There’s Something About Cornwall. Daisy James
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fact, Emilie had to admit that she’d experienced a surge of relief that it would be Alice who was working alongside her so she could act as a buffer between Lucinda and herself. Her reassuring presence might just make this ridiculous journey the length and breadth of England’s southernmost county bearable, not least because Alice’s second badge of honour, worn proudly on her breast, was party girl extraordinaire.
Despite her attractive features – glossy bob the colour of chocolate ganache and sharp hazel eyes – Alice remained resolutely single, arguing that there was no point in hanging your dreams on the arm of a guy. She didn’t agree with Emilie’s thesis that finding a soulmate enhanced your life. Instead Alice pronounced herself judge and jury on all things romance and submitted the argument that you made your own happiness, that the potential delivery of happiness was not pinned to someone else’s mast.
As for which of the eloquent submissions held sway now, after what had happened with Brad, Emilie decided that the jury was out and still deliberating – although had she been pressed, she would have had to agree with Alice. Until she’d met Brad, most of her relationships had been short: some sweet, some not so. Then along came Brad – suave, confident, knowledgeable and extraordinarily handsome. He had guided her in all things camera-related and she knew she had become a much better photographer because of him.
It was only in the last six months that his attitude towards her had changed. In the early hours of the morning after his cheating had been revealed, when sleep had evaded her and she spent the time churning through what had happened, she had eventually been able to pinpoint the precise moment he’d changed – the awards night.
She sighed and puffed out a breath of air. Brad was history. Here she was in Cornwall and she was determined to make the shoot one of her best to date, as well as indulging in some girly fun with Alice. A smile tugged at her lips when she thought of previous escapades. She dragged her tousled hair from around her cheeks, lifted it over her head and dropped it behind her shoulders.
‘Emilie! Sorry! Sorry!’ called Alice. ‘No excuses except for the weekend traffic and getting used to the unfamiliar controls.’
Alice grabbed Emilie’s wheelie suitcase and stalked off down the pavement with it, coming to a stop so suddenly that Emilie slammed into the back of her.
‘Why are you stopping here? Where’s the hire car?’
‘This is it.’
‘Where?’
‘Here!’ Alice indicated the VW camper van, its orange paintwork interrupted by swirls of white depicting rolling waves along both sides. ‘I’ve nicknamed her the Satsuma Splittie. What do you think?’
Emilie’s jaw dropped in disbelief. She closed her mouth only to open it again, like a gobsmacked goldfish. She couldn’t think of anything to say that was favourable.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Alice had clearly mistaken her horrified silence for awe. ‘It’s got two beds, a table and a tiny kitchenette. I just know we’re going to have an amazing expedition. I can’t wait to get started on our journey after the shoot this afternoon. It’ll be like we’re part of an Enid Blyton adventure.’
‘But it’s…it’s a camper van!’
‘Yes, what were you expecting? A Winnebago? I know it’ll be a bit cosy, but we won’t be spending a lot of time inside – only to sleep and have a quick breakfast before joining the crew for the shoot. Come on, don’t stand there like a soggy treacle pudding. Climb in. We need to get over to the hotel in Padstow to get the shoot set up so we can start the photography as soon as Lucinda’s bakes are ready. There’s lots to organise. Today is an indoor shoot in the hotel’s conservatory, thank goodness, but I’m sure you’ll want to have everything wrapped up before we lose the natural light.’
Alice leapt up into the driver’s seat but Emilie remained motionless on the footpath, clutching the handle of her beloved prop box so tightly her knuckles had bleached white. Confusion and a myriad of questions ricocheted around her brain. Why hadn’t she thought to check where she would be staying for the Cornwall-wide journey? If she were honest, she had assumed she would be in the same hotel as Lucinda and loyal her assistant, Marcus Baker – but how presumptuous was that? She was a lowly photographer, not a celebrated TV chef and bestselling cookery book writer. But still, two weeks in a VW camper van? Squashed into a makeshift bed next to neat-freak Alice? It was a recipe for verbal fireworks.
The passenger-side window scrolled down and Alice peered over from the other side, her slender body hunched over the steering wheel, her mahogany bob swinging around her chin.
‘Earth to Emilie! What are you waiting for? We have a very tight schedule to keep to. I wouldn’t recommend risking Lucinda’s wrath so soon in the proceedings. Surely I don’t have to remind you that upsetting her would be professional suicide?’
Alice’s words of warning somehow sliced through Emilie’s armour of denial. She grasped the silver handle and slid back the van’s side door to stow her precious trunk in the back, and then jumped into the seat beside Alice. With a stomach-churning crunch of the gears, Alice leapfrogged away from the kerb, revving the engine and crashing the clutch until she reached the junction outside the station. There she pulled into the path of a BMW Roadster, earning herself an indignant blast of a horn and a one-fingered salute. She graced the gesticulating driver with a bright smile and a wave and headed for the road to Padstow.
‘So, how exciting is this?’ Alice gushed. ‘Chocolate-box Cornwall – nine stops, a selection of local and traditional desserts in each. What a blast we’re going to have! Come on, Em, there’s no need to look so horrified. It’s only a camper van. Would you have preferred a tent?’
‘Good grief! No way! I haven’t camped in the great outdoors since I was in the Brownies and even then I was evicted from the tent and made to sleep in the kitchen hut for prolonging a midnight feast.’
‘Don’t you think it’s the perfect solution? It’s mobile, it’s comfortable and it’s a stylish way to travel. I bet we get lots more comments about our mode of transport than Lucinda does in her blacked-out limousine.’
Emilie glanced across at Alice to check if she was being sarcastic. Sadly she wasn’t. She truly believed they had drawn the long straw in the vehicle stakes!
‘We can make our own breakfast and eat on set at lunchtime. After all, there’ll be plenty of delicious cakes to sample.’ Alice laughed, gracing Emilie with a show of her movie star teeth. ‘And when the daily shoot is over we can drive to the next location, park up and party all night without having to check into some grotty B&B or worry about waking everyone up when we tumble in at two a.m.’
Emilie turned her head to look over her shoulder into the back of the camper van – her Home Sweet Home for the next two weeks. No, wait a minute, half of her home as she would be sharing the space with Alice. There was a tiny kitchenette with a stainless steel sink, and a dual-burner hob with under-bench grill. There was even a minuscule fridge and a microwave built into the bright orange Formica units. Padded ivory leather seats, piped in matching orange, surrounded an orange table and, to complete the feeling of being imprisoned inside a satsuma, orange-and-yellow checked curtains were drawn neatly back at the windows.
Emilie wished she’d thought to bring her sunglasses. Much as she liked Alice, she had an ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach that their daily struggle to five o’clock was not going to be plain sailing.
‘Take a look behind my seat!’ Alice smirked.
‘Why?’ asked Emilie, straining her neck to take in a nondescript square seat topped with a matching ivory cushion piped in the ubiquitous orange.
‘Guess what that is?’
‘Oh, God, don’t tell me.’
‘It’s a porta-potty.’
‘If you think either of us is going to use that then you’re living in a hippie-dippie dream world!’
Alice smiled but knew when to change the