Why?’
She paused for a split second to ask herself if what she intended to propose was crazy, but then threw caution to the wind. Needs must and all that.
‘And did you say you have nothing lined up for the winter season in Northumberland yet?’
‘Ye…es.’
‘And that you intend to hitch-hike the whole way home?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘This might sound like a crazy request, but can I ask you a huge favour? Would you be up for driving the camper van around Cornwall? I can probably make a stab at Alice’s food stylist job – not as proficiently as Alice granted – but I’ve lots of previous experience and she tells me she’s mapped out every shoot down to the last detail. I just can’t do the driving as well. Call it a sort of foodie road trip from Padstow in the north to St Ives in the south and a few points in between, for a famous TV chef. There’ll be plenty of cake – I can promise you that! I can’t offer you…’
‘Emilie…’
‘I can’t offer you accommodation, but you have your tent and I promise I’ll cook you breakfast every morning.’
There was a long stretch of silence. Emilie felt goose pimples ripple over her whole body, which was doused in a clammy sweat. Her heartbeat hammered out a disconsolate symphony of anxiety and a sudden wave of nausea caused her to collapse onto the stone steps at the hospital entrance.
Was she really contemplating taking on the task of styling the whole Lucinda Loves…Desserts shoot without the calming presence of Alice to guide her through the labyrinth of potential pitfalls – any one of which could be the catalyst to ending her career? Wasn’t it better to risk Lucinda’s wrath whilst it was directed at Alice? On the other hand, was she prepared to don the dubious badges of ‘coward’ and ‘fair-weather friend’ and allow Alice to shoulder the blame so she could ditch the assignment she hadn’t wanted to be part of in the first place before it even got started?
She knew the answer to the conundrum. Her usual enthusiasm for life had morphed from exuberant to non-existent over the last six months and she had to acknowledge a recent propensity for choosing the easy route instead of the right one. She knew that her uncharacteristic reticence against striding ahead without a glimpse in the rear-view mirror was born from the evaporation of her self-confidence, which had coincided with the constant jibes and criticism Brad had issued about not only her photography but her driving too.
She now realised that his covert negative influence had shattered her ability to deal with demanding and obnoxious clients but also her willingness to fly solo and style her shoots herself. Now it seemed both her phobias had crept up on her unannounced. Could she deal with them at the same time?
‘Emilie? Did you hear me?’
‘Sorry, Matt.’
‘I said grab a taxi back to Padstow, get some sleep and I’ll meet you at your Satsuma Splittie at seven a.m. sharp. What time do you need to be in Perranporth?’
‘Oh, erm, nine o’clock for the set-up and I’ll need to study Alice’s notes on the way.’
‘Then you have yourself a driver! Do I get a cap?’
‘A what?’
‘Never mind. Thanks, Emilie. This is going to be an awesome gig!’
‘Gosh, Matt, it’s me who should be thanking you. I think you might just have saved mine and Alice’s careers.’
She tossed her phone into her bag and rested her forearms on her thighs, staring at the ground between her knees. A surge of tiredness threatened to overwhelm her, almost immediately followed by a spasm of fear. Could she really be contemplating handling a Lucinda Loves… photo shoot alone? She could just imagine what Brad would say if he knew. But then, what did it have to do with him? She had no need to prove anything to him any more. If she had to impress anyone it was Lucinda, and she intended to draw on every single ounce of her experience and creativity to do just that – not only for herself but for Alice as well.
As she made her way to the taxi rank, another more problematic thought occurred to her. How on earth was she going to spend the next two weeks in such close proximity to Matt? Despite all the anxiety about what challenges might be waiting for her on the Great Cornish Baking Voyage, mingled in the cauldron of emotions was a flurry of excitement at being able to get to know him better.
Shafts of bright sunlight pierced the windows and she cursed herself for forgetting to draw the curtains. But, as the fabric was almost psychedelic in its composition of bold orange and yellow checks, she decided she preferred the natural wake-up call.
She pushed herself up onto her elbows, her bones leaden from lack of sleep, and listened to the pure, crystal silence that surrounded the camper van. Only the faint ripple of the distant waves broke the spell. A feeling of pleasure crept over her until the events of the previous night intruded on her sojourn into paradise like a pitcher of icy water tossed in her face, accompanied by the heart-stopping urgency of insistent banging on the camper van door.
‘Emilie, Emilie! Wake up! It’s seven-thirty.’
Her heart bounced into her mouth as she scrambled to let Matt into the van.
‘Emilie? Are you in there?’
‘Hang on a minute!’ she grumbled, shoving her fingers through her tangled hair and dragging it over her head. She groped for the handle and slid back the door of the Satsuma Splittie with a resounding clunk.
‘Sorry, looks like we both slept in. What time did you say you had to be in Perranporth?’
‘Nine o’clock. The shoot’s at ten.’
‘Mmm, better get on our way then. Jump out so I can get my rucksack loaded, will you?’
Emilie stood shivering in the car park of the Coolwave Surf Academy, her arms hugging her waist, watching Matt as he slung his overstuffed backpack into the back of the van before turning to wrestle with the more challenging task of loading his beloved surfboard. No matter how he angled it, it was never going to fit inside.
She rolled her eyes as she watched him clamber onto the roof, his lithe and suntanned body making it look easy, his wide grin and constant banter giving him a ridiculously upbeat air for that time of the morning. But then she realised it was seven-thirty, not early – and they should have been on their way half an hour ago. It wasn’t the best of starts for the culinary road trip that could launch her freelance career and she had so wanted to make a good impression at this next shoot.
Why hadn’t she set her alarm? Once again, without Alice around to keep her on schedule, her knack for complete disorganisation had come back to bite her on the backside. Was she about to undertake a fool’s journey?
‘Okay, all set.’
‘Are you always this cheerful?’
‘Why not? The sun’s out, the birds are well into the second verse of their morning chorus, and I’m about to embark on a fun road trip instead of having to hitch-hike home. What’s not to like?’ Matt leapt into the driver’s seat and began to familiarise himself with the dashboard. ‘Come on. We’re going to be late.’
‘Oh God. My whole career is over!’
She grabbed a bottle of water and a packet of crisps and settled into the passenger seat. She draped a cerise silk scarf with white daisies scattered liberally across the design over her shoulders to ward off the morning chill, because Matt had insisted on having his window rolled down to ‘catch the sea air’.
‘Okay, foodie road trip here we come. It’s going to be an awesome two weeks.’ And with scraping gears and a kangaroo gait they lurched from the car park.
‘For you maybe; not for me,’