I hate to pop their balloon. ‘Great. Except him turning up at the product launch was a complete one off. The only time he goes out is to wine and dine his estate agents.’ Not that I stalk him. But over the last few weeks I couldn’t help notice. And if I felt pleased and delighted about this, I’ll keep that part to myself.
Sophie’s looking at me like I’m missing the point. ‘But there’s the real difference. With Operation Siren, we don’t wait around, wemakethings happen. Step one, wehaveto get Charlie to an event.’
Plum’s mouth is set in a determined line. ‘Exactly. And there’s one person in the perfect position to make that happen.’
I look up expectantly. ‘Yes?’
And damn that they’re both looking atme.
19
In the flat at Seaspray Cottage
Colouring in and blunt instruments
Tuesday, three weeks later
The next couple of weeks pass by in a chocolate blur. As June ends, the weather gets warmer and there are more people to watch on the beach. Last Sunday there was a good forecast and by the time I woke up after my late night the town was already heaving. When I made my way up the winding cobbled street to the bakery to get my morning croissants if it hadn’t been for the smell of salt and fishing nets blowing up from the harbour I could almost have been in Montmartre.
After a serious amount of Laura’s Love for Chocolate evenings we slide in some Rhubarb Laura’s Way nights so it doesn’t go to waste. It turns out Sophie was right on that one. The rhubarb runs out before the punters. So, then we move on to White Chocolate Sin Chez Laura. Although now I’ve started on chocolate there are so many delicious recipes I’m dying to try, I feel like I could go on with Laura’s Chocolate Box variations all the way through to autumn. Which may yet happen. The word from Geneva is that my holiday pay has dropped to half and Maude has extended her stay by another month. If I was less busy I might mind. As it is, I’ve barely got time to reply to the email. My escape route is still there, it’s just been delayed a little. The truth is, right now I’m loving the flat so much and enjoying the baking, the ‘moment’ I want to be living in is this one. Which probably explains why the news that I’ve got to stay longer in St Aidan doesn’t send me into the panic it once would have. If I ever do think about having to leave, there’s a knot in my stomach that only goes when I forget about the future and relax back into the here and now. It could be down to the sun. Although to be fair, I loved the bluster of spring. And the if thought of winter rain and sea spray hammering on the windows sends a shiver zinging down my spine, these days it’s a shiver of anticipation not horror.
As the long summer days take hold, on any afternoons I’m not baking to get ready for events, Charlie and I fit in recipe trials. What with that guy and his sugar addiction, he’s more than willing to trade his tuition skills for the results. After the way he kicked off about the rules at first, I’m always holding my breath, waiting for something to go wrong, but involving him is a fail-safe way to keep him on side. Hopefully, if he puts his energy into recipe planning he’ll forget about scuppering my supposed social life. Fingers crossed, if he feels like he’s in charge, he won’t complain. If we’ve baked something spectacular, he understands that all my friends will want to try it as much as he does. And the regulars at the evenings come so often they are like friends now.
Charlie’s pretty damned organised when it comes to his stomach. He usually arrives ready prepared, with ingredients in a bag for whatever he fancies making from the current short-list of Laura’s cards. Whether it’s raspberry and white chocolate blondies or squidgy chocolate pear pudding, melt in the middle chocolate pots or berry white chocolate cheesecake, he’s always up for demolishing the results. And in the same way the arrangement is never actually mentioned, there’s also this kind of silent, unspoken understanding that I’ll try every recipe with him first. The theory is, so long as we are super careful about not making too much noise with the evening do’s, the massive amounts of chocolate endorphins pumping through Charlie’s veins will take care of the rest. And so far, they have.
It’s the strangest feeling. After a whole life never clicking with anything, here I am, making puddings and loving it. And other people are loving them too. Sometimes I’m so proud of what I’m doing I feel like my chest could burst. Although that could be down to my buttons being tight due to too much tasting.
As for how I’ve got this far and managed to keep my hands off the hot Mr Hobson … in a way, it’s been easy, because the swooning and somersaulting tummies are all on my side. There isn’t a glimmer of a spark from him. It’s like baking with a super beautiful stone wall who happens to have the occasional good line in developer banter. So long as I keep the lusting the other side of the kitchen table and keep my hands off his delicious forearms/butt/delectably tight thighs, he’s definitely none the wiser. Even his half-smiles are so rare, I write them on the calendar. Let’s face it, if I was going to sleep with anyone, it would only ever be on a one-off basis, and I’d be crazy to choose someone so close to what is feeling more like home every day. There are afternoons when all I want to do is scream. But mostly I’ve got this.
However much I try to kid myself, this is Cornwall not the Med. We don’t have wall-to wall sunshine every day. This particular afternoon the clouds are scudding across a sky the colour of a battleship fleet. The beach is empty apart from the occasional flurry of lapwings and the rain is hammering so hard the sea is dimpled with the splashing. As I stand in the open doorway to the balcony watching the iron-grey rollers crashing up on the sand, the salty sting in my cheeks is reminding me that the cottage name is completely right. I’m shivering and pulling my cardigan closer when there’s a sudden rush and, a second later, Diesel’s skidding to a halt on the wet decking, and forcing his way past me. Followed close behind by a slightly more polite Charlie.
He shakes a slick of rain off his forehead and holds up a carrier bag as he strides into the living room. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t mind a break from chocolate just for today. We still haven’t made cupcakes, and Milla’s birthday can’t be far off?’
I’m surprised he remembered. ‘It’s next week.’
He sniffs. ‘Sophie never got back to me about the icing colour.’
That’s because Sophie wheedled private viewings for their second and third visits to Siren House, hoping everyone except the agent would assume they hadn’t been. Apparently with auction property it pays to keep your opponents in the dark about how interested you are. I’d be dead meat if Sophie thought I’d breathed a word. ‘Milla would like bright rainbows, I asked her myself.’
Charlie’s eyes narrow. ‘I hear Sophie’s gone all ‘cloak and dagger’ on us. She skipped the open viewing at Siren House and snuck in a couple of evening visits instead.’
‘How thehelldo you knowthat?’ After the lengths she’s gone to keep her intentions secret, Sophie would be appalled.
As he shrugs there’s a smile lilting on his lips so that’ll be another tick on the calendar. ‘The appointments book was open at the Siren House page when I called in to the agent’s. I couldn’t help seeing who’d viewed.’ He makes it sound like the book jumped up, hit him in the face and forced him to look. And he’s showing his teeth as well.
I can’t help protest as I follow him and his bag through to the kitchen. ‘That’s low, I didn’t think you’d stoop to cheating.’ His chocolate mousse might be to die for, but morally he sounds as bad as Sophie fears. I have a momentary thought about how much I’d like to shake him, which doesn’t end well. It’s always best if I don’t think about snogging his face off.
He gives a dismissive sniff. ‘It’s hardly classified information. And I’m the one who’s put in theyearsmaking friends with the agents.’ His eyes narrow. ‘Don’t knock it. There was a lot bigger surprise than Sophie on that list.’
‘Who was that then?’ I’m suddenly seeing the benefit of spending most afternoons baking with someone so keyed into the developer hot gossip line. Realistically, my local speculator knowledge doesn’t extend beyond Charlie. But to Sophie whatever information he’s about to spill could be liquid gold. This is a side of Operation Siren I hadn’t anticipated.
He’s watching my face intently. ‘Apparently, your long lost half-brother Joe is also in the frame for Siren House.’
‘What?’ I’m so shocked I almost swallow my tongue with my gulp. ‘Not Joe Marlow?’ He can’t be? Can he? If wanted to put the brakes on mentally undressing a developer, it wasn’t like this.
Charlie nods. ‘It’s definitely him. He flew in last week, had three viewings with professionals crawling all over the place, then flew out again.’ For once, he’s justified in looking super pleased with himself. Although I still haven’t worked out how he pulls it off without grinning.
‘Shit. That sounds serious.’ My stomach feels like it’s been kicked. Hard. When I finally find my voice it’s a whisper. ‘Wecan’tlet him buy it.’ For every reason.
