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Scones Away!
Cressida McLaughlin
Part Three of the charming new series from the author of The Canal Boat Cafe. Perfect for cake lovers and old-fashioned romantics!‘Captivating’ Heat Magazine‘Beautiful… heartwarming’ Zara Stoneley‘A wonderful ray of reading sunshine’ Heidi SwainCharlie’s toughest technical challenge yet…Now that Charlie’s Cornish Cream Tea bus has taken off, everything should be going swimmingly – the locals love her baking, Marmite adores getting his paws wet in the crystal-clear sea at Porthgolow beach, but Charlie has manged to get on the wrong side of the mercurial owner of The Porthgolow Hotel, Daniel Harper. He wants her to pack up her doillies and pastry cutters and take her bus elsewhere, but can Charlie convince him that they have just got off on the wrong foot and that her bus could be the start of something wonderful for the little village?
Copyright (#u8084d6d7-482f-5512-8259-8b08a1e57268)
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain in ebook format in 2019 by HarperCollinsPublishers
Copyright © Cressida McLaughlin 2019
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019.
Cover illustration © May Van Millingen
Cressida McLaughlin 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.
Ebook Edition © June 2019 ISBN: 9780008332167
Version: 2019-06-03
Table of Contents
Cover (#u95a3d79c-29b2-5683-9baf-b7ac39fbf5ad)
Title Page (#ubcc9d205-7628-5350-a889-46e9d0142499)
Copyright (#u94f146dd-4a8e-56b9-a23e-2372d76c6a56)
Part 3: Scones Away (#u85370cca-9659-5941-ad4a-f33a760cd6d7)
Chapter One (#u6246c872-7399-5d6f-b449-05881b5e6575)
Chapter Two (#ua930d693-9109-5441-af8d-fc145f001509)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading.… (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Cressida McLaughlin (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Part 3 (#u8084d6d7-482f-5512-8259-8b08a1e57268)
Scones Away (#u8084d6d7-482f-5512-8259-8b08a1e57268)
(#u8084d6d7-482f-5512-8259-8b08a1e57268)
Chapter One (#u8084d6d7-482f-5512-8259-8b08a1e57268)
From Charlie’s spot on Penzance Harbour, St Michael’s Mount was a regal, impressive structure. It sat above the sparkling blue water like a beacon while, around it, a summer mist gave everything a hazy, dreamlike quality. But inside The Cornish Cream Tea Bus, it was anything but dreamlike.
The tables were full, upstairs and down, and Charlie had spent a frantic morning putting scones in the oven, arranging mini Danish pastries – pains au chocolat, almond croissants and pecan plaits – on her cake stands to go with cups of strong black coffee or frothy cappuccinos. Penzance was much bigger than the quaint seaside village of Porthgolow, but she hadn’t anticipated quite how much attention her bus would get in the town.
There were people taking photos and peering in through the cab window and she’d had to start a waiting list for customers who, when she’d told them the bus was full, said they were happy to sit in the sunshine until a table became available.
Charlie had decided that, in order to promote her bus, and the weekly food markets she had started in Porthgolow, she was going to take Gertie to every town in Cornwall. If the others were even half as busy as this, then it would be worth it. She just wished she’d brought Juliette with her so she wasn’t running the bus by herself, but her best friend was at home, working on a marketing project, and had offered to look after Charlie’s Yorkipoo, Marmite, so he wasn’t stuck on board. It was the right decision, but Charlie missed having her little terror with her.
‘Oh my God, The Cornish Cream Tea Bus!’ squealed a voice. Charlie followed it to where a young couple was standing outside, the woman gazing up adoringly at the double-decker. ‘This is the one I was telling you about Matt, in Porthgolow? We have to go to their food market. Liz and Phil were there last weekend and said it was epic. Just swam and sunbathed and went back for more food whenever they felt like it.’
Charlie smiled to herself as she put her finger sandwiches on a tray and took them to a family sitting upstairs. They had asked for two traditional cream teas and two half-sized ones for their young children. Charlie hadn’t thought of doing a children’s cream tea until now, but she was going to add it to her repertoire.
‘If you need anything else,’ she said as she stood back from their table with a flourish, ‘just ring the bell.’ She pointed at the cord that ran around the edge of the bus. It was one of Gertie’s most popular features.
Running The Cornish Cream Tea Bus was a constant learning curve. There were always new possibilities to explore, certain elements needed to be changed or adapted, and ideas popped into her head on a daily basis. It was exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. When she went back downstairs, she added children’s cream teas to her ever-expanding to-do list.
She closed the bus once the sun had begun its descent, and made the long, winding journey back to Porthgolow, cutting over the lower half of the county, the glistening sea falling out of sight behind rolling green hills, the statuesque towers of wind farms like alien armies on the horizon. As she went, she got honks and waves.
She was getting used to it now, the number of people who noticed her on the roads, and every time she felt a surge of pride, sitting high up in the cab while drivers or cyclists gave her a cheery thumbs-up or sounded their horns. She thought about her uncle Hal, how wide his smile would be if he could see what she’d achieved. Maybe things weren’t perfect, but she was going in the right direction. No regrets, Charlie, he used to say. Keep moving forward.
For the most part, that was what she was doing. She knew that she had to learn from her mistakes to make any kind of progress, but what had happened last weekend, after the market had finished, had been playing on her mind ever since.
She approached Porthgolow from the south side, slowing her speed as she reached the area known as Crumbling Cliff. It was a sharp bend at the highest point above the village, with only a scrubby patch of grass between the road and the drop, which fell at least eighty feet to the promontory where Reenie’s little yellow hut sat, then the rocks and churning waves below that.
Ahead of her, beyond the bay of Porthgolow, on the opposite cliff, sat Crystal Waters. The place where, last week, she had allowed Daniel Harper to seduce her into his hot tub, ply her with champagne and kiss her. If she put it like that, she came out as an innocent party, totally at his mercy. But it hadn’t been like that at all.
She drove down the hill and parked Gertie in her spot on the hard-packed sand at the top of the beach. The sky was fading from blue to violet, the cloak of twilight settling over Porthgolow. Charlie breathed in the salty, seaside scent, and tried to move her thoughts away from Daniel. The village was quiet, with only a couple of cars in the car park, no sounds besides the churn of the waves and the occasional shout from the last family lingering on the beach. Myrtle’s pop-in was closed for the day but, next to it, the windows of the B&B were aglow.
Charlie’s gaze was drawn to the sea, as it so often was. She loved the way the light and the waves shifted in harmony with each other; still water mirrored by a placid sky, or a raging sea below racing, thunderous clouds. Out beyond the jetty, the lights were on inside the primrose-coloured cottage. As she watched, Reenie, now only a silhouette, emerged and stood at the edge of the rock. There was a flash, like the flicker of a torch beam, a wink of brightness piercing the dusk.
She stood there for several minutes, the light blinking intermittently. Then she went back inside her yellow house and stillness settled over Porthgolow. Jonah had said that Reenie was a mermaid communicating with her family beneath the waves. Charlie turned away from the sea, her mind racing. She wondered what Reenie was really doing out there.
The third Porthgolow Food Market got off to a good start and Charlie was both touched and relieved to see several locals wandering through the stands, shopping bags in hand, picking up fudge or sushi to take away with them, trying the tasters that the vendors put out to entice customers. Oliver was giving a group of women the full mixologist performance, juggling glasses and lemons and spinning shakers behind his back. The women were entranced, laughing and nudging each other, and it was clear that he was in his element.
‘It’s great, this,’ Amanda said, as she and Paul lifted Jem’s pushchair onto the bus, Jonah and Flora following. ‘I can’t believe the difference it’s making to the village. It’s like a brand-new place.’
‘On a Saturday, anyway,’ Jonah added, ever the realist.
‘Not true, my son.’ Paul ruffled his hair. ‘We’ve seen an increase in bookings during the week as well as on Saturdays. Charlie and her bus are getting Porthgolow’s name out there.’
‘I’m not the only one who’s working hard,’ Charlie said.
‘But you’re going out and promoting it.’ Amanda checked Jem was secure in her chair and smoothed Flora’s curls behind her ear. ‘I follow you on Instagram, and Penzance looked glorious yesterday.’
‘It was pretty busy,’ Charlie replied. ‘I felt as if I’d run a marathon by the time I got home.’ She’d forgotten that, by uploading everything on social media, people could see where she was at all times. She wondered if Daniel had watched her videos, made a mental note to check whether the Crystal Waters account appeared in her viewers’ list, and then immediately scrubbed it off her virtual to-do list. ‘What can I get you, anyway? No boats today?’
‘Later this afternoon,’ Paul said, ‘so we thought we’d squeeze in a cream tea to keep us going.’
‘And then we get burgers for dinner on the way home,’ Jonah added, peering at the sausage rolls laid out on the cooling racks. ‘It’s our Saturday tradition.’
‘Tradition?’ Charlie laughed. ‘It’s only been three weeks!’
‘It’s staying, though, right?’ Jonah asked, looking worried. ‘I can’t find a chicken burger with piri-piri sauce anywhere else, and Mum’s attempts are hopeless.’ He rolled his eyes dramatically.
‘Hey,’ Amanda said, laughing. ‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it, Jonah?’
‘Would you go back to our homemade ones after Benji’s blue cheeseburger?’ He pinned his mum with a stare.
Amanda grinned. ‘Not a chance. It’s definitely our new tradition.’
‘And you get on with Benji?’ Charlie asked. Out of everyone in Porthgolow, of course it would be Jonah who would make friends.
‘He’s going to show me how to make the perfect burger, as long as we don’t stop going to him. I tried to get him to tell me his piri-piri sauce recipe too, but apparently that’s a family secret.’
‘Everyone needs a USP,’ Paul said.
‘What’s ours, Dad?’ Jonah asked, sliding onto the bench next to him.
‘We’re the only boat trip that leaves from this beach, so we give a unique view of the Cornish coast to our visitors. And we’re right next to this, every Saturday.’ He gestured out of the window, where the market was in full swing.
Charlie wished Bea could see what she’d achieved – and maybe even Stuart. Irritation flashed through her at the thought of him, there and then gone. But, even though he was almost out of her system, his betrayal had made her wary. He was being replaced in her thoughts by someone else, but she just wasn’t sure exactly what that person was offering, or if she was ready to accept it.
The bus emptied out after tea time and Charlie was clearing the empty tables on the upper deck when she looked up to find three burly, bearded men standing at the top of the stairs. ‘Room for some little ones?’ asked the tallest of the three.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Come and sit down, browse the menu and I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.’
Charlie watched as they took instrument cases off their shoulders and laid them carefully on an empty seat.
‘Have you come to perform on the beach?’ she asked. ‘I’m Charlie, I organized the food market, so …’
‘Charlie, hello! Hugh has told us so much about you.’ The man’s blue eyes shone out above his curly beard. ‘I’m Silas, this is Artem and that’s Ken. Along with Hugh we make up the Cornwall Cornflowers. We weren’t planning on playing, but we could always be persuaded.’
‘Oh, sorry – it’s just that you’ve got your instruments.’
‘Band rehearsal,’ Artem said. ‘We’re off to Hugh’s after this. We’re performing in the pub at the end of the month. One of the villagers has a big birthday, apparently. Hugh said we should come and sample your famous cream teas first.’
‘I’m so glad you’ve come,’ Charlie replied. ‘You don’t know which villager it is, do you? I’ve only been here a few months, so I’m still getting to know everyone.’
‘Someone called Myrtle,’ said Ken. ‘We’ve not met her, but she’s into the traditional folk songs, so Hugh’s arranged a party in the pub and we’re going to be the musical entertainment.’
‘It sounds wonderful. I’d love to hear you play sometime.’
‘Come to the party,’ Silas said. ‘I’m sure Myrtle will want the whole village there.’
‘I’ll see what Hugh thinks. Have a look at the menu and I’ll be back in a moment to take your order.’ Charlie left them to it. She wasn’t sure she’d be welcome at Myrtle’s birthday celebrations, though she wondered if, in time, the older woman could come to see Gertie and the food markets as one of the local traditions. The Kerrs were already planning their day around it, and it seemed that, despite what some of the more stalwart villagers might think, the Porthgolow food market was starting to put down roots.
The following Thursday, Charlie lay in bed watching light patterns dance on the ceiling, Marmite snoozing quietly on her feet. She had another morning in the bus and then she was spending the afternoon with Oliver, Juliette offering to cover for her while she took some time off.
They walked down the hill in bright sunshine, Charlie mesmerized by the glittering sea, so still and calm, the deep turquoise of Caribbean waters. She didn’t realize something was wrong until Juliette’s arm-tugging became painful.
‘What’s—’ she started, then her voice disappeared.
Down on the beach, next to where Gertie stood resplendent in the sun, was what looked like a load of cross-legged people, all as still as statues.
‘What the hell?’ she whispered. ‘Is this some kind of bizarre art installation? Are those sculptures?’
‘Not sculptures,’ Juliette said, ‘yogis.’
‘What?’ Charlie rubbed her eyes and looked again. Juliette was right. There were about twenty people sitting perfectly still, wearing leggings and vests or shorts and T-shirts, all facing out to sea. Beneath each person was a brightly coloured mat.
‘It’s a yoga class,’ Juliette said, picking up her pace. ‘I’ve never seen one in Porthgolow before. What’s going on?’
‘I have no idea,’ Charlie said, her pulse returning to normal when she realized it was two days until her next market so they wouldn’t get in the way of the food trucks. She realised that, in a short space of time, she had come to think of Porthgolow’s beach as hers – at least on a Saturday. She knew she shouldn’t be so possessive, but she couldn’t help it.
‘Let’s go and find out.’ Juliette grinned and Charlie followed her friend onto the sand.
They waited for a break in the class and introduced themselves to the instructor, who was called Belle and looked like a young Cindy Crawford. The class was called Yoga by the Sea, Belle told them, and it was a popular pursuit in other countries, but rarely happened in the UK due to the unpredictable climate. The current warm weather had made it possible.
‘How did you find out about Porthgolow?’ Juliette asked Belle, whose perfect figure was sculpted into a sea-blue leotard and fuchsia leggings. ‘I had no idea you were coming and I check for new yoga events in Cornwall all the time – especially close to here.’
‘Oh, my husband and I stayed up at Crystal Waters a few weeks ago. We got chatting to the owner about Porthgolow and yoga, and this seemed like the perfect spot to try it out.’
