Page 19 of Tricks & Treats at The Cosy Cornish Bakery

Despite her misgivings, she met his gaze. A beat of something far warmer, something very hot indeed, passed between them. ‘I’m glad it’s made you feel good,’ she stuttered out. ‘I ought to go. Make dinner. That’s if you’re eating in tonight?’

‘There’s nothing I’d like more.’

Ginger fled. In the kitchen she banged pots and saucepans around as she began the prep for curried cauliflower dhal. It released some of the tension.

‘Pull yourself together, Ginger. Remain friendly but professional. He’s a superstar, used to charming the Bridget Jones’s off anyone he comes across. You mean nothing to him,’ she said sternly to Nigella. The Aga looked back implacable and refused to answer.

CHAPTER 11

Chloe couldn’t sleep. Turning over for the hundredth time, she gave in and went to make a cup of tea. Drawing back the curtains she stood, nursing her mug, staring out at the just lightening sky. The sea, gunmetal grey, moved relentlessly, crashing against the cliffs. One or two gulls swooped, black arrow shapes against a thin silvery-pink sky. Grey Seal Island loomed mysteriously on the horizon, with its smaller rock alongside. She’d never been. It was unpopulated, except for the seals, but in the summer season there were regular boat trips out to it. Or there had been when she’d lived here as a child. In fact, Pinky’s brother, the guy she was renting the cottage off, used to run them. The Polkinghorn family was large and its members had fingers in most pies in Wheal Kitty Cove. Glancing over to The Sanctuary, all she could see was a rectangular block, tendrils of dawn just beginning to illuminate it. Ginger and her guest must still be asleep. She hoped her friend was all right. It was a strange thing to take in a guest, especially when it was just the two of you alone in a house. Curiously intimate. Ginger had sounded smitten with Josh when they’d talked in the pub the other night. She had a heart like soft putty, so Chloe hoped it stayed as merely starstruckness, if that was even a word, in the face of Josh’s dazzling Hollywood appeal.

Chloe blew out a short, frustrated breath. She’d been in the village for over two weeks now and still hadn’t made any plans. Hadn’t searched for jobs or put any feelers out to her old colleagues. Hadn’t even begun to think about what she should do, if anything, with the bakery. Had she been committed to staying, it might be different. She’d go into it with her usual energy and flair. Or would she? Jasper moving on so quickly, the redundancy, the sudden change in her circumstances, had floored her. It was making her question everything. She’d always been driven, academically talented, had known what she wanted and had worked hard to get it. Ever since she could remember, she’d had clear and uncompromising targets: excellent exam results, a good university, a first class degree and a career that would enable her to live a comfortable lifestyle. And she’d achieved every one of those targets. But what now? What next?

Sipping her tea, she wondered if any of it had actually made her happy. She thought about Ginger’s delight in baking home-made biscuits for her guests, her mother’s simple joy in walking Ziggy on the beach, Nik’s pride in where he lived and his community. She’d been so driven, she’d never allowed herself the luxury to stop and consider if all she’d achieved had actually been what she wanted after all.

She ground her teeth in frustration and flicked her hair back. She was just having an off moment. She’d get back to herself, the city dweller who worked and played hard. This state of mind was temporary. Striding into the kitchen she slammed the mug down on the work surface and headed for the shower. Seeing as she was awake so early, she may as well pay a visit to the bakery and talk to Pammy.

Even though it was barely past six, the bakery was lit up. Pammy was there. The outside of the building was, like so many others in the village, constructed of rough grey stone and topped with a Cornish slate roof. It wasn’t large, just a solid wooden door battered a little by the coastal weather and one small window. Set back a little from the lane it had the benefit of a tiny triangular space in front. Chloe sucked in a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and pushed open the door. Kernow Toons Radio floated out. The local news was playing with someone droning on about a stolen tractor.

‘We ain’t open yet, my lovelies.’ Pammy emerged from the prep area, her face flushed. A woman in her fifties, her light brown frizzy hair was currently hidden under a blue net and she still had on the white coat she wore when baking, the buttons straining over her generous bosom. When she was ready to serve at the counter Chloe knew it would be replaced with a faded pink and white striped apron. The friendly smile disappeared. ‘Oh. Hello, Chloe. What can I do for you?’

‘Just thought I’d drop by for a chat.’ Chloe inhaled. The bakery was already rich with the scent of freshly baked bread, and the first batch of today’s white bloomers were stacked on the shelves. Not much else was on sale. A few scones, a couple of rock cakes, one or two tired-looking Cornish pasties. The bought in cake order obviously hadn’t arrived yet.

‘Make it snappy. I got things to do.’

‘I appreciate you’re busy, Pammy, but do you think you’ve got time for five minutes with a cup of tea?’

Pammy’s mouth worked as she tried to think up an excuse. Then she obviously thought better of refusing her new boss and gave a curt nod. ‘Trendells are late with the cake order so I might have me a second spare. I’ll put the kettle on.’

‘I’ll make it if you’ve got things to do,’ Chloe offered.

‘Always got things to do, Chloe maid. Set yourself down. I’ll make it. Back dreckly.’ She huffed off.

Chloe sat down at the table in the window and looked around. There were only three other tables. All small, square and with chipped Formica tops. The walls were painted a pale, antiseptic green which made the place feel simultaneously chilly and tired. It was functional and exceptionally clean but not very inspiring. Chloe thought back to the artisan bakery she’d discovered in Bath when on a weekend break with Jasper. Bustling, often with a queue, the wicker baskets stacked with a tantalising selection of a huge variety of breads, pain au chocolat and croissants. She suspected if she said cinnamon twist to Pammy, she’d receive an uncomprehending stare. Staring outside at the glimmering dawn light, she remembered the red awnings outside the bakery nearest her apartment in Maida Vale. There was space for at least one table and a couple of chairs and, no matter the weather, there was always someone sitting enjoying a coffee and cake. Could she do something like that here? Rubbing her face tiredly her heart sank, the low mood of earlier returning. Her expertise was in finance; she knew nothing about running a bakery and café business. Why was she even bothering? She should say no to her mother and get her to sell the business off. And yet…

‘Here you go.’ Pammy returned, without the white coat and blue hairnet. She put a mug of tea in front of Chloe and a plate of biscuits. Sitting opposite, she lifted her own mug to sip. ‘Don’t let it go cold. ’Tis a chilly morn.’

Chloe picked up a biscuit. ‘What are these?’

‘Butter biscuits.’ Pammy shrugged behind her mug. ‘’Tis a simple recipe. Old-fashioned,’ she added, with a twitch of her lips. ‘Just good, salted butter, sugar, flour. Don’t take no time at all.’

Chloe bit into one. Baked this morning, it was perfect. Crisp but melted in the mouth. And the flavour! She ate it quickly and took another. ‘Pammy, these are delicious.’

‘Course they is. Don’t need to always go chasing newfangled stuff. Sometimes the old recipes are just as good.’

‘Do you make these to sell in the shop?’

‘Sometimes.’ Pammy tugged on her earlobe. ‘When I can, like, or have a fancy to. Hands are too full most of the time.’

‘And they sell well?’

‘Like hot cakes.’

From anyone else Chloe would have taken it as a joke, but Pammy was famed for not having a sense of humour. ‘Do you make any other biscuits?’

‘What is this?’ Pammy asked impatiently. ‘Twenty questions? Yes, I makes other biscuits. Coconut drops, jumbles, Cornish Fairings. Nice, they are. Gingery. Good to dip in your cuppa.’ Pammy sniffed and thrust an arm under her bosoms in a curious gesture, humping them aloft. ‘But like I say, don’t have time. This is a bakery. Folk expect bread. They get bread.’

‘White bloomers?’