Spring on the Little Cornish Isles: The Flower Farm. Phillipa Ashley
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Where are the ‘Little Cornish Isles’?
The Isles of Scilly are one of my favourite places in the world – not that I’ve travelled that much of the world, but I’ve been lucky enough to visit a few locations renowned for their stunning coastlines, including Grenada, St Lucia, Sardinia, Corsica and Southern Australia. There are some beautiful beaches in all of these places, but I think the white sands and jewel-like seas of St Mary’s, St Martin’s, St Agnes, Tresco and Bryher are equally, if not more breathtaking than any of those exotic hotspots.
From the moment I first glimpsed Scilly from a tiny Skybus aircraft in September 2014, I was smitten. From the air, the isles look like a necklace of emerald gems fringed by sparkling sands, set in a turquoise, jade and sapphire lagoon. (Just remember that we’re in the chilly Atlantic, thirty miles west of Cornwall and that it can rain and the fog can roll in. Take your wellies, walking boots and umbrella as well as your bikini!)
Within half an hour of setting foot on the ‘Main Island’, St Mary’s, I knew that one day I had to set a novel there. However, if you go looking for Gull Island, St Piran’s, St Saviour’s, Petroc or any of the people, pubs or businesses featured in this series, I’m afraid you won’t find them. They’re all products of my imagination. While I’ve set some of the scenes on St Mary’s, almost all of the organisations mentioned in the series are completely fictional and I’ve had to change aspects of the ‘real’ Scilly to suit my stories.
On saying that, I hope you will find stunning landscapes, welcoming pubs and cafés, pretty flower farms and warm, hardworking communities very like the ones you’ll read about in these books. I’ll leave it to you, the reader, to decide where Scilly ends and the Little Cornish Isles begin.
Phillipa x
August Bank Holiday Monday
St Mary’s Airport, Isles of Scilly
Oh no, surely that wasn’t her?
Jess Godrevy’s heart sank as she spotted the girl standing guard over a wheelie suitcase in the arrivals hall at St Mary’s airport terminal. She was all of five feet tall and looked as if she’d blow away in the first Atlantic gust. Was this really Dr Gabriella Carter? Her head-and-shoulders photo had given no indication of how tiny she was – more like a sixth-former than a twenty-seven-year-old with a PhD. Just wait until Will saw her …
Jess smiled to herself as Gabriella pulled her case even closer, though no one was likely to run off with it on Scilly and they certainly wouldn’t get away with the crime if they did. Jess had already nodded or exchanged hellos with most of the staff and locals in the terminal, all of whom she knew by sight. None of them was a criminal mastermind, although some people would say Hugo Scorrier came closest. His unruly black Labrador, Basil, was sniffing around people’s luggage while Hugo was deep in conversation with a good-looking, dark-haired man who Jess didn’t recognise. Judging by the stranger’s sharp suit and laptop bag, he and Hugo were probably discussing some big business deal relating to Hugo’s luxury resort on Petroc.
Jess worked her way through the holidaymakers towards Gabriella, hoping the friendly smile on her face would reassure her new recruit.
‘Hi there. It’s Gabriella, isn’t it? I’m Jess Godrevy from the flower farm. Welcome to Scilly.’
‘Oh, thank goodness. I’m so happy to see you.’ Gabriella’s voice was beautiful but so quiet Jess had to strain to hear it over the plane engines and boarding announcements. She was very pretty in an English rose sort of way, with creamy cheeks sprinkled with freckles and a mane of strawberry blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She’d have to be super careful with the sunscreen while she was working outside, thought Jess, ever practical but also aware of her own scruffy jeans, Flower Farm sweatshirt and wild hair. There was never any point in styling it: the wind and the sea spray would dismember any blow-dry in minutes.
‘Someone’s waiting in the car park to give us a lift down to the quay so we can get the island boat across to St Saviour’s,’ said Jess cheerfully. ‘My brother, Will, is busy at the farm. If he’s remembered that you’re coming, that is, and hasn’t decided to go rowing instead. Brothers, what are they like?’
A brief smile flickered across Gabriella’s lips but she still looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
‘It’s this way,’ said Jess, regretting her ‘joke’ about Will, mostly because he might well have forgotten.
‘Thank you so much,’ said Gabriella as if she’d been invited to tea at Buckingham Palace. She was so sweetly polite,