by Daisy James
Millie immediately chastised herself for her negativity. Only a few short months ago, she would never have entertained such an episode of self-doubt. It was amazing how a broken heart could deflate a person’s confidence so much, even in their professional life! She inhaled a deep breath and vowed to concentrate on the advantages of her good fortune; the opportunity not only to learn new culinary techniques from Ella but also to experiment with a medley of fresh, exotic ingredients, all under the sparkling canopy of the Caribbean sky.
To say she was a sun-worshipper was an understatement. After all, she had spent the first seven years of her life and every summer holiday thereafter with her French grandparents running through the lavender-infused fields in the South of France until her limbs were as brown as milk chocolate. However, for some reason, she had chosen to overlook the fact that for such a lush tropical paradise to exist in St Lucia there inevitably had to be a regular delivery of rain in almost biblical proportions. Never mind. It couldn’t rain all the time and she was looking forward to enjoying the golden beaches and mooching around the brightly painted shops in Soufrière with the strains of calypso music spilling out onto the pathways – not to mention sampling the local rum cocktails.
She would continue to work on healing her wounded heart whilst proving to Claudia that she had made a worthy choice by showing off her wide range of culinary skills to their best advantage. It was something she hadn’t been able to do whilst working as one of a number of pastry chefs at the patisserie. The only talents she had exhibited to the patient French owner, Étienne, were her complete lack of organizational skills and her propensity to sprinkle ingredients and culinary implements like an escaped garden hose.
The intense screech of a struggling car engine, accompanied by a loud blast of reggae music, told her that Clavie had arrived with Ella Johnson. Her spirits lifted and she jogged back to the veranda and into the courtyard to welcome her, hopeful that this time she was about to meet a friendly companion with whom she had lots in common.
She watched the woman emerge from the back seat of the taxi and was relieved the driver had managed to navigate the incline this time. The Caribbean chef carried a few extra pounds around her midriff – enhanced by the brightly coloured fabric of her voluminous dress. A bold statement necklace rested at her chest and matching gold hoops hung from her lobes. She had rounded the ensemble off with a wide emerald-and-saffron bandana to keep her hair away from her smooth, crease-free forehead.
‘Hello! You must be Millie!’
Ella rushed towards Millie and enveloped her in a fragrant hug, drawing her into her ample bosom as though enjoying a reunion with a long-lost daughter. Her lips glistened with a slick of deep burgundy lipstick, but her eyes had no need of shadow or mascara. The dark hazel of her irises drew the onlooker’s attention to their kindness and wisdom. A faint whiff of lavender, mingled with a sweet caramel, tickled at Millie’s nostrils.
‘Sooo good to meet you. Claudia has told me all about you,’ she cooed before turning to the taxi driver. ‘Thanks, Clavie. See you Saturday?’
Ella’s accent was a melodious sonata of French mingled with St Lucian Creole, which fell softly on the ear. Straight away Millie felt a strong connection with this woman who seemed to project an irresistible aura of comfort and competence. She wouldn’t admit it out loud but Ella reminded her of her mother; the way Monique moved, her Gallic gestures, the cadence in her voice, the calm that exuded from every pore no matter what calamity her daughter had perpetrated, the partiality for wearing bright colours. She was certainly an inspired choice as a co-presenter of an upmarket Caribbean cookery school.
‘Sure thing, man. Send my regards to that son of yours, okay?’
‘Oh, I will!’
Ella linked her plump arm through Millie’s and guided her to a pair of blue-and-white striped canvas chairs on the veranda of the villa where they could appreciate the view. Ella’s afro curls bounced as she swivelled in her seat to fix Millie with her chestnut gaze, clearly weighing her up until her eyes came to rest on Millie’s hair.
‘I see you’ve had first-hand experience of the rain we get here!’ There was that belly laugh again. ‘Clavie told me he’d ditched you at the bottom of the driveway, the old goat!’
Millie reached up to run her fingers through her long straw-like fringe and down the sides to her shoulders. The usually sleek strands seemed to have doubled in volume as the humidity increased.
‘Is there anything you can recommend that might tame my hair?’
‘A little coconut oil may help – or you could just go with the flow. You’ll have to tie it back when we start cooking anyway. Now, I have the keys to the villa so you’ll be able to get an idea of what Claudia has planned, but I’m sure you’ve noticed the fact that very little progress has been made on the kitchen renovations. The builders were supposed to start their preparations last week but there was a delay in the delivery of the appliances due to some administrative mix-up. Why they couldn’t have got on with something else I don’t know, but it means the schedule is going to be tighter than initially thought.’
Ella paused and placed her hand over Millie’s. ‘If you’ll allow me to give you a little friendly advice, Millie. Under no circumstances must you allow the men to take advantage of your good nature. Time is elastic to Fitz and whilst he’s renowned island-wide for being the best in the business, he does have an equally infamous tendency to slope off for a lunchtime rum and a nap. As the final touches will be down to us, it is our time he will be stealing!’
Millie smiled, grateful that she had such a strong-willed ally in her corner. She wished Ella had been around to stand up for her when she had met Zach earlier, but she decided not to mention the fact that she had made his acquaintance, as she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep her irritation at his treatment of her out of her voice. With any luck, she wouldn’t have much to do with him over the next two weeks.
‘Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind.’
‘Good. I can already see that we are on the same wavelength! Okay, shall we acquaint ourselves with the plans for the kitchen and then we can have a chat about the best part – the Paradise Cookery School recipes?’
‘Yes, please.’
Ella drew back the bi-folding doors at the front of the villa to reveal a large empty space. Devoid of all its furniture and appliances, the room was huge. Rectangular in shape, one side had been constructed completely from glass windows to take advantage of the view and all the walls had been painted white – a perfect blank canvas and an ideal space for a boutique cookery school. A lone ceiling fan rotated languidly but Millie was relieved to see there was an industrial-sized air-conditioning unit on the back wall. A door to the right of the kitchen led to a corridor.
‘You’ll find bedrooms through there,’ Ella said, pointing in the direction of Millie’s gaze. ‘Claudia is toying with the idea of offering accommodation to the gastronomes at some point in the future but not until the school is up and running and she can gauge the demand for her courses. Here are the plans.’ Ella gestured to the back of the room where two large sheets of paper had been pinned to the wall. ‘There’ll be one large demonstration workbench for Claudia and four smaller ones which can house two students each. It’s a simple enough layout and should be easily completed within the two weeks, provided Fitz and his men turn up on time on Monday morning. I’ve checked and the lorry is booked for seven a.m.’
Millie studied the drawings and resolved to ensure that she was acquainted with every detail before Monday. She did not want to let Claudia down, but from the little experience she had of building work, everything always took longer than expected. The builders would have to work long days to get it finished on time.
She followed Ella back outside to the veranda and feasted her eyes on the pool, its surface reflecting the sky above like an aquamarine mirror. She took in the terracotta pots crammed to bursting with bright orange begonias as well as the sweeping palms offering essential shade to
the avid sun-worshipper. She wondered whether she would have any spare time to take a dip in its cool waters.
‘Claudia adores this house. She’s spent a small fortune on restoring it to its former glory. But her true passion lies in the plantation itself. One day she hopes to grow cocoa commercially again and to offer guided tours of the plantation with sampling. It’s the reason she set up the cookery school – to encourage visitors.’
‘I can see why. The place is absolutely my idea of paradise.’
‘Ah, but when she and Tim bought the estate, it was in a dreadfully dilapidated state and the cocoa crop had been left to rot on the trees. Harvesting the pods is such a labour-intensive activity that it was no longer worth the effort. But the trees are a variety called Trinitario, which produces the very best cocoa beans. Claudia engaged an expert in the cultivation of cocoa to check on the health of the trees and to advise her on their care. With his help, she has planted new saplings, grafted from their older cousins, and even started to harvest some of the pods – following the old methods of maturing, fermenting, drying, then finally roasting the beans in an outdoor oven built specially for the job.’
‘So that’s what’s in those crates by the front door?’ Millie couldn’t wait to investigate the unfamiliar fruit further by performing a gastronomic autopsy.
‘Yes. And that’s why the first Paradise Cookery School courses will focus on all things cocoa-related.’ Ella paused as she cast her eyes over the cocoa trees that congregated at the other side of the infinity pool. ‘Did you know it’s not just the cocoa beans we use? The white flesh from the pods can be used in rum-based cocktails. Andrew, the owner of the Purple Parrot in Soufrière, makes a mean daiquiri – Andy’s Blast, he calls it. I’ll ask Henri to take you to sample one of his liquid masterpieces. Mind you only indulge in the one, though. Andrew has a loose wrist when it comes to the spirits in his signature drinks!’
‘Henri?’
‘My son. He’s a journalist during the day and a bit of a rum connoisseur when the sun dips over the horizon,’ she laughed, a full-body rumble from deep within her chest which made Millie smile. Clearly Ella adored her son and was proud of his profession. ‘I’m sure you’ll have plenty in common. He studied for his degree in Bordeaux. It was the only decent thing his father ever did for him.’
A cloud flitted over Ella’s face – a faint tightening of her jawline, the colour of melted chocolate – but she swiftly erased it.
‘Sorry. Anyway, as you know, Claudia wants every one of her recipes triple-tested before they’re allowed to feature on the final menu. We’ll be offering the students lunch though, so we’ll need a couple of standby dessert recipes to complement the fish dishes.’
‘What about a tarte au citron, but made with limes? There’re loads in the grounds and it’s one of my favourite recipes.’
‘Sounds delicious. I’m really hoping this new venture of Claudia’s takes off. This part of St Lucia needs all the enterprise it can get. It’ll also be a chance to showcase our amazing culinary heritage to a wider audience. If the first course is a flop, or even if there are teething problems, you know what people are like. They’ll tear it apart in a mean-spirited review and the Paradise Cookery School will be over before it’s started.’
‘Don’t worry, Ella. Nothing will go wrong.’
Millie spent the next two hours indulging in her second-favourite pastime – gossiping about food, ingredients, utensils, old recipes, new recipes, experiments she had tried and scored a fail. If she couldn’t spend her time slicing, chopping, beating, whisking, then she wanted to be chewing over new possibilities with someone who shared her passion, like Jen or Poppy. Now she had found herself a culinary soulmate in the Caribbean and her heart, like her hair, ballooned.
Night fell with unexpected haste and in the darkness the humidity took on a velvety texture. The silhouette of Gros Piton presented an eerie, almost menacing presence, and the town scattered at its base sparkled with myriad amber lights. Out in the bay, tiny specks of light danced on the surface of the waves as the yachts and schooners entertained parties of tourists with barbeques, live calypso music and locally produced rum.
The toot of a horn sounded from the courtyard.
‘Ah, that’ll be Henri.’
It hadn’t occurred to Millie until that moment that she would be spending the night on the hillside alone. From what she could see, the villa had no immediate neighbours. She shoved the unsettling thought of her isolation in an unfamiliar country deep into the crevices of her mind.
Ella gathered Millie into her arms and deposited a kiss on each of her cheeks.
‘Now, it’s all arranged. Tomorrow morning, I plan on introducing you to the delights of Castries market. You need to touch, squeeze, sniff, as well as taste the sensational produce we St Lucians take for granted before we begin to test out their ability to merge with the spices in our recipes. I’ve sorted out your transport. Oh, I just know that the Paradise Cookery School is going to be amazing! I can’t wait to get started.’
Ella collected her huge canvas handbag and bustled off to the tiny red Fiat, which sped away down the hill before Millie could catch a glimpse of its driver.
Chapter Four
Millie opened the door to her balcony and blinked into the sunlight. Despite her initial fear of being alone on the hillside, she had slept from the moment her head hit the pillowcase; a combination of exhaustion, jet lag and the tranquillity of the surroundings, not to mention the fact that she was so far away from home and its accompanying problems. She truly believed in the old adage that physical distance offered an alternate perspective.
She showered, washed her hair and ran a splodge of coconut oil through the strands. For her morning saunter around Castries she decided on her navy capri pants and a Breton-striped T-shirt – one of her favourite combinations. Sequinned sandals completed her ensemble with her bug-eyed sunglasses perched on the top of her head and trusty straw bag slung over her shoulder. She was eager to familiarize herself with the local produce, the fruit and vegetables, as well as gauge the availability of freshly caught seafood. Her brain bulged with a myriad of possibilities to add to her recipe scrap box.
Millie skipped down the stairs and into the courtyard, surprised to see an unfamiliar vehicle waiting for her. She opened the passenger door.
‘Hi! I’m Millie… Oh, it’s you.’
‘Well, I had expected a barrage of effusive thanks for giving up my morning to drive you to Castries, but I suppose I should have known better,’ said Zach, rolling his eyes. ‘Henri couldn’t make it – some emergency or other at the newspaper. Ella says she’ll meet you at the market. She grabbed a lift with her friend Denise – the other half of the village gossip-vine.’
‘Great, thanks. Yes, it’s very kind of you.’
Millie jumped into the passenger seat, but as she slammed the door shut one of her sandals dropped from her toes. Zach was so swift off the mark that they had reached the end of the driveway before she had time to shriek for him to stop. With her face flushed with embarrassment, she scrambled from the SUV, hobbled back up the hill to collect her flip-flop, and resumed her seat next to him, unable to meet his eyes.
To add to her mortification, Zach burst into raucous laughter, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
‘Okay. It wasn’t that funny!’ Millie snapped, turning her face away from him to look out of the window.
‘Well, not if you don’t possess a sense of humour!’ Zach revved the engine, gripped the steering wheel and, still chuckling, set off down the hill.
‘Are you always this irritating or do you save up your insults and deliver them all at once?’
‘You know, there’s just something about you, Little Miss Clumsy, that brings out the comedy in every situation. You must have spent years honing the skill, eh?’
Millie decided that Zach’s rudeness did not warrant a reply and that silence was preferable to engaging him in a conversation he
obviously thought passed as wit. She clutched her bag to her chest and sank down into her seat, hoping he would get the message. Thankfully, he was too busy concentrating on navigating the twists and bends of the only road that led to the Caribbean island’s capital than on his mission to wind her up until she snapped.
They shot past tiny hamlets of no more than a dozen houses, each painted in a different hue – canary yellow, fiery red and green, cobalt blue – some pristine with well-kept gardens, others in need of a fresh coat of paint, all with the most magnificent, uninterrupted view of the sea. Fields crammed with the island’s staple crops of banana, coconut and mango lined both sides of the road, interspersed with palm trees and cocoa plantations, until they dropped down to the coast and the scenery became more urban.
‘You’ll love Castries. You should try to see a bit more of the town than just the food market, though.’
An unpleasant thought suddenly occurred to her and before she could stop herself she had blurted, ‘You’re not coming with us, are you?’
‘Now here I was thinking you would jump at the chance for someone to carry your bags!’
Millie glowered at Zach, causing him to laugh again. ‘Don’t worry. My instructions are to drop you off at the market and leave. Henri will meet you after lunch to give you and Ella a lift back to the villa when you’re ready.’
Zach slowed down to almost a walking pace as they approached the outskirts of the capital and the roads became tight with traffic. To Millie’s eyes, Castries presented a shabby, worn-out vibe; several houses and shops were in desperate need of repair, with rusting oil drums and broken-up vehicles in their yards and mangy dogs roaming amongst the scattered detritus of city life. A brigade of teenage youths loitered outside a roadside bar, cigarettes dangling from their lips, passing round a bottle of home-brewed rum.
