The Cornish Cream Tea Christmas: Part One – Rudolph the Red Velvet Cupcake

THE CORNISH CREAM TEA CHRISTMAS

PART ONE

Rudolph the Red Velvet Cupcake

Cressida McLaughlin

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

The News Building

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain in e-book format in 2020 by HarperCollinsPublishers

Copyright © Cressida McLaughlin 2020

Cover design Caroline Young © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020.

Cover illustration © May Van Millingen

Cressida McLaughlin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008408718

Ebook Edition © 2020 ISBN: 9780008408749

Version: 2020-09-04

Dedication

For Kate, Tim, Clara and Pete

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Part One: Rudolph the Red Velvet Cupcake

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Acknowledgements

Cressy’s Christmas away from home …

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Cressida McLaughlin

About the Publisher

Hannah Swan sat in her allocated window seat and felt a faint pang of disappointment. On the walk from her flat to Waverley station, despite the early hour, Edinburgh had been so full of twinkling Christmas lights – strung up in the trees of Princes Street Gardens, and as part of sumptuous festive window displays – that the faded fabric of her seat and plain Formica table were a letdown. The only burst of colour came from a poster advertising mini-breaks in the Scottish Highlands, and the lush greens and endless blue sky were entirely wrong for this time of year. Hannah loved Christmas, and her train was sadly lacking in adornment.

It was the fourth of December, a Friday, and she was on her way to the other end of the country; to a Cornish village called Porthgolow, to spend a week assessing the green credentials of a spa hotel. She gave a brief shake of her head as a man settled into the seat opposite and held a newspaper open in front of his face. All her carefully orchestrated plans: the friends’ Christmas that she always held on the twenty-third; present-buying and -wrapping; decorating her tiny flat and helping her mum put up her tree. She would somehow have to fit them all in when she got back.

She had only been working as an eco-consultant for Green Futures for six months, and this was her very first client. Gerald, her boss, had initially been reluctant to send Hannah on her own, but when her colleague, Brad – who unsurprisingly had a myriad of reasons why he couldn’t take such a long trip a few weeks before Christmas – had suggested Hannah could work with one of the freelancers based in Cornwall, Gerald had agreed. It was the best of both worlds: a member of his core team to show the hotel owner, Daniel Harper, how committed they were to his case, and an experienced freelancer who had local knowledge.

Sitting in the cool meeting room with a view of Edinburgh Castle beyond the rain-splattered glass, Hannah had been overjoyed. It wasn’t until she was on her way to meet her friend that evening that reality had set in.

‘Why did you accept it?’ Saskia had asked once they were settled in the pub, festive foil decorations looped across the ceiling. ‘Why go now, just before Christmas, instead of taking the next case he offered you in the New Year?’

‘I have to show willing,’ Hannah had replied. ‘I have to prove myself.’

‘Do you think Gerald had that in the forefront of his mind when he let you accept a case that nobody with any sense would take?’ Saskia’s dark eyes had flashed. ‘It’s bloody freezing, it’s nearly Christmas and it’s hundreds of miles away. Not to mention your company policy means you can’t hop on a plane and be there in a couple of hours.’

Hannah had squirmed in her seat. ‘Gerald’s not a game player. He’s keen for me to get out there. Also, Sask, how can we tell people how to look after the planet if we’re flying everywhere? Trains are the best option.’

‘But what about your plans?’ Saskia had pressed. ‘The friends’ Christmas? Strategy is your middle name, and I can’t imagine how you’re going to fit everything in once you’re back. You know I’ll help as much as I can, I just don’t want you getting stressed.’

‘I’ll re-strategize then,’ Hannah had said, hoping Saskia couldn’t see that she was slightly hurt to be given no credit for spontaneity. It was true that she liked to be prepared, but she wasn’t a total stick-in-the-mud. ‘Besides,’ she’d continued, ‘I’m not solely responsible for the Crystal Waters project, so I won’t get stressed.’

‘Ah yes, your babysitter,’ Saskia had grinned. ‘Gerald’s covered his bases.’

‘Exactly.’ Hannah had nodded, determined. ‘My freelancer.’ She didn’t like to think of someone babysitting her – that person being somebody called Noah Rosewall, apparently one of Gerald’s trusted contacts, who lived an hour away from Porthgolow.

It was a strange situation where Hannah, as a Green Futures employee, would be leading on the case, but Noah would have more experience. Hannah hoped they would work well together, despite the unusual set-up and the fact they’d never met before, and that she could prove to Gerald she deserved her place on his team.

The train juddered awake and Hannah held on to her coffee and her almond croissant. It had been too early to have breakfast at home, and she needed fortification for the long journey. What she hadn’t told Saskia was that, as well as wanting to get her first project under her belt, she had felt the pull of Cornwall like a familiar song tugging at her heartstrings.

Her mum had taken her and her brother there on holiday when they were little; they had stayed in Newquay and made the most of the surrounding beaches. Hannah remembered the way it was almost surreally beautiful when the sun was shining, the colours pure and bold. Those holidays had ended when they’d moved to Scotland, but the snippets of memory Hannah had retained were magical. Cornwall in December would be very different from midsummer, and she would be there for work, but the thought of seeing the sea and the rugged coastline still gave her a thrill.

Tucking a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear, she took out her iPad and opened Safari, Porthgolow appearing as a search option after she’d typed the first two letters. She’d already done this several times, but nothing about the village’s internet presence had so far jogged her memory, and when she’d spoken to her mum on the phone – she hadn’t had time to visit her before the trip itself – her mother had been vague.

‘Of course we didn’t just stay in Newquay when we went, love, but that’s what a holiday’s for – travelling around, visiting new places. What’s the name of this village again?’

‘Porthgolow,’ Hannah had said, and then repeated it, trying out a slightly different pronunciation.

There was a pause, as if her mum was considering it, and then, ‘Nope. Doesn’t ring any bells. Maybe we passed through it, but all those Cornish place names are so similar … It was twenty years ago, love.’

They hadn’t lived in Edinburgh when Hannah was little; she’d been born in Oxford, and they’d moved to Scotland when she was nine, her mum wanting a fresh start after divorcing Hannah’s dad. After that, the Cornwall holidays had stopped. It was a long enough journey at the best of times, as she was about to experience for herself, let alone with two young children.

From her online search, Hannah had already discovered one point of interest in the village she was visiting: the Cornish Cream Tea Bus. It was a vintage Routemaster that had been turned into a café and was based on Porthgolow beach. It gave tours around local beauty spots, was the focal point of a Saturday food market and had even, earlier in the year, been part of the catering team for a lavish BBC costume drama filming in the area.

Hannah went to the website now, and once again pored over photographs of the bus standing on the beach, its red paintwork contrasting with the pale sand and dizzyingly blue water. There were pictures of scones, crumbling under healthy dollops of jam and cream, steaming cups of tea, sausage rolls and mini quiches, Danishes and doughnuts, slices of lemon cake. Hannah’s mouth started to water and, as she went on to read about the variety of culinary delights on offer at the food markets, she was almost drooling. Would they be holding them in December? Would the bus even be open?

Hannah felt a pang of longing for her sous chef job at the Whisky Cellar, an upmarket restaurant in Edinburgh’s old town. It had kept her in rent money throughout her university course, but it hadn’t just been a way of staying afloat. She had loved the simple pleasure of creating original, mouthwatering food, though she hadn’t admitted to anyone quite how much she missed it. She decided, as she eyed her almond croissant with disappointment – it didn’t look anywhere near as good as the photos she’d just been looking at – that while she was in Porthgolow, she would fit in at least one visit to the Cornish Cream Tea Bus. She wondered if Noah could suggest other local eateries for her to try.

The train picked up speed and left Edinburgh behind, and Hannah turned to her notes. It was just after seven, and she had at least ten hours of travelling ahead of her. The first train took her all the way to Newton Abbot in Devon, so she was pleased she’d got a table and a window seat.

The Crystal Waters Spa Hotel had been established in 2016, taking the place of the old Clifftop Hotel which had, according to the owner, Daniel Harper, been rundown and unsafe when he’d bought the site. Mr Harper had built his new retreat to a high standard, securing it into the cliff in a way that must have been eye-wateringly expensive to achieve.

From everything she’d seen and read, Hannah thought that this would be a straightforward job. Ecological concerns were already on everyone’s radar when the hotel was built, and it looked as if Crystal Waters was ahead of the game. But there was always room for improvement, and that’s what she and Noah would be able to advise on. Excitement danced through her at the thought of it: walking through the rooms and grounds, assessing the building’s suitability for solar panels or an energy-efficient air-conditioning system, discussing water reclamation, eco-friendly toiletries and reduced packaging. Even the smallest changes would make a difference.

Done with her notes, she looked at her messages. The first contact she’d had with Noah was an email exchange once Gerald had confirmed the visit and put them in touch. He’d offered to pick her up from Newquay station, which she’d readily accepted. Her train was due to get in just after five that evening.

Hi, it’s Noah. So you have my number if you need to get in touch.

Hi Noah, thanks so much for this! Really looking forward to working with you. Hannah.

You too.

So far, so straightforward.

Hannah read and dozed, and returned to the buffet car once her croissant – great flavour, a little on the soggy side – had disappeared. The weather changed as frequently as the view beyond the glass; bright rays peeping out between clouds, rain battering the windows moments later, the dense greys and brick reds of towns and cities replaced by dun-coloured December fields and the charcoal lines of leafless trees. The man with the broadsheet seemed disinclined to make small talk, leaning his head against the seat and closing his eyes once he’d finished with his newspaper.

As morning slipped into afternoon, Hannah noticed the increasing frequency of the announcements, her skin prickling when one started with: We regret to inform you that … There was a signalling problem ahead of them, and the updates were soon accompanied by stops and starts, the hitherto-moving backdrop now pausing on views of fields and cows, rows of neat back gardens with colourful children’s slides and washing lines.

The man opposite Hannah woke up and blinked, his gaze settling on her. He was attractive, in a ‘distinguished older man’ sort of way, dressed in a navy and white checked shirt, his dark hair greying at the temples.

‘We must be nearly at Newton Abbot by now,’ he said.

‘I’m afraid there have been some signalling problems,’ Hannah replied, ‘so we’re forty-five minutes behind. They’re keeping us up to date with announcements, though,’ she added brightly, trying to find something positive amongst the gloom.

He swore under his breath but gave her a tight smile. ‘Isn’t this bloody typical? I’m going for a coffee. Want anything?’ He gestured at her empty water bottle and sandwich packet. Hannah was about to decline, then realized she was cold and that, also, she wanted a reason to keep their conversation going. ‘A tea would be lovely, if you’re sure?’ She opened her handbag to get her purse, but when she looked up he was already striding through the carriage.

She messaged Noah.

Hi. We’re running 45 mins late. Signalling problems! :( I’ll miss my connection but there should be another train. :) I’ll let you know. Hannah.

His reply came half an hour later, once her table companion had returned with tea and chocolate biscuits and refused to let her pay for them.

Keep me updated.

Noah, it seemed, was a man of few words.

Her table companion, however, was not. Mark was a business consultant on his way to visit his elderly mother in Devon. Hannah enjoyed his company, glad that he’d eventually chosen conversation over silence. Saskia had often said Hannah’s main superpower was friendliness, and Hannah would be the first to admit that she wasn’t self-conscious when it came to getting to know people.

Mark told her about the village he’d grown up in and where his mother still lived, how he’d go to the pub and pick up conversations with people he hadn’t seen for years as if the intervening time had never happened. She told him about the reason for her journey, and about planning her friends’ Christmas. She explained that she always chose a non-traditional menu so nobody overdosed on turkey, and how it was always the maddest – but the best – part of her festive season.

As they talked, an image of Seth popped into her head. Dark hair and even darker eyes, a smile that could be insolent and heart-meltingly attractive all at once. Seth was one of her group of friends, and the object of her secret desire for many years. He had also broken up with his girlfriend, Laura, in the summer.

Hannah hadn’t spent too much extra time planning this year’s meal – she had been going to research ways to make her Dauphinoise potatoes especially rich and extra crispy on the top anyway – but she couldn’t deny that Seth’s recently single status had been on her mind.

By the time the train pulled into Newton Abbot it was an hour and twenty minutes late, but Hannah had barely thought about it.

‘Need help with your case?’ Mark asked as they stepped onto the platform. He had lifted it down the train steps without asking, and was now hovering, waiting to see if he could be useful. The wind was icy, the sun low in the sky, the night edging closer.

‘I’m fine, thank you though. You should go and find a taxi. Your mum will be wondering where you are.’

‘She’ll be asleep in front of the telly,’ he replied with a good-natured eye-roll. ‘Good to meet you, Hannah. Good luck with the hotel and, when you get to it, have a great Christmas.’

‘You too!’ Hannah watched him stride off, burying his chin in the collar of his coat.

She searched screens for the next train and platform to Newquay, accepting the help of a staff member who was directing the late passengers to their onward journeys. She followed the stream of people, waited ten minutes for the smaller train, then texted Noah her updated arrival time.

It was close to seven when the train finally pulled into Newquay, and despite her tiredness after hours of travelling, her stomach was a ball of nervous anticipation. She was in Cornwall. She would be able to taste salt on the breeze and hear the crash of waves against the sand.

She smiled at the guard as she went through the turnstiles, cheered by the band of silver tinsel round his hat, and stepped outside. The darkness was complete, the soft glow from the station’s outside lamps reached barely beyond the taxi rank, and the crisp night had no hint of warmth. Hannah wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck. It was made up of rainbow stripes of the softest wool, a long-ago present from her dad. It was only just holding together but she refused to give up on it. She peered into the car park and pulled out her phone.

She had no idea what Noah looked like or what car he had. He was thirty, two years older than her, but there hadn’t been a photograph accompanying the Pen Picture Gerald had sent across to her once his involvement had been confirmed. She was about to call him when a loud beeeeep made her jump. She spotted a gleaming black Land Rover, its headlights shining like twin suns, obscuring the driver. Could that be Noah, expert eco-consultant, driving a huge, gas guzzling car? She turned away, perusing her surroundings for someone more likely.

The car horn sounded again and Hannah’s head whipped round. Whoever it was seemed desperate to get her attention, but she remained wary. She didn’t relish the thought of being kidnapped and thrown in a dank cave, or her lifeless body being dumped on a beach at first light, the waves creeping up to her blue toes.

She shook her head: she should have asked Noah what car he drove.

Finding his number in her phone, she hit call just as a man leaned his head out of the Land Rover’s window.

‘Hannah Swan?’ His voice was low, with an edge of irritation.

‘Noah!’ She beamed, cancelled the call and wheeled her suitcase over to join him.

He got out of the car and came round to meet her. He was taller than her, dark hair tamed away from his face with a shiny coating of styling product, his eyes meeting hers behind black-framed glasses. His jaw was square and, even this late in the day, impeccably clean shaven. He was wearing a formal shirt the colour of forget-me-nots and black trousers, no jacket, despite it being Friday evening and utterly freezing. He held his hand out, and she felt the strength in his confident but not overpowering shake. His gaze didn’t leave her face, and Hannah felt suddenly flustered.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t come over immediately,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t sure –’ if you were going to abduct and kill me – ‘if it was you.’

‘Because of the car,’ he said, raising an eyebrow.

Hannah nodded as he took her case and lifted it into the boot. When he closed it, he pointed to a shiny silver decal just above the bumper. ‘It’s a hybrid. You have to have weight behind your wheels on these roads, especially in winter, so I had to compromise.’

‘It’s a very … smart compromise.’ Hannah knew from work how much hybrid vehicles cost, and this one was not cheap.

Noah gave her a tight smile. ‘Some people might say it’s an indulgence.’

‘I wasn’t saying that,’ she replied. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late, and I didn’t mean to—’

Noah held up a hand, stopping her. ‘Let’s get in, shall we? It’s bracing out here.’ Without waiting for her reply, he climbed into the driver’s seat, and Hannah headed round to the passenger side. Once inside, she immediately regretted commenting on the car. It was glorious, the plush seat cushioning her weary body, the interior warm and softly lit. She risked a glance at Noah and saw that, beneath the wax, his hair was desperate to curl. It sat up in little peaks – like lizard crests, she thought, and hid a smile.

He drove out of the car park and onto the dark road. ‘You must be tired after your journey,’ he said into the quiet, the car’s engine no more than a gentle hum.

‘It was annoying that we got held up,’ she said, ‘but all I had to do was sit there and wait for the train to reach Newquay. You’re the one who’s been put out, not knowing when I’d finally appear.’

‘It’s not a problem,’ he said. His voice was low and measured, but she’d detected the faintest hint of a Cornish accent, some of the vowels lengthened slightly, words not ending as sharply as they might.

‘It’s kind of you to come and get me at all.’

‘You wouldn’t have had much luck with public transport from Newquay to Porthgolow on a Friday night in December.’

Hannah waited for the accompanying laugh or smile, but none came. His arms seemed constrained by his blue shirt, the muscle definition obvious once you started to look. He seemed tightly held together, every action careful, giving nothing away: not curls or emotions or warmth. Hannah hoped it was simply that this was their first meeting, or that he was tired and desperate to drop her off and get back to whoever was waiting for him at home.

‘Do you know Porthgolow well?’ she asked.

‘I know most of Cornwall well,’ he replied, ‘so I know Porthgolow. But I haven’t been in the hotel, or met the owner.’

‘Have you been on the bus?’

‘The bus?’ She could hear the frown in his voice. ‘I tend to use this, seeing as I paid so much for it.’ He patted the steering wheel.

She couldn’t detect any sarcasm in his voice, so she had no idea if it was a joke or if he was annoyed by her earlier comment. She felt cowed, as if she’d done nothing but irritate him since the moment they’d met.

‘I meant the Cornish Cream Tea Bus,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s in Porthgolow, and from what I’ve read it’s really popular, a tourist destination all on its own. The cakes look delicious.’

‘Oh. That. No, I’ve not been on that.’ Hannah watched a muscle move in his jaw, waited for him to say something else and then, when he didn’t, turned to look out of the side window, where there was nothing to see except darkness. Her confidence wavered. If Noah was going to be like this the entire week, then her supposed superpower of being able to make friends with everyone was going to be sorely tested.