A Very Cornish Christmas

by Beth Good

Genres: Women's Fiction

Synopsis

A wonderful new Christmas romance from eBook bestselling author Beth Good.

Working all hours as a midwife, Caroline isn't looking for love. All she wants to do with her precious free time is have fun and enjoy her freedom, not settle down.

But her sister, home from LA with her film-star husband and a baby on the way, has other plans. As Caroline helps the happily-marrieds settle back into life in Cornwall, she finds herself being thrown repeatedly together with their friend Brodie - sexy but a little aloof, and not at all her type. Or so she tells herself.

With the shocking discovery of a long-hidden family secret, Caroline's life is upturned once again. Can she right herself, and her family, in time for a very Cornish Christmas...?
'I love Beth Good's quirky style' Katie Fforde

Release date: October 29, 2020

Publisher: Quercus Publishing

Print pages: 288

Sample

Sitting on her sofa, Caroline clapped both hands over her ears, groaned loudly, and wished for the umpteenth time that she hadn’t moved in next to green-haired Cruella de Vil and her fanatic boyfriend. The constant thump-thump-thump of their music – if it could be termed music, which she seriously doubted – through the thin walls of her ground-floor flat was giving her a headache for the third morning in a row.

‘So much for a quiet week off work,’ she muttered, perversely wishing she was at work, despite having taken a week’s holiday over the Halloween celebrations.

She could go out, of course, and give her poor ears a rest.

But although this Halloween had dawned bright and sunny, it still felt chilly. Besides, she’d gone out yesterday, and the day before, and frankly, her budget wouldn’t stretch to lunching out every day just to escape her neighbours.

The music from next door abruptly shifted tempo, now an unbearable thumpity-thumpity-thump, accompanied by some kind of strange shrieking.

Caroline frowned.

Was the green-haired goth girl singing along to the music?

No, she realised, with a sinking feeling. Her volatile nineteen-year-old neighbour was having yet another argument with her boyfriend, who was at least twenty years her senior and a tattoo fanatic, no flesh visible that wasn’t colourfully decorated. Caroline had nothing against tattoos, of course. But more was not always better. And Malcolm was a surly beast too, though that could have something to do with the fact that Caroline kept going round to their front door and complaining. About the music, about the constant rows, about their two huge German Shepherd dogs, who barked and howled whenever left alone for more than ten minutes. Which happened most days.

Jumping off the sofa, she buttoned her cardigan and thrust both feet into leaf-covered wellies, the nearest footwear to hand. ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ she muttered crossly, flinging the door open, and stopped dead at the sight of a sports car purring into her cul-de-sac. ‘Oh!’

The sleek and shiny Aston Martin stood out among the aging hatchbacks and estate cars parked outside the flats.

As she watched, the driver’s window rolled down and a tanned arm waved at her cheerily, gold bangles jangling on its slim length.

‘Hello!’ a familiar woman’s voice called out. ‘Surprise!’

‘Jennifer!’ she yelled back in delighted amazement, forgetting all about her infuriating neighbours, and running down the leaf-strewn pathway to the car parking area. ‘Oh my God!’

Jennifer parked and climbed out of the mind-blowingly expensive car, all legs and chic designer clobber. Caroline hugged her before examining her stepsister critically, her fashion senses on full alert.

It had been a little over two years since Jennifer had met film star Alex Delgardo and been swept off her feet by his taciturn good looks and impressive bank balance. The happy couple had married nearly a year and a half ago, in a lavish show-biz wedding ceremony that had left Caroline feeling just a teensy bit envious of her younger sister. Still, it had been the most amazing experience to precede the bride to the altar, treading through rose petals strewn around the outdoor church in California, clad in clinging pale silk with satin pumps and clutching a gorgeously scented bouquet as the maid of honour.

Barely eighteen months of marriage to a film god, yet already Jennifer seemed at home with her multimillionaire status. Which was odd, given that she’d been part-goth when she left, constantly clad in gloomy black or draped with occult pendants and hippy-style cardigans.

‘Happy Halloween!’ her stepsister said with a wink, and a slight American drawl. ‘Trick or treat?’

‘What on earth are you doing here, Jenny?’ Caroline gasped.

Jennifer abandoned the fake accent. ‘Visiting you, of course, in good old Pethporro. I see it’s freezing as usual. But at least it’s not wet, I suppose.’

‘I mean, why aren’t you in LA?’

Jennifer looked her up and down, her lips quirking. ‘Nice wellies. Not your usual style, but I like the look.’

‘I wasn’t expecting company.’

‘I tried to ring first but your mobile’s off.’

‘That’s deliberate, so nobody can ask me into work for emergency cover. Oh my God, is that Chanel?’ Caroline plucked at her sister’s pretty woollen jacket, rendered speechless with envy.

‘Um, possibly. Alex bought it for me.’

Caroline shook her head, disgusted by Jennifer’s complete disinterest in fashion. ‘Fabulous wealth is wasted on you,’ she complained, but smiled, looking her up and down. ‘It’s wonderful to see you, Jenny. I had no idea you were back in England. How is Alex?’

‘He’s exhausted, poor pet. We only flew in yesterday from LA.’ Jennifer made a face. ‘Jet lag, you know? I left Alex sleeping it off at Porro Park and drove straight over.’

Porro Park was the gorgeous country house her film-star husband owned and where Jennifer had first met him. She had been his tenant, living in Pixie Cottage in his huge grounds, and had made friends with his late grandmother, Nelly.

‘I had to talk to you. I stopped at the clinic first, but they told me you’d taken a week off.’ Jennifer raised an eyebrow, glancing oddly at the block of flats, its once whitewashed walls – now grimy and grey – pulsating with rave music. ‘Is that your music?’

‘My neighbours, Savannah and Malcolm.’ Caroline pursed her lips, keeping her voice down, though she doubted the couple could hear anything through that din. ‘Savannah is nineteen and has green hair. Malcolm is a forty-something self-employed painter and decorator. They have lively disputes that go on for hours. As for that unearthly din, I was just going round to complain.’

‘Good idea. Don’t let me stop you.’

‘Oh, those two can wait. You said you needed to talk to me. What about?’

‘Let’s go inside first.’

Caroline grimaced. ‘What, with that hideous noise thumping through the walls? We won’t be able to hear ourselves think. Look, why don’t we go into town instead? There’s a posh new coffee shop slash bistro.’

‘In Pethporro?’

Jennifer was not bothering to hide her disbelief.

‘You won’t have to lower your Hollywood standards too much, trust me. They do everything from macchiatos to salad lunches.’ Caroline laughed at her mock-impressed expression. ‘Give me a minute to change my shoes and lock up.’ She ran back to the flat while Jennifer waited by the car, swapped her wellies for smart tan ankle boots, grabbed her coat and purse, and then hurried back. This time, she gave her sister a more critical once-over. ‘Seriously though, what’s up? You look tired.’

‘I told you, it’s jet lag.’ But Jennifer sounded deliberately vague, and Caroline knew there was more to it than that. ‘You’re right, though, I could do with a caffeine hit. Come on, let’s visit this posh new coffee shop.’

Getting into the passenger seat of the gorgeous Aston Martin, Caroline knew a moment’s glowing satisfaction as she glanced back at the dingy flats to see both Savannah and Malcolm framed in the window next door, peering out at her in wide-eyed disbelief.

She pulled the door shut with a blasé air and a flick of her blonde hair, as though she regularly rode about in madly expensive sports cars.

‘Good God. Is that them?’ Jennifer had seen the staring couple too.

‘How did you guess?’

‘I bet they look forward to Halloween. The one night of the year when they won’t look out of place in Pethporro.’

‘I would laugh, but I’ve run out of humour.’

‘Better give them the full treatment, then.’ Jennifer put her foot down hard, revving the Aston Martin so that it roared wonderfully, then accelerated out of the car park, engine growling under the bonnet. ‘What was that appalling racket they were making, anyway?’

‘Rave music.’

‘It sounded horrific. And insanely loud.’ Jennifer headed for the town centre, apparently oblivious to the considerable attention she was attracting from the good Cornish citizens of Pethporro. ‘How on earth do you put up with them as neighbours?’

‘I’ve been asking myself that question a lot lately.’

‘You poor thing.’

Caroline studied her profile suspiciously. They were good friends, of course, as well as stepsisters. But they’d always enjoyed a cat-and-dog relationship, frequently sniping at each other and making sarcastic comments. It was true that Jennifer had mellowed considerably since marrying her film star – and who wouldn’t mellow, spending most of the year in sunny California in a fabulous mansion with swimming pool and tennis courts? – but this sudden solicitude was a bit too much.

‘I don’t usually have to put up with them much,’ she admitted. ‘It’s only because I’m off work. Normally, I’m out most of the day, and they tend to go out partying in the evenings. Though the early hours can be fun.’ She bared her teeth. ‘Sometimes, they come home at two or three in the morning, both off their heads, and start yelling at each other like banshees. I sleep with a pillow over my head those nights.’

‘You should move out.’

‘Love to, but I can’t afford it. Have you seen the rental prices around here lately? Pethporro has become even more popular since you left, especially with owners of second homes. And I don’t qualify for council housing. Not as a priority case, anyway. So I guess I’m stuck there for now.’ Caroline shrugged, enjoying the luxurious feel of the leather seats. She ran a hand along the smooth dashboard. ‘Maybe they’ll move out instead.’

‘Not knowing your luck.’ Jennifer’s brow was knitted in concentration. She weaved her way carefully between a parked taxi and an oncoming tractor. ‘So, who are you dating these days?’

‘Nobody.’

‘Nobody?’ Jennifer swivelled her head to stare at her, then flicked her glance back to the road. ‘That’s not like you.’

Caroline hesitated.

Lately, she’d been going through a dry patch, boyfriend-wise. She’d had a few offers over the past year, yet somehow couldn’t get up the enthusiasm to bother dating. There was no obvious reason why not. Or none that she could pinpoint. Work just seemed more interesting right now.

But she didn’t particularly want to share that thought with Jennifer. It sounded a bit self-pitying.

‘Too busy at work, I suppose.’

‘Heard anything from Mum and Dad lately?’

‘I spoke to them on the phone last week. They love their new art gallery in St Ives. I promised to drive down and see it as soon as I can.’ She grinned. ‘Very generous of you and Alex to buy it for them.’

‘Yes,’ Jennifer glanced at her guiltily, ‘I probably should have mentioned that. Their lease on the old gallery had run out, and they’d found this great new exhibition space. So I said I’d buy it for them. But it was Brodie who handled the sale, so it slipped my mind.’

‘Brodie’s still with you and Alex then, is he?’

Caroline tried to keep the judgemental note out of her voice. Brodie was Alex’s personal assistant, and highly protective of his superstar boss; the two men had been best buddies for years, ever since they’d met back in their army days.

Caroline had found Brodie quite attractive on the few occasions she’d met him during Alex and Jennifer’s courtship. He had a faint Scottish tinge to his accent, and the kind of rugged good looks that made it hard not to look twice. But she’d been less impressed with the guy since discovering that he’d been against Alex and Jennifer’s relationship at first, though he’d changed his mind after realising that Alex was absolutely smitten. Anyone who could diss her lovely sister was not worth knowing, Caroline thought.

‘Need you ask?’ Jennifer shook her head. ‘Those two are inseparable!’

‘That must be difficult for you.’

‘Not at all. I know we had a few problems in the beginning, but I get on okay with Brodie now. He really looks after Alex well, does everything for him. Which means I don’t need to, of course.’ She bit her lip. ‘Though I probably shouldn’t have asked Brodie to organise that art gallery purchase. He’s not my personal assistant, after all. And they’re not Alex’s parents, they’re mine.’

‘It’s the same thing. You married Alex. What’s his is yours, et cetera.’

‘I’m not sure Alex would always agree with that.’ But Jennifer laughed. ‘I’m glad they’re enjoying the new gallery space. I wanted to give something back, and Alex agreed. Mum and Dad did a pretty good job of bringing us up, don’t you think?’

‘Given the material they were working with, I suppose so.’

Jennifer’s eyes sparked dangerously. ‘Sorry?’

‘Hey, I was only joking. Of course they did a good job as parents. Seriously, you should see some of the teenagers I have to deal with at the clinic. Never been within a mile of a baby, and suddenly they’re going to be parents.’ She grinned. ‘The nappy-changing workshops are hilarious. Especially with the boys. Their faces!’

Jennifer was quiet for a moment, then said abruptly, ‘Do you think we were badly behaved as kids?’

‘No worse than any other Cornish teenager, bored out of our skulls all winter and then working three jobs every summer.’ Caroline shook her head, bemused by Jennifer’s question. ‘What put that into your head? Did Mum and Dad accuse you of being a brat?’

Caroline called them Mum and Dad, though Debbie was her stepmother. But Debbie had always been ‘Mum’ from the very beginning, as though there was no difference between Caroline and her own daughter, Jennifer, from her first marriage.

In the same way, Jenny had always called her stepdad ‘Dad’ even though Jim was no blood relation.

It had been an unspoken convention, and both girls had fallen in with it quite naturally, perhaps because their respective parents had married while they were still both in primary school. But while Jennifer had kept in touch with her real father, and even invited him to her wedding a summer ago, Caroline hadn’t seen her birth mother since she was five. All she knew about her, in fact, was that her name was Topaz. Though that seemed such an unlikely name; she always suspected her dad had made that up. He was an artist and a bit vague at times, so anything was possible.

‘No, nothing like that.’

‘You were a bit wild at times, it’s true. You remember that coven you started? You had to break it up when you melted Mum’s potpourri dish during a full moon ritual.’ Caroline laughed, and Jennifer joined in with obvious reluctance. ‘But I was the one who was always slapping on the lippy and sneaking out to meet boys. Crafty Caro, that’s what you called me.’

‘I’d forgotten that.’ Her sister shook her head. ‘They gave up so much to look after the two of us, that’s all. I just wanted to say thank you.’

‘With an art gallery.’

Jennifer shrugged. ‘It was what they needed. And we have the money. God, we’ve got money coming out of our ears. I don’t know, maybe I was just feeling nostalgic and homesick . . .’

‘Slow down, you’ve passed the coffee shop!’

Jennifer hit the brakes and backed up along the high street in a slightly precipitous manner, having spotted a parking space near the chemists. Luckily, the traffic was light, the season having finished several months ago, so they didn’t collide with anyone.

Jennifer glanced up at the sign as they went inside. ‘Kornish Koffee?’ She cast Caroline an ironic look. ‘Very klassy. With a K.’

‘Hey, come down a notch or two, lady. This is Pethporro, not LA.’

‘Sorry.’

The coffee shop was decked out in spooky décor in honour of Halloween, with witches’ hats suspended from the ceiling and black candles burning on each table. They found a table for two in the window, just vacated by an old couple and still covered with a fine sprinkling of cake crumbs. Nothing loath, Caroline dashed these to the floor and wiped the table with a leftover napkin. She then piled up the used crockery and shifted the entire heap to another table.

Jennifer watched all this industry with a slight smile on her face.

‘That’s better.’ Caroline plonked herself down by the window and peered out through the Halloween display of cottony spiders’ webs and black netting. The church clock chimed softly out of sight, and she counted them mentally. Twelve bongs. ‘Oh, it’s lunchtime already. How did that happen?’

‘So let’s have lunch.’

‘What a good idea.’ Caroline grabbed two menus from the condiments tray, handed one to Jennifer, and then studied the laminated list herself without really seeing it. Something was nagging at her, deep down, but she couldn’t for the life of her work out what it was. ‘I can’t believe I’m eating out for the third day in a row.’

Jennifer lowered her own menu to look at her questioningly.

‘Savannah and Malcolm,’ Caroline explained briefly. ‘Savannah’s not started back at college yet, and Malcolm’s home a lot. I find it less stressful to go out than sit and listen to their ruckus next door.’ She rubbed a little porthole in the steamed-up window, trying not to dislodge a large plastic spider attached to the glass at nose level. ‘The weather’s been holding up since the summer. Not too much rain yet, for all it’s nearly November.’ She glanced wryly at Jennifer’s smooth coppery tan. ‘Though I suppose having come from sunny California, it must feel like the Arctic Circle here.’

‘Cornwall is a trifle nippy in comparison,’ her sister agreed with a theatrical shiver, keeping her jacket firmly buttoned up.

The waitress arrived, looking flustered and distracted, order pad in hand. ‘What can I get you ladies?’

They both ordered traditional Cornish pasties with side salad and a pot of tea, without having consulted each other.

‘Great minds think alike,’ Caroline said after the woman had gone, grinning with appreciation.

‘Well, we are sisters.’

‘Stepsisters.’

Jennifer frowned. ‘I thought we’d agreed to forget about that. That’s what Mum and Dad always wanted, wasn’t it? For us to be a proper family. Like we’re blood, not steps.’

Again, Caroline felt an odd jangle of nerves. There’d been something unexpectedly pointed behind that remark. Was something wrong with Jennifer? It wasn’t very likely. She seemed happy enough with Alex, or had never complained of any issues in her marriage. But she knew from her job that women rarely did complain, at least not openly.

‘Quite right,’ Caroline said with a smile, deciding not to push the point. ‘I was only pulling your leg. You know, the same way we used to tease each other as kids, always saying we were stepsisters.’

‘I know.’ Jennifer leant forward abruptly, touching her hand. ‘But we’re not kids any more. And I’d like us to be sisters now.’

‘Of course.’

They talked easily for a while about their parents, and the art gallery in St Ives that Alex and Jenny had bought them. Jennifer laughed and smiled in all the right places, but Caroline could tell she wasn’t entirely there. Her sister’s mind was elsewhere, nagging away at something she didn’t want to share. But what?

Their large shared metal pot of tea arrived, courtesy of the now smiling waitress. It seemed someone in the kitchen must have recognised them.

‘There you go, Mrs Delgardo,’ the waitress said breathlessly, placing Jennifer’s cup carefully in front of her while slapping Caroline’s down without so much as a glance in her direction. She had even brought an unasked-for plate of ginger snaps. ‘We’re honoured to have you here at Kornish Koffee. Please, help yourself to these courtesy biscuits.’ She put a hand to her flushed cheek, her voice even more tremulous. ‘The cook and I . . . That is, we were wondering . . . Will your husband be joining you for lunch?’

‘Not today,’ Jennifer said politely. ‘Maybe another time.’

‘Oh, well . . .’ The waitress nodded and bustled away to make her report, somehow managing to look both disappointed and exhilarated at the same time.

‘There goes your anonymity. By now, the Pethporro gossip machine is already cranking out the news that you and Alex are back in town. Next time you drive past this place, they’ll have a plaque saying, “As visited by the Delgardos” over the door. I get my fair share of questions too, you know. Asking how Alex is doing, and when his next film is out, as though I had the inside scoop on his career. Which obviously I haven’t,’ Caroline added pointedly, ‘given that you and Alex are as close as clams about stuff like that.’

In an excellent impersonation of a clam, her sister didn’t say a word.

Caroline sighed and busied herself stirring the hot water, sorting out the cups and picking up the milk jug. She hesitated. ‘Shall I be mother? If that isn’t too confusing, now we’ve established I’m your sister.’

Jennifer was staring blindly out of the window. ‘Hmm?’

Definitely a problem there.

‘Here you go.’ Caroline poured two steaming hot cups of tea and pushed one towards her sister, trying not to let it slosh into the saucer. ‘Okay, enough chit-chat. Tell me to mind my own business, but I can’t help noticing you’re not yourself. Is it really jet lag, or is something actually wrong?’

‘Wrong?’ Now she had Jennifer’s full and rather unnerving attention. ‘Why do you think something’s wrong? Do I look different?’ Pushing a hand through her short dark hair with an impatient gesture, Jennifer met her sister’s gaze frankly. ‘Be honest with me, please.’

Caroline frowned. Her sister had not only been a well-known folklorist before her marriage to Alex, but a witch on the side too. Had she continued practising witchcraft while out in the States? Not that Jenny had ever been the type of witch who went round turning people into frogs – if that was actually a thing, which she doubted – but she wasn’t someone you wanted to offend. Not if the scary jars she’d kept in her kitchen back then were anything to go by. Mandrake roots, devil’s dung and the like . . .

‘Not at all,’ Caroline said politely. ‘But you mentioned having something to talk to me about. Wasn’t that why you drove over today?’

Slowly, Jennifer nodded. ‘It’s probably nothing.’

‘Tell me.’

‘You were right. I’ve not been myself recently. I’ve had headaches, and funny moods, and . . . Well, I don’t think I’m well.’ Jennifer hid her face in her hands. ‘I think it’s serious.’

‘Have you seen a doctor?’

‘God, no.’ Jennifer looked horrified. ‘Alex would be bound to find out, and he’s been so stressed out with work recently. I don’t want to worry him. And it might be nothing. Just a tummy bug, you know.’

‘You’ve been feeling sick?’

‘Vaguely.’

‘And out of sorts?’

‘You could describe it like that, I guess.’

‘But headachy?’

‘Definitely.’

Caroline sat back as their Cornish pasties arrived with a lavish salad, the waitress once again beaming with pleasure, and the cook accompanying her this time, his funny white cap bobbing up and down as he practically bowed to Jennifer like she was royalty. But Caroline’s mind was working fast.

Because she’d heard all those symptoms before.

Many, many times.

She’d finally qualified as a midwife about a year before Jenny met Alex, after long years of study on top of her original training as a nurse, and now absolutely adored her job. There was a wonderful roundedness to the process of seeing a woman through from that exciting first clinic visit to post-natal check, the birth itself being the highlight of her work, though also the most stressful. The pay wasn’t wonderful, but it was graded, which meant she might actually be able to buy her own place one day, especially if she rose to senior level.

Midwifery was a vocation rather than a job, she’d always felt. But the idea of becoming a homeowner through her own hard graft meant a great deal to her. It would demonstrate that she’d finally arrived in a state of adulthood, after several decades of prolonged adolescence. Also, she needed the security of her own place. Mum and Dad had been good parents, yet somehow, she’d never felt perfectly right at home, as though a part of her was missing. Which was a ridiculous notion, of course.

More importantly at this moment though, she was an expert on the classic early symptoms of pregnancy.

When the waitress and cook had finally gone, she leant forward across her plate and whispered, ‘Jenny, when was your last period?’

Cutting into her pasty, Jennifer stopped to stare at her, wide-eyed with astonishment. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You heard me.’

‘That’s a bit personal . . .’ Slowly, comprehension dawned on her sister’s face. ‘Bloody hell. Are you kidding?’

‘Is it possible?’

They were still both whispering by instinct, aware of other people seated nearby in the busy bistro. People who might be eavesdropping like crazy, for all they knew, given Jennifer’s celebrity status as wife of a film star.

‘Of course not.’

‘Because you both played it safe.’

‘Exactly.’

‘No contraceptive is one hundred per cent safe. You know that, right?’

Jennifer hesitated. ‘Well, there may have been one time when . . .’ Then she stopped dead, biting her lip.

‘Go on.’

‘It’s none of your business.’ Her sister’s cheeks had flushed pink, and her voice wavered. ‘Honestly, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. That you’re asking me such embarrassing questions. And over lunch, too!’

‘I’m not embarrassed. It’s part of my job.’

‘It’s not possible,’ Jennifer hissed.

‘Anything’s possible. One time is more than enough. One tiny mistake.’ Suddenly peckish, Caroline picked up her pasty and dug her teeth hungrily into it. After swallowing the first tasty mouthful, she shook her head at her sister’s horrified expression. ‘Trust me, I’ve seen enough shell-shocked teenagers to know that ten seconds of carelessness can change your life forever.’

‘No, no, no. Oh no.’ As if in a dream, Jennifer cut her pasty into quarters. Gingerly, not looking at Caroline, she nibbled on one quarter. ‘I may be a bit impulsive at times. But I’m not. . .