Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun (23 page)

CHAPTER 17

‘Kate! What on earth is the matter, babe?' Lucas's brow furrowed as he looked up from his cookbook. The restaurant was empty. Hardly anyone had ventured into the reception building after the fire last night.

‘I need to talk about something with you. Urgently. In private,' I said just as Greg came in for more cutlery. Ever optimistic, he was setting tables for lunch. I'd quickly popped next door and told Izzy I had something really important to do before my shift and would explain later. Business was practically non-existent so she was happy to carry on working or, rather, researching new doughnut flavours.

‘Kate—babe. I know we're empty at the moment, but I can't just leave my station, and what's so important that you can't speak in front of anyone else?'

Greg winked. ‘No worries. I'll busy myself out the front. If you both stay put here, at least Lucas will be on hand if we get a customer.'

‘Sorry,' I mouthed to the waiter and gave a small smile before he pushed back through the swing door. Such a nice guy. What a pity he and Izzy lived so far away from each other.

Tea towel over his shoulder as usual, Lucas leant back against the cooker, raven curls framing his face. Those charcoal eyes stared at me, one eyebrow raised. Yes, on the surface he could pass as the bloody-minded, passionate and sensitive-when-he-wanted fictional Cornish mine-owner of my dreams. But deep down had he also got those really important qualities of mine and Saffron's hero, namely an inane sense of integrity and loyalty?

I rubbed my chin. One question above all had popped into my mind on the way over. I remembered how disinterested in me he'd been, at the beginning, him fawning over Mrs Peppard, but barely acknowledging me. There was the time he'd explained to me, in a bored voice, the concept of his deconstructed lasagne. But as soon as Tremain had explained I would be helping with the rebranding …

‘Lucas.' I blushed. God, this was awkward. ‘I'm going to ask you a series of questions that might sound weird, so just humour me, yes?' I forced a laugh. ‘My friends know me for my mad sense of curiosity and I just can't rest until it is satisfied.'

He shrugged and gave me one of his caddish charmer smiles. ‘Fine. It's not like I've got anything better to do, at the moment.'

I stared at him. Strange thing to say, really, at the beginning of a relationship. I'm sure, alone in a kitchen, Greg and Izzy would very quickly have found a way to keep busy. Mind you that wasn't just his fault—I … I'd rather he didn't. Whereas, Tremain … My heartbeat quickened. I hoped he was OK. Why oh why had he disappeared?

‘OK. Right.' Urgh. Best to get this over. ‘Why do you like me?'

He raised an eyebrow again. ‘Huh? What sort of a question is that?'

‘I warned you this was going to be weird. It's just—you see, I seemed to make little impact when we first met. The first time we had dinner here, in the restaurant, clearly you didn't care who I was. Yet later outside—after Tremain had introduced me and explained I'd be helping him turn this place around—you couldn't have been more agreeable and complimented my dress.'

A twinkle in his eyes, he snorted. ‘Kate, what is this? You don't strike me as needy. And you're old enough to know that most people aren't struck by love—or even lust—at first sight.'

My cheeks flushed hot. Really? I'd had annoyingly indecent thoughts about Tremain from the off. ‘Of course, I don't expect to make an impact on every man I meet. But your change of heart … it intrigues me.'

‘And that, dear, sweet Kate, is the secret to any man's success with women—keep them guessing.' He grinned and leant forward to kiss me on the cheek.

‘Idiot!' I said and playfully punched his arm before looking at the torn-off piece of paper in my hand. ‘But you always look genuinely pleased to see Mrs Peppard—have done from the word go. Dancing, all touchy-feely … Why waste time with another woman, that is, me, if you enjoy
her
company?'

‘Er, apart from anything else, because she's married! And, of course, I like you. Look Kate, what's this really all about?'

Good point. She wasn't single. ‘But the two of you get on so well.'

‘She's a regular customer. Got a bit of a crush on me, to be honest. I'm only buttering the old bird up.' He shook a finger at me and took on a masterful Poldark tone. ‘What's with the interrogation? I never had you down for the jealous type.'

‘I'm not! But bear with me. Now, next, all those questions you asked me about how Izzy's business is so successful—what was the point? Are you thinking of setting up a bar?'

Lucas took down tea towel and twisted it gently in his hands. ‘No. I just think, with my job in jeopardy, it makes sense to find out as much about the catering business as I can.' He smiled. ‘What's that got to do with what I think of you, babe? I'm not sure I see
the point of this conversation. Come on, let's have a drink before you start your shift. I think after all the excitement yesterday you're still a bit dazed.'

‘It's just …'

‘Yeah?'

I took a deep breath. There was no subtle way to do this.

‘Lucas. I hate to ask, but please be honest. Did you have something to do with the poor quality of our cocktails at Donuts & Daiquiris? I'd understand if you're worried about Izzy becoming so successful that perhaps Tremain offers her your job or—'

He burst out laughing. ‘Have you been out in the sun all morning? I think you need to sit down and have a rest.' Mouth twitching, he shook his head. ‘Why on earth would I feel threatened by Izzy—she's a great baker, but I'm a cordon bleu chef?'

Like the cloth in his hands, my insides twisted. ‘Sorry!' I said. This was awful. Poor Lucas. He'd tried so hard to embrace all the changes—even making perfect fish fingers in for little Pearl—and here I was, accusing him of being a traitor. ‘I know you didn't, but I just had to ask. Thought it better to be upfront.'

‘Why? Do you think someone wants your café-bar to fail?'

I sighed. ‘Or perhaps the whole resort—there has been so much bad luck this week.'

‘And that's all it is. I mean, as far as I know, no one has anything against the Maddocks. Tremain's a right
moody bugger, but everyone loves Kensa—even the bank manager. He came over here personally last week, to see how the set-up for the rebranding was going and to offer more advice.' His mouth down-turned. ‘But I'm hurt you'd think me to blame for the watering down your supplies.'

‘Sorry. Honest. I … I'm just trying to fathom things out. There aren't many people working here, not many suspects.' Lord. Listen to me. What was I like, coming over all Miss Marple and … Wait a minute. My throat constricted. I only found out myself this morning that the drinks had actually been watered down and not just replaced with cheap booze bottles. How did Lucas know that detail?

‘Have you seen Izzy, this morning?' I asked innocently.

Lucas shook his head and rubbed a hand through his unruly waves. ‘Not seen anyone—not Kensa or Tremain.' He stood straighter. ‘So, any more questions, babe, or can I stand down from the witness stand?'

I stared at him for a moment. Was he really innocent? If not, I was going to have to be more clever, to catch him out. Upfront wouldn't work.

I covered my face with my hands. ‘Of course. Apologies. Call it a temporary moment of madness. But I guess it just proves we don't know each other at all well. How about we have that quick drink and play a game I took part in at speed-dating once? I ask a
question, answer it myself and then you do the same. It'll be fun!'

Lucas grinned. ‘Give me a few minutes. Two white wines coming up.'

And, sure enough, five minutes later, we stood in the kitchen drinking, out of the sight of management or any potential customers.

I slipped the piece of paper into my back pocket. ‘Great. OK. First up … um, what is your favourite type of takeaway?' Best to start with something innocuous. ‘Mine is pizza.'

‘Sushi. Guess that comes from living near the coast. Just love fresh fish.'

I pulled a face and he laughed.

‘Right, next—fave music. I love jazz and classic disco.' I studied his face, to see if he suspected why I was asking.

He took another sip of his wine and swilled it in his mouth. ‘Yeah, I have to admit, after a few beers, nothing beats a bit of Motown music.'

Yay! Lucas had nothing to do with my disco CD playing the wrong tunes.

‘Although,' he continued, ‘I hate jazz. It's way too laid-back. Too quiet. Life is for living. No, if you really must know, my favourite is anything that promotes headbanging.'

My chest squeezed. ‘You mean like, um, heavy metal?'

He gave a thumbs-up.

Heavy metal—the music that had been taped over my ABBA music. Quick. Another really trivial question.

‘Um, favourite type of clothes on the opposite sex …' Ideally, of course, my answer would be a frock coat and tricorn hat. ‘Jeans and a white T-shirt for me.' Just like the guy in the Diet Coca-Cola ad.

‘Animal print,' said Lucas. ‘Crocodile, leopard, zebra even—you name it.'

Well, I always did think Poldark had a dangerous animalistic quality about him.

‘OK, next question … Do you know how to wire a plug? I'm useless at any mind of DIY.'

Lucas nodded. ‘Of course. My dad was an electrician. I used to watch him work, as a kid. I could wire or unwire a plug, in the dark if I had to, within minutes.'

I swallowed. Not the answer I wanted.

‘Favourite reading material,' I said weakly, choosing another random question while I asked myself if I was jumping to too many conclusions. ‘I like historical reads, from crime to romances.'

‘Newspapers,' he said. ‘Especially local ones, like the
Port Penny Express
. I read it from cover to cover as soon as I get home on a Friday, without fail. It's great for helping me keep up with local restaurant trends.'

For some reason that answer made my brain twitch, but I was still trying to work out why, whilst asking another innocent question.

‘If you were on Death Row and ordering your last meal ever, what would it be? Mine? Ooh … difficult question. Garlic mushrooms with dip, followed by chicken stir-fry and finishing off with sticky toffee pudding with custard.'

As he replied, in my mind I carefully worded my final question.

‘So, thinking ahead, where do you see yourself in five years' time? Me … perhaps married. With a regular singing gig. Or, in my ultimate fantasy, producing an album of my own written music.'

The new Lucas, who'd suddenly got on board with the rebranding, if genuine, would be bound to include one goal of helping White Rocks go from strength to strength.

‘Easy,' he replied. ‘My heart is with customers who enjoy their food and know how to have a good time.'

My chest eased. Well, his new menus included everything Cornish tourists loved with the fish ‘n' chips and Cornish sausages with mash, plus no one could have more fun than when they were on holiday.

‘Running my own gourmet restaurant,' he continued. ‘Having stakes in the place so that I am more than a skivvy. Serving people who know the difference between claret and red wine. In other words, moving on from here and, on a fantasy level, earning megabucks as one of those celebrity chefs on the telly.'

I stared at him.

‘What's the matter, babe?'

And then the penny, or rather
Port Penny Express
dropped (sorry for the pun, I'll explain in a minute).

‘Oh my God. It really was you.
You
messed with the mike plug, didn't you?' I blurted out. ‘And when you borrowed my disco CD, you taped over it with your heavy-metal rock.'

Eyes bulging, he gasped. ‘Are you crazy? Love, don't ever give up the day job to become a detective, because you
stink
at finding the truth.'

‘No one told you that the drinks had actually been watered down. As far as you knew, from your last conversation about it, with me and Izzy, we'd just been given cheap stock.'

He snorted. ‘Not this again. Swapped cheap booze or watered down—what's the difference? For God's sake, Kate. This is annoying now.'

‘And you must be one of the few people on the planet who reads the
Port Penny Express
,' I said. ‘In your words “cover to cover”. There is no way you wouldn't have known about the animal rights protest taking place—it was practically the only newspaper that covered it.' I threw my hands in the air. ‘Is that why you insisted Wednesday would be the perfect day for the trip out, even though the weather was going to be bad?'

‘The forecast I heard said the rain would stop,' he snapped. ‘I thought we were friends. Do you accuse everyone you kiss of some evil plan?'

‘OK then—so on which imaginary radio channel did you hear the supposed good weather prediction?'

His oh-so-dark eyes narrowed and
my
eyes tingled because my gut told me I'd got it right.

‘And tell me. What exactly was wrong with your fisherman friend?'

Lucas rubbed his nose. ‘God knows. I'm a chef, not a medic.'

‘Why couldn't he take us out, Lucas?' I folded my arms. ‘He must have told you.'

‘He had … flu!' said Lucas in a raised voice. ‘Jeez. Give the guy a break.'

‘Strange time of year to have flu,' I said in clipped tones. I couldn't believe it. All this time I'd fallen for Lucas's charm. ‘I bet you asked him, on purpose, to let us down.'

‘Now just a minute.' His face flushed darker. ‘You'll be accusing me of setting off those fireworks next.'

‘Yes, that's a strange one—I mean, why would you want to check the smoke alarm was working first? You made sure Kensa examined the batteries and guaranteed it was in tip-top condition. Unless that's all you wanted to set off. With the candle. Perhaps you didn't know the fireworks were there. Perhaps you aren't that reckless. You certainly looked genuinely shocked when it all happened and guilt might have made you so agreeable when I asked you to help me look for Tremain.'