Summer at the Cornish Cafe. Phillipa Ashley

ideas, just shoot away. Now, shall I show you where you’ll be staying?’

      ‘Great.’ With a whistle to Mitch, I follow Cal back across the field towards the reception area and staff cottages, but I can’t resist a glance behind at the crumbling, unloved storage building. I wonder …

      An idea has formed in my mind but I’ve only just met Cal and I’m definitely not ready to shoot just yet.

      ‘Here you go.’ A few minutes later, he twists the handle on the door of the end staff cottage. ‘I wouldn’t call this premium accommodation but this is the best of them. I told you it wasn’t much and it’s a bit damp because no one’s been living here for a few years but it should do, if you’re prepared to put in a bit of elbow grease. I’m sure Polly will bring over some cleaning stuff and bed linen, or I will when I get a chance.’

      The door opens straight into a little sitting room with a two-seater sofa, covered in a crazy flowery pattern. There’s an empty fireplace and a few pictures on the walls, mostly of vases of roses and trees. The carpet has orange and blue swirls and the curtains are a sort of pink, with abstract tulips. At least, I think they were tulips once and are now splodges. In one corner a narrow open-backed staircase leads upstairs.

      ‘Sorry, I don’t think it’s been renovated since before I was born.’

      ‘It’s … um … very flowery.’

      ‘It’s either this or the box room in the attic of the farmhouse and I’m sure you’d much rather have your own front door.’

      ‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’

      He doesn’t laugh. ‘So you’ll be OK in here?’

      ‘Yeah …’ Tears clog my throat at the thought of actually having four walls and a roof over mine and Mitch’s heads, then I woman up. I am working for the guy, after all. I deserve a proper roof over my head. ‘It’s fine. Thank you.’

      ‘You don’t sound too sure?’

      I throw him a smile. ‘Honestly, it’s great. Can I see the rest of it?’

      ‘Sure.’

      Mitch runs ahead into the kitchen, which is basic but has a cooker, fridge and sink. There are few dead flies on the windowsill and a whiff of damp, but it’s my own space and that’s what matters.

      Cal opens the fridge door and sniffs. ‘I might have to get you another fridge.’

      ‘I can clean it. It’ll be OK.’

      ‘If you want to have go, fine, but I’ll get a new one if you need it. You have rights here, including a decent place to live.’

      ‘Will you just shut up?’ I say, wanting to laugh at his slapped-arse face. ‘And show me the rest of the place, boss.’

      ‘Please don’t call me that. Polly only does it to wind me up.’

      ‘OK, boss.’

      I picture his scowl as he leads the way up the stairs while Mitch explores his new territory. It’s a sexy scowl, I bet, and his bum and thighs look great in the jeans. Then I rap myself on the knuckles for thinking such thoughts. This is work and he is my employer.

      Cal opens a door to one side of the tiny landing. ‘Bathroom, obviously. Should be OK with a good scrub.’

      I pop my head round the door and smile at the rose pink suite that reminds me of my granny’s. The bath has a shower over it that’s seen better days.

      On the opposite side of the landing, sunlight casts a yellow window pattern on the floor. The open door leads into the bedroom, with more flowers on the wall, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a mattress on the floor. Through the window, across the fields, whitecaps dance on the inky blue sea. I pull back the net curtain and peer through a film of salt spray and grime. The first thing I’ll do is rip the nets down so I can enjoy the view every morning.

      ‘There’s a spare bed frame in the attic at the farmhouse. I’ll carry it over,’ Cal says. I’m not sure if he was smiling at me or not while I looked out of the window and I don’t care what he thinks.

      ‘I can do that.’

      ‘You’d be better off taking the Land Rover up to the petrol station shop to get some food in.’

      I follow him downstairs. ‘Me? Drive that old thing?’

      ‘Yes, unless you want to walk five miles across the fields,’ he smiles, cunningly. ‘Or you can take my horse if you like. He’s a bit skittish but if you can ride, you’re welcome.’

      ‘No, thanks, I don’t like horses. They’re dangerous.’

      ‘That depends on the rider. The Land Rover it is. When you’ve settled in, come over to the house to collect the keys and some money. You do have a licence?’

      ‘Yes. My brother taught me before he left home to join the army.’

      He seems surprised. ‘OK.’

      The sofa boings as I test the springs. Cal glances at my rucksack and my dirty ripped jeans. Before I even realise, I’m pushing a tangled strand of hair out of eyes, and the pink rises to my cheeks.

      ‘I’ll ask Polly to find you some work clothes for now and you’d better go into town tomorrow and get a few new things.’

      ‘I can buy my own clothes.’

      ‘OK, fine, but if you want an advance on your pay cheque, just shout. Right, I’ll go and fetch this bed frame.’

      Half an hour later, Cal struggles over the yard with part of the bed frame on his shoulders. For a lean guy, he’s very strong. I help him carry it upstairs and then he’s off again, dumping an old TV, the fat-backed kind, on the rickety bamboo table in the corner of the sitting room.

      ‘You can have this if you want,’ he says. ‘My father used to watch it in bed.’

      ‘Good. I can watch telly later. Sherlock’s on tonight.’

      ‘Is it? I haven’t had chance to watch much TV lately.’ He laughs in that ‘not remotely amused’ kind of way and I feel I’ve said something stupid but I’m not sure what.

      Polly bustles in with a box of bleach and a scowl on her face. ‘I’ve got some cleaning stuff but I’ll have to bring the towels and linen later. You do know there’s no bed frame up there?’ she says to Cal. ‘The old one had woodworm so I chucked it on the bonfire.’

      He glares at her. ‘Then it’s a good job I’ve already found a new one.’

      Polly shudders when Mitch sniffs at her ankles. ‘You needn’t think I’ll be cleaning up any dog hairs either. Scraggy thing,’ she says.

      ‘I’m sure Mitch feels the same way about you.’

      Polly scowls.

      ‘Sorry,’ I say, as Cal stifles a laugh. ‘I didn’t mean to be that rude.’

      ‘Demi’s perfectly capable of looking after the place herself,’ he says.

      Polly flounces off; grumbling, but I don’t care how much she moans. I still can’t believe that Mitch and I have a new job and a place to live.

      I’m still having to pinch myself later, when I sit round the farmhouse table with Cal and Polly, soaking up the remains of a chicken curry with a piece of naan. Getting to grips with the Aga was a bit of a nightmare, especially with Polly issuing dire warnings about it.

      Judging by the empty plates, they seemed to enjoy the food.

      Polly stabs a piece of chicken with her fork and Cal wipes his plate round with his last piece of naan.

      ‘Was it OK?’ I say.

      Cal nods.

      ‘It wasn’t bad,’ Polly says and I wonder