bed, Mitch scampers to the doorway, hardly able to contain himself, excited at the prospect of a walk. After I’ve pulled on old jeans and a fleece, I trot downstairs, grab a quick glass of juice and pull open the curtains. It’s still bucketing down, and the rain is driven by strong winds off the sea, so it’s almost horizontal.
I grab an old waxed jacket from a peg by the back door and pull the hood over my head. Not only does Mitch need a walk, I need to check that nothing’s blown away from our brand-new guest cottages. I also need to make sure that our new cafe, Demelza’s, is still in one piece ready for its opening day on Thursday.
Since I arrived at Easter, my boss, Cal Penwith, and I have been working hard to transform Kilhallon Park from a run-down caravan site into a boutique holiday resort. With the help of our friends – and despite the efforts of our foes – our cottages and glamping site officially open for business today.
Then there’s Demelza’s.
I persuaded Cal to convert the old storage barn by the coastal path into a cafe. He decided to name it after me, so I’m determined to make it a success – come hell or high water.
And on that note … Outside the front door, the drumming of the rain and the howls of the wind almost drown out Mitch’s woofs. He dashes outside and scampers through the puddles while I linger in the doorway watching raindrops bounce off the cobbles of the yard. But it’s not the downpour that’s stopping me from taking that step outside; it’s the realisation that today’s the day that Kilhallon – and Cal and I – take our leap into the unknown.
I step into an old pair of Hunters that used to belong to Cal’s cousin Robyn. I’m wearing her old coat too: everyone mucks in and shares what they have here. I’ve become part of the Kilhallon tribe since Cal invited me to work for him, even though my own family have become lost to me. I’ve also made some good friends who’ve stuck with me through thick and thin. One of them – Cal – is more than a friend, but we’ll see where that leads.
Mitch dances round my wellies and barks joyfully, as if to say: ‘Come on, what are we waiting for?’
After the tough times we’ve overcome, and the challenges that await us, there’s no going back now. I let out a deep breath and step into the deluge. If you want to see a rainbow, as my Nana Demelza would have said, you have to put up with the rain …
‘Hello there! Welcome to Kilhallon Park. How was your journey?’
The man scowls from beneath the hood of his jacket and tosses his car keys on the shiny new reception desk at the front of Kilhallon House. He can’t be more than thirty and his face would be handsome if his expression wasn’t even more thundery than the weather. ‘Does it ever stop raining down here?’ he grumbles. ‘It’s been pouring all the way from London and I’ve had a nightmare of a journey.’
‘I’m sorry about that, sir, it must have been awful, but I’m so glad you’re here now and the forecast did show the weather brightening up later this afternoon. We should have a much drier day tomorrow. Would you mind filling in this card with your car registration while I collect your keys and welcome pack so I can show you to your cottage?’ With a smile, I hand him a pen.
He pushes his hood off his face. His dark blond fringe is stuck to his forehead and a raindrop trickles down his nose as he takes the pen and frowns at the card. Meanwhile, I collect his cottage keys and welcome pack from the drawer below the reception desk, hoping that the rain will stop. Instead, a rumble of thunder shakes Kilhallon House and our guest glances around him as if we’re about to be zapped by aliens.
He pushes the card towards me. His writing looks like a drunken spider has been doing the salsa with the felt tip, but I’m not going to ask him to redo it. ‘Your website said there’s a cafe on site. I’d like some lunch. Can you show me the way?’ His voice is tight and the news I’m about to deliver isn’t going to help his mood one bit.
‘I’m afraid the cafe doesn’t open until the day after tomorrow … Mr Bracken.’
‘It’s not Bracken. It’s Bannen. Kit Bannen,’ he adds, stressing each word as if I’m a toddler. Mind you, I don’t blame him, our first guest and I’ve got his name wrong. I should have spent more time preparing, instead of baking.
‘What’s that about the cafe being closed?’ he goes on. ‘The on-site cafe is one of the reasons I chose this place and I’ve held off from having lunch. It looked great on your website and I didn’t dare stop once I finally got moving after all the hold-ups. I’d hoped to grab a late lunch as soon as I arrived.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Bannen, but we’ll be open for coffee on Thursday morning. The website and information we sent you does say our opening days are Thursday to Sunday in the autumn and winter.’
‘That’s no good to me, is it?’
‘I appreciate that, sir, but it’s only two days away … less than that, technically speaking,’ I say, aware that the hours are ticking by fast.
Mr Bannen cuts across me. ‘Is there a pub or a restaurant close by?’
‘The pub’s just over a mile away at the crossroads. You’ll probably have to drive.’ Oh dear, this is not going well. I can understand that he’s tired and grouchy, but there’s no need to be rude.
‘Great. I’ve just spent seven hours crawling down here in the car from London and now I have to get straight back in it.’
‘I’m so sorry, Mr Bannen, but the good news is that there’s a welcome hamper in your cottage, with fresh bread, butter, eggs and cheese and some milk and a bottle of wine. They’re basic but high-quality supplies and enough to rustle up a sandwich or an omelette.’
He glares at me, then frowns. ‘Did you say there was wine?’
‘Yes, a bottle of red from a local vineyard, though I can swap it for a white if you’d prefer. I do have a chilled bottle in the fridge here. There are tea- and coffee-making facilities ready in your cottage, of course, and some Cornish apple juice in your own fridge, if it’s too early for wine …’
‘It isn’t too early for wine!’
I half expect the reception desk to shake.
He sighs and flashes me an apologetic smile. ‘Look, I’m not always this grouchy but I’ve had a fraught time at work and the journey from London was even more crap than I’d expected and it’s pouring down and I’m starving.’
‘I understand, Mr Bannen, and I’m sorry the cafe’s not open yet, but if you like I could sell you some of the spinach and ricotta quiche I made this morning to add to the supplies in your luxury, free welcome pack?’
‘Quiche, you say?’
I smile. ‘Uh huh. Homemade here at Kilhallon.’
‘Hmm. Well, thanks, I may just do as you say and stay in. I do need a break.’
‘Good idea. Now, if you want to follow me in your car, your cottage is only a few hundred yards up the lane to the left of the main farmhouse. I’ll get your keys and show you around Enys Cottage. Would you like some
