Sunshine & Secrets

by Daisy James

  ‘Wow,’ exclaimed Andrew. ‘Thank you very much. They smell divine. Do you think we should we give them a taste-test first?’

  ‘Great idea! We wouldn’t want to risk poisoning your clientele, especially in these economically difficult times,’ smirked Zach.

  Andrew shook his head before turning his attention back to Millie. ‘It’s really kind of you, Millie. Thanks again.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Can you squeeze us in for lunch, Andy? You look slammed.’

  Andrew’s jawline tightened and his mahogany eyes narrowed. ‘Marc hasn’t turned up yet. It’s the second time this week he’s missed a shift. Why don’t you grab a table on the veranda and I’ll send Lottie over to take your order when she’s finished mooning over Dylan. Oh, and Zach? Don’t forget to introduce Millie to one of my signature cocktails!’

  Andrew allowed a faint twist of his lips to soften his features as he thrusted his red bandana higher up his forehead to push back his ebony curls from his face. Clearly, he wore the kerchief as a symbol of his celebrity chef hipness, but it didn’t work and served only to emphasize his tired, crumpled features. He strode back into the kitchen to supervise the cooking.

  Millie followed Zach to a table overlooking the dappled sands of Soufrière beach. They turned their heads in unison as a shriek of laughter pierced the air and a young girl came flying towards the steps, sand scattering in her slipstream, her long magenta locks tossed high above her head like a wild Medusa as she tried to escape from the guy chasing her. He caught her by the waist and they fell together onto the beach where they proceeded to roll like a pair of anorexic sumo wrestlers.

  ‘Lottie! Put Dylan down! We could do with some service over here,’ Zach laughed, before lowering his voice to Millie. ‘Another gap-year lingerer. As you can see, Lottie not only appreciates the stunning Caribbean scenery and the laid-back lifestyle we have in abundance in St Lucia, but also enjoys playing the lead role in her own personal romcom with our resident beach guy.’

  The couple leapt up the wooden treads to join Zach and Millie. After introductions, Lottie floated off into the bar to collect the tray of cocktails Andrew had prepared whilst she had been on her break. She delivered them with a wide smile to the group of diners who were clearly on their fourth or fifth sampling of the Purple Parrot’s legendary beverage.

  ‘Great to meet you, Millie. I’m Dylan. I own the diving school over there.’

  Dylan proudly indicated the ramshackle shed at the far side of the restaurant where surfboards, dinghies and wetsuits had been crammed into a wire cage sealed with two huge barn doors painted with a flag of sunflower yellow, crimson and green. A rusted hand-painted sign declared it to be ‘Dylan’s Dive Shack’.

  ‘Fancy a trip out in the boat whilst you’re here? The reef is spectacular, we’re right next to the marine reserve. I can guarantee you’ll get close up and personal with turtles, octopus and parrotfish, maybe even a seahorse or two.’

  ‘I’d love to, thanks, Dylan. Maybe next week, though. I want to get the kitchen renovations at the villa under way as soon as possible. Claudia’s relying on me to make sure everything is perfect and delivered on schedule. I think I might have my work cut out.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I heard Claudia was setting up an upmarket culinary experience. Good luck to her.’

  Dylan dropped down into one of the mismatched wooden chairs and accepted a cold Red Stripe from Lottie before she plonked a huge, goldfish bowl of a cocktail glass in front of Millie, its rim dipped in green-dyed sugar crystals and sporting an umbrella, a slice of lime and a scatter of mint leaves.

  ‘One Purple Parrot Mojito! Enjoy.’

  Millie took a tentative sip, allowing the flavours to dance on her tongue before swallowing. Within seconds the alcohol burned at her throat and she gasped at its strength, just about managing not to succumb to a fit of coughing.

  Dylan chuckled. ‘I’d take it easy with that magician’s potion, Millie. It’s made with fifty-per-cent-proof rum. I don’t know where Andrew sources that stuff but it’s lethal.’

  Dylan ran his fingers through his tufted hair, the colour of summer honey, and scratched at his short sandy beard. He leaned back on his chair’s legs and tipped the remnants of his beer in his mouth, his T-shirt rising upwards to display an impressive six-pack above his frayed denim shorts. Millie noticed his biceps were firm too, no doubt gained by lugging heavy diving equipment and dragging boats up and down the beach, not from boring, repetitive sessions spent at an indoor gym. Tiny wisps of fair hair curled up his tanned forearms and sent a surprise spasm of pleasure down her spine.

  ‘How long have you lived in Soufrière, Dylan?’ Millie asked, chancing another taste of her cocktail. She was enjoying his easy company, the diametric opposite of the snippy conversations she was forced to endure with Zach. It was like being with Robinson Crusoe’s brother. The leather thong tied around his neck held a polished shark tooth and a silver charm she couldn’t make out. Colourful string bracelets encircled his wrists and his skin glowed with the golden hue of someone who spends most of their day in the sunshine.

  ‘Came to St Lucia on a gap year after uni ten years ago. The ex-pat community here is a crockpot of beach bums, rat-race escapees, bankrupts and love cheats. This paradise winds its way under your skin and into your heart without you noticing. Couldn’t bear to go back to rain-soaked Manchester, so I stayed. Already had my PADI licence and Dad re-mortgaged his house so I could buy the Shack. I owe him big time!’

  ‘What does your dad think of St Lucia? He must be proud you’ve made such a success of the business.’ Millie saw a cloud float across Dylan’s pale blue eyes for the first time.

  ‘He’s never made the trip out. I’ve pleaded, cajoled, threatened. Even bought the guy a return ticket last summer but he gave it to my mate Carl.’

  Dylan snagged another Red Stripe from Lottie as she passed their table. She slapped his hand away but her eyes held such deep affection it was obvious to even the casual onlooker that she adored him. The girl radiated youthful expectation. Life had not yet had sufficient opportunity to squeeze the optimism lodged within.

  ‘Since Mum died he’s refused to step out of his comfort zone, or do anything really, except go to work and pay the bills. She’s been gone ten years but still he won’t entertain meeting anyone for a drink, even as friends. He’s as handsome as I am,’ continued Dylan with a mischievous wink. ‘So he’s definitely not short of offers, but he still loves Mum.’

  ‘He’s promised to come out this summer, hasn’t he?’ said Zach. ‘To name the boat.’

  ‘Dad put up the cash to buy us a new dive boat, too.’ Dylan pointed with the neck of his beer bottle to the sleek white boat moored at the wooden jetty outside the diving school. Millie could just about make out the vessel’s name – Nigella’s Navette. ‘We named it after Mum, so he can’t refuse to launch it with a bottle of bubbly in her honour, can he? I’m not holding my breath, though.’

  Dylan tipped his chair back onto all fours again, banged down his empty bottle on the table and jumped to his feet.

  ‘Great to meet you, Millie. Catch you later, Zach,’ and he fist-bumped his friend before sauntering off down the main street, Lottie’s eyes scorching a hole in his back.

  ‘Another mojito, Millie?’

  ‘Gosh, no way! I can hardly see straight as it is. Thanks, though.’

  ‘What about an Andy’s Blast? It’s made with the flesh from the cocoa pods grown on the hills surrounding Soufrière – delicious. You’ve got to try one. I won’t take no for an answer.’

  Lottie trotted off to the bar to juggle the spirits. She took such care in the drink’s preparation it was as though the resulting creation was going to bestow the taster with magical powers.

  ‘Talking of cocoa pods…’ Millie said, her eyes meeting Zach’s as he sipped his Red Stripe and cracked open the freshly grilled lobster Lottie had delivered for them to share – it was the freshest seafood she had ever tasted. ‘I coll
ected a cocoa pod last night and left it with the others on those wooden crates by the back door intending to dissect it this morning, but they’ve all disappeared. Did you move them? Or has Claudia got an arrangement with someone to buy them or take them away?’

  Millie immediately wished she hadn’t brought the subject up. A dark shadow stalked across Zach’s expression and his jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth in annoyance.

  ‘No. I didn’t move them, and Claudia has not agreed to sell them to anyone either. Why would she when she’s worked so hard on improving the cocoa plantation since she and Tim bought it? She cleared the weeds, planted new saplings, even harvested a crop and roasted the beans in the oven behind the garage. Believe me, Claudia and Tim can wax lyrical if you let them about the superior taste of their own product. You should hear them talk about the flavours – “top notes of dry burgundy”, “ripe yellow fruits mingled with rich olive oil” – it’s as if they’re French wine connoisseurs! I don’t understand why the pods are disappearing – they’re of little value. You’re right, it’s a mystery, and one I intend to get to the bottom of.’

  ‘Hey! Millie! Good to see you made it. And you’ve brought Zach with you. Hi, Zach.’ Henri offered his palm to Zach and the two men shook hands warmly.

  ‘Actually, I’m not staying. Got a few things to sort out.’

  ‘No problem. Catch you later.’

  Millie watched Zach weave his way through the bar and back out to where he had left his quad bike. She had no regrets about having to walk home, but she did wonder why Zach hadn’t said goodbye. Clearly, his mind was fixed on something else.

  ‘Hi, Henri. Good to see you. Okay, Millie, here’s your very first Andy’s Blast. Take it from me – it won’t be your last,’ declared Lottie, setting a bright blue cocktail down on the table in front of Millie. ‘What do you think?’

  Millie took a tentative sip and what an explosion of joy on her taste buds! She drained the glass in no time and ordered a second, and then a third, each drink improving in flavour and texture as the afternoon wore on. Henri’s friends, Leon and Travis, joined them and the conversation flowed smoothly, covering a range of topics from the serious to the downright ridiculous. Occasionally, Lottie came to sit with them for a drink, as her colleague Marc had materialized by then. Millie only vaguely recalled being guided towards Henri’s little red Fiat hours later when the street outside had morphed into an open-air party.

  ‘Guess the Purple Parrot is going to be your local watering hole whilst you’re here in Soufrière, eh?’

  ‘Mmm,’ murmured Millie, tripping over the kerb and falling into the passenger seat head first, then giggling uncontrollably as Henri drove up the hill to drop her outside her home above the garage.

  She waved him off, managed to insert her key into the door and mount the stairs without too much difficulty, and flirted briefly with making a start on the washing-up, but the call of her bed was too strong. She collapsed on the cool cotton sheets and before she knew it she had tumbled into a blissful, dream-free sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  Millie lingered over her first coffee of the day in an effort to placate the overenthusiastic stonemason hammering away at his masterpiece inside her head. Her tongue felt like sandpaper and for the first time since she’d arrived in St Lucia she wished the Caribbean sun wasn’t quite so bright. She had also made a pact with herself that from now on she would always do the washing-up before she went to bed because the sight of the culinary detritus with a storming hangover was enough to make a saint swear. It had taken all her willpower to fill the sink with hot soapy water and return the cooking utensils to their rightful home before allowing herself to indulge in one of the almond croissants that had been mysteriously left on the steps to her studio that morning and was calling her name.

  She abandoned her seat on the balcony and stumbled into the bathroom to splash her face with tepid water, taking in her bloodshot eyes and her voluminous hair. She was in the process of brushing her teeth when there was the thunderous roar of an engine followed by a loud hammering on her front door.

  ‘Argh! The kitchen delivery!’

  She grabbed her denim shorts and a fresh vest top, dragged her hair into a ponytail and shot downstairs to answer the door.

  ‘Hi,’ she breathed.

  ‘Miss Harper?’ enquired the delivery guy, his stomach straining against a dirty grey T-shirt and his jeans tucked into heavy, steel-toed work boots. His dreadlocks hung well past his shoulders and his goatee sported three beads in the ubiquitous Caribbean colours of red, green and yellow. The obligatory self-rolled cigarette was attached to his lower lip.

  ‘Erm, yes, yes, but please call me Millie.’

  The guy smirked and strode back to the truck, slinging the butt of his cigarette into the trees.

  ‘Just show us where you want this stuff and we’ll get to work.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’

  Millie’s brain throbbed and she struggled to gather her thoughts. She ran back up the stairs to collect the villa’s key and almost vomited from the sudden exertion. She bent forward, hands on her knees, taking a moment until her head stopped spinning, but her temples continued to pulsate like the Caribbean beat. She grabbed a glass of water and slung it down her throat before racing to open the back door of the villa.

  Somewhere in the dark recesses of her befuddled mind she registered the wooden crates, empty of the cocoa pods, as the delivery guys tossed them out of their way. If anyone had a sensible explanation about their disappearance it would be Ella and she resolved to speak to her about it when she arrived. Was there a thief lurking in the grounds, waiting for the opportunity to steal whatever he could from the plantation? A shiver ran the length of Millie’s spine.

  ‘It’ll be better if you just let us get on with the unloading, miss,’ said the delivery guy with a blatant look that said, Get out of our way.

  ‘Oh, right, of course,’ she muttered, backing away through the French doors the men had folded back to ease delivery.

  Millie perched guiltily on a sunlounger and watched the trio of men empty the truck of the cardboard boxes that would become the state-of-the-art kitchen from which Claudia would present her Paradise Cookery School courses. As her headache subsided, she made herself useful by preparing a huge jug of fresh lemonade, filled with crushed ice and freshly squeezed lemons and limes. A frisson of pleasure invaded her chest as she watched the men swallow the drink and smack their lips with appreciation. The driver’s features softened as he returned his glass to the tray.

  ‘That’s some awesome lemonade you make there, miss.’

  ‘Thank you. It’s actually a Parisian recipe…’

  ‘Sure it is.’

  The men returned to the task of manoeuvring the huge, eight-burner stainless steel stove and industrial-sized fridge-freezer from the veranda into the kitchen, and finally the dishwasher – an absolute necessity.

  When the open-plan living area was crammed to the ceiling with cardboard boxes and appliances, the men bade her farewell with smiles and handshakes and disappeared down the hill, accompanied by the ubiquitous thrumming beat of a reggae anthem.

  Millie leaned against the balustrade and stared out at the view. She could stay there all day and never tire of the natural beauty of southern St Lucia. She made a promise to herself that if she had any spare time she would ask Henri about arranging a trek up one of the Pitons. She remembered his friend Leon telling her at the Purple Parrot that Gros Piton was the calmer climb of the two and she absolutely had to conquer the hike whilst she was there. And visit the sulphur springs to partake of a mud bath… and take a trip to the drive-in volcano… and the waterfall…

  Her eyes began to droop and a wave of tiredness threatened to envelop her. It was already past eight o’clock and there was no sign of the builders despite their assurances via Ella that they would be there when the delivery men arrived. There was nothing she could do until they arrived so she skipped back to her apartment, selecte
d a white string bikini and returned to the pool, slinging her beach bag and towel onto the deckchair before diving into the liquid aquamarine of the infinity pool. The water caressed her senses – just heaven to her aching, journey-bruised limbs and her pounding head. She swam until her mind was clear and her tiredness had been chased into oblivion, before dragging her dripping body to a sunlounger and promptly falling asleep.

  ‘Millie? Millie?’

  Millie opened her eyes and a blurry image floated across her vision. For a brief moment, she struggled to remember where she was, why it was so hot, and who had the temerity to wake her from such a glorious dream.

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘I see the kitchen has been delivered,’ said Ella. ‘Did you make sure you ticked off every item as it arrived?’

  Millie’s eyes shot open as she realized with a bolt of panic where she was, and also that she had not thought to check off the items on the inventory. Not the best of starts to her supervisory job. Her skin itched from sunburn and she chastised herself for forgetting to lather on sunscreen. She checked her watch – it was nine o’clock.

  ‘Sorry, Ella, I…’

  ‘Never mind. It looks like we have a more pressing problem to deal with. I see Fitz and his crew haven’t arrived yet. They should have been here two hours ago to help with the unloading and to tell the delivery men where to put the boxes.’ A splash of annoyance floated across Ella’s face but it was swiftly chased away by her broad smile. ‘Come on! Let’s investigate! It’s like Christmas has come again!’

  Millie leapt up from the sunbed, excitement swirling through her veins. She stepped into the overcrowded kitchen and promptly stood on the head of a discarded broom whose handle whacked her square on the nose. If she hadn’t been fully awake before, she was now.

  ‘Ouch!’

  But Ella hadn’t noticed her clumsiness. She had already launched herself at one of the huge cardboard boxes, tearing away the tape like a child at a birthday party, before moving on to attack the plastic wrapping surrounding the oven.