Breakfast Under A Cornish Sun: The perfect romantic comedy for summer. Samantha Tonge
with a paper napkin. ‘You know I’ve learnt, over time, that the things you most want appear where you least expect them—like Sandra, at the potholing club. Perhaps the key for you will be to stop trying so hard to find this Ross.’
‘But I don’t have time on my side. The wedding is at the end of August, in just over four weeks. I need a miracle or to speed-date twenty-four-seven!’
As we drank coffees, and ate delicious crisp mints, our conversation moved on to more general subjects. How we’d both love to live somewhere like Cornwall. How the eighteenth-century lifestyle appealed because of its simplicity.
Eventually, he glanced at his watch. ‘Right, Well. Work tomorrow. I’d better get going.’ His eyes crinkled. ‘Best of luck. I’m sorry I don’t fit the bill, but keep in touch, Kate.’ Marcus rolled his eyes. ‘Ruth has insisted on registering me on Facebook, so perhaps we can connect on there and I’ll come to one of your gigs. I love all disco music and swing. And if I stumble across any brooding heroes in the next week or so, I’ll let you know. Or—’ he shrugged ‘—you could forget trying to impress this Saffron; skip the wedding …’
Mature me knew he was right, but lurking aspects of Katie Golightly just wouldn’t let me turn down the invitation.
Singing some Frank Sinatra, I drove my slightly rusty but cosy car home. Belting out a song had been my escape, as a youngster, from my hectic family life and from the challenges of school. I’d hole myself up somewhere private, like the back garden or bathroom, close my eyes and for just a few moments, whilst singing, felt important, felt unique—until Mum called me to do my chores.
I parked up, on a busy high street, outside Donuts & Daiquris—Izzy had insisted I call in for mock Mojito, before going home, to give her the low-down.
I got out, locked up my car and headed into the building, squinting at pretty neon lights and circumnavigating busy tables until I reached the bar. James informed customers that it was last orders. Me and Izzy headed out back, to the quiet, whitewashed staff room. We sat down on wooden chairs and she raised a neatly pencilled eyebrow.
I gave a huge sigh ‘Nice night. Nice evening. Nice bloke. But old enough to be my dad.’ Cue twenty minutes of describing my date.
‘So it’s back to square one?’ she said, eventually.
My mouth drooped. ‘Let’s face it. This plan of mine is never going to work. It takes long enough to hook up with someone when you’ve no particular type in mind, let alone when you have a list of criteria.’ I raised my hands in the air. ‘What with this and having to leave my flat and my Stanley Hotel gigs being cancelled, I’m just so fed up.’ Another big sigh. ‘Why can’t James have curly black hair and brooding looks. I bet he’d look fab in a tricorn.’
Izzy smiled. But not one of her normal smiles. It had a hint of smugness to it as if she knew something I didn’t. Last time she’d worn it she’d snagged me a party booking, singing at a silver wedding anniversary bash, by praising my talents to one of the customers.
‘What?’
Izzy cleared her voice. ‘Next week. You know I’ve been feeling restless.’
I nodded. Donuts & Daiquiris earned more than my boss could have ever imagined and now Izzy, being a straight-A student, needed a new challenge. She’d been university material but couldn’t ignore her passion for food and now those grey cells clearly needed stretching some more.
‘I’ve decided this place needs a makeover. Plus, I need to take a trip—to get inspired by food. I’m thinking of expanding the menu.’
‘Wow. When did you decide all this?’
‘A couple of weeks ago. I didn’t want to say much in case I couldn’t book everything in time, but I’ve managed to find a decorator who gets my new concept, and found a last-minute holiday deal online—I’ve booked a gold lodge at a spa resort. Quite a bargain it was, for a summer booking.’
‘So, no work for two weeks from next Monday?’
‘You’ll get paid of course.’
My smile widened. ‘Well, that is a good piece of news. It’ll give me chance to carry on looking for a new place and, while I’m disappointed about the Stanley Hotel, I’m determined to find another regular gig. Plus—’
‘Or—’ her eyes sparked ‘—come with me, Kate. You deserve a treat. ‘
I gasped. ‘Izzy, that’s really kind, but I couldn’t possibly afford to share the rent.’
Izzy folded her arms. ‘When I say a treat, I mean exactly that—my shout. All you’d need is spending money. I’ll drive.’
‘Izzy, that is so kind, but—’
‘Go on … even if it’s just for one of the weeks. And, if you don’t find a flat in time, when you get back, you can move in with me.’
‘I don’t need charity,’ I said and folded my arms. ‘I appreciate the offer but—’
‘Kate Golightly! Lose the pride! I’m your friend. You could stay with me permanently for all I care—but a few weeks, that’s not charity, it’s just a mate being a mate.’
I thought for a moment and then grinned. ‘OK.’
‘And you deserve a holiday. We both do. Plus, I’d enjoy the company.’
We stared at each other.
‘It’ll be fun,’ she said softly. ‘Saunas, facials, walks—it’s just what we both need. The outdoor life. Plus …’ Her eyes sparked more strongly, like a poker player who knew his hand of cards couldn’t be beaten. ‘All your Poldark talk got me thinking and I figured there is nowhere more inspiring for food, in Britain, than the South-west, what with pasties, scones, ice cream, fudge, and the White Rocks holiday resort just happens to be really close to … Port Penny!’
My heart raced. ‘Guvnah! Oh my days!’ A comforting chat with her was just what I needed. We’d not seen each other since Christmas. ‘Oh, Izzy, really?’
She nodded.
My mind raced and I clapped my hands. ‘You know what else this means?’
Izzy chuckled. ‘You seem almost more excited at the prospect of a holiday than me.’
‘Yes! Because this break couldn’t have come at a better time. It gives me the perfect opportunity to meet a genuine Cornish Poldark. All it will take is a few days scouting fishing villages or—’
‘For goodness’ sake.’ Izzy gave a belly laugh and shook her head. ‘And there was me thinking you were simply so thrilled about going away with a good mate.’
‘No. Yes. I mean of course.’ I felt my face break into a huge grin. ‘The best of mates.’
‘Here’s the brochure,’ said Izzy and pushed a catalogue across the table.
I grabbed it and my eyes devoured the photos of cliffs and seashores and romantic skylines. I pictured them in my mind as I drove home, a couple of mock Mojitos later, having phoned my very excited gran.
The earlier heaviness in my chest had lifted. Good friends meant everything. I was one lucky woman. And hopefully by the end of two weeks in Cornwall, I’d be even luckier and would have bagged one authentic hot guy with dark brooding looks and a killer seductive smile to bring women to their knees.
‘Wow,’ I mumbled, as we drove into White Rocks resort.
‘Looks great, doesn’t it?’ said Izzy and shot me a sideways smile from the driving seat.
I loved her Beetle car, with a bobbing pink rubber flower stuck to the keyboard. Katy Perry blared out from the CD player and a sherbet-scented air freshener