Page 50 of The Cornish Cream Tea Holiday
Chapter Fourteen
Trebah Garden, with its swathe of impressive and unusual plants cut into a valley that ran down to the Helford river, was enchanting. From the moment Thea stepped through the door from the ticket office into the garden, she felt as if she was in a tropical paradise, immersed in a riot of colour and scent. She had been disappointed on the drive over, to the south-east side of the county, that it was one of those strange summer days where the sky was hazy, more grey than blue, and the temperature was stifling rather than deliciously warm.
But Trebah shone despite the pall, and she stopped frequently to read signs next to plants with vivid flowers, or trees that stretched high into the sky and looked as if they came from some far flung corner of the earth. She was wearing a long summer dress, her legs cool beneath it, and sturdy, flat sandals. On top of that, though it hardly went with her outfit, she had Ben’s blueLakes for Lifebaseball cap on.
She’d found it on her doorstep when she’d stepped that morning, his van gone from its usual space. There had been a yellow Post-it note stuck to it, the words,Don’t get burntwritten in a bold scrawl in black Sharpie. That gesture, along with everything that had happened yesterday, made her feel cherished, sending a tingling warmth through her that was similar to the way the Pimm’s had made her feel.
She’d only known him a week and a day, but that meant she was over a third of the way into her holiday. She had packed a lot into it already, but she felt a low-level panic that it wasn’t going to be long enough. She had made friends here, and she wanted to spend more time with them – with Ben, especially.
She walked down a rocky pathway nestled beside a trickling stream, that ran from the top of the gardens, all the way down to join the larger pools at the bottom, admiring the lilies, watching blue tits and great tits bounce in the trees overhead, enjoying the day despite its dullness.
She was startled by her phone ringing, the quiet tone sounding out of place in this paradise.
She hurried to take it out of her bag, and saw the nameAlexon the screen.
‘Hey,’ she said.
‘Thea,’ he replied, as cheerful as ever. ‘How did it go with your property viewing?’
His words reminded her that he hadn’t called her afterwards, had seemingly forgotten all about her meeting, no doubt tied up with Esme and the festival.
‘Not great,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s just a stumbling block.’
‘Why wasn’t it great?’ he asked. ‘You could have called me, you know.’
‘I got caught up with other things,’ she said, which was true.
‘Of course.’ He sounded as understanding as always, his voice soothing, but Thea felt slightly on edge. She walked to a bench nestled amongst some vines, and sat down. She was still high up, and the spot gave her an incredible view of the gardens stretching out before her, the pond with the white, Monet-style bridge that was on all the promotional material looking like a miniature far below.
‘Landlords aren’t always sympathetic,’ she said, ‘and it made me realise that I need to be more forceful next time: ask all my questions, lead the conversation. I was thrown off by how abrasive he was, but I believe in myself, I believe in my bookshop, and if he doesn’t want me to rent his property, then he’s not worth my time anyway, is he?’ The words, mostly Ben’s, sounded good when she said them aloud.
Alex took a moment to reply, eventually saying, ‘Good for you, Rushwood.’
Thea could picture him sitting at a spare desk in the library, skinny tie undone and shirtsleeves rolled up, taking a break from the festival bustle. It had started on Saturday, so they would be right in the swing of things.
‘Really good for you,’ he said again, and she could tell he was slightly surprised. Alex had always supported her, helping to build her confidence, showing her where her business plan was solid and where it needed more detail. He’d also been there for her the one time, recently, when she’d needed backing up: when she’d found herself in a situation she couldn’t think her way out of. She would always be grateful for that, but she wondered if, because of it, hewould always see her as someone who needed help. Was he shocked that she could do this next part without him?
‘I need to look at some other places,’ she continued. ‘If I can’t win Jamie Scable over – and after our last encounter I’m not even sure I want to – then I need to widen my search.’
‘Exactly,’ Alex said with conviction. ‘A building isn’t just about the bones, it’s about the whole shebang: your relationship with the owners, the location, the legacy. I’m proud of you, Rushwood. Keep me updated, OK?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Thanks for calling.’ They said goodbye and hung up.
For the first time ever, she felt slightly patronised by him: all hisWell donesand Good for yous. She wondered if that was more about her than him: if her outlook, her attitude, had shifted slightly since being in Cornwall. She left the bench and headed for the heart of the garden, the forest of prehistoric-like gunneras she’d read about on the website, already looking forward to the beach, with its cool breeze and ice-cream hut, at the end of the trail.
Ben’s van was still missing when she got back, and she felt a pang of disappointment, even though they hadn’t arranged anything. She felt decadent opening a bottle of Prosecco early on a Monday evening, and ran water in the deep bathtub, adding coconut bubblebath from the bottle on the side.
The bathroom was at the front of the house, next to the master bedroom, and she opened the window, letting in the sea-scented breeze and the sound of the waves. The hot water and bubbles soothed her walk-weary limbs, and shesipped her Prosecco, then laid her head back and closed her eyes.
She didn’t know how long she’d been like that when the harsh sound of tyres on gravel broke through the quiet. She listened to the engine cutting out, then heard the van door open, feet landing on the ground, and a familiar voice saying, ‘Come on Scooter.’ Ben sounded weary, and she couldn’t help wondering where he’d been all day. ‘Now,Scooter!’ he urged. ‘I don’t have time for this.’
Thea climbed out of the bath and wrapped a large, fluffy towel around herself. She tiptoed to the window, pushed it further open, and peered out.
The sky had turned a hazy violet, and the sea was flat and dark, devoid of sparkle. The outside light had come on, and she could see Ben below her, standing with his hand on the open driver’s door, staring into the cab. His dog, presumably, was refusing to leave it. She let her gaze linger on his broad shoulders, remembering how he’d looked without his T-shirt on, and tried to push the image out of her mind.
She shifted slightly, knocking the window with her shoulder, and it creaked, sounding stupidly loud in the quiet evening air. Ben turned and looked up, his brow creasing. She hadn’t even tried to move away: she knew she wouldn’t make it, and her scrambling to hide would have looked even worse.
‘Hey,’ he said.
