There’s Something About Cornwall

‘I did have it all planned out. My boyfriend was a photographer too so we were going into business together, but that was before I found photographs of him with a certain lingerie and swimwear model on his Facebook page, and a few other things like taking my favourite camera without asking and always derogating my chosen field of expertise.’

She stopped, surprised at her frankness considering she had just met Matt. She usually took her time sizing up new acquaintances but Matt made her feel so comfortable and relaxed in her own skin that she felt she could confide her deepest darkest secrets and he wouldn’t judge her.

She lifted her head to check his expression, expecting a sympathetic nod, but what she got caused her stomach to drop like a silver penny down a well. His attraction to her was written clearly in his eyes, the colour of the ocean on a summer’s day. He wasn’t the usual kind of guy she found attractive with his tousled, sun-kissed hair, a natural golden tan from the hours he spent wrestling the waves and a body Ryan Gosling would be proud of. In contrast, Brad spent most of his time indoors, often in a darkened room, and therefore tended to work the pale and interesting look with gym-honed muscles, not the effortless, all-round physique that came from spending life in the fresh air.

Matt was the complete opposite of Brad in other ways too. Brad chose sharp, designer-branded attire, wore a Tag Heuer watch and wouldn’t dream of leaving the house without a comb in his pocket and a liberal sprinkling of his favourite cologne. His appearance was so camera-ready that he could easily have stepped into one of his own photo shoots should the unlikely occasion arise. He exuded impeccability and polish from every pore and thread.

Matt, on the other hand, was the epitome of an easy-going wave addict. Sun-kissed and a little frayed around the edges with his bleached jeans, washed-out tee shirt and the leather thong he wore around his neck. His hair, the colour of liquid corn, sprang from his head in tufts and added to laid-back vibe his presence projected.

But the major difference was in temperament. Brad oozed charisma and sartorial elegance and worked hard at maintaining this superficial veneer, as well as the signature come-to-bed glance from his chocolate brown eyes, complete with long spidery lashes she would have given her Nikon D810 for. However, Matt clearly didn’t give a second thought to his external appearance and was relaxed and content in his own skin. Nevertheless, Emilie detected a deep sadness behind his aquamarine eyes that even when he laughed was never completely erased.

She shoved away her surprise at the zing of desire that had started to fizz through her veins. The last thing she wanted to do was fall for a guy who was leaving the next day – and she had never been interested in one night of passion, no matter how hunky the guy was. She offered Matt a wide, but wary smile.

‘Maybe after this Cornwall shoot is over I will take the plunge and go solo. But as I said, I’ve not made the best of starts, unless you consider it normal to scatter your client’s hand-made biscuits – the very items you have been engaged to photograph – all over the carpet of the photo shoot venue.’ Emilie glanced over Matt’s shoulder and out to sea, again startled at her openness in front of Matt. She felt as though they occupied the same frequency somehow, that they had been friends for years not minutes.

‘Sounds like a case of beginner’s nerves to me. I’m sure things will improve as you settle in to the assignment and understand what your client wants, their quirks and their preferences. What happened after the biscuit fiasco?’

‘I was mortified and only Alice’s swift intervention stopped Lucinda from firing me on the spot. You know, I was never her first choice of photographer – that was Brad, my ex – so maybe it’s best for everyone if I just leave before things go from bad to worse and I’m looking at my career in the rear-view mirror.’

Warmth tinged her cheeks when she realised Matt was staring at her, his mouth curled upwards in amusement. Tiny dimples had appeared in his cheeks like brackets highlighting his plump lips. She felt strangely nervous, agitated even, in Matt’s company so she took another sip of her drink to disguise her surprise reaction. She watched him copy her action and take a swig from his bottle of beer before she asked, ‘So what do you do when the season ends?’

‘I’m packing up my tent and heading home to Northumberland tomorrow. Work as a surfing instructor tends to be seasonal. I’ve travelled down here for the last two seasons. If I’m lucky I’ll get something to tide me over the winter. I’ll stay with my parents so no problem with the rent and they love having me home, then it’ll be back down here at the end of March ready for another summer full of fun!’

‘Don’t they have surf in Northumberland?’ asked Emilie, an involuntary shudder snaking down her spine as she thought of dipping her toe in the North Sea.

Matt laughed, a sound that was both musical and infectious. ‘Actually they do. But the season is a lot shorter and I have to admit the surf is awesome here.’

‘And you live in a tent the whole time?’

‘Sure. It’s not a problem. I love the freedom it gives me. When I get time off I can pack up my rucksack and hike down to Newquay or Perranporth and ride the surf down there. I try to make every minute of my life count. It’s not a dress rehearsal, is it? We have to be prepared to squeeze pleasure from every moment – otherwise what’s the point?’

Once again Emilie saw the spectre of sadness stalk across Matt’s lovely eyes but she didn’t feel able to ask what demons had intruded on his happiness. He pulled his attention back to her and gave her a brief smile before finishing his beer and indicating her empty bottle.

‘Want to try something new?’ he asked, displaying a perfect set of teeth fit to grace any toothpaste advertisement.

‘Well, as it seems my friend has deserted me for the joys of the dance floor, yes please. What do you have in mind?’

‘Come with me.’

Matt took hold of her hand and a surprise jolt of electricity coursed through her body, snaking out to her fingertips. As he guided her towards the drinks table she scoured her brain for evidence that this was how she had felt when she’d first met Brad a few weeks after arriving at Dexter Carvill. Matt indicated a white plastic bowl filled with punch before she had chance to reach any firm conclusions. He scooped up a ladleful of the amber liquid and gently poured it into a plastic cup.

‘This is genuine Cornish Mine Punch.’

She laced her fingers around the cup and inhaled the warm sweet vapour that spiralled into the night air. She took a tentative sip and the smooth velvety liquid slipped down her throat, seeping into her veins and spreading heat to her extremities. She ran her tongue around her lips and smiled. It was delicious.

‘Like it?’

‘I love it! What’s in it?’

‘It’s my own secret recipe.’

‘What? You mean you made this?’

Matt laughed and his whole face lit up. ‘Don’t look so surprised. I’m pleased you like it though. It’s an ancient Cornish recipe with an Ashby twist. Sampling and recreating traditional drinks made from locally sourced ingredients – and not just the alcoholic variety – happens to be a passion of mine. I used to own a microbrewery up in Northumberland with my brother. So now you’ve tasted Cornish Mine Punch, I trust you’ve already sampled a pint of the famous Cornish cider?’

‘No, I haven’t.’ She lifted her upper lip and screwed up her nose in distaste. She didn’t drink a great deal, but when she did decide to indulge white wine was her poison of choice, and even then she often added a generous slug of sparkling water.

‘Well, we’ll have to remedy that, Miss Roberts. Why don’t I treat you to a taster session tomorrow before I set out on my epic hitch-hike back to Northumberland?’

‘Oh, that sounds lovely, Matt, but we’re leaving first thing in the morning for our next shoot down the coast – Perranporth to be precise. Sorry.’

A frisson of genuine regret tickled through her chest. There was something about this man, standing three inches above her in his bare feet on the sand, his bronzed face alight with an easy smile. Yet in unguarded moments his eyes reflected such sorrow she wondered what secrets they masked. She felt an urge to ask, even if it was to be told that his girlfriend had ditched him because she couldn’t stand sleeping under canvas any longer. They say love conquers everything, but there’s only so long a girl can go without craving the magic of electricity.

‘Fancy a dance then?’

‘I’d love to.’

Matt grabbed her wrist and they shot off to the beach dance floor to gyrate to the sounds of Amy Winehouse. The alcohol in the punch had loosened her legs and her awkwardness and she matched his moves, tossing her hair behind her like a wild Medusa, laughing and shouting her answers to his frequent questions. They danced together for the rest of the evening, interspersed with doses of rejuvenating punch and chatting to Alice who had monopolised the attention of one of the DJs.

Beyond the beach the ocean rippled like a sheet of black tar, broken only by the dark silhouette of a ship gliding along the horizon like a mysterious mirage. An ivory moon hung in the canopy overhead, bathing the party with light and shadow to the accompaniment of the rhythmic slap of the waves before the music took over the audio soundtrack once again. A warm glow of pleasure wrapped its mantle around Emilie’s shoulders and she experienced an overwhelming desire to remain on that beach with her present companion for ever.

But the night couldn’t last for ever and on the stroke of ten p.m. the music ceased and the party dispersed. Emilie looked down and realised she was still holding Matt’s hand. She lifted her eyes and saw the pleasure scrawled across his handsome face. Her heart gave a joyous lurch but then her brain nudged its way into her thoughts, reminding her that Matt was leaving for Northumberland the next day.

‘I’ve had a great night, Emilie.’

‘Me too.’

‘Come on. I’ll wait with you in the car park until your taxi arrives.’

‘Oh, actually, sorry I should have said. Sadly, our accommodation and mode of transport for this epic trip is a vintage camper van.’ She cringed as she realised that spending her first night in its embrace was about to become a reality.

Matt chuckled at her expression of disgust, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes creasing attractively. ‘Luxury in the extreme!’

Emilie smiled. Compared to living in a tent for the last seven months she supposed their camper van was the height of sophisticated decadence.

‘This it?’ Matt stopped in front of the van.

‘Yes. Alice calls it the Satsuma Splittie.’

Matt laughed in his deep low voice, edged with a soupçon of northern twang. He moved closer to her until their mouths were inches apart. A kaleidoscope of emotions churned around her body as his cornflower blue eyes delved deep into her soul, turning her heart to liquid and her knees to jelly. In that moment she realised that even in the first few heady months of her relationship with Brad she had never felt such an overwhelming need, a desperation almost, to be kissed.

She curled her arm around Matt’s waist but just as the warmth of Matt’s breath stroked her cheek and their lips brushed, a high-pitched scream erupted from the wooden pathway leading from the beach to the car park. The moment was broken.

Matt released her hand, swung round and sprinted towards the sound, with Emilie panting in his wake.

‘Oh my God, Alice! What happened?’

‘Knew I should have taken your advice and gone barefoot. My heel got caught between the wooden slats. Oh, Emilie, I’m so sorry. I think I’ve broken my ankle.’ And she promptly burst into noisy tears.