by Sunshine
To her left, the twin peaks of Gros Piton and Petit Piton reared up from the azure of the Caribbean Sea like two ancient pyramids swathed in a mantle of undulating emerald velvet. At their foot nestled the old French capital of St Lucia, Soufrière, its church spire and telegraph poles jutting from a patchwork of red-roofed homes stitched together by palm trees.
Despite the dribbles of perspiration mingled with raindrops that were scuttling down the back of her neck, Millie couldn’t drag her eyes away from the display of nature’s perfection. This was her idea of paradise and Claudia had certainly picked the most apt name for her new venture – with a view like this the Paradise Cookery School couldn’t fail to be a success. She felt the tension of the last few hours melt from her temples and join the streams of sweat on their journey southwards.
‘Ahh,’ she breathed, momentarily unable to conjure up words sufficient to do justice to the landscape. Even in the pouring rain it was so perfect that it seemed almost unreal; a painting or a movie set created for a Hollywood producer who had demanded a glorious depiction of the Garden of Eden in all its technicoloured splendour.
Millie fished around in her shoulder bag for her phone to check the instructions for locating the key. Much as she would have loved to stay in the villa, she was more than happy to have been allocated a studio in the modern addition to the property – a pristine garage complex at the other side of a courtyard with housing for three vehicles and a small apartment above boasting floor-to-ceiling windows and a cute wrought-iron balcony. The front door and the shutters had been painted blue in keeping with the theme of the main house and a smile of satisfaction curled at the corners of her lips. She might have arrived in the middle of a monsoon, but this was a little slice of heaven.
She located the key under a large ceramic pot containing a tumble of crimson geraniums and dragged her luggage up the stairs. Abandoning her suitcase in the hallway, she cast her eyes around her temporary home. Compared to her cramped cupboard under the eaves of Café Étienne where she worked, this apartment was a palace. She adored the whitewashed, vaulted ceiling with a lazy fan wafting the air and the voile curtains around the bed. The open-plan living area boasted two over-stuffed white sofas resting on bleached wooden floorboards, and whilst the kitchen wasn’t huge it was still larger than her own. She peeled off her travelling clothes and gathered her hair into the pretty hair tie Poppy had given her as a going-away present.
Poppy! What would her friend say when she told her that instead of spending two weeks with her dance-obsessed mother in Provence, she had diverted her route to the Caribbean and was staying for a fortnight in the lap of luxury. A sharp spasm of loneliness shot through her chest. How fabulous it would have been to share her good fortune with Poppy, but then, wasn’t she supposed to be in St Lucia to work? She made a promise to herself that when she got back to London, she would make a concerted effort to socialize more, and not just to stop Poppy and Jen from lecturing her.
She strolled to the French doors and looked out to the balcony. Once again, the spectacular view stole her attention until she wrenched her thoughts back to the challenge ahead. Claudia was relying on her to get this right. With over twenty cookery books published, a popular vlog and a YouTube channel with thousands of subscribers, Claudia Croft was well respected in the baking-enthusiast community in the UK and beyond. Plus, she had a proven track record in delivering bespoke culinary courses, having perfected her skills at the Claudia Croft Cotswolds Cookery School over the last ten years. Claudia’s eagerly anticipated debut into gastronomic education in the Caribbean had to go without a hitch and Millie knew there could be no allowances made for her tendency to flirt with calamity. A frisson of trepidation shot down her spine and fizzled out to her fingertips.
She scrolled through her phone until she reached Claudia’s email setting out the details of the renovations:
The precise layout of the kitchen area has been architecturally designed to enhance the available space as well as take full advantage of the view whilst the Paradise Cookery School’s guests prepare their culinary masterpieces. It is imperative that every detail, however insignificant, be adhered to by the builders. It’s your job, Millie, to ensure they do this. It’s as simple as that. As an accomplished chef yourself, I know you’re going to love what I’ve chosen. I’ve sourced the marble countertops from Italy and the cabinets are handmade by a manufacturer in Germany. The crate containing the cabinetry and the kitchen appliances should have already arrived at Soufrière. The delivery company have assured me that the incline is not an issue.
Millie did not share their optimism. If her taxi driver’s reticence was anything to go by, she hoped the kitchen delivery men would at least avoid the ‘daily deluge’ time slot.
The carpenters, electrician and plumber will all begin work first thing on Monday morning. There’s a clause in the contract that says the work must be finalized to my specification by the following Friday, but I’m sure we won’t need to refer to this. The men come highly recommended and I have every faith in them finishing in time for the wedding party to start their Chocolate & Confetti tutorials on the Monday morning.
A sharp nip of anxiety pierced Millie’s chest. Two weeks to fit any kitchen was pushing it, never mind one as high-spec as Claudia wanted.
Now for the most important part. All the recipes that are being featured on the course have been drafted, but they still need to be triple-tested on site before I authorize their inclusion. That’s where you come in, Millie. I know the kitchen in the studio is tiny, but it should be okay for what you need to do and I’ve arranged for the cupboards to be stocked with everything you need. I have also engaged the services of Ella Johnson, a highly respected St Lucian chef, to assist you as I want every recipe to be as authentic as possible. Ella has many years of experience cooking with the spices produced on the island and has access to recipes that have been passed down through generations of St Lucian cooks. I just know you two will get on like a house on fire.
Millie’s stomach lurched to her toes and back. Claudia made it sound like they were rehearsing for roles in a theatrical show – certainly the final performance would be in front of an audience, so maybe that was exactly what it was like. Still, there was a lot to achieve in just two weeks. With difficulty, she tore her eyes away from the view and trotted down the stairs to see if the taxi driver had managed to negotiate the hill and deliver Ella to the villa. She couldn’t wait to meet her.
The monsoon was still baring its teeth, refusing to slacken its ferocity, and within seconds she was drenched to the skin again. She jogged across the courtyard and was about to take the path towards the pool terrace when, despite the downpour, she stopped in her tracks.
Was that a dog barking?
She squinted into the foliage to her right and thought her eyes must be playing tricks on her. What looked like a dark silhouette loitered on the periphery of the tangled trees. As the shadow grew closer, it took on the shape of a grizzly bear. Did they have bears in St Lucia? Her heart thudded – a bass drumbeat to accompany the symphony of pounding rain and her sporadic breathing.
At the same time as the figure emerged from its forest camouflage, a loud woof rang through the air and a cannonball of fur launched itself at her. For the briefest of moments, she had a vision that she was about to be mauled to death, one limb at a time, by a rabid Caribbean beast and the howl of objection that erupted from her lips could have matched the intensity of any horror-movie wolf. She continued to scream, her lungs ablaze with the fire of fear, her throat hoarse and dry. Her mind blurred then stalled, her internal mutterings making no sense. Her legs seemed to have frozen on the spot, their control disconnected from her brain and refusing to respond to her need to engage the ‘flight’ option – she was no good at the ‘fight’ alternative.
An upswing of serrated emotion rolled through her veins. Why did this always have to happen to her?
Millie flung her arms over her head to protect her face and spun round. T
he heel of her sandal caught in a crack between the paving stones and she was jettisoned, bottom first, into a very inconveniently placed puddle.
‘Argh!’
She cowered, expecting the sharp stab of an incisor to impale her skin any second. Instead, she felt a warm, wet tongue licking the raindrops from her cheeks and depositing a generous splodge of drool on her chin and the back of her hand.
‘Euww!’
A welcome wave of relief washed over her when she peeped through her fingers and saw the friendly face of a black-and-white Springer spaniel, followed immediately by an almost overwhelming surge of exhaustion. When she thought about it, her over-the-top reaction could be put down to the fact that she had been awake for over twenty-four hours and her body was screaming its objection to her lack of recent indulgence in restorative sleep.
‘Don’t worry, Binks won’t hurt you unless I ask him to. Here, let me help you up.’
She accepted the man’s outstretched hand and allowed him to pull her upright.
‘Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who are scared of dogs? Or, judging by the expression of horror on your face at our arrival, maybe it’s not just the canine fraternity that upsets you? Perhaps your phobia extends to the whole of the animal kingdom?’
Millie was temporarily struck mute at the prickly, suspicious words of her rescuer. With tufted mahogany hair, eyes the colour of liquid coal, a cute nose and a welcome added dash of the height gene – he was movie-star handsome. She couldn’t quite place his accent. Unfortunately, irritation exuded from his pores and he was clearly expecting for her to say something.
‘What?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I was just waiting for your effusive thanks for helping you out of that crater you threw yourself into, and then for you to explain why you are trespassing on private property.’
Millie opened and closed her mouth in amazement. The guy wasn’t just prickly, he was downright rude. She was about to launch into a speech about civility when her teeth started to chatter and a bout of violent shivering overtook her. She wrapped her arms around her waist and her new adversary reluctantly removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. With a brief glance at the column of wooden crates stacked at the villa’s front door, he guided her towards one of the cane chairs on the villa’s covered veranda, his faithful attack dog at his heels.
‘So? What are you doing here?’
‘I’m Amelia Harper. Claudia Croft has engaged me to oversee the kitchen renovations for the first of her Paradise Cookery School courses in the Caribbean. She’s had… She’s unable to make it over to St Lucia until the end of next week.’ Millie didn’t want to disclose any information about Claudia’s personal circumstances to the stranger who was now wearing a look of extreme scepticism on his face.
‘How do I know you are who you say you are?’ The man rolled his eyes in an exaggerated gesture. ‘Mrs Croft usually vets all her staff and emails through their references before they arrive. I was expecting a Mrs Jennifer Bertrand and you look nothing like her.’
‘Jennifer Bertrand is my sister. She couldn’t make it and so I came instead.’
‘So you just thought you would step seamlessly into your sister’s shoes?’
‘I beg your pardon! I am qualified, you know! Not that it’s any of your business, but I have excellent credentials in the culinary field.’
Again, Millie could hear the defensive tone that had crept into her vocabulary since the debacle with Luke and she didn’t like it – she really had to work on reacquainting herself with her former assertiveness. Her usually imperceptible French accent had also strengthened as her emotions churned, and the heat rising in her chest had nothing to do with the warmth of the weak rays of sunlight that were at last poking through the pewter canopy overhead, ratcheting up the temperature and causing wisps of steam to rise from the surrounding vegetation.
Who did this man think he was, cross-examining her on the reasons for her presence? Nevertheless, she experienced an overwhelming need to justify herself to him.
‘Until six months ago, I was head chef at a Michelin-starred bistro in Oxford. I have more than enough expertise to oversee the installation of a commercial kitchen, even one of such high calibre as this one! Anyway, I don’t have to reel off my qualifications to you. As I said, Claudia approved my appointment as Jen’s substitute personally.’
‘Ahh, the arrogance of the French.’
‘I happen to find your comment offensive,’ Millie retorted, before adding unnecessarily ‘Anyway, I’m half French.’
As soon as she had spoken, the mask of suspicion melted from the man’s face and was replaced by amusement. Dimples appeared at the corners of his lips and laughter, with a soupçon of mischief, danced in his eyes as he took in her damp clothes from her unscheduled dip in the puddle and the confetti of fallen flower petals that had become lodged in her hair.
‘So, now that we’ve ascertained your rudeness about my presence here was unwarranted, why don’t we find out who you are and why you are here? Are you one of the gardeners?’
The man’s smile widened as he patted Binks. ‘No. I’m Zach Barker, Tim and Claudia’s estate manager back in the UK. I’m here temporarily, responsible for the smooth running of the plantation and the upkeep of the grounds whilst my colleague is visiting his sick mother in Cheltenham.’
A sudden thought occurred to Millie. ‘Do you live in the villa?’
‘No way!’ Zach laughed then smirked at the relief scrawled across Millie’s face. ‘Don’t worry, Binks and I won’t be getting in your way. We live in a very comfortable lodge on the other side of the plantation. Now, why don’t I call Ella to see where she’s got to while you get out of those damp clothes. You look like you just rolled off a pathologist’s slab.’
‘Charming,’ she muttered.
Millie returned Zach’s jacket to him before making her way to the studio, feeling his eyes scorching a hole into her back as she went. She prayed that she wouldn’t trip or fall over her two left feet again. She didn’t want to give him any additional fuel to enflame his character assessment of her.
She stripped to her underwear and selected a sunflower-yellow spaghetti-strapped T-shirt and a pair of white denim shorts before pushing her toes into sparkly flip-flops. As she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, an unexpected surge of homesickness ambushed her. The Croft plantation was a stunningly picturesque place to be but, if her first brush with the other member of Claudia’s staff was anything to go by, she would much rather be paraded on the dance floor by her kaftan-bedecked mother.
Before she could stop herself, tears of loneliness trickled down her cheeks as she stared at the bucolic panorama from her balcony, still mesmerized by its hypnotic beauty. She wiped her eyes and gave herself a good talking-to. If she had been given this amazing opportunity six months ago she would have squeezed every last drop of enjoyment out of it. She resolved to do as Jen had suggested – to use the time and space to move on – and she should start by making an effort with Zach. She squared her shoulders and went back down the stairs to the courtyard.
‘Okay. I’ve spoken to Ella and she should be here in fifteen minutes. Hey, have you been crying?’
‘No. Of course not.’
Zach narrowed his eyes, but decided against delivering another one of his pithy comments on her blatant lie. He called Binks to heel and strode away down the driveway.
‘Where are you going?’ Millie called, disappointed that her resolution to get to know Zach better was a non-starter. She also didn’t want to admit that his sudden and unexpected appearance from the tropical rainforest earlier had unnerved her. Who, or more to the point, what else could be lurking in there?
‘Well, as a lowly “gardener” my responsibilities are many, Princess Sparkle-Toes.’ Zach swept his gaze to her flip-flops and took in her multicoloured pedicure, courtesy of Poppy during a pre-holiday girly session that involved glittery varnish and copious amounts of her favourite pink P
rosecco. ‘After you’ve met up with Ella you’ll be able to spend the rest of the evening polishing your tiara and rustling up one of your Michelin-starred creations us mere mortals can’t possibly be expected to appreciate. Oh, and don’t forget to get your quota of beauty sleep required by all royal personalities. You’re going to need it!’
Zach grinned, displaying a perfect set of teeth that any orthodontist worth his weight in toothpaste would be proud of. Millie slumped down into a cane chair on the veranda. She hoped she got on better with Ella Johnson because if Zach was going to be her only other company at the Paradise Cookery School she was in for a turbulent time.
Chapter Three
With a chorus of birdsong and croaking crickets to accompany her thoughts, Millie meandered along the pathway between the swimming pool and the edge of the plantation. In the post-deluge afternoon sunshine, she could completely understand why Claudia had fallen in love with the villa. Its position on the hillside overlooking the most famous of St Lucia’s landmarks must be one of the best in the Caribbean.
Cocoa palms crammed the estate for as far as the eye could see. Strange wizened pods, the shape of small rugby balls, grew straight out of the gnarled trunks. She ran her fingertips over one of them, prodding the leathery, purple-brown exterior. She sniffed the skin, expecting it to smell of chocolate, but unsurprisingly it didn’t. These were the husks she had seen piled in the wooden crates by the back door of the villa earlier. She assumed Zach had harvested them.
She regretted not having the chance to chat through the finer details for the school with Claudia. She hoped her vision would be, if not identical, then along similar lines to the celebrated cookery writer’s own. Whilst the plans were already approved, it would be the finishing touches that made a project like the Paradise Cookery School stand out from the rest. A loop of nervousness began to coil around her chest when she thought of the responsibility of testing out the recipes for such a prestigious venture. What if she got it wrong?
