There’s Something About Cornwall

‘Just lead the way, Emilie. I’ll take this.’

She scampered into the reception and was swiftly directed to the suite where the photo shoot was taking place. At least the table was already set up in the middle of the huge bay window with a selection of fresh flowers and silver cutlery for her to use if that was required.

‘I’ll leave you to it then, shall I?’ Matt loitered at the door as Emilie flung back the lid of Alice’s trunk, extracted the laminated cards and began to study them.

‘Argh!’

‘What’s wrong now?’

‘It must have happened when I dragged the trunk from the van. What am I going to do?’

She held the red and white gingham tablecloth marked ‘Perranporth backdrop’ in her fingers and felt tears sparkle at her lashes. Why, oh why had she deluded herself into thinking she could pull this off without Alice by her side?

‘Ah,’ said Matt, striding across the room to join her. ‘I think this is what’s called a series of unfortunate incidents.’

Emilie stared at the tablecloth that had been stained with a dark splash of crimson from a bottle of food colouring that must have cracked when she dropped the trunk. It was ruined and there was no way she could use it as the background for the photographs. She sat back on her heels, holding the fabric out wide, and a feeling of such overwhelming anxiety pumped through her veins.

In less than ten minutes, Lucinda Carlton-Rose was going to stride into the room and expect a perfect set, dressed as per the specifications carefully designed months ago then communicated to her carefully selected food stylist with the not unreasonable expectation that the backdrop would be waiting for her when she strode from the kitchen with her fresh-from-the-oven desserts.

‘Okay peeps, are we ready for… Oh my God, where is everything? Lucinda will be here with the complete Cornish Cream Tea in five minutes,’ cried Marcus, hugging his overlarge purple clipboard to his chest as he came to a standstill on the threshold. His fingers hovered over his mouth as he took in the scene; his mahogany eyes widened in abject horror.

‘Sorry, Marcus. I…’

‘Erm, I think I should leave,’ announced Matt and made a speedy getaway. Emilie wished she could follow him.

Marcus’s eyes followed Matt’s retreating buttocks for a few moments before he swung them back round to rest on Emilie. ‘She’s going to freak – you know that, don’t you? I heard about Alice’s accident. Poor thing. I’ve texted her and sent flowers, but we were assured by Alice’s agency that you had this?’

‘I’m so sorry, Marcus…’

‘Okay, let’s see what we can do to save your skin.’

Marcus discarded his clipboard and strode over to the prop box and the trunk. Emilie followed him and crouched down at his side, joining in with the impromptu scavenger hunt, scattering the props she had brought with her all over the floor. Every item in her box was as familiar as a faithful pet. She scanned each one for their potential usefulness before moving on to excavate the gems from Alice’s trunk until the room looked like a gang of toddlers had been left to their own devices whilst their parents took a break.

‘Hang on. I’ve just had an idea.’ She unravelled the cerise and white scarf from her neck and threw it diagonally across the table. ‘What do you think?’

‘Pretty.’

‘Now pass me those white china cake stands from Alice’s trunk, will you? And the teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl with the hand-painted daisies.’

Marcus collected the crockery and helped Emilie arrange it on the scarf.