The Cornish Cream Tea Wedding

‘It doesn’t always matter how much you’ve been driving her, or how hot the weather is,’ he said. ‘Usually, it’s something wrong with the cooling system. A leak, maybe.’ He rolled up his sleeves, treating Ellie to a view of tanned forearms. He leaned towards the engine without another word, and she stood back against the hedge, giving him space.

‘You seem quite comfortable under the bonnet,’ she commented, glancing at her watch. She hated being late for things. She’d left herself plenty of time between her meeting at Crystal Waters and welcoming her new tenant to Cornflower Cottage, but she had no idea how long this was going to take, and she still felt on edge.

He gave a low chuckle. ‘You could say that.’ She waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t, so Ellie turned away, examining the hedgerow behind her instead of the man leaning over her car.

‘You’ve got a leak in the cooling system,’ he said, standing up straight and turning to face her. He didn’t seem remotely smug that he’d diagnosed her problem before even looking at the engine.

‘Is that bad?’ she asked.

He tipped his head on one side. ‘It’ll keep overheating until it’s fixed, but it’s a fairly simple job.’

‘And can I drive it to the garage? Or do I need a tow?’ She smoothed a hand over her hair. This day was not getting better. ‘I need to be somewhere in twenty minutes, and I really don’t want to be late.’

‘She’ll cool down in about half an hour,’ the man said, giving Florence another pat, as if the car was a much-loved Labrador. ‘But I could mend her for you, if you like? I’m moving into my new place today, and it’s not far from here. As long as there’s room to park her up once I can get her going again, I’ll have her sorted for you in no time.’

‘You’d do that?’ Ellie asked, his words flashing warning bells in her mind.

The man nodded and wiped his – now grease-covered – hands down his jeans. ‘Sure.’

‘And you’re moving today? To a new house?’ She supposed it wasn’t that much of a coincidence, considering he would need to go down this road to get to Cornflower Cottage.

‘A rented place,’ he said. ‘I’ve fallen on my feet, really. It’s ideal. Though I’ve not actually seen it in person yet, which I suppose isn’t the usual way of doing things.’

Ellie nodded, wondering how often he rubbed his dirty hands on his clothes. She thought of the biscuit-coloured sofas in the front room of Cornflower Cottage; the light, neutral furnishings that always inspired a sense of calm, except when they got marks on them.

‘You didn’t have time, and were happy to take it on spec,’ she said, remembering his words from their email exchange. ‘And I had your references, I knew that you were a mechanic with regular work, and was prepared to accept on those terms.’ She exhaled. ‘So you’re Jago Carne, then.’ This was her new tenant: Twinkly green eyes, the epitome of laid-back scruffiness.

For the first time since he’d approached her car, he looked alarmed, his brows shooting up towards his hairline. He was cartoon-character startled, and Ellie would have laughed if this whole situation, her entire morning, hadn’t been so emotionally stressful.

‘I’m Elowen Moon,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘Ellie. I own Cornflower Cottage.’

His brows lowered and creased, and then he grinned at her, and she got the full effect of the smile lines round his eyes. ‘You’re my landlady,’ he said. ‘Great.’ He clasped her hand with his own. It was large and warm and strong and, despite his attempt to clear the engine grease off, not entirely clean.

Ellie nodded in the affirmative, but she wasn’t sure ‘great’ was the word she would have chosen.

Chapter Two

Jago’s Golf didn’t smell of lime and nutmeg, it smelt of mustiness and engine oil, and the back seat was full of boxes with things spilling out of them haphazardly. Even if the boot was equally crammed, it didn’t seem like a lot for one person moving their life somewhere new. Perhaps he had a van coming later.

Ellie slid into the passenger seat and, while she couldn’t fault his kindness – he’d helped her instantly, even before he’d known who she was – she felt on the back foot. Poor Florence was going to stay on the side of the road and then, Jago said, he’d walk down and get her when her engine had cooled, bring her up to the cottage and set her right again before Ellie left.

‘This is going to be a bit of a change from Plymouth,’ he said, gesturing to the hedges, the fields beyond, then starting the Golf and checking the road before edging out past Ellie’s Mini. ‘But Cornflower Cottage was exactly what I was after.’

‘Are you moving back for good?’ She assumed it was “back” because of his accent, and she hoped it came across as small talk rather than an interrogation. Obviously, it was up to her how long she rented her cottage out for, and as long as she gave him a generous notice period it shouldn’t be a problem. But, she reminded herself, she needed to do this. She couldn’t think of the cottage as hers any more.

He shrugged, his eyes on the road as he indicated left and turned onto Wilderness Lane, beginning the incline that started gently and then got steeper. ‘I’ll see how it goes.’

Ellie smiled. She wished she could have that laissez-faire attitude sometimes. With her, see how it goes included a ten-point plan at the very least. ‘Which garage will you be working at?’

‘I’ve got a part-time slot at a garage close to the airport,’ he said. ‘And I’m hoping to pick up some other odd jobs around the place – DIY, decorating, that sort of thing. I still have a few contacts in the area, so I’m sure I’ll get work.’ He glanced at the sign to Seascape House as they passed, his brow furrowing. ‘What do you do – other than being a landlady?’ His eyes flicked to her shirt and skirt. The fabrics were silky smooth, the skirt a bright blue. She took a lot of care with her appearance; she enjoyed wearing clothes – and having hair – that made her stand out. The rose gold had worked better than she’d expected; her hairdresser nodding with appreciation and quiet pride when it was done.

‘I’m a wedding planner,’ Ellie explained. ‘And landlady makes me sound like I’m old and frumpy, with those special stockings that help your circulation, and rollers in my hair. Definitely a floral housecoat. Baking my own bread or clotting my own cream.’

‘You’re talking about Nora Batty from Last of the Summer Wine,’ Jago said. ‘I can picture her perfectly from your description.’

Ellie snorted. That was exactly who she was imagining.

‘Firstly,’ Jago went on, ‘she was never a landlady. And secondly, you’re as far from Nora B as it’s possible to be. You could launch a whole new category of landlady. Is this your only property?’

‘Right here,’ she said, gesturing, and Jago made the turn. ‘It’s my only property. It’s …’ She paused. She was supposed to be being professional, but there was something about this man that encouraged complete honesty. It was both reassuring and irritating. ‘I’ve moved in with my sister for a bit.’

‘Oh?’ Jago brought the car to a halt on the gravel driveway. ‘So this is your place. Bloody hell.’

‘Bloody hell?’ Ellie echoed. She was gazing at the front garden, its rose bushes perfectly pruned and ready to burst into colour in only a few weeks’ time; the low privet hedge; the stone birdbath next to the iron chandelier sporting bird feeders for each food-type – peanuts, mixed seed and fat balls. The cottage stood behind, with its white walls and rustic, tiled roof, a bench nestled below the living-room window.

‘It’s like one of those jigsaw puzzles,’ Jago said as he got out. ‘I saw the photos on your ad, but they never do it proper justice, do they?’ He put his hands on his hips and gave a loud huff.

Ellie got out of the car. She had the sense that he wasn’t entirely happy with this revelation. ‘I usually leave the photographs up to experts,’ she said. ‘But I took the ones for the advert.’ She didn’t know why she was making excuses.

Jago turned to her with a wide grin. ‘You know how I said I’d fallen on my feet? It was an understatement. This is a country-cottage show home.’

Ellie flushed with pride. It did look good. In the two years she’d lived there, she’d turned it into a real home. ‘Shall I show you around?’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘And there was something in your ad about a cat?’

‘Oh, Lord Montague – yes! I only moved out of here two days ago, and I’ve been coming back to feed him—’

‘Two days ago?’

‘Just in time for you to move in,’ she said hurriedly. ‘My sister, Rose, is allergic to cats, so he couldn’t come with me. Lord Montague, uhm, Monty, is very affectionate. He doesn’t want just to be fed twice a day; he wants love, too.’

Jago nodded distractedly. ‘Sounds like a sensible cat. But I feel like I’m stepping into your shadow – I thought this was just a rental place.’

Ellie gave him what she hoped was a professional smile; she needed to rein it in. ‘This is going to work out for both of us, Mr Carne. Please don’t worry. I wouldn’t be renting out Cornflower Cottage if I didn’t want to. And for my first foray into the world of non-Nora Batty landladying, I believe I’ve fallen on my feet too, having you as my tenant.’

His shoulders dropped. ‘Please call me Jago,’ he said.

‘Jago. Let me show you where everything is and then I can help bring your things in.’

‘You don’t need to …’ he started, but she shook her head.

‘You’re going to fix my car for free. It’s really the least I can do.’

Ellie showed Jago around the neat two-bedroom cottage, its rooms small but perfectly formed, with beams and slightly uneven floors, and all the other period features she loved so much. Jago’s enthusiasm didn’t dampen, and she was pleased that he appreciated it, because it meant that he would look after it.

At the weekend, she and Rose had cleared out all of Ellie’s personal things, including photos and the few ornaments that had dotted the surfaces, and then they’d put on new pillows and duvet, new linen in a smart white-and-navy print. It wasn’t a cottage that could be devoid of character, but there was no longer any of Ellie’s character left. It was as simple and as appealing as a holiday home. Her heart was still here, but it didn’t show.

Even so, it felt strange showing Jago where she had, until recently, slept every night. ‘This is the bedroom,’ she said, gesturing at the king-sized bed, as if clarification was needed. The early afternoon sun spilled in through the window, bathing the room in a warm glow.

‘Great.’ Jago rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, and Ellie felt a twist of guilt. She shouldn’t have told him she’d moved out so recently; it was too weird. She should have found a landlady class to go to – if such a thing existed. Or hired a company to manage the whole process.

She was trying to think of something to lighten the mood, when Lord Montague came out from under the bed, stretching his back legs out one by one, as if he was shaking off uncomfortable slippers. He had been such a dainty kitten, but now, at two years old, he was a huge hulking tabby, his fiercely green eyes not that dissimilar to Jago’s. And he definitely lived up to the ‘Lord’ moniker. But right now Ellie could have kissed him for breaking the weird tension that had settled around them like dust.

‘Monty!’ she said, as the cat hopped onto the bed and strolled over, lifting his head for a stroke. Ellie obliged, and his purr resonated around the bedroom. ‘Monty, this is Jago.’

As if understanding, Monty padded over the duvet to where Jago stood, but instead of raising his head, he lifted his front paws and clawed into Jago’s shirt.

‘No, Monty!’ Ellie shouted, but before she could take him away, Jago lifted the cat under the front legs and, with a slight groan, hauled him against his chest. Monty’s purring got louder as he butted his head against Jago’s chin.

Her new tenant was laid-back about giant cats too, apparently. ‘You can keep him out of the bedroom, of course,’ she said. ‘I just haven’t shut any of the doors over the last couple of days, because I felt bad about leaving him.’

‘And you think he’ll be happy if I try and ban him now? He’s big enough to terrorize me.’

Ellie shrugged. ‘He might kick up a fuss. But with a bit of coaxing—’

‘It’s fine. Lord Montague and I are going to rub along well together.’ He gave her one of his crinkly-eyed grins, and Ellie relaxed. ‘Your car’s probably cooled down by now.’

‘Don’t you want to bring in your things?’

‘I can do that later,’ he said. ‘Please don’t feel like you have to help. But maybe a cup of tea when I get back?’

‘Done,’ Ellie said. ‘It really is very kind of you.’

‘If I hadn’t come along and helped, I would have been waiting here for you and wouldn’t have been able to get into my new place.’ He put Monty gently on the floor. The cat gave a miaow of protest, then led the way down the stairs.

‘Right,’ Jago said at the front door. ‘See you in a few.’

Ellie nodded, and then said, ‘Keys!’ She rootled in her handbag and gave him her car keys. Then she added another set, this time of house keys. It felt like an afterthought, and she wondered if she should have handed them over in some sort of grand ceremony.

But Jago was already strolling through the neat front garden towards the driveway. Ellie watched him, disconcerted by how easily he’d taken everything in his stride. Strangely, the fact that he was so relaxed made her mildly suspicious, as if it was a front for something. Or else she had unwittingly rented her cottage to the friendliest person in the world. Maybe she should ask him to tend to the garden – she couldn’t imagine him saying no, now.

She went into the kitchen, where she and Rose had stocked the fridge with a few essentials for his arrival: butter and cheese, milk and eggs, some vegetables and salad, along with slices of cold ham and chicken. She’d bought a loaf from the baker’s just yesterday, knowing it would stay fresh in the bread bin. She was also pleased that she’d put a few beers in the fridge door, as Jago seemed like a beer man. Except that was an assumption, and she tried her best not to go in for those. She’d gleaned the barest details about him from their email exchange – though not enough to realize who he was when he’d rescued her on the side of the road – but now, having met him, she had a million other questions.

Why had he moved back from Plymouth now, and why had he moved away in the first place? Who were these contacts he spoke of, and why did he feel he’d fallen on his feet with Ellie’s cottage which, she was happy to admit, was not masculine at all? And what was an attractive man like him, early forties and with such a warm manner, doing moving in, solo, to this remote part of Cornwall? Did he have a girlfriend he was moving back for? Kids nearby? A wife tucked away in Porthgolow?

Ellie got mugs out of the cupboard – the smart Denby she’d bought instead of her World’s Best Gardener and Wedding Planners Need More Coffee mugs, which had gone with her to Rose’s – and pottered about. The kitchen was at the back of the house, looking over the garden, the meadow’s long grass framing the formal plants and flowers in front. She sighed. She could have done a lot worse, and she’d known he was a mechanic when she agreed his tenancy. She should have considered the possibility of oil and grease stains long before they sealed the deal, but it was too late now.

‘It’s for the best, Monty,’ she said, retrieving a packet of treats from the cat food cupboard. ‘You’ll look after each other, won’t you?’

Monty put his head on one side and pawed at her leg. She stepped backwards, saving her bare skin. ‘Uh-uh. No claws.’

The cat chirruped, which didn’t fit with his arrogant bruiser attitude.

‘Go on, then,’ she said, and crouched to give him a treat. He put his paw on her wrist while he nibbled it off her palm. She was going to miss Monty almost as much as she would miss her garden.

When Jago puttered back into the driveway in Florence, Ellie was pulling up weeds from around her lupins. This was the year they would fully come into their own, their first flowers appearing in May. There were purples and whites, a couple of mixed plants and a lemon yellow variety that always made her want a gin and tonic. She loved lupins because their leaves were almost as beautiful as the statuesque flowers; it was only in the colder months when they seemed diminished. She knew she shouldn’t be out here, that this wasn’t her garden right now, but it was hard not to think about what would happen to everything she’d so lovingly nurtured if they were to suffer months, perhaps years, of inattention.

‘Hello?’ Jago called from the hallway, and Ellie hurried back to the kitchen, flicking on the kettle as she went.

‘Florence started, then?’ she asked.

‘Yup, no problem.’ He strolled into the kitchen, his eyes dancing over the light, airy room; the cream cupboard doors and pine worktop. ‘I bet people always gravitate to this room during parties,’ he said.

Ellie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I’m quite proud of how it’s turned out,’ she replied, not wanting to admit that she hadn’t ever had a party here. ‘It gets the best light in the mornings, though. Now, onto the most important question. How do you take your tea?’

‘Strong and milky, but no sugar.’

‘Because you’re sweet enough?’ The words were out before she had a chance to vet them. She resisted the urge to cover her mouth with her hand.

Jago chuckled. ‘Not close,’ he said, and there was something in the tone of his voice that Ellie felt low in her stomach. ‘Thanks, though. I’d better get changed; can’t wear my “meet the landlady” get-up for this next part.’

Ellie glanced at his grey shirt and jeans. ‘No, of course. Do you have a special “fix the landlady’s car” get-up as well?’

‘I’m a mechanic,’ he said. ‘That’s basically what I live in.’ He grinned and sauntered out again, whistling.

Ellie shook her head. ‘Because you’re sweet enough?’ she muttered to herself. ‘Seriously?’ Even Monty was looking at her disdainfully. Or maybe he was just angling for another treat.

By the time she took the tea out to the driveway, Jago had Florence’s bonnet open and a toolbox at his feet. He was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans that made his last pair look almost black-tie appropriate. They were ripped at one knee, and not in a fashionable way.

Ellie put his mug on the bench outside the front door. She and Rose had painted it white one afternoon soon after she’d moved in, with the radio playing and Prosecco flowing. The paintwork was patchy, there were several visible splodges where it had dried unevenly, but because of that the memories remained strong: the two sisters celebrating Ellie’s newly found single status, free from a marriage that had gone stale long before she’d chosen to do something about it.

‘Tea for you,’ she said, and Jago looked up, his forearms already streaked with grime.

‘Thanks.’ He turned his attention back to the engine.

Ellie didn’t know what to do with herself. She couldn’t leave until her car was fixed. She shouldn’t go and tend to her – the – garden again.

‘What weddings have you got on right now?’ Jago called, and Ellie sat on the bench, relieved.

‘I’ve got three at the moment, and I had my first meeting with one couple this morning. They’re in Porthgolow, so it’s very local, and it should be lots of fun.’

‘Is it a nice village?’

‘The best. Quaint and seaside-y, with a vintage bus that sells cakes and a pub that’s upped its food game over the last few months. You didn’t live round here before, then?’

‘No, I was in Falmouth. I grew up there, then ended up travelling for most of my twenties, and settled in Plymouth after that.’

‘So you’ve not been back for a while?’

‘Not to live. I’ve been back to see my folks, but after being in some pretty remote places, I was craving somewhere busier, which is why I settled on Plymouth. More work, more interest.’ He selected a new tool, then returned to the car.

Ellie tried to look everywhere other than his jean-clad backside and the flash of those forearms. ‘Where did you travel?’

‘All over, really. Australia and New Zealand, where it was easy to pick up work. Asia. I spent some time in Africa; helped to build a school in Ghana.’

‘Wow,’ Ellie said. ‘That’s … it sounds amazing. Challenging, but so worthwhile.’ He didn’t reply, and she wondered if he’d heard. She raised her voice. ‘So why the change now? Why are you back here, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Oh, family stuff,’ he said, his voice slightly muffled. ‘What about you? You must get on with your sister if you’re living with her?’

‘We do get on well,’ Ellie admitted, aware that he’d sidestepped her question. ‘She’s a couple of years older than me, and definitely bossier, but she has a big heart. She’s a district nurse, which is a much more worthy occupation than wedding planner.’

Jago turned, leaning on the car and crossing his legs at the ankles. ‘People want to get married, and they want to do it properly. For a lot of them, it’s the most important day of their lives. You shouldn’t belittle what you do. If everyone was a nurse, the economy would collapse.’

Ellie laughed. ‘True. It just doesn’t seem to measure up to helping people heal.’

‘What about fixing cars? Where would that go on your scale?’

‘Up there with nurse,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere without Florence. Especially not in Cornwall.’

‘I’d better get back to it then,’ he said. Instead, he picked up his tea and took a sip.

Ellie was happy to sit and chat to him while he worked. It was enforced, because until her car was better, she was stuck. But the view from Cornflower Cottage – over rolling hills and down to the sea – was one she could gaze at for hours, and had done, frequently. Today, the sun and wind were competing to produce a not-unpleasant afternoon, and her new tenant was easy company.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met anyone this horizontal. He had moved house today – one of the most stressful life-changes you can make – and instead of settling in, unpacking and then sitting down with a beer, or going to catch up with old friends, he was fixing her car. And he seemed completely fine with it. He was the polar opposite to Ellie, who had started to flap the moment her carefully scheduled day showed the first signs of unravelling. Except, a little voice in her head said, for right now. But this was different, she told it, because she was trapped.

She felt a glimmer of disappointment when Jago stood and stretched his arms up to the sky, then gave her his wide, warm smile and said, ‘All done. The leak is fixed. Florence should be as good as new.’

‘Thank you so much.’

‘No problem. Just call me if you have any more issues, but she shouldn’t overheat any more. I’ve also topped up the oil and the washer bottle, as they were both running low.’

‘You didn’t have to.’

He laughed. ‘I sort of did.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll just go and wash these up.’

‘No need,’ Jago said. ‘I’ll do that.’

‘Of course.’ He’d said it easily, but she felt slightly chided. She had to let him get used to his new territory. ‘Thank you again, Jago. And the same goes for the house – if you have any issues or questions, please give me a call. I’m close by.’

‘Thanks, I’ll do that.’ He rubbed his forearm over his hair, flattening some of the strands. He had a sheen of sweat on his brow.

‘See you soon, then,’ Ellie said as she got into her newly mended Mini. She reversed expertly down the driveway and, just before she turned the car around, gave him one final glance. He was smiling at her. With a quick wave, she drove away, leaving Jago Carne, Lord Montague and her treasured cottage behind. She prayed that they would get along well together.