Summer at the Cornish Cafe. Phillipa Ashley
and I can definitely multitask.’ He raises his eyebrows, probably recalling my ability to chase off seagulls, throw a frappuccino over a customer and get the sack, all within five minutes, but I press on. ‘Look, Mr Penwith, You’ve come into town and we’ve both made time from our schedules so you may as well interview me now.’
‘My schedule?’ He smiles and immediately I revise my original opinion of him as being a surf hipster. He doesn’t look how he sounds. His face is tanned, his hair is dark brown with a hint of natural highlights from the sun. It’s also wild without the beanie to tame it and suddenly I realise that he reminds me a little bit of a hot vampire from a TV show that I used to watch when I lived at home. That seems a very long time ago now.
‘Shall we have a coffee and discuss the role in more detail?’ I ask, more in hope than expectation, while trying to banish the words Hot Vampire from my mind in case they slip out by accident.
He sighs and his mouth curves into that smile-that-isn’t-really-a-smile thing again. ‘As we’ve both cleared a spot in our busy schedules, I suppose it won’t do any harm.’
He drops a set of car keys on the table. The key fob is a bit of polished wood tied to them with an old piece of string. ‘So, Ms Demi Jones,’ he says, turning the words over like they’re treasure. My name sounds almost sexy in his accent. ‘What’s that short for?’
‘Demelza,’ I mutter, cringing at having to reveal it. ‘It was my nan’s name and I loved my nan but I’ve always hated it myself. No one else at school was called anything so weird,’ I say, trying to get a grip. How did I not notice how gorgeous he was at the cafe? ‘Just Demi will do.’
He smiles. ‘Fine. I’m Cal. Short for Calvin, also an old family name that I could have done without.’ He holds out his hand. I take it, feeling self-conscious even though the contact is firm but brief. His skin is warm but his palms are rough like he’s been working a lot with them recently.
His bushy eyebrows knit together. ‘What’s the matter?’
Feeling my face heat up, I glance away. ‘Nothing.’
I shrug because there’s no way I’m going to tell my potential new employer that he looks like a hot vampire, even if he does. He runs his hand through his thick hair. ‘Want a coffee and we can talk?’ he offers, still sounding unsure if it’s a good idea to interview me.
‘Yes. I’ll get them.’ I dig in my purse and hold out one of the precious notes.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get these,’ he says and disappears into the dark of the cafe. My stomach gurgles and Mitch’s wet nose pokes at the threadbare patch on the knee of my jeans.
He sets down coffees and cake on the table and I try not to devour them like a ravenous beast. After we’ve finished, he examines me like I’m some weird creature he discovered in the jungle. I swallow the last of my cake as he sips his espresso. The silence is killing me.
‘Sheila’s Beach Hut wasn’t my first job, you know. I’ve a lot more experience than that.’
‘Really? Where?’
‘I worked in a cafe in Truro for a couple of years. I started off by clearing the tables and washing-up then they trained me as cook.’
‘I bet you were a good cook.’
‘Not bad. What makes you say that?’
He smiles. ‘You obviously like cake.’
‘Thanks! I didn’t only make cakes. I made wicked pasties, lovely quiches and pies and I already had some training and my hygiene certificate which is why Sheila took me on. She was going to send me to catering college to do some more courses.’
He checks his watch. I feel as if I’m about to lose something important.
‘Are you in a hurry?’
‘A bit. I need to go to the bank to sort out my account.’
‘Does it have lots of money in it?’ I meant this comment as a joke but I blush the moment the words are out of my mouth. Cal laughs, but not like what I said was funny. ‘I doubt it, unless someone dumped a load of extra cash in it that I don’t know about while I was away.’
A penny drops in my mind. ‘Away? Was that while you were in the army?’
‘No, I wasn’t in the army. Why would you think that?’
‘When I saw you at the cafe you were in combat gear with one of those big bags soldiers carry.’
He smiles. ‘Anyone can get that stuff at an army surplus store. I used to work for a medical aid charity.’
‘I don’t need aid,’ I say quickly.
He smiles. ‘I’m sure you don’t. On the contrary, the way you handled Mawgan Cade, I doubt you need any help at all.’
‘You know her?’
‘Yes.’ He reaches for his car keys from the table. ‘Look, thanks for meeting me but I’m not sure you’re quite what I’m looking for.’
I panic. ‘Wait! You don’t really know what you’re looking for, do you?’
He stares at me, as if I just said the cleverest thing in the world. ‘Maybe not but I do need someone who can do everything. It’s a – um – fledgling business and it’s going to take a lot of energy and enthusiasm to get it off the ground. There’s a lot to learn. For both of us,’ he adds.
‘Then I’d be perfect. I want to develop my career in leisure and tourism too.’ I fold my arms in what I hope is a confident gesture.
He hesitates. ‘Even if you did work for me, I can’t afford to pay you much.’
I sense he’s weakening so I move in for the kill. ‘We can negotiate on the terms. I’ve never been afraid of hard work.’
‘I’m sure you haven’t.’
‘And I won’t throw stuff over the customers. It was only Mawgan who got my back up.’
He smiles, properly this time, and my stomach does a funny little flip but it’s only the excitement and adrenaline of being so very close to getting this job and a new home.
‘Believe me, you can throw a whole bucket of anything over Mawgan. However, on a serious note, in addition to dealing with customers, there’d be a lot of fetching and carrying and cooking and cleaning and boring admin. We all have to muck in at Kilhallon.’
‘I can do all that.’
‘What about building work?’ He eyes my skinny arms as if they’re twigs. ‘Any experience in gardening? Plastering? Roofing? Carpentry?’
‘I can learn,’ I say defiantly.
He stares at me, biting his lip briefly. He is wavering. ‘Yes, I’m sure you could but you won’t have to, that was a joke.’
I try to laugh but I’m too wound up, waiting for a definite offer.
‘I’m afraid the accommodation is a bit poky. It’s only a little cottage.’
‘A cottage?’ I try not to get too excited.
‘A tiny cottage that needs refurbishing. I’m sure you’d want something bigger and smarter,’ he adds.
‘No way. I mean … I’m sure I could manage if I had to and I could refurbish it myself. Look, everyone deserves a second chance, don’t they? And let’s face it, you look like someone who needs the help fast; or why would you have come straight down here today to interview me? Give me a trial period – we can both see how we like each other and if you change your mind or I do, there are no hard feelings. Go on, take the risk, live dangerously.’
He leans back in his chair, his eyes wide. Even before I finish speaking, I realise I’ve probably gone too far,