The Sweethearts Collection. Pam Jenoff
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lemon peel slices and, incongruously, yet more of the cheap jelly sweets.
‘For the well-heeled for whom presenting a seasonal treat to guests is de rigeur,’ he explained. ‘Apart from those jelly sweets, of course, which is probably all parents will be able to afford between now and Christmas.’
‘Goodness, I have so much to learn,’ Colenso exclaimed.
‘We both do,’ he replied. Although he said it lightly, she had a feeling he wasn’t referring to sweets.
‘Well, it’s almost noon so shall I put the kettle on to boil?’
‘Yes, by all means,’ he said, reaching out for the brush to wipe down the sides of the pan. ‘Help yourself to bread and cheese.’
‘Shall I cut enough for both of us?’ she asked.
‘No, I’ll have something later,’ he said, lifting the pan from the heat. ‘Want to get these glass-plate sweets finished.’
And that seemed to be the way of things for the rest of the week. Although Garren was polite and helpful, he never seemed to take his break when she did. Even when they worked on together in the evenings, he assigned her jobs that were at the other end of the workshop. However, Colenso was so busy helping to make the sweets and serving in the shop, she hardly had time to think. By the time her head hit the pillow at night, she was so exhausted she fell asleep straight away.
That Sunday, putting the thumping of her heart down to needing a break, she checked her appearance in the mirror over the counter. She’d sponged the stains from her green outfit, tied the matching scarf around her head and clipped on the golden hoops. Then, as the day was fine but brisk, she slipped Mara’s shawl around her shoulders. Calling to Garren that she was leaving, she let herself outside then, unable to resist checking the window display, smiled at the fondant pigs and jellied mice peering out from the dishes of sugar plums.
‘Very nice, Cali.’ She spun round to find Kitto grinning at her. He was wearing the heavy serge jacket and flat cap she remembered but whether he was referring to the window display or her, she couldn’t tell.
‘I thought we were meeting by the market,’ she replied.
‘Couldn’t wait,’ he quipped, holding out his arm. Not wishing to appear churlish, she took it and just had time to glimpse the look of glee on Miss Chenoweth’s face in the window as they set off down the street.
‘Have you had a good week?’ she asked brightly.
‘Not really. Being the new boy’s not easy. Even though I was taken on as a turner, I get given the rubbish jobs nobody else wants to do. Still, let’s not waste time talking about that. The day is dry so I’m guessing my lady would like a stroll along the prom.’ Her heart leapt at his words. Careful, Colenso, she chided. Better to take things slowly this time. If only her heart would stop beating at the door of the cage. ‘Well?’ he persisted. Seeing him look askance, she nodded. ‘Have you seen much of the town?’ he asked.
‘No, not really. I’ve been so busy I’ve not really had time to venture out, apart from the other day. What about you?’
‘Saw quite a bit when I was searching for you,’ he replied. ‘There are some beautiful buildings here. Very different from the thatched cottages on The Lizard, some of them. I mean, did you know that here is called Market Jew Street?’ he said as they walked down the steps that led to the lower side. ‘It means Thursday Market, in Cornish. That fine granite building with the tall columns in front of us is the Market House.’
‘What does the writing mean?’ she asked, staring up at the engraved letters.
‘It’s not Cornish so no one seems to know, although Polly overheard a customer saying it was opened in the 1830s like the rest of the big buildings in the town centre.’
‘I never knew you were interested in things like that, Kitto,’ she replied, looking at him in surprise.
‘Wait until you see the next building I’ve come across,’ he grinned, leading her down a narrower street. ‘How would you like to live in a house like that?’ he asked, gesturing to his right.
‘That would be just wonderful,’ she gasped, staring at the magnificent busts of two Egyptian women that proudly graced the ornate pillars above the entrance. The front of the building was painted in red, orange and gold, picking out mouldings, figures and patterns. A black cormorant perched under the eaves, and the intricate metalwork to the windows made the whole building look exotic.
‘Don’t think we can quite run to a house like that when we’re wed, Cali, but I do want us to have a nice home.’
‘Perhaps we should concentrate on getting to know each other again before thinking of things like that,’ she told him as they made their way past a couple of old alehouses and a fine merchant’s house. He shot her a puzzled look but she hardly noticed, for the church with the tall tower was looming before them. Gazing up at the porch she’d huddled in, a shiver ran down her spine.
‘Apparently that tower acts as a waymark to seafarers,’ he started to say. ‘Hey, you’ve gone all pale, are you all right?’ he asked, frowning at her.
‘Just impatient to get to the sea,’ she murmured, not wishing to dwell on that dreadful night.
‘Well, if we turn down here,’ he said, leading her down a little lane. ‘There,’ he cried, gesturing ahead. Sure enough there was the sea, wind whipping up the white horses as it hit the wall and splashed over onto the promenade. ‘Don’t think we’ll get too close unless you fancy a soaking,’ he quipped. Standing well back, they watched the boats pitching and rolling in the swell, even though they were sheltered from the west by Mousehole.
‘So, how’s life in the sweetshop?’ he asked as they began walking along, carefully keeping to the edge of the promenade away from the breakers.
‘Very busy. We’ve been making those Christmas confections I mentioned the other day.’
‘You mean you made those mice and pigs?’ He stopped walking and stared at her, clearly impressed.
‘Well, actually I did the sugar plums. Do you know they’re not made of plums at all?’
‘Well, I did have an inkling. I mean, since when do you get plums in December? Still, they did look very good,’ he said quickly when he saw her frown. ‘Look, the wind’s freshening, shall we go and have a hot drink and scone or something?’ he said as another wave washed over the wall, splattering the promenade with pebbles and seaweed.
‘Good idea,’ she agreed, pulling her shawl tighter round her as they turned and hurried back the way they’d come, although this time he turned up a different lane.
‘Everywhere leads to the town,’ he explained when she looked askance.
Two minutes later they were entering the warmth of the tea room. As before, the fair-haired girl beamed a smile of welcome at Kitto before nodding briskly at Colenso.
‘A pot of tea for two and a couple of scones, please, Polly,’ he called, as they made their way to the table by the window they’d occupied before. He sat staring at her for a long moment.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.
‘I was just thinking that you never used to wear a scarf around your hair. Not that you don’t look very nice, er, lovely in fact,’ he said quickly, colour creeping up his cheeks.
‘In order to escape from Cadgwith, I had to pretend to be a boy, which meant having my hair shorn,’ she told him.
‘Oh Cali, I had no idea,’ he gasped.
‘Don’t worry, it’s almost back to normal now,’ she assured him when he grimaced.
‘No, I meant I had no idea you were suffering like that. Your mother told me you were safe and that you’d be writing to me, so I waited to hear from you. That’s why I learned my letters – so I’d be able