gives a wry smile. ‘My granny loved the Winston Graham novels and they were big when the TV series was on in the 1970s when the cottages were originally converted to holiday homes. It was her idea to name them after characters in the Poldark novels. So that’s why we have Penvenen, Warleggan, Enys – and Poldark, of course.’
‘I’m sorry, I haven’t read those books.’
‘Nor me, and the TV series was on long before I was born, but Polly says it’s popular again now so we should leave them as they are.’
‘It’s a nice thing to keep the names if they were your granny’s idea. The tourists love that sort of thing. They were always asking how old Sheila’s Beach Hut was. Sheila used to tell them it was a smuggler’s haunt and then they’d order more drinks just to stay longer.’
Cal bursts out laughing. ‘Sheila’s was never a smuggler’s haunt! Even the oldest part of the building can’t be more than a hundred years old.’
‘It worked, though. I think you should definitely keep the names.’
He gives me a sharp look then breaks into a smile. I must admit, he’s cheered up while he’s been showing me the place so I must have done something right. ‘I think you’re going to be very useful around here, Ms Jones. Come on, let’s go and take a look at the camping area.’
As we walk around the rest of the park, an hour whizzes by but I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. Cal took me into the two fields that once housed the static caravans and the camping site. The vans have long gone; he told me that his father ran out of money for replacing the fleet so they were all sold off to people doing self-builds. The camping site and caravans were served by an ‘amenity block’ with loos, showers and washing-up area. That’s in a right old state, almost derelict. There were birds nesting in the showers.
‘And,’ he says, nodding at a large grassy depression surrounded by broken tiles, ‘that was a swimming pool.’
‘I can just about tell …’ I try to be diplomatic. Although the site is large, he wasn’t kidding when he said there was work to do. ‘What’s that?’
I point at a crumbling stone building silhouetted against the late afternoon sun, at the far edge of the camping field.
‘Just an old farm building we used to use for storage of the grass-mowing machines and equipment for the caravans in the winter. I haven’t been in there for years so it’s probably still got loads of random stuff in it.’
‘It’s a shame to leave it in that state.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. It’ll have to be tidied up, at least until we know what to do with it. I haven’t got round to making plans for everything yet. That’s why you’re here. If you have any ideas, just shoot away. Now, shall I show you where you’ll be staying?’
‘Great.’ With a whistle to Mitch, I follow Cal back across the field towards the reception area and staff cottages, but I can’t resist a glance behind at the crumbling, unloved storage building. I wonder …
An idea has formed in my mind but I’ve only just met Cal and I’m definitely not ready to shoot just yet.
‘Here you go.’ A few minutes later, he twists the handle on the door of the end staff cottage. ‘I wouldn’t call this premium accommodation but this is the best of them. I told you it wasn’t much and it’s a bit damp because no one’s been living here for a few years but it should do, if you’re prepared to put in a bit of elbow grease. I’m sure Polly will bring over some cleaning stuff and bed linen, or I will when I get a chance.’
The door opens straight into a little sitting room with a two-seater sofa, covered in a crazy flowery pattern. There’s an empty fireplace and a few pictures on the walls, mostly of vases of roses and trees. The carpet has orange and blue swirls and the curtains are a sort of pink, with abstract tulips. At least, I think they were tulips once and are now splodges. In one corner a narrow open-backed staircase leads upstairs.
‘Sorry, I don’t think it’s been renovated since before I was born.’
‘It’s … um … very flowery.’
‘It’s either this or the box room in the attic of the farmhouse and I’m sure you’d much rather have your own front door.’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’
He doesn’t laugh. ‘So you’ll be OK in here?’
‘Yeah …’ Tears clog my throat at the thought of actually having four walls and a roof over mine and Mitch’s heads, then I woman up. I am working for the guy, after all. I deserve a proper roof over my head. ‘It’s fine. Thank you.’
‘You don’t sound too sure?’
I throw him a smile. ‘Honestly, it’s great. Can I see the rest of it?’
‘Sure.’
Mitch runs ahead into the kitchen, which is basic but has a cooker, fridge and sink. There are few dead flies on the windowsill and a whiff of damp, but it’s my own space and that’s what matters.
Cal opens the fridge door and sniffs. ‘I might have to get you another fridge.’
‘I can clean it. It’ll be OK.’
‘If you want to have go, fine, but I’ll get a new one if you need it. You have rights here, including a decent place to live.’
‘Will you just shut up?’ I say, wanting to laugh at his slapped-arse face. ‘And show me the rest of the place, boss.’
‘Please don’t call me that. Polly only does it to wind me up.’
‘OK, boss.’
I picture his scowl as he leads the way up the stairs while Mitch explores his new territory. It’s a sexy scowl, I bet, and his bum and thighs look great in the jeans. Then I rap myself on the knuckles for thinking such thoughts. This is work and he is my employer.
Cal opens a door to one side of the tiny landing. ‘Bathroom, obviously. Should be OK with a good scrub.’
I pop my head round the door and smile at the rose pink suite that reminds me of my granny’s. The bath has a shower over it that’s seen better days.
On the opposite side of the landing, sunlight casts a yellow window pattern on the floor. The open door leads into the bedroom, with more flowers on the wall, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a mattress on the floor. Through the window, across the fields, whitecaps dance on the inky blue sea. I pull back the net curtain and peer through a film of salt spray and grime. The first thing I’ll do is rip the nets down so I can enjoy the view every morning.
‘There’s a spare bed frame in the attic at the farmhouse. I’ll carry it over,’ Cal says. I’m not sure if he was smiling at me or not while I looked out of the window and I don’t care what he thinks.
‘I can do that.’
‘You’d be better off taking the Land Rover up to the petrol station shop to get some food in.’
I follow him downstairs. ‘Me?
