Page 35 of The Cornish Cream Tea Holiday
‘Success all round, then,’ he said, returning her smile. ‘Thank you again for the dish. I love it. It’ll have pride of place in the kitchen, once it’s finished.’
‘It sounds like you’re getting on well with it?’
He grimaced. ‘Slow and steady wins the race: that’s what I have to keep telling myself.’
‘You’ll get there,’ she said, giving his arm a brief squeeze.
He nodded. ‘See you tomorrow night, then.’
‘Looks like it.’ They exchanged smiles, and Thea went back to Sunfish Cottage with a spring in her step.
The Happy Shack was brightly coloured and weather-beaten, a mixture of fisherman chic and faded rainbows, the diningarea surrounded by glass and opening onto a terrace that wrapped around the whole building. This was where the four of them sat, caressed by a gentle evening breeze, bottles of Sol, with fat lime wedges peeking out of the tops, on the table in front of them.
Thea pushed a strand of hair away from her face. She’d left it loose, and was wearing a purple star-print dress that she’d bought specifically for the holiday. She had anticipated eating out with Esme, trying the local restaurants and watering holes, and was happy that tonight she could tick another item off the holiday list: especially if the Happy Shack’s claim of being committed to local ingredients was true. What she hadn’t imagined was being out for dinner with a new group of friends she had met so recently. She had surprised herself by looking forward to tonight, not feeling any dread or anxiety about it – and mostly ignoring the fact that it felt a little bit like the four of them were going on a double date.
She had spent the morning in St Ives, looking in the shops, then she’d bought a fresh seafood salad, a banana milkshake and a bag of honeycomb, and taken them to the magnificent expanse of Hayle Beach, watching kite surfers and soaking up the seaside atmosphere.
‘It’s beautiful here,’ she said now, her head swivelling, as if magnetised, towards the sea. The shack was on the southern edge of Port Karadow, the same side as Sunfish and Oystercatcher cottages, and overlooked the wide, popular beach where, Ben had told her, the cook-off would be taking place tomorrow. Even though there were a few buildings between them and the sand, the hill was steep enough that their view was magnificent. ‘And the head chefis judging the cook-off?’ she asked, turning back to the table.
She sipped her beer, and decided that a cold drink on a hot evening, with a view of the sea and a night of friendship ahead, had to be one of life’s most pleasurable experiences.
‘Marcus Belrose,’ Ben said, breaking through her reverie. ‘He moved down here from Liverpool a couple of months ago. He’s already won awards for his food, but he obviously wanted a change of direction, a piece of the Cornish seaside scene.’
‘It’s not very original,’ Finn said. ‘A top chef opening a restaurant in Cornwall, the USP fresh fish, which, of course, isn’t aUat all. It should be CSP: Clichéd Selling Point.’
‘Which you’re perfectly happy to say as you sit in his restaurant, preparing to eat his award-winning food and give him your money,’ Meredith said with a grin.
Finn shrugged, sipping his beer before replying. ‘I’m just commenting. Wondering. It’s not a criticism.’
‘Clichéd Selling Point doesn’tsoundlike a compliment,’ Meredith pointed out.
‘Let’s see how you feel after you’ve had his fish and chips,’ Ben said. ‘You can decide whether he’s made the right decision after that.’
‘And he’s already in with the community,’ Meredith added. ‘He’s judging the cook-off tomorrow, ingratiating himself with the great and good of Port Karadow.’
‘By which you mean Adrian,’ Finn said, and it was his turn to grin.
‘It’s a good move, is all I’m saying.’ Meredith turned to Thea. ‘My boss at Cornish Keepsakes, Adrian, is a little bit obsessed with the hierarchy in this town, singling outanyone who’s rich, famous or noteworthy in some way. He sees himself as some sort of Port Karadow socialite, and even though that sounds pretty terrible, he’s a genuinely lovely man, so it’s easy to forgive his pretentiousness. Marcus Belrose getting involved in the cook-off so soon after moving here – and he’s running a barbecue stall on the beach, just at weekends during the summer, I think – anyway, it shows that he’s savvy.’
‘You don’t need to be here for very long to realise there’s a tight community,’ Ben said. Thea thought back to his comments outside the Old Post House: that people had been kind to him, and he was determined to repay some of that kindness.
A waiter brought a large platter of crispy-coated prawns to their table, alongside a dressed salad and a generous pot of mayonnaise that smelt so citrussy Thea could feel her taste buds coming to life.
‘Wow,’ she murmured, as they all reached for side plates and started dipping the golden morsels in the mayonnaise.
After a few moments of contented eating, Ben said, ‘This is doing nothing for my nerves. His standards aren’t exactly low.’
‘But he knows he’s not judging Michelin-starred chefs,’ Finn said, serving salad onto each of their plates. ‘Andyouknow you’re good enough.’
‘When did you get into cooking?’ Thea asked. ‘Is it something you’ve always loved?’
‘Not really,’ he said, shrugging. ‘I helped Dad out when I was growing up – he was the cook in the family, rather than Mum, and it was something we could do together – and then, when I got older, it made sense for me to do anequal share. I was good at it, and it was a lot more fun than homework.
‘Then, once I’d moved out, a friend of mine opened a pub in the village I was living in, and employed this really great chef, Claude. I was blown away by the food, how he transformed traditional pub grub into original, creative dishes. I started testing out new recipes at home, teaching myself techniques. This is the first time I’m trying them out on anyone other than friends or family.’
‘Is that because you’re new here?’ Thea asked. ‘Something you wanted to do as part of your fresh start?’
‘Something like that,’ Ben said, turning his attention to his last prawn.
