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Summer at the Cornish Cafe: The perfect summer romance for 2018
Phillipa Ashley
One summer can change everything . . .Recommended for readers who loved Summer at Shell Cottage, The Cornish House, Tremarnock and Poldark.“Warm and funny and feel-good. The best sort of holiday read.” Katie Fforde"Filled with warm and likeable characters. Great fun!" Jill MansellDemi doesn’t expect her summer in Cornwall to hold anything out of the ordinary. As a waitress, working all hours to make ends meet, washing dishes and serving ice creams seems to be as exciting as the holiday season is about to get.That’s until she meets Cal Penwith. An outsider, like herself, Cal is persuaded to let Demi help him renovate his holiday resort, Kilhallon Park. Set above an idyllic Cornish cove, the once popular destination for tourists has now gone to rack and ruin. During the course of the Cornish summer, Demi makes new friends – and foes – as she helps the dashing and often infuriating Cal in his quest. Working side by side, the pair grow close, but Cal has complications in his past which make Demi wonder if he could ever truly be interested in her.Demi realises that she has finally found a place she can call home. But as the summer draws to a close, and Demi’s own reputation as an up and coming café owner starts to spread, she is faced with a tough decision . . .A gorgeous story exploring new beginnings, new love and new opportunities, set against the stunning background of the Cornish coast. Phillipa Ashley has written a feisty, compelling heroine who leaps off the page and encourages you to live your summer to the full.Recommended for readers who loved Summer at Shell Cottage, The Cornish House, Tremarnock and Poldark.
PHILLIPA ASHLEY
Summer at The Cornish Cafe
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www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Published by Avon
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www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2016
Copyright © Phillipa Ashley 2016
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.
E-book Edition © May 2016 ISBN: 9780008191856
Version 2018-05-10
For Rowena Kincaid,
One of a kind
Never give up, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.
Harriet Beecher Stowe
Table of Contents
Cover (#ua25c685d-2d60-5ff5-9213-4f1569a91a34)
Title Page (#ua049e4f8-07d6-5b93-8cd7-75fd789ed8cd)
Copyright (#u43175327-662a-5b14-8257-d591c6288e93)
Dedication (#uee079551-0b5a-5309-9a88-8c641a1d5559)
Epigraph (#u82f91b20-9993-52a6-9fd7-796fcbf9d836)
Prologue (#u290bf3f9-e9be-5962-ae18-942716e0c7ad)
Chapter One (#u42796341-41a0-56f0-881c-6564d2d4252a)
Chapter Two (#u0583b1fd-9287-579e-b9c7-07fc9aaa45a0)
Chapter Three (#ucf5bdf2d-f98a-5d4b-bfc2-67b224cf6d79)
Chapter Four (#ue7059d78-deb0-587a-8319-5b450b997fa0)
Chapter Five (#u9ee8b7c0-e308-58d6-bce5-0e13bae63e7a)
Chapter Six (#u7d8e0865-b909-5549-9050-ae34abc9b91c)
Chapter Seven (#u84279501-34a3-5dda-b419-406178c166fd)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Demi’s Recipe Notebook (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
Demi and Cal’s Love Story Continues … (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#u5b913991-420b-5a29-95b8-e116d3e20190)
‘Good morning, good people of Kernow! This is your favourite local DJ, Greg Stennack, coming to you live and kicking from The Breakfast Show on Radio St Trenyan. So wakey wakey all you lazy folk still snoring under your duvets! The sun’s shining, the surf’s up and it’s a fabulous start to the Easter weekend. Whether you’re a local or a visitor to our bee-yoo-tiful corner of West Cornwall, remember to stay tuned to the county’s brightest and best independent radio station for the coolest sounds, the hottest news and the tastiest commercials from our station sponsors: Hayleigh’s Pasty Shack. Now, let’s kick off the show with ‘Happy’ by Pharrell. Take it away, Pha—’
After emerging from a nightmare in which a giant pasty was attacking me, I find the ‘off’ button on the radio alarm and cut Greg off in his prime. It’s actually a shame to cut off Pharrell too, but I need to get up, have a shower and get ready for work. I can already hear my boss, Sheila, singing along to the radio in the kitchen of the cafe, two floors below my attic room, even though it’s only six a.m.
Did I say six? With a groan, I pull the duvet over my head again but a wet nose nudges its way under the bottom edge and a warm tongue licks my big toe. It’s not only Greg who wants me to wakey wakey.
‘OK, boy. I hadn’t forgotten about you,’ I mumble through the cover.
My dog, Mitch, clearly doesn’t believe me and I let out an ‘oof’ as four paws land on the middle of my stomach.
I throw off the duvet to find a hairy muzzle in my face and a waft of early-morning doggy breath in my nostrils.
‘Eww, Mitch. What did you eat last night? OK. OK. I am getting up!’
After gently pushing Mitch off me, I drag myself out of bed, and cross to the skylight in the roof of the attic. Standing on tiptoes, I tug back the blue gingham curtain, push the skylight open a crack and peep outside. My eyes blink at the dazzling brightness. Although it’s still early, the sky above the little seaside village of St Trenyan is already postcard blue and I can almost taste the salt on the air. A tractor chugs up and down the beach opposite the cafe where I started work a few weeks ago, raking the sand ready for the deckchairs to be laid out.
The masts of boats bob up and down in the harbour at the far side of the beach. A few people are already up, jogging along the flat sand or flinging balls into the sea for their dogs. As the breeze carries the rattle of the tractor and snatches of distant barks through the window, Mitch yips excitedly. I take a deep gulp of the air and close the window. It’s Easter: the turn of the tide, a fresh day and the start of a new summer.
I wonder what this one will bring.
CHAPTER ONE (#u5b913991-420b-5a29-95b8-e116d3e20190)
You can always spot the customers who are going to be trouble, no matter how hard you try to please them, but as I grab my notebook ready to take his order, I know that the man at table sixteen won’t be one of them.
Crammed in a corner under the kitchen extractor fan, that table has a wonky leg and most people only take it as a last resort, but I saw the guy head straight for it, even though there were other seats with better views at the time.
Sheila’s Beach Hut has the best spot of any cafe in St Trenyan, but he might as well be back in some trendy London espresso bar. He pores over an article in TheTimes, oblivious to the clotted-cream sand or the turquoise sea with its frilly wavelets or the holidaymakers, of all shapes, ages and sizes, sunbathing and playing cricket on the beach in front of the cafe. The water’s too cold even for a paddle this early in the year, but there are some hardy surfers at the far end of the beach, catching the bigger breakers. The Surf School has pushed out its racks of wetsuits and yellow foam boards, and set up its sign, promising to teach anyone to ride a wave in a two-hour lesson. Like, yeah. I’ve lived in Cornwall all my life and I’ve never managed it so far.
I flip over my notebook, pen poised. ‘Can I take your order, sir?’
‘Hmm …’
‘May I get you something, sir?’
‘Double espresso,’ he mutters, without even glancing up from the article in the newspaper. It’s in the features section and there’s a picture of a glamorous blonde standing behind a camera on a film set. Perhaps he’s not so highbrow after all?
‘Anything else with that? Toastie? Cake? We also have some homemade blueberry muffins.’
‘Just the coffee,’ he growls and suddenly flips over the page to the book review section.
OK. Fine if you don’t want one of the delicious muffins that I baked this morning, I think. ‘Coming up, sir.’
‘There’s no need to call me sir,’ he says, then adds a gruff, ‘Thanks.’
I could tell him that he’s nothing special and that I say the same to all the male customers, from twenty-five to ninety-five and anyway, I’ve seen his type before. Though I can’t see his face properly, his arms and hands are deeply tanned, even after the winter. His khaki sweatshirt hangs off his lean body and his black beanie hat is pulled over his ears, though the sun is beating down. Typical surfing wannabe, probably on a gap yah from his job in the City. Probably flew straight to Cornwall from Bondi Beach or a French alpine resort. Probably has his skis and surf board in the boot of his 4x4 on the drive of his parents’ holiday home in Rock. Not that I’m judgemental, much.
Feeling as hot as the pasties in my white shirt and black trousers, I weave my way onto the terrace. Every table, inside and out, is now taken, and people are even perched on the wall overlooking St Trenyan beach. As well as its fantastic views and Sheila’s famous pasties, the Beach Hut has an easygoing atmosphere that makes it a popular spot for surfers, families and dog owners alike.
‘Hey, you there!’
