Page 1 of Tricks & Treats at The Cosy Cornish Bakery

CHAPTER 1

The place hadn’t changed. This bench, which had always been Chloe’s favourite, still held pole position in the tiny gardens overlooking the beach. Cliffs soared to her left and right, Grey Seal Island sat craggily on the horizon in a turquoise sea and the huge sky was an ever-changing vista of blue sky and scudding clouds. Cornwall. The place of her birth and the place she’d escaped, without a backwards glance, aged eighteen.

‘You’re up early.’ A woman flung herself onto the bench. ‘Good to see you back in Wheal Kitty Cove.’

‘Ginger!’ Chloe threw her arms around her old school friend. ‘Oh it’s so lovely to see you.’ They hugged, then she pushed her away and examined her. Despite the nickname, Ginger had resolutely mousey brown hair currently cut into a sharp bob. Apart from a few extra freckles she looked unchanged. Healthy and serene.

‘Heard you were back.’

‘Village gossip grapevine?’ Chloe grumbled.

‘Never fails.’

‘What else is it saying?’

Ginger breathed in with evident pleasure as a waft of sea breeze hit them, her nostrils widening as she sucked the salty air in deep. A shaft of sun slid from behind a cloud and bathed them in warmth. ‘Gotta make the most of these sunny days before autumn sets in.’

Chloe elbowed her. ‘Gossip, please.’

‘Okay.’ Ginger ticked statements off with her fingers. ‘You’ve had an expensive divorce. You’ve won the lottery. You’ve had a breakdown from your high falutin’ job up in that there London and have come home for a rest.’ She adjusted the strap of her faded denim dungarees. ‘Any of that true?’

Chloe blew out a moody breath. ‘Try redundancy from the high falutin’ job, didn’t get as far as marriage, so no divorce, and the breakdown is dependent on my mother.’

‘Dulcie? She’s a pussy cat.’

‘If you’re not her daughter.’

Ginger twisted around to better view Chloe. ‘Is it true you’ve taken over the family bakery?’

‘In theory. Sort of. Between batting off Mum who won’t stop interfering, and Pammy who is insistent that she’s done things her way for the last twenty years and therefore what was good enough then is good enough permanently, I’m not having much joy.’ A gull wheeled overhead. It swooped low but seeing they had nothing to eat, flew off again, cackling. Chloe could swear it was laughing directly at her.

‘Early days, Chlo. You’ve only been back five minutes.’ Ginger settled in for a chat, much as they had done on this very same bench when they were teenagers, only then it was more often accompanied by an illicit cigarette and a shared bottle of WKD Blue. ‘Hope you’ll let Pammy carry on baking her white bloomers. They’re very popular with my guests.’

‘Can’t imagine your bed and breakfast guests going near a white bloomer. Aren’t they all sourdough and brown seeded types?’ Chloe asked. Ginger ran The Sanctuary, a retreat for jaded, burned-out creatives. Secluded, being up a private track just off the cove, it offered total privacy and discretion.

‘You’d be surprised. Lots shudder at the very thought of a carb but give in when they spy fresh bread and real salted butter at breakfast. I’ve been known to sabotage a keto regime with one whiff of Pammy’s bread, warm from the oven.’

‘Who have you got staying at the moment?’ Chloe glanced at her watch. ‘Shouldn’t you be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen slaving over fried bacon right now?’

‘Guest hasn’t arrived. Empty for now but’ – Ginger gave her a meaningful look – ‘he’s booked out the whole caboodle.’

Chloe’s mouth dropped open. ‘He’s booked the whole guest house? Wow. Who is he?’

‘I could tell you but–’

‘You’d have to kill me. Actor?’

Ginger nodded. ‘But don’t tell anyone, you hear?’

‘So, what are we talking? Brad Pitt or Paul Mescal level fame?’

‘Not saying.’ Ginger made a twisting motion with her fingers at her lips.

‘You’re no fun.’

‘Thought you’d be blasé about the famous. You’ve lived in London for twenty years. Must see loads of slebs up there.’

Chloe gave a short laugh. ‘In banking? Fat chance. It was all suits and briefcases.’