with her dream of going solo. She shoved those demons into the crevices of her mind for later dissection and moved on to present to Alice another argument for the defence.

‘But it’s two whole weeks away from home! And how am I expected to travel around Cornwall via…’ she grabbed the sheaf of paper containing the schedule from the floor, shoving her copper waves over the crown of her head ‘…via nine…yes, nine venues? You know I don’t drive.’

‘You will be working alongside the indomitable photo stylist Alice Jenkins – I hear she’s great fun! No, seriously, I have all that sorted. I’m your designated driver. And…remember, it is Cornwall we’re talking about here. There’s bound to be a battalion of hunky surfing guys just waiting to whisk us away to their beach parties and barbeques…’

‘It’s the end of September, Alice; the surfing season is probably over.’

‘So they’ll be celebrating the end of the season! Oooo, all those rippling bronzed torsos. All that long golden hair bleached by the summer sun, all their…’

‘Okay, okay,’ Emilie interrupted with a laugh to prevent any further lyrical pronouncements. ‘Calm down! It won’t do you any good drooling over a bunch of imaginary surfing dudes, gorgeous as they sound.’

‘So, it’s a yes, then?’

Emilie straightened her shoulders. Why should Brad have all the fun? And Cornwall was just as photogenic as Venice, if not more so, not to mention the spasm of nostalgia that had shot through her veins as she remembered childhood holidays spent on its windswept beaches. It would also prove to Dexter, and to herself, that she could do a shoot of this importance on her own and do it well.

‘It’s a yes! Actually, if I’m asked to photograph another precious five-year-old in a Disney princess outfit I think I’ll throw myself off the castle turret!’

‘Excellent!’

Emilie knew Alice had punched the air. She had heard the silver charm bracelet, laden with meaningful charms Alice had collected over the years, jangling at her wrist. A curl of excitement, mingled with nervous anticipation, meandered through Emilie’s chest. Was she really up to the challenge? She wasn’t entirely sure, but Alice was her friend and the most obsessively organised person she had ever encountered. Every detail of their two-week itinerary would have been meticulously planned, every recipe carefully co-ordinated with its backdrop. Even if she was struggling to recover her own self-belief, she had the utmost confidence in Alice’s talent as a photo stylist extraordinaire.

‘Watch out, Newquay, here come Alice Jenkins and Emilie Jane Roberts!’

‘The first shoot is in Padstow actually.’ Alice laughed. ‘Mmm, all that yummy seafood. I can’t wait. Hey, it’s just as well it’s not a Lucinda Loves…Seafood gig, isn’t it? I’m not sure Lucinda is the kind of chef who understands picky eaters like you. I think she’d spontaneously combust if you refused to taste her creations.’

‘What? You think I’ll have to eat what she bakes as well as photograph it? I’ve never been asked to do that before. I’ll look like a flabby elephant by the time I arrive in Penzance to shoot their…erm…Cornish Yarg Soufflés!’

‘I don’t know. I’m just saying Lucinda could interpret your refusal as disapproval of her recipes and if there’s one thing Lucinda is not good at it’s taking criticism, constructive or otherwise.’

‘Anyway, who’s labelled me as a picky eater?’ Emilie laughed again, her spirits rising as she anticipated spending the next two weeks in Alice’s exuberant company – a friend whose special brand of cheerfulness in the face of any culinary disaster would be like spreading hot chocolate ganache on her wounded heart.

‘Me! I don’t know anyone who can live on coffee and crisps and still look as gorgeous as you do. There’s a whole kaleidoscope of delicious recipes out there and for God’s sake, you photograph them every day! You allow cookery book readers to feast with their eyes on the images you create, to drool over whatever cuisine you’re shooting as they anticipate what they might produce themselves in their own kitchens, and you don’t want to eat it? You’re crazy!’

‘It’s precisely because the food is in my face every day that I’m selective in my tastes – that’s all. Anyway, I love desserts so that’s not going to be a problem. Lucinda can force-feed me scones oozing with jam and Cornish clotted cream as much as she likes.’

Alice giggled. ‘I can so just see Lucinda Carlton-Rose rubbing a cream scone in your face like a custard tart. Actually, that’s not as far-fetched as it sounds.’

‘Why? What do you mean?’

‘Oh, nothing…’

‘Alice?’

‘Well, one of the reasons I couldn’t get anyone else to do this shoot is that Lucinda threw a whole Mango and Apricot Pavlova at Rick, the lead photographer on the Lucinda Loves…Fruit shoot, after he inadvertently trampled on a box of her ripened mangoes. It was like being in the audience at a circus performance. I didn’t know whether to applaud from the sidelines or rush over and offer Rick a towel!’