Chloe’s Cornish Christmas (The Blossomwood Bay #7)

Chapter Three

‘Yes, we did. Perrinsby is in Cornwall.’

Nick reduced his speed to a crawl and moments later they were travelling down a road bordered by picturesque stone cottages, their facades bathed in the warm glow of amber streetlights. Despite her shock at inadvertently ending up in Cornwall, Chloe couldn’t help smiling when she saw the neatly kept village green, which was home to a truly magnificent Christmas tree decorated in colourful fairy lights and crowned with a shiny silver star.

Overlooking the green was the pub Joe had told her about, the Dog stout, robust, and nestled against a backdrop of spindly trees that Chloe realised must be the apple orchard. However, the buildings that caused her heart to quicken were the matching pair of stone barns, one quirkily ramshackle, the other beautifully renovated and featuring a large triangular window that took up the whole of the upper part of the gable end.

Despite the persistent drizzle, the whole place exuded a warm, welcoming feeling, a place the owners were happy to call home; a thought that caused a familiar twinge in Chloe’s chest. Fortunately, before she had a chance to dwell on that thorny subject, Nick jumped from the driver’s seat and strode towards the front door of the farmhouse, which was painted a cheery crimson colour and decorated with a hand-made festive wreath, festooned with holly, mistletoe and a red-ribbon bow.

‘Welcome to Fairholme Farm, Chloe,’ he called back to her as she stepped out of the Range Rover.

She smiled. ‘Thank you.’

Chloe waited while Nick produced an old brass key – attached to an apple-shaped keyring – from his pocket, and when he pushed open the door, any remaining wisps of anxiety about having coffee with a stranger evaporated in an instant as they were greeted by the enthusiastic yapping of the cutest Yorkshire terrier Chloe had ever seen.

‘Oh, she’s completely gorgeous!’

‘Mitzy, meet Chloe. Chloe, meet Mitzy.’

Chloe bent down to greet Mitzy, and to her delight she received a friendly lick of approval.

‘Looks like you’ve made a friend already.’

Chloe smiled. ‘Yes, it does.’

She scooped Mitzy into her arms and followed Nick down the hallway – its walls showcasing a selection of watercolours featuring local Cornish scenes – and into a typical farmhouse kitchen. The scent of cinnamon and cloves floated in the air, with a noticeable top note of crushed pine needles from the real Christmas tree standing to attention in the corner, and there was a cream-coloured Aga snoozing quietly as it waited for its services to be called upon.

In the middle of the kitchen was a huge, scrubbed pine table, surrounded by a collection of mismatched wooden chairs, on which stood the most sumptuous Christmas cake decorated with white royal icing and an assortment of snowmen in jaunty scarves and bowler hats. Next to it was a reindeer-shaped platter of gingerbread people, each one wearing a different Christmas-themed outfit, and a bottle of red wine with an envelope with Nick’s name written on the front.

Chloe felt as though she’d stepped into an alternate universe, a place filled with love and joy where nothing bad ever happened. She felt like she’d been wrapped in a warm welcoming hug, that she was safe, not just from the winter storm, but also from the vagaries of life beyond the borders of Fairholme Farm. It was an unexpected sensation; something she’d never thought she’d experience again despite her attempts to recreate it in the numerous places she’d laid her hat since leaving university.

‘How do you like your coffee?’

‘With milk, please.’

‘Okay, coming right up. Grab a seat.’

She slid into the chair at the head of the table and watched with increasing amusement as Nick proceeded to open and shut random cupboards as he searched for the coffee, and then two mugs. She couldn’t help spluttering with laughter when his eyes widened with horror as his gaze fell on the bright yellow kettle that was sitting on top of the Aga.

‘Need any help?’

‘No, I—’

‘There’s an electric kettle on the bench over there.’

Chloe pointed to the silver appliance partially hidden behind a matching toaster. She smiled at the relief that spread across Nick’s face as he filled the kettle with water and flicked the switch before spooning instant coffee into the mugs, taking care not to spill a single granule. It was clear he wasn’t entirely at home here, and she wondered why that was.

‘One coffee with milk,’ said Nick, placing a mug with antlers and a bright red nose on the table in front of her with a grimace. ‘Help yourself to one of my aunt’s gingerbread people. She told me on the journey up to Gatwick that she’s won first place in several baking competitions this year.’

‘Thank you, they look and smell delicious.’

Chloe took a sip of her coffee, closing her eyes to savour the taste of the rich, aromatic beverage, and sighing as it slipped down her throat, warming her heart and enlivening her senses. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that Nick had been watching her, his lips curled into a smile causing dimples to appear around his mouth, and once again she experienced the sharp pull of attraction.

‘Looks like you really needed that.’

She nodded. ‘It’s been a stressful day.’

‘Tell me about it!’ Nick laughed as he sunk into the seat next to Chloe and gulped down half of his coffee in one go before biting off the leg of his chosen gingerbread man. ‘I drove down here to Perrinsby last night, then got up at four thirty this morning to take my aunt and her three suitcases and two carry-on bags up to Gatwick for her flight to Sydney. When I spun round to head back down to Cornall, I had no idea I would end up rescuing someone from a ditch, deep in the wilds of the Devonshire countryside, and I don’t mind admitting that I hesitated for a few seconds before approaching your car.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, for all I knew, the driver could have been an axe murderer.’

Chloe spluttered into her coffee, then smiled at the glint of mischief in his eyes.

‘I thought exactly the same thing.’

‘Yes, I could tell.’

They both laughed and Chloe relaxed even further as they enjoyed their coffees in companionable silence, the passage of time marked by the slow, rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock – draped in a bushy garland of gold tinsel – standing sentry by the back door. The feeling of contentment, of being where she was meant to be, returned to invade Chloe’s consciousness, seeping into the darkest of crevices where she hadn’t expected light to be shone ever again. It was a pleasant, yet disconcerting, feeling, but one which she was determined to enjoy while it lasted in the hope that she could identify the cause so she could recreate it in the future.

‘How long has your aunt lived here?’

‘She inherited the orchard from her parents over twenty years ago, and apart from a few years she spent at university in London – where she met Uncle Martyn – she’s lived here all her life. My brother and I used to come here every summer when we were kids. It was an idyllic time,’ Nick said softly, his eyes lingering on an indeterminate point just beyond the kitchen window. ‘We’d race between the apple trees, scavenging for fallen fruit to use as ammunition in our catapults, and generally cause as much mayhem as we could. Sometimes my uncle even allowed us to drive the tractor!’

‘Sounds like fun.’

‘Oh, it was. When we were older, we’d help with the harvest and with packing up the different types of apples for delivery to the local shops and restaurants whose owners are supportive of keeping the more unusual varieties alive. The last few years have been challenging, though – and worse since my uncle passed away – so I offered to take a sabbatical from work to look after the place so my aunt could enjoy a well-deserved break. It also has the benefit of my being able to avoid getting dragged along to a long line of boring Christmas parties without having to make an excuse and sounding like The Guildford Grinch.’

‘So it’s not just Christmas music you don’t like?’

‘It’s all the false jollity that seems to be a prerequisite for every social occasion whether you like it or not. Oh, and don’t get me started on the ridiculous tradition of wearing Christmas jumpers, the more outrageous the better! Would you believe some people even wear them to the office!’

Chloe took in the white collared shirt Nick was wearing, the inside of the cuffs sporting a paisley pattern, and the buttonholes stitched in coordinated thread. It was clearly expensive, probably designer, as were his charcoal-grey suit trousers and hand-stitched leather shoes. The thought of him being forced to wear a jumper with a reindeer on the front made her smile.

‘How long are you here for?’

‘Three weeks. I’m expected back at work in the new year.’

‘Who knows, you might enjoy your stay in Cornwall so much you’ll want to make it a permanent move. I’m sure your aunt would like that, and Mitzy, too!’

‘That’s not going to happen,’ said Nick, a hint of disdain in his voice. ‘I’ve only recently relocated to Guildford from London, so I need to put in some hard work and long hours to make my mark at the new office. All my friends live in London and Surrey, too. I can’t just up sticks and move down to Cornwall to look after a few hundred apple trees and continue my uncle’s cider-making enterprise.’

‘Your uncle has… had a cider-making business?’

‘It was more of a hobby really,’ said Nick as he reached for another gingerbread man, this time biting off his head with undisguised relish. ‘He started it a few years ago as a way to make use of the apples that couldn’t be sold because they were bruised or the wrong shape, so that as little as possible went to waste. Liz, the owner of the Dog all my equipment – the copper still, the macerator, the botanicals I used, and all the stock I’d spent months making – everything I’d built up was completely obliterated in the space of an hour.’

‘I’m so sorry, Chloe. That must have been devastating.’

‘It was,’ she murmured.

‘When did the fire happen?’

‘Five months ago.’

‘Didn’t you have insurance?’

Chloe took a sip of her coffee to give her strength before continuing. ‘It’s complicated. The owner of the boardwalk is… was Dexter Hawkins, the famous rock guitarist, and, well, no one could get hold of him because he was on one of his epic solo hikes in the Californian wilderness, which meant the insurance claim was delayed, and then, just a week ago, we were told that he had sadly passed away.’

‘Yes, I read about that. I’m sorry. Did you know him well?’

‘No, I didn’t. I met him for the first time at the Blossomwood Bay midsummer festival at the end of June when his band played a gig to close the event, and then only briefly. He was a great landlord though, and I know he would have been upset if he’d known what had happened and how desperate we were to contact him.’

‘So, you’ve been running mobile cocktail-making classes while you wait?’

‘Yes.’

‘And does that pay the bills?’

Chloe shifted in her chair at the surprisingly direct question, her heartbeat rising as she contemplated her reply. This was it; this was where she either told the truth about her situation or stuck to the well-rehearsed speech she wheeled out whenever people – family and friends, clients and strangers – asked her how she was getting on.

She met Nick’s gaze, and what she glimpsed in his eyes shocked her to the core. It was as if he really saw her, the real Chloe Campbell, not the Chloe Campbell who had built, and scrupulously maintained, a hard outer shell to protect herself from the random acts of cruelty the director of her fate seemed to dish out with regularity.

Once again, she felt as though she had stumbled into a parallel world, one where only candid answers were acceptable and she didn’t feel compelled to assure her enquirer that she was “doing just fine, thank you very much”. She inhaled a breath, gathered her courage, and said the words that had been whirling around in her head on a loop for the last month, faster and faster until she felt nauseous.

‘No, it doesn’t. I… I struggled to pay my rent.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘I packed up my belongings… and…’ Chloe gulped down hard on her swirling emotions, determined to finish her story, or at least some of it. ‘I’ve been living in my car for the last few weeks. I thought it would be a temporary solution… just until the insurance money came through, but then we got the news about Dexter’s passing and…’

Tears gathered along her lashes, but she brushed them away. She didn’t feel sorry for herself; lots of people were in the same position as she was through no fault of their own. It was just another problem for her to deal with in a long line of bumps and blips that had punctuated her journey over the last ten years.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Chloe,’ said Nick, reaching across the table to give her hand a squeeze, his eyes filled with sympathy. ‘I can’t imagine how hard that is for you.’

‘Thanks.’ She finished the last of her coffee and when she glanced at the sunflower-shaped wall clock, she was horrified to see that it was almost ten o’clock. She pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘It’s late. I’d better go and check in at the pub.’

‘Why don’t you stay here? Just for tonight?’

‘Oh, no, I couldn’t—’

‘Not here in the farmhouse,’ Nick added quickly. ‘In my aunt’s weekend retreat in the eaves of the barn I told you about. It’ll be my way of paying you back for… for you not being an axe murderer! I’ll leave a message for my aunt to call me when she lands in Dubai to let her know what’s going on, but I know it won’t be a problem. Then, tomorrow, before you head over to see Joe, I can give you a tour of my uncle’s “cidery”. We can taste-test some of his products, and you can give me your expert opinion.’

‘That’s kind of you but… I’d better head off.’

Chloe saw a flicker of disappointment dash across Nick’s face, and she wondered briefly if she had made the right decision. If she was honest, she didn’t have the funds to pay for a night at the Dog & Whistle , especially when she had to cover the cost of the retrieval and any necessary repairs to her car, a thought that caused her stomach to churn with anxiety.

‘Okay, no worries, let’s go.’

Nick collected their mugs, dropped them in the sink, and called for Mitzy – who was snoozing in her chintz-lined basket – to join them. Chloe bent down to give her a last tickle under her chin, then collected her duffle bag and followed them both back down the hallway to the front door where Nick paused, his hand lingering on the handle.

‘It’s been good to meet you, Chloe.’

She smiled. ‘You, too.’

Nick pulled open the door, and they gasped in unison. In the time it had taken them to enjoy their coffees and home-made biscuits, the rain had turned to snow and the scene in front of them looked like an image on the front of a Christmas card.