Read Online Breakfast Under a Cornish Sun by Samantha Tonge - Free Book Online Page B

else, doughnuts and cocktails.
    Cars already lined every inch of the car park on top of the cliff, just as you got into Port Penny—no surprises there, due to the eggshell blue sky and picturesque sights. So we drove down into the town and finally we found a spot in a quiet cul-de-sac, up above Port Penny fishing town on the other side.
    â€˜So, you crazy woman, what’s the plan?’ said Izzy, as we grabbed our rucksacks and headed downhill. I stopped for a moment and drank in the scene ahead—the masts of fishing boats visible in the distance, in front of the harbour backdrop. And, right in the distance, the flat oceanic horizon, broken only by the occasional trawler. Gulls swooping. Long grasses waving. Visitors milling.
    As we walked further down, the view became even prettier. Turquoise waves dipping. A sandy, U-shaped cove. In the middle was a jetty with fishing boats moored either side, their navy, green and red paintwork standing out against the shoreline. Then higher up, on top of the cliffs either side, sat non-uniform rows of different coloured cottages. A strong breeze blew against my cheeks and I was glad to have tied my hair back. Tremain would have approved of my sensible pumps, worn with three-quarter-length cotton trousers and a ginger Indian silk blouse I’d picked up from the charity shop.
    Oh, and scrub what I said about Tremain perhaps being human after all. This morning we’d driven past him and, on instinct, I waved. Yes, it was a bit of a watermelon moment, like awkward Baby out of DirtyDancing . I’m not sure why I did it and the response was suitably cool. In other words, a nod accompanied by no expression at all.
    â€˜Hell ooo , anyone in?’ asked Izzy and, keeping her eye on the road, playfully tapped a purple, varnished fingernail against my head.
    â€˜Careful, you nearly touched my eye!’ I said. Mind you, easy for her to forget. I’d managed to disguise the bruising with foundation. ‘The plan? Well, to find my own gorgeous miner lookalike, of course.’
    â€˜But it’s not as simple as that. How exactly?’ she said, as the road narrowed into a path and we cut through the tiniest whitewashed stone cottages, with doll’s house doors and uneven foundations. The roads turned to cobbled avenues and I marvelled at cute plant pots in tiny front gardens. An occasional cat crossed our path, as I pointed out funny house names like Seas the Day and Sunnyside Up. Tens of gulls squawked above our heads and, as we approached the wide harbour, I breathed in a fishy stench, which hit the back of your throat.
    â€˜You see those boats?’ I said and pointed to the jetty. ‘Well …’
    OK. Between you and me, hands up, I had no plan.
    Izzy squinted in the sun.
    â€˜They clearly aren’t touristy ones, for taking out visitors, which is great, because, um, I intend to target individual fishermen,’ I said and tried to soundconfident. ‘And use my charm to see if they’ll take me out for a one-to-one tour. That way I’ll get to know them much quicker and see if they are suitable for the job of impressing Saffron.’
    â€˜It’s all rather clinical, isn’t it?’ she said, as we came to a large rock and sat down. Pools of seawater glistened metres away and small children ran around carrying fishing nets and buckets filled with the ocean’s jewels. She slipped off her trainers and ankle socks, to reveal toenails painted lilac, to match the nails on her hands.
    Johnny and I went to the seaside—to Margate—for the day, once, fingers entwined we sat on the sand, lips locked. Clinical was good, because anything deeper got you hurt.
    I fiddled with my beaded bracelet. ‘I know. And I feel bad for … using someone—you know me, my natural modus operandi is to be upfront. Eventually, I’ll have to make it clear that I’m not interested in a relationship.’
    Izzy scoffed.