‘So, it’s the Bodmin Moor shoot tomorrow morning. One of my favourite places in the world – after the Cheviots of course. And I’ve just checked the schedule – it’s going to be an early start because the chef Lucinda is working with is flying out to New York in the afternoon to join a cruise ship where he’s judging a sort of Floating Chef competition. But the flip side is that we get the afternoon to ourselves before we have to leave for the last shoot at the Eden Project. So, as a treat, I’m taking you up Rough Tor, which is the second highest point in Cornwall. It’s an easy hike up and the view from the summit is breathtaking.’
Emilie smiled at the enthusiasm Matt seemed to apply to every aspect of his life. Nothing fazed him and he threw every ounce of his energy behind each endeavour he put his mind to. As Matt looped and swerved around the narrow, hedge-bordered lanes, they chatted about a myriad of subjects with ease. The more she learned about Matt, the more she found they had in common and the more her heart melted to his quirky sense of humour and his craving to be free of the trappings of commercialism.
As twilight began to cast indigo and ivory flares over the horizon, they arrived at Craiglea Manor House, a luxury boutique hotel where Lucinda would prepare her penultimate trio of Cornish desserts the next morning. They passed through the twin stone pillars that guarded the entrance of the impressive granite-grey house, which was topped with Cornish slate. They made their way along the winding driveway to the cobbled courtyard ringed with a necklace of old-style lamp posts that cast a rose-tinted aura over the car park.
Matt slung his rucksack over his shoulder and Emilie grabbed her wheelie suitcase from the back of the van. She struggled to drag the wheels through the deep gravel to the steps, their stone treads worn in the middle by the passage of time. They went through the grand entrance to check-in.
Emilie couldn’t believe she had been allocated a suite until the po-faced receptionist informed her that all the rooms at Craiglea Manor were suites, each one named after a famous literary figure with connections to the area. She smiled when she read that her key allowed her access to the Rosamunde Pilcher suite. She was determined to enjoy every minute of the unexpected luxury, a treat paid for by Lucinda’s management for all those who had stuck with the road trip from the beginning.
The suite was everything Emilie had dreamed it would be, from the crisp white cotton sheets, the fluffy towels and Jo Malone toiletries in the bathroom, to the stunning landscape of the hotel grounds and Bodmin Moor beyond. But she wasn’t there to enjoy the view or to keep a maternal eye on the Satsuma Splittie, which nestled just below the window, wreathed in a halo of amber light. It sat alongside the more sombre presence of the sleek black limousine Lucinda had hired for the duration of the trip. She smiled when she saw Marcus’s scarlet Mini crunch through the gravel and pull up next to the camper van. She knew he would adore the Manor – perhaps he would be allocated the John le Carré suite.
She turned away from the window. Matt was waiting for her at the door of the en suite bathroom. ‘I’ve ran a bath. Fancy joining me?’
‘Just try stopping me!’
They stayed beneath the bubbles until the water turned cold, then wrapped themselves up in the thick towelling robes and ordered room service. Whilst they waited for their food to arrive, they lounged on the super-king-sized bed, flicking languidly through the movie channels. Emilie hoped there would be nothing of interest so they could dive into bed early.
They hoovered up a delicious meal of home-made cheese and onion quiche and twice-cooked chips made from the potatoes grown in the hotel’s vegetable plot, and then Emilie snuggled into the cruck of Matt’s arm. She experienced a feeling of total peace and well-being, and of the certain knowledge that at last she could ask Matt anything and not be rebuffed.
‘After the Perranporth shoot I would never have believed I would say this but I’ll be sad when this trip is over,’ Emilie began, sending up a prayer to her guardian angel that Matt would agree with her.
‘Mmm, me too.’
‘Are you looking forward to seeing your family? How long is it since you left?’
‘I came down here in April.’
‘They must miss you.’
Matt removed his arm from around her shoulder so he could look her directly in the eyes. His expression became strained and serious, his body language tense, in complete contradiction to his usually laid-back demeanour. For a moment he didn’t move a muscle, clearly engaged in an internal struggle as to whether he should confide in Emilie.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…’
‘No, no it’s okay. You have nothing to apologise for. It’s my fault.’ He took her hands in his and inhaled a deep ragged breath filled with anguish. But his face spoke of determination, of a resolve to be open with her so that their relationship could move from superficial friendship and camaraderie to something far deeper and more meaningful. ‘I’m sorry I’ve avoided telling you about my past, Emilie. You deserve to know, especially when being with you has taught me that I still can be passionate about something even though it causes me immense pain. It’s just that I struggle to talk about what happened to Jamie.’
It was a few moments before Matt continued. His throat strangled around the words that he clearly found difficult to deliver.
‘You don’t have to…’
‘I do. I want to tell you about him. Jamie was the best brother anyone could wish for and I need to keep his memory alive by talking about him. He was more than just my brother; he was my best friend. He was a great sportsman – cricket, rugby, golf, even archery. He was a fabulously talented chef too. Jamie would invite all his college mates round to Mum and Dad’s and he’d cook up a storm. And he was a superb brewer, better than I am. We had a great business in the making. Orders were increasing every month, we had just secured a lucrative contract with an international distributor and we were even planning to offer tours and tastings just like Hugo. Everyone loved Jamie.’
Matt paused again to gather his courage to deliver what were obviously painful words for him to utter. Emilie’s heart squeezed in sympathy as she waited until he was ready.
‘Jamie died two years ago. He was working late at the brewery, catching up on the dreaded paperwork. We didn’t find him until the next morning, by which time it was too late.’
‘Oh, Matt, I’m so sorry. That’s just awful.’ She touched his arm to show her support but she knew it wasn’t enough.
‘The doctors told us it was a heart attack. Could have happened anywhere, any time. It was too much to comprehend. He’d just celebrated his twenty-fourth birthday. Mum and Dad were devastated, we all were, and I knew I couldn’t continue to run the brewery without Jamie by my side. If only I had offered to do the accounts that night or had phoned him to check on his progress, perhaps I could have done something…anything… I can’t seem to shift the continual spiral of questions that start with “what if”.’
‘Oh, Matt…’
‘I know that I’ve been running away from what happened, living an itinerant lifestyle so I don’t have to face up to my grief and my responsibilities with the business on a daily basis. I suppose I have to accept that I’m a coward. But I also carry an intense burden of guilt that no matter what I do I can’t eradicate.’
‘But, Matt, what happened to Jamie wasn’t your fault. You said the doctors told you that it could have happened at any time. You have to stop punishing yourself for something that was totally out of your control,’ she said gently.
‘That’s almost exactly, word for word what my mother has said to me every time we speak on the phone. Trouble is my brain accepts that she’s right, but my heart refuses to play the game. I loved that guy. You know, it was Jamie’s dream to publish the book on Great British Beverages, something he came up with when he was at catering college. He decided that he would source the products and I would do the writing bit. He would have loved you, Emilie, and I’m certain he would have asked you to do the photography. Perhaps it isn’t such a pipe dream after all!’
Emilie prayed that Matt’s last sentence was evidence that a chink had opened up in the armour of the pain and self-recrimination Matt had surrounded himself with since his brother’s premature death. That at last he was starting to look to the future.
‘What a fantastic way to honour your brother’s memory, Matt. Maybe you should think about reopening the brewery, too? You could even brew a special craft beer and name it after him.’
‘Maybe,’ Matt muttered, pulling her back into his arms and placing his chin on her head, clearly spent from the heartbreaking revelations.
Emilie waited for her heartbeat to calm before saying anything further, but she drifted off into a dream-filled slumber. She awoke with a start and turned to curl up against Matt’s warm body but found his side of the bed empty. She sat up and looked around the room but there was no light coming from the bathroom. She got up and peeked through the door but he wasn’t there. In fact, he wasn’t anywhere in the suite. A sharp pang of anxiety clutched at her chest. Where was he?
She squinted at her watch. Two a.m. Could he have gone outside for some fresh air to clear his mind after what he had told her?
She padded across to the window, cracking open the chintzy curtains, and peered down over the illuminated car park. There was the camper van, sleeping peacefully under the glint of the full moon. She let out a sigh of relief that Matt hadn’t decided to take the opportunity to make a quick getaway but the breath caught in her throat when, as she turned back to the bedroom, she noticed a flicker of movement through the windscreen. As she watched, Matt emerged for the back of the Satsuma Splittie and plonked himself down in the driver’s seat.
What on earth was he doing?
She saw the bluish tinge of a computer screen appear. Was that her laptop he was using? She pressed her nose against the window as she tried to fathom out what was going on. Her heart sank as she realised that whatever Matt was doing he clearly didn’t want her to know about it or he would have asked her if he could borrow her laptop the next morning. His subterfuge put into question everything that had happened between them and even whether he’d had an ulterior motive for romancing her over the last few days.
Was Matt so different from Brad? Had he been using her too?
She watched as the light was extinguished and he clambered into the back seat. She had truly thought Matt was different – not at all interested in playing games – open, honest, a free spirit, but clearly she had been wrong. He was just like everyone else and she had been a fool to believe otherwise. Her world crumbled around her and her heart shrivelled as her thoughts twisted through a labyrinth of confusion. She chastised herself for trusting her instincts, and for falling, once again, for a man who only had his own interests at heart.
She climbed sadly back into bed, turning her back to the door as she considered how to handle the situation. The assignment was almost over. There was only the shoot in the orangery at the back of the manor house with the moor as the backdrop to complete, then the drive to St Austell for the final shoot. Whichever way she looked at it, she needed Matt to drive the camper van for the last leg of the journey. She hadn’t sat behind a wheel for years and certainly didn’t intend to start now. She didn’t even know if she could remember how to drive, especially as the van was not an automatic.
So, with a leaden heart, she decided she had to put what she had seen to one side and act as though nothing had happened. After the final shoot she would grab a taxi to the station and make her escape back to London and pick up her life where she left off – minus any romantic entanglements.
She sighed when she heard the door of the suite open and the bed creak as Matt joined her. Tears prickled at her eyes at the loss of what she had hoped would be a promising future together. When she got home she would try to put this chapter of her life behind her, including her dream of starting up her own photography business, whilst she worked on her habit of falling for men who had ulterior motives for being with her. A sharp spasm of pain invaded her chest and refused to budge.
It felt like only moments had passed when her phone buzzed with the early alarm call. Light seeped through a gap in the drapes she had left the previous night and the whole painful episode came flooding back. She padded over to the window, glancing back over her shoulder at Matt who was still fast asleep, his arms and legs flung wide. He really was handsome, she thought with a heave of regret. Why couldn’t he have been different from Brad?
She parted the curtain to take in the view. Walkers and hikers were already marching off down the driveway, anxious to make the most of a bracing day out on the heather-covered hills. Hearing a car door slam, she refocused her eyes on the camper van and to her surprise saw Lucinda, her phone clutched to her ear, emerging from behind it. Emilie held her breath as she watched her client sneak a glance over her shoulder and deposit something in the pocket of the Barbour jacket she had borrowed from a selection kept by the hotel on a row of pegs by the back door.
Still acting suspiciously, Emilie mused, but why did she have to keep up the pretence in the car park deep in the Cornish countryside? There were no local Gingerbread meetings for her to rush off to at that time of the morning surely? She slapped down her latent private detective for poking its head above the parapet. Marcus had explained Lucinda’s weird behaviour and there was no way Lucinda would be meeting anyone from any other of her favourite charities in the bushes behind the Satsuma Splittie for heaven’s sake!
As she watched Lucinda disappear into the boot room, the image of Matt with her laptop floated unbidden into her mind. Sadness engulfed her mood. She tiptoed into the bathroom, locked the door behind her and let the steaming water cascade over her trembling body in a futile effort to wash away the desolation. She dressed swiftly and then went out to nudge Matt awake.
‘See you downstairs for breakfast.’
Before he had chance to ask her any questions, she dragged her suitcase from the room and down the magnificent staircase. She recalled their conversation on the way up the previous night when she had giggled at Matt’s suggestion that they should creep out of their room in the middle of the night and slide down the mahogany banister like a pair of naughty children. In the cold light of the morning she could think of nothing more ridiculous.
She deposited her suitcase in the back of the camper van and reached out to check her laptop. Everything seemed to be as she had left it. Then, as a shard of pain lanced into her heart, she realised what Matt had taken. The memory stick containing all the drink-related photographs was missing.
But why? Why would he take it?
She had been intending to persuade him to visit the St Austell brewery he had already told her about after they’d completed the last shoot at the Eden Project – just to add a few more shots to the list, perhaps of the Cornish Mena Dhu stout or the Trelawny best bitter. She had planned to present him with her gift at the end of the trip as a thank you for being her chauffeur.
Oh God what a mess! she sighed.
‘Hey, Emilie! Is everything okay? Why’d you disappear this morning?’ Matt wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly against his torso, but she couldn’t prevent herself from tensing at his touch. He pulled her away from him, holding her at arm’s length to delve into her eyes, dipping down as far as her soul. She averted her eyes and pulled a face.
‘Got to get the shoot set up. It’s an early one, remember? But don’t worry, Marcus and I have it covered today. We’re a great team.’
‘Okay,’ said Matt, his face creased in confusion. He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged and sloped away towards the boot room. ‘Don’t forget your promise to come hiking with me this afternoon. I’ve packed a rucksack. It’s not a difficult climb but we need to be prepared.’
Emilie called after him. ‘Oh, Matt I don’t think I…’
‘Won’t take no for an answer. You can’t miss this. Wait and see.’ And he graced her with his familiar grin, which made her feel even worse.
She was grateful Marcus wasn’t in the orangery when she got there. She needed time to think through the compendium of doubt rippling through her brain, to decide how she intended to handle the next twenty-four hours. A block of concrete had taken up residence in her chest, which made it a struggle to breathe.
The last thing she wanted to do was spend the afternoon exploring the moors with Matt. His betrayal of her trust hurt too much, but then how was she going to explain her reluctance without causing suspicion and risking him demanding an honest explanation. Surely she could ignore her emotional turmoil long enough to do the hike. If she kept busy, the time would pass more quickly and they would arrive at St Austell – where they had to hand back the Satsuma Splittie – before she knew it. She had to finish the assignment otherwise Lucinda and her publishers would never engage her services again, that was for sure.
She expelled a loud, ragged sigh. That’s what she would do. Forget the events of last night had happened, pin a bright smile on her face, and get on with it.
‘Emilie, have you seen Lucinda?’
‘Hi, Marcus. Yes, I saw her skulking behind the camper van at the crack of dawn, actually. I think she had her mobile phone with her. She was probably talking to Grant,’ she added quickly.
‘God, you can’t get a proper signal around here. I had to walk halfway across Bodmin Moor last night to ring my sister. She’s agreed to let me use her apartment in Brighton for the weekend when the shoot is over. I don’t mind admitting to you that I’m exhausted. I’m intending to call in at my flat in Pimlico to grab my little Shih Tzu, Sukie, and her basket and then we’re going to go straight down for a long bracing walk on the beach and a bout of excessive pampering. Oh, Emilie, I do love what you’ve done here. Is that Cornish gin? Yum! I happen to think this is your best set yet.’
‘Thanks, Marcus,’ she said with little enthusiasm.
‘Ooo is there something going on you want to share with Uncle Marcus?’ He moved closer to look her straight in the eye. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve had a lover’s tiff?’
‘No! Like you, I’m just exhausted. This trip has been a real energy-sapper. I’m looking forward to finishing up and getting back to the daily grind at the office. Aren’t you?’
‘Sure, but I’ve not fallen madly in love with a hunky chauffeur slash surfer.’
‘Neither have I!’ And she turned her back on Marcus as Lucinda strode into the room with the resident Michelin-starred chef, each laden with a selection of local desserts fresh from the oven.
‘I’m so pleased you decided to include the Cornish Pepper Cake in your new book, Lucinda,’ said the diminutive chef with magnificent salt-and-pepper tresses as he set the fragrant cake next to the bottles of Cornish pastis. ‘Doesn’t it all look gorgeous in this setting? The Lucinda Loves…Desserts cookery book is going to be the best so far if the design of these backdrops are anything to go by.’
‘Oh, thank you, Miles,’ enthused Lucinda, clearly disguising her views on any imperfections in order to accept his compliments. ‘But everything that comes out of the Craiglea Manor kitchen is superb. I do love it here. Don’t forget Grant and I will be back to stay at Christmas.’
‘I hope you will stay longer than one night.’ Miles laughed, adjusting his apron, which Emilie noticed was embroidered with a Lucinda Loves… logo – this one championing Bodmin Moor, Cornwall.
‘Absolutely. Now come on.’ Lucinda rested her palm on Miles’s forearm. ‘Shall we retire to that splendid library of yours with one of your speciality coffees before you’re whisked away to the airport? We should give Emilie here some space to work her magic with the photographs. She really is very talented, you know. I’m very fortunate to have her on this shoot – wait until I tell you the story. And I want to hear every detail about the competition you’re judging. Did you say the cruise ship will be calling in at the Bahamas? I did a shoot there last year and I simply adored it. I’d love to go back with Grant.’
Emilie remained rooted to the spot. Had she heard correctly? Not only had Lucinda complimented her on her photography skills in front of a Michelin-starred chef, which in itself was amazing, but she had also got her name right again.
‘Good things come to those who stick around.’ Marcus smirked.
‘You’re right.’ She laughed, at last snapping out of her torpor and getting on with the job in hand.
‘Promise me you’ll take care on the moor this afternoon, darling. Matt told me at breakfast what he had planned for you both. I know he’s Mr Intrepid personified but the weather has a way of creeping up behind you and biting you on the backside. Wouldn’t want you to get stranded and have to dig a love nest amongst the bracken and the heather before stripping naked to share your bodily warmth.’
‘Oh, shut up, Marcus.’ She laughed again to soften her sharp tone.
The last thing she needed was to traipse up a mountain in the rain or risk getting stranded with Matt. She could hardly look him in the eye as it was, and their previous closeness had diminished with every painful minute that passed until he resembled the stranger he had been when she’d met him on the beach in the distant past, or was it only yesterday?
There was no more tidying up to linger over so she could delay the expedition no longer. She took a deep breath and decided the sooner they started out on the trek, the sooner it would be over and they could get on the road south for the final shoot, after which she never had to see Matt again.
‘Hey, there you are. Ready? I’ve got everything packed.’ Matt patted his rucksack with something close to genuine affection. ‘You just need to put on these hiker’s boots I borrowed from the boot room – and this cagoule – sorry about the colour – and we’re all set.’
‘Are you sure the weather forecast is okay to be walking up hills and across moors? Marcus says the elements can be a bit unpredictable around here.’
‘A little drizzle maybe, but when did that ever stop enthusiasts walking these glorious moorlands. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. And I’ll let you taste-test some of that splendid mead to warm you up when we get back. Come on.’
Matt grabbed a couple of walking poles, tossed them onto the back seat and slid the camper van door shut with a resounding clang. Emilie climbed in the passenger side and they made their way down the driveway towards the stone pillars at the exit of Craiglea Manor to begin their hike.