Chapter One
Now
‘We are gathered here today to remember the young lives lost whenThe Maid of the Seasperished during a storm on 17th November, 1950,’ Tristan, Polcarrow’s vicar, intoned in his gentle, guiding voice.
The wind ruffled Lola’s hair and glancing out to sea, where the waves were crashing furiously against the harbour wall, she shuddered at the thought of being out in a fishing boat in this sort of weather. Tristan’s voice washed over her as he uttered a short prayer, her mind anticipating the storm that was predicted to hit over the next few days. The village had already begun to batten down the hatches in preparation. Lola glanced at Alf. The elderly fisherman had his head bent in prayer and remembrance.
‘Such a waste of life.’ Alf’s voice was choked with sadness. ‘Thomas Penwith, we always said he had nine lives, never thought he’d come a cropper at sea. He was a fool though to go out in weather like this. They all were, but we can’t change that now.’ He reached forward and ran his fingers over the third name on the memorial – Charles Tremaine. ‘It wasn’t like Charles at all. My brother was the sensible sort. Love drove him to it. Love and greed, nothing good comes of either.’ Alf sighed. ‘Well, maybe love if it’s done right.’
Alf laid a few flowers at the foot of the small memorial and bowed his head in his own prayer. Lola caught Tristan’s eye, a look passing between them, a mutual understanding that always existed whenever they were close. Tristan gave a nod and Lola stepped forward, placing a comforting arm on Alf’s shoulder.
‘Shall we go somewhere warmer?’ she suggested gently.
Alf nodded and raised a hankie to his eye. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’
‘I’ll go and put the kettle on.’ Lola gave his arm a gentle squeeze before escaping the bitter November wind that was whipping over the sea and howling around the churchyard. Lola hurried ahead along Polcarrow harbour front to her café.
She unlocked the door, sighing with relief to be out of the cold as she stepped into the warmth. No one else knew but as well as the memorial to the lost fishermen, it was also the one-year anniversary of Nannie Ruby’s passing. Wiping away the tears from her eyes, she turned the lock on the door and headed into the kitchen in search of a few moments of reflection before everyone else arrived. She’d light her own candles for her grandmother later. Hanging up her coat in the kitchen, she wiped the rain away from her face, grateful that the inclement weather had been able to hide her own tears.
Taking a few breaths to steady herself, Lola pressed her palms together in prayer, directing her gratitude towards her grandmother. It was down to Ruby that Lola had inherited enough money to make her dream of owning a café come true. The secret that Lola kept tucked tight up against her heart was her reason for coming to Polcarrow. She had told no one that she’d arrived on a whim after discovering the postcard matched the place name alongside Ruby’s scone recipe. That she had packed up her car and headed off in search of a new adventure. That this search for something unknown would bring her a whole life – a café, friends and a community that she adored. Ruby had led her to the only place Lola had ever felt was home.
Tying the apron behind her back, Lola used the mirror hanging on the back of the door to check the victory rolls in her bright red hair were still in place. Miraculously, they’d been unruffled by the wind. After reapplying her signature red lipstick, Lola stepped out of the kitchen, her eyes brimming with happiness rather than sadness as she took in the cosy, vintage-style café she had created. Lola wished Ruby could see what she’d achieved. The café was decorated in soothing shades of pale grey and yellow, the counter had a view of the sea and was covered in glass domes full of tasty baked treats ranging from a classic Victoria sponge to bars of chocolate tiffin and, of course, no Cornish café would be complete without a generous offering of scones. She’d kept her promise to Alf that her scones would never be stale.
A knock on the café door brought Lola back to the present. Wiping away her tears, she hurried to unlock it, happiness spreading across her face as her eyes met those of Tristan. The sight of him always lifted Lola’s heart and right now, seeing him was like the sun coming out after a storm.
Burnt out from working in a tough inner-city parish, Tristan had been sent to Polcarrow as the new vicar, arriving mere weeks before Lola had rocked up with her pockets overflowing with recipes and tarot cards. Both new to a village that was wary of incomers, but chronically nosey about their business, Lola and Tristan had quickly become friends. Together they’d weathered the curious looks and questions of the locals, and had won them over far more quickly than they’d expected.
Every morning since Lola had opened the café, Tristan joined Alf and Scruff for tea and toast. Lola knew from the way he always lingered that it wasn’t just the particular blend of Earl Grey she stocked that kept him coming back for more. Tristan was kinder and sweeter than any of the men Lola had ever met before and his admiration that simmered with the desire for more than just friendship delighted and terrified Lola in equal measure. It was a barrier she’d once have leaped over, but the fact that her heart was still bruised from Jared and that her friendship with Tristan was invaluable, made her pause. She was wary of giving her heart away again.
‘Lola, are you OK?’ Tristan stepped through the door into the café, worry flashing across his face as she wiped away her tears.
‘Yes, I’m fine, it’s just . . .’ She trailed off. ‘Been a bit emotional.’ It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about Ruby but she realised this was Alf’s day for mourning so tucked her own memories away.
Tristan unzipped his coat but the concern in his eyes didn’t dissipate. He hesitated before laying a comforting hand on Lola’s arm. As she leaned into the touch, heat bloomed through her and she wished he’d just pull her into his arms and give her a big hug. The desire to be held by him was strong, but she froze rather than making the move and instead gave his hand a grateful squeeze. Glancing up at him, her heart skipped the same beat it had been skipping since the first time he’d popped in to check she was OK and welcome her to the village just after she took ownership of the café. From the very first moment she had met him, Lola had instinctively known she could trust Tristan.
‘Where’s everyone else?’ she asked, feeling untethered as their brief contact ended. She touched her arm where his hand had been, as if to preserve his gentle reassurance.
‘They’re coming with Alf,’ he said as he followed Lola to the counter, pushing his damp blond hair off his forehead – an action Lola’s hands craved to do. ‘I warned them that if they took too long I’d nab the biggest scone.’
‘Oi, I make all my scones the exact same size,’ Lola scolded him, ‘there is no biggest scone. But I do have extra-special scones for you all to try.’
Tristan raised an eyebrow, which caused Lola’s insides to somersault as if they were on a trapeze. In her opinion, a vicar had no business being as handsome as Tristan was, but she never felt she could complain about that fact for long, not when they had become such firm friends. Lola swore she was done with love after her last relationship had crashed and burned in spectacular, heart-breaking fashion. Although, as she shared smiles with Tristan this notion was becoming increasingly difficult to uphold.
‘Sometimes I can’t believe I’ve already been here nearly a year,’ he said. ‘It feels both much shorter and as if I’ve never been anywhere else.’
‘Maybe it’s because you don’t want to be anywhere else?’
‘Maybe. Even on days like this—’ he gestured towards the sea through the window ‘—it’s sort of thrilling, isn’t it?’
‘From the safety of dry land. I can’t imagine what those young lads were doing going out in weather like this. Or what it must’ve been like to suddenly realise you were in big trouble out at sea. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’ Lola shuddered and shook her head sadly.
They both took a moment to reflect on the ferocity of the weather swirling outside the window before Tristan turned back to Lola.
‘I still remember the first morning I came to investigate what was going on and found you in the middle of the floor, sanding down the chairs. You were so flustered and . . .’ He trailed off, his own face flushing as he grappled for the right word.
Lola hung on to the possibility of whatever he was going to say. ‘And?’ she asked, leaning towards him.
‘Determined,’ he settled on, ‘determined to get it right.’
