Christmas at the Cornish Café: A heart-warming holiday read for fans of Poldark. Phillipa Ashley

to scream but he pushed a rag over my nose and mouth and the water poured down. I tried to scream but I was drowning – like I was in the cove this summer, only this time there was no Demi to reach in and pull me out.

      Bloody hell, just how much did I have to drink last night?

      Thank God Demi wasn’t staying over with me … Or maybe if she had been, I wouldn’t have stayed so long at the Tinner’s. Demi helps me keep off the booze and from dwelling on the dark times as often as I might do. Trouble is, now that Polly’s here and the businesses demand our time and energy, we’ve had precious few chances to get together, apart from a couple of snatched moments of passion at the cafe.

      I also remember that after Demi and I had made out in the cafe, I was going to ask her to go public and move into Kilhallon House with me. After last night’s talk in the pub, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea, for Demi or for me.

      The bedroom door rattles in a gust of wind. I must get the latch fixed. Anyone could walk in.

      Oh God, it’s 09.45. I have to get up and get on with my jobs, even though hammering and drilling is the last thing my head needs. I suppose it’s some kind of justice for getting pissed last night.

      Still in my boxers, I scuttle downstairs in search of black coffee. There’s singing coming from the kitchen. Something about it being ‘time to say goodbye’. When I walk in, Polly stops her impromptu Il Divo karaoke and stares at me from the sink. She holds a very sharp pair of scissors and is surrounded by leaves, roses and cellophane.