Summer at the Cornish Cafe. Phillipa Ashley

      Polly gasps. ‘You’re not clearing up!’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘She can do that. That’s why you’ve hired her.’

      ‘She is not a bloody skivvy, Polly, and she’s been cleaning the cottage and working all day.’

      Acting innocent, I swig my beer. Cal walks round to my side of the table and stacks my plate on his. He brushes against me and smells faintly of clean sweat and beer. He’s been working all day too, helping me put the bed frame together and trying to fix the door of the barn.

      ‘Thanks.’ I ignore Polly’s laser stare.

      ‘Don’t get used to it,’ he says. ‘I don’t expect you to cook for me every night and you won’t want to eat in here all the time.’

      ‘I can cook tons of stuff and I don’t mind eating here.’

      ‘You’ll want your own space,’ says Cal, carrying the plates towards the hall.

      ‘Yes, you will.’ Polly casts a triumphant glance at me. I wonder what her problem is, apart from worrying about the extra work of looking after me. She needn’t bother.

      I finish my beer at the dining table and let Mitch lick my curryfied fingers while Polly goes back to her cottage to watch Emmerdale. In the kitchen, I find Cal cursing and fiddling with the settings on the dishwasher.

      In frustration, he stands back. ‘Jesus, you need a PhD to work it out.’

      ‘Here. Let me have a go.’

      A few presses later, I get it to start. ‘We had two at the cafe,’ I explain.

      ‘Thanks. I’m going to work in the study for the rest of the evening but tomorrow I’ll get your contract sorted out. Can I ask you to be patient with Polly? She’s very protective of me. She is an old friend.’

      ‘I understand. I’m the newbie. It’s me that has to fit in.’

      ‘Thanks.’ He hesitates. ‘Will you be OK in the cottage on your own tonight? Kilhallon is a bit out of the way. You might find it too quiet and isolated.’

      ‘You mean, me being a city girl who can’t live without a nightclub and a Starbucks within spitting distance? It’ll be a change not to sleep in a shop doorway, and besides, I have Mitch for company. We’ll sleep like logs.’

      ‘Well, you know where I am if you want me or Polly. I’d better get you a phone sorted too.’

      While the dishwasher burbles and Cal throws the empty beer bottles in the recycling crate, I hover by the sink.

      ‘Cal … thanks for the job and the cottage. I mean it.’ Damn the quiver in my voice.

      ‘You might not thank me when we get the business up and running. There’s going to be a lot to do. Goodnight.’

      I hate to admit it, but Cal was right. I couldn’t sleep, not even with a brand new bed and a thick down duvet and my own bedroom with pink curtains. Not even when I got up and made a cup of tea in my own kitchen and sat and drank it while I watched the midnight news on my new old TV. The wind rustled the curtains most of the night and I thought I could hear the waves crashing against the cliffs across the fields.

      I don’t believe in ghosts but all sorts of weird and freaky thoughts kept filling my head. I couldn’t go back to bed so in the end I had to unroll my sleeping bag on the carpet and sleep in front of the hearth, with Mitch on my feet. I dreamt I was at home with my mum before everything started to unravel. I thought I’d be happy when I got a job and my own place: if someone would only give me a chance. But no matter what we have, we always want a little bit more.

      I woke up early, wondering where I was at first. Mitch was already pawing at the cottage door to be let out so I put on his lead and took him out for a walk. No one else was around so I walked down the valley towards Kilhallon Cove and watched Mitch play ‘tag’ with the waves. On the other side of the cliffs, there was an old engine house. It’s a ruin now, the roof has long collapsed but half the chimney stack still stands.

      I walked back to the cottage, fed Mitch and made myself some toast in my kitchen. The cottage still needs work but I’d better go over to the farmhouse and find out what Cal wants me to do. Last night, he said he wanted me to discuss my contract and terms and conditions and I want to get off on the right foot with him. After settling Mitch in the kitchen with a dog chew, I have a bath – oh, the luxury – put on my freshly washed jeans and top and set off.

      Polly meets me halfway across the farmyard. ‘You’re out of bed then?’ She raises her eyebrows as if she’s surprised.

      ‘I’ve been up for hours,’ I say, determined not to rise to the bait.

      ‘Hmmph.’

      ‘Is Cal around?’

      ‘Yes, but you’d better keep out of his way.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘You’ll find out. He’s in his office, last I saw of him. If you dare.’

      This is not encouraging news on my first morning but I’m not going to be put off by her.

      Greasy breakfast plates are piled on the worktops in the kitchen, and someone’s left the bacon and milk out in the sun. One of the plates has half a sausage left on it and despite the toast I ate earlier, I can’t see good food go to waste so I eat it, enjoying the luxury of not having to share it with Mitch. Sidestepping a piece of tomato squashed on the tiles, I walk down the gloomy hallway and knock on the study door. There’s no answer but I can hear someone tapping away on a laptop.

      ‘Cal. Are you in there?’

      There’s a pause then he grunts. ‘Go away, whoever you are.’

      ‘It’s Demi.’

      ‘Go away.’

      ‘OK.’ I turn away, thinking I may as well clear up the kitchen; that’s what he hired me for. Just as I reach the door, there’s a shout behind me.

      ‘Come back.’

      Cal pokes his head out of the study door.

      ‘It’ll wait until later,’ I say.

      ‘No. We’ll get it over with now.’

      ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘I’m not at my best,’ he growls.

      To be honest, I haven’t noticed loads of difference but I keep that to myself.

      ‘Sit down,’ he says gruffly, sweeping papers off an old wheeled chair in front of his desk.

      I sit; suddenly worried that he might have changed his mind about having me at Kilhallon.

      ‘I have to finish this email first,’ he mutters, eyes fixed on the screen again. He hasn’t had a shave, again, and he has dark circles under his eyes. He looks awful but drop dead gorgeous all the same.

      He glances up briefly, obviously having caught me perving over him. ‘What’s up?’

      ‘Nothing.’ Heat rises to my cheeks again. ‘I really can come back later. Polly said you were busy.’

      ‘She’s right but I’ll be even busier later. Wait a minute and I’ll be done.’

      Frowning at the screen, he taps away with two fingers while I try to focus on the study and not on him. It’s like a junk shop – antique shop, if I’m being generous – and bigger than I expected, despite being crammed with stuff just like the sitting room. Two of the walls are lined with bookcases from floor to ceiling; proper old-fashioned leather-bound books as well as paperbacks. The desk must be centuries old and among all the letters and paperwork, Cal’s laptop whirrs softly. If it was me, I’d put the light on because even though it’s a bright April morning, not much sunshine penetrates