Page 5 of Tricks & Treats at The Cosy Cornish Bakery

Staring at Dulcie’s violently orange pixie cut, her wide brown eyes so like her own, and a face flushed by her sea swim and the doughnut sugar rush, she suddenly realised that, in all the long years she and Jasper had been together, she’d never met his parents. A snort escaped. He’d never seen her as The One. Just A One. And definitely not The Right One. A flash of movement out at sea drew her eye. Nik cresting a wave, his fluorescent yellow rash vest catching the light.

Dulcie followed her gaze. ‘Plenty of women have babies in their forties.’

‘Give it a rest, Mum. Just because I’m watching an attractive man surf doesn’t mean my ovaries have exploded.’

‘I’m just saying.’ Dulcie snorted. ‘Although that’s a good turn of phrase, is that. He’s done well for himself. Spent time in Sweden after university. Then came back. Opened the Surf School.’

‘Nik owns it? I assumed he just worked there.’

Dulcie leaned back looking smug. ‘Shouldn’t go around making assumptions, should you. That place earns a pretty penny. Enough for him to close it each winter. He’s got a team of fifteen.’

‘And I managed a department of over three hundred,’ Chloe bit back.

‘Much good it did you.’ There was a horrible pause, then Dulcie changed the subject, as if aware she’d gone too far. ‘Hannah’s coming over tonight. Bringing the kids. Why don’t you join us? I’m only doing a cheesy cottage pie but there’ll be plenty to go round and you haven’t seen your sister since you got back.’

That’s all she needed. Her younger sister. The golden child. Married. Two children. Part-time job in an estate agents in Polveanan. Living the life. Doing what her mother understood and approved of.

‘Might do.’ Chloe broke off a fragment of doughnut and dipped it into the chocolate foam. She knew she was behaving badly but couldn’t snap out of it. Being around her mother turned her into a sulky teenager. ‘Why doesn’t Hannah want to take on the bakery? She’d be a better fit. I don’t know how long I’m going to be around. Once I get another job in London, I’ll return.’

‘You’ll go back?’ Dulcie looked surprised.

Chloe shrugged. ‘It’s where my life is.’

‘Why didn’t you stay there, then?’ Dulcie asked curiously. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier, like, to get another banking job while you’re actually in the city?’

This was surprisingly perceptive of her mother, but Chloe couldn’t share the burning humiliation of remaining in social and business circles where there was every chance she’d bump into Jasper and Cindy, or have to explain to colleagues the excruciating truth of her sudden disappearance. She’d cut and run, piled her stuff into the Mini and, almost on autopilot, had found herself on the A303 heading west to the Atlantic coast. It was only temporary, she told herself. And, as Ginger had suggested, she could always treat it as time away, a sabbatical. Sarcasm made a smile curl at the edge of her lips as she surveyed the frothy waves and shifting clouds. Wheal Kitty Cove was exactly the sort of place her London friends lusted after for a long weekend or a week in August.

‘Well, at least you’re looking more cheerful, Chloe. You’ve had a face like a wet rag all morning.’ Dulcie leaned forward and patted her hand. ‘I know it must be hard and a bit of a change but try to be positive, maid. No one likes a Dolly Downer. Why not take all that expertise you’ve got in that clever head of yours and channel it into the bakery?’

‘And Hannah?’

‘Too busy with the kids. I know they’re older now, but they don’t get any less demanding. Madison’s got all these clubs and what not she goes to. With Tyler doing the taxi shifts he does, the hours just don’t suit. Don’t think she could make it work.’ Dulcie smirked. ‘Does a smashing job with those kids, does our Hannah. Don’t know how she juggles it all. Job, children, running a home.’

Possibly by cutting a lot of corners, Chloe thought mutinously. Her sister was laid-back to the point of being horizontal. She wouldn’t know a work ethic if it jumped up and slapped her in the face.

‘Still.’ Dulcie’s face brightened. ‘If you’ve managed a department of three hundred or so, dealing with Pammy should be a doddle. Oh looky, here come our bacon rolls. I was starved so I got two for me.’

CHAPTER 4

Ginger fiddled nervously at the bowl of pot pourri sitting on the deep windowsill of The Sanctuary’s sitting room. A white double-fronted house with a Cornish slate roof, she’d bought it when seeking a change in direction. In her twenties she’d tried most things: acting, writing, pottery, and had rapidly come to the conclusion she was far better equipped to look after creative people than be one. In ten years, she’d built up a steady business. As long as she was frugal, and she wasn’t a high-maintenance sort of a person, she scraped along. Trouble was that the house faced the worst the Atlantic could throw at it and its upkeep was ongoing and expensive. An unexpected and big bill could spell disaster.

Joshua Ralph was the most well-known of anyone she’d had to stay and there was a lot riding on him. If she could attract other high-profile guests, she may be able to up her prices. It would ease things. Having just one person staying would be an interesting experiment, she mused with a fretful giggle, although not every client would be willing or able to book the entire house.

Up to now, the biggest name had been a crime writer whose soul had been infected by all the violent murders she’d written about, and even she had only been well known in reading and writing circles. Romilly Raven had declared she’d had enough crime in her life and was desperate for a new writing direction. Ginger had sent her off relaxed and refreshed and with a new ambition to write romance.

‘There’s enough horrible stuff in this world,’ were Romilly’s parting words as she climbed into the taxi. ‘What we need is more happy ever afters. And I’ll dedicate my first romance book to you, darling Ginger. I feel like a new woman!’

But what was Joshua Ralph going to be like? Ginger flicked at an invisible speck of dust. And what were his needs going to be? She’d learned every guest wanted something different, something unique, from their Sanctuary experience. She’d only seen one of Joshua’s films, a superhero bit of nonsense that was most definitely not her sort of thing. She’d been dragged along to the cinema in Truro by Dulcie and Hannah and her kids. The children had lapped up Zombie Space Pilots from Galaxia, especially Isaak who was eight and into all things loud, colourful and plot free. While wincing at the sound levels, cringing at the inanity and hiding her eyes at the zombie bits – she hated zombies – Ginger couldn’t help but admire the lead actor’s startling good looks and muscle-bound body. Despite his black hair and blue eyes, though, he was so not her type. She preferred men who were thoughtful and who read books. She doubted anything like that lurked beneath Joshua Ralph’s well-filled superhero costume.

Hopping from one foot to the other, she wondered what he would expect from her as a host. And how would the village react to him? Would he skulk around in disguise, or go out loud and proud and run the risk of being mobbed? How was having a real bona fide big-time Hollywood star staying in her lovely but humble guest house ever going to work? She hadn’t even spoken to him yet, and had only dealt with his assistant, an acerbic fast-talking New Yorker called Dana DiMaggio.

‘Pull on your best Bridget Jones’ pants, girl,’ she admonished, watching a cotton-wool cloud scud over the sea. ‘Treat him like anyone else. He’s only another human spinning around on this planet trying his best. And failing that, think of him naked.’

A frustrated sigh escaped. She’d quite like a naked man in her bed sometimes. No muscle types here, or many bookish men come to that. Not many options in Wheal Kitty Cove for romance. High season excepting, the place was largely inhabited by those she’d gone to school with and the retired. Usually content with her own company, she did, on occasion, miss being in a relationship. That ship had sailed a long time ago, though. Irritably glancing at the oversized clock on the whitewashed wall, she realised she’d been wafting around the house trying to keep busy to calm her nerves for over two hours. Joshua Ralph was late.

Going across the slate tiled hall into the kitchen, she put the kettle on the Aga hotplate to boil. The ancient stove, nicknamed Nigella in a moment of whimsy by Chloe, needed to be replaced. It cost a fortune in oil and wasn’t particularly efficient. The guests, though, especially those from the city hankering after rural delights, relished it, along with the wood burning stoves. Everyone seemed to congregate in the kitchen, sitting around the scarred farmhouse table while fat candles dripped wax, or drying wet trousers after a long walk on the coastal path by leaning their behinds against Nigella’s buxom warmth. No matter how old and cranky, she was the heart of the home. Reaching up for a mug handmade in Wheal Kitty Cove’s pottery, she nearly dropped it as she heard an imperious rapping on the front door knocker. He must be here.

Swinging open the door, a welcoming smile pinned to her face, she was disconcerted to see a tall, skinny woman wearing leather, enormous sunglasses and a slash of crimson lipstick. Either the make-up and costume departments on Zombie Space Pilots from Galaxia worked miracles, or this wasn’t Joshua Ralph.