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

Chapter Sixteen

Chloe was about to move away from the window when Nick and Dan emerged from the barn, and instead of heading into the farmhouse as she had expected, they strode towards Nick’s silver Range Rover, alongside which, she noticed for the first time, was a sleek, racing-green, Jaguar XJS with private number plates.

After shaking hands with Nick, Dan slid behind the wheel and roared away down the driveway, waving from the window as he tooted his horn and sent a fan of gravel in his wake. She wondered why he hadn’t stayed longer, but then she remembered that he was on route to spend Christmas with his wife and her family in St Ives.

Chloe tried hard not to allow the image of a matching-Christmas-jumper-clad family gathered around a fireplace – from which several personalised Christmas stockings hung – drinking warm mulled wine infused with cloves and singing festive tunes in the golden glow of the Christmas tree’s fairy lights to upset her, but it was a struggle.

After her conversation with her father, her demons had woken from their temporary slumber and were becoming restless, and she had learned through experience that when that happened, the best thing to do was to get busy. So, she washed her coffee cup and returned it to the cupboard, then skipped down the stairs and dashed the short distance to the farmhouse and rang the bell. Her lips curled upwards when she heard Mitzy bark an enthusiastic welcome, and her smile widened when Nick opened the door and she saw he was wearing a jumper in the same shade as her hoodie, except his was probably cashmere.

‘Hi, Chloe, want a cuppa?’

‘Yes, please.’

She followed Nick and Mitzy down the hallway to the kitchen and dropped down into the chair at the head of the scrubbed pine table. The air smelled of pine needles, cinnamon, and crushed apples from the cider cocktails they had experimented with the previous night.

‘How was Dan? Was it good to see him?’

Nick had his back to her so she couldn’t see his face, but to her surprise, she saw his shoulders stiffen. However, he continued to prepare their drinks and when he turned round to place a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea in front of her, along with a plate of his aunt’s gingerbread men, he was smiling broadly.

‘It was good to see him.’

‘What did he think of the farm? I saw him taking photographs.’

‘Ah, yes, Dan’s always fancied himself as an amateur photographer, although, to be honest, he’s talented enough to turn professional. According to him, the light here in Cornwall is “inspiring”, not to mention the diversity of the county’s landscape, especially in the winter for some reason.’ Nick laughed. ‘Oh, by the way, I’ve heard from my aunt.’

‘You have? What did she say?’

‘Actually, to be precise, she called during the night and left a message. I was right, she is having problems with her phone, but apparently it’s just one thing on a long list of items that she needs to sort out. However, she said that she’s settling in and loves what she has seen of Sydney so far, but she’s really struggling with jetlag and the massive time difference, so she promised to ring me back for a chat when she’s properly acclimatised.’

‘Did she mention the cider?’

‘She did, and she’s more than happy for us to use it; delighted, in fact.’

‘And what about the biscuits? Did she mention anything about them?’

‘She didn’t.’

‘Oh, well… never mind.’

Chloe knew it was unreasonable, but she could prevent a spasm of disappointment from shooting through her chest. However, she had to accept that if she was in Ruth’s shoes, an old biscuit recipe of her grandmother’s wouldn’t be at the forefront of her mind either, especially when presented with all the wonderful sights, sounds and myriad outdoor activities Australia had to offer the newly arrived visitor.

‘Okay, shall we taste-test our cider cocktails?’ said Nick, heading into his aunt’s pantry where the jugs of cider had spent the night. ‘I think they should be sufficiently infused by now, don’t you?’

‘Absolutely.’

A few minutes later, Nick returned with the two jugs – one containing the cinnamon-flavoured cider, one containing the cider with a generous pinch of the sunny smile herb – which he placed in the middle of the table. He then proceeded to filter each of the ciders through a sieve to remove the respective additives, before grabbing four glass tumblers from the cupboards above the sink and handing two to Chloe. Finally, as though he were a celebrated sommelier in a Michelin-starred restaurant, he poured an inch of each of the golden ciders into their respective glasses.

‘Okay, which one shall we taste first?’

‘The cinnamon one, I think,’ said Chloe. ‘It smells amazing.’

She took a sip, closing her eyes to better appreciate the sharp and tangy apple flavour that danced across her tongue, which went so well with the distinct spiciness of the cinnamon. It was a perfect blend, with the added advantage of it shouting “Christmas”.

‘Mm, that’s absolutely delicious.’

‘I agree. I’d give it nine out of ten. Okay, let’s try the “sunny smile” one. I really do love the name of this herb. It makes me smile before I’ve even tasted it!’

They both took a mouthful of the cider Nick had created, rolling the liquid around their mouths as they waited for their taste buds to react, before swallowing, licking their lips with approval, and taking another drink.

‘Wow, that’s… unusual. I love it, but I think it’s an acquired taste,’ said Nick, finishing the rest of his glass and filling it back up again. ‘What do you think?’

‘I like it, too. There’s something unique about it, a rich, almost almond-like flavour. I’d definitely drink that, but I think the cinnamon-flavoured cider is the better choice for the cocktail-making event, and it has the added benefit of having a Christmas twist, too.’

‘I agree; the cinnamon one it is. I’ll go grab another flagon of my uncle’s “cooking cider” from the cidery and we can get to work on making a few more pints of the stuff. I’m going to take this sunny smile one with us as well, though. I’d like to hear what Joe thinks of it.’

Thirty minutes later, they had prepared a vat of cinnamon-flavoured cider and left it to infuse in the pantry. Nick had also transported several crates of the other three ciders – the Pig’s Snout, the Cornish Gillyflower and the Pendragon – into the kitchen, along with several empty bottles, which he placed in a pan of boiling water.

‘What are they for?’

Nick’s eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘I’ve had an idea.’

‘What kind of idea?’

‘Remember the competition I told you about?’

‘Which one?’ Chloe laughed.

‘The “innovation in Cornish cider” competition run by the Cornish Cider Symposium .’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, I think we should do as you suggested and enter the Cornish Pendragon cider in honour of my uncle.’

‘But I thought you said he wasn’t eligible.’

‘Yes, that’s a problem, and I need to do some research on the legality of that rule, so… I thought we could also enter our new sunny smile-infused cider in the competition – it’s certainly “innovative”.’

‘But won’t that also fail the eligibility criteria?’

‘Not if we put your name on the entry form as well.’

‘Mine?’

‘Yes, you made it.’

‘No, you made it.’

‘Okay, we made it together, and you can’t tell me that those huge commercial enterprises that win every year don’t have a whole team of experts working in the R a colourful illustration of a fruit-laden apple tree superimposed onto a golden sunshine, and the words “Sunny Smile Cornish Cider” written in curly script. She would have liked to add a sketch of the herb they’d added, but she had no idea what it looked like, despite an exhaustive google search. She could only assume that Ruth had made the name up.

Next, she headed to Martyn’s office in the cidery to print off two dozen copies of the newly designed label to attach to the bottles that Nick had filled with their Sunny Smile cider, and then they packed six of them into a box ready to be shipped to the address on the competition’s website. She watched Nick take a few photographs, telling her that he intended to send them to his aunt, but wouldn’t be mentioning they were entering the cider in the competition.

‘Okay, let’s get everything over to the Dog & Whistle for tonight. I’ve already let Liz know which three cocktails you’re planning to demonstrate, and she’s organised several bottles of gin for the martini and the gin sour, along with a bottle of bourbon for the mint julep, and lots of fresh cranberry juice, mint and pomegranate seeds.’

‘Does she know how many people will be there?’

‘She thinks it’ll be around twenty, maybe twenty-five.’

‘That’s perfect.’

‘And…’ Nick hesitated.

‘What?’

He was clearly working up to deliver some news she might not be entirely happy about. ‘Liz also asked me to do everything in my power to “encourage”, “coax”, or “persuade” you to stay on in Perrinsby for a little while longer, even if Joe finishes the repairs on your car. I’ve been authorised to use bribery if I have to.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s the pantomime’s dress rehearsal at the village hall next Tuesday, and she needs as many people as possible to help out.’ Nick paused before meeting Chloe’s gaze. ‘If you do decide to stay, I feel honour-bound to warn you that she’s still looking for someone to play Oak Tree No. 3 , and she asked if you’d be prepared to step-in as an understudy at the dress rehearsal until she finds a suitable… victim.’

Chloe laughed. ‘How can I refuse? Especially when Liz has supplied the spirits for tonight’s cocktail-making event!’

Chloe rolled her eyes at Liz’s questionable recruitment tactics. Nevertheless, a warm feeling had started to spread through her chest, a feeling that she was an essential part of the Perrinsby community and that her contribution – however small – would be appreciated.

That same feeling stayed with her for the rest of the afternoon as she and Nick transported her cocktail-making equipment, twelve crates of Martyn’s artisan cider, several litres of the cinnamon cider cocktail, and the remaining bottles of the Sunny Smile cider with the pretty labels she had created, over to the Dog & Whistle , ready for that night’s panto-promo party.