Sunshine & Secrets

by Daisy James

  ‘Wow! Just look at this, Millie. It’s magnificent. Oh, I can’t wait to get started with the cooking.’

  ‘Don’t you think we should maybe leave the unpacking until the kitchen fitters arrive?’ said Millie, itching to pull off a long strip of cardboard to reveal the front of the fridge in all its stainless-steel glory.

  ‘How can they complain when they should have been here?’

  Millie didn’t have to be told twice. Together they ripped the protective jacket from the gigantic fridge-freezer, the sinks, the sparkling silver taps, the state-of-the-art coffee machine. Oohs and aahs followed ‘Look at this!’ and ‘Wow!’ until they slumped down onto the sunloungers on the veranda completely spent.

  Cardboard Chaos reigned.

  The kitchen looked as though it had entertained a pack of hyenas on the rampage – sheets of plastic, blankets of bubble wrap, dribbles of polystyrene balls and coils of brown tape scattered the room. Wonky mountains of wooden pallets, cardboard boxes and strips of cornicing reached as high as the ceiling.

  Millie giggled. If Zach had been there, he would be rolling his eyes and saying something like, ‘Millie? Yes, she can bring chaos to an empty room.’ And he was right. She toyed with the idea of taking a photograph on her phone and emailing it to him, but decided not to furnish him with indisputable evidence with which to support his opinion of her. She suspected he would see it for himself soon enough if the tradesmen didn’t arrive shortly – they were now over three hours late. It didn’t bode well.

  With nothing else left to do, Millie made another jug of freshly squeezed lemonade and they relaxed in the shade on the veranda to recover from their exploits and wait for Fitz and his men to arrive.

  ‘So, what will you be doing when you return to the UK, Millie?’ asked Ella, rearranging her voluminous emerald-and-saffron skirt around her chubby knees and wiggling her toes out of her sandals.

  ‘Back to my job as a lowly pastry chef in a tiny patisserie in London. Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s fun. Étienne is a great boss and he lets me the studio upstairs for a great rent. And I get to work with my best friend Poppy who lives just across the hallway.’

  ‘Have you always lived in London?’

  ‘No, actually, I’ve only been there for six months. Before that I ran a restaurant in Oxford.’ Millie decided not to publicize her Cordon Bleu training. She always felt as though she was boasting when she said it, but she wanted to be truthful with her new friend.

  ‘Did you grow up there? In Oxford?’

  ‘I spent my early childhood in Lourmarin, a village in Provence in the south-east of France. Mum’s French, Dad’s from Oxford and we moved there when I was seven and my sister was nine. When Dad died two years ago, Mum moved back to France to live with her sister. Jen and I stayed on in Oxford.’

  ‘And is that where you met your friend Poppy?’

  ‘Oh, no, I met Poppy when I started work at Café Étienne.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ella turned her head to scrutinize Millie’s face. ‘I assumed when you said she was your best friend that you had known each other longer.’

  How could she explain to kind, sympathetic, wonderful Ella that she had left her life in Oxford behind and that she never wanted to go back? Not even to see her former best friend, Frankie. Of course, Frankie was as mortified about what had happened with Luke as she was, but her loyalties had to lie elsewhere. Millie understood this, but it still hurt tremendously to think about it, so she steered their conversation to the safer ground of her professional life.

  ‘My dream is to be like Claudia and you, Ella. I want to bake, bake, bake until the larder runs dry. I want to craft new recipes from exotic ingredients sourced from all over the world. I want to learn new skills from local chefs and practise until I’m proficient. I want to write cookery books and run my own culinary courses, work in a patisserie in Paris, barbeque steaks in Argentina, advise on pairing spices with fish, meat and seafood. I want to slice vegetables, roast fruit, stir-fry salad.’

  ‘Your mother must be so proud of what you and your sister have achieved.’

  ‘She understands totally how much we both love to work with food. After all, it was her and Gran who inspired us to cook when we were toddlers. She has always urged us to follow our dreams – which is exactly what she is doing now. You should see her on a Saturday night with her friends at the salsa club at the local village hall. And if you saw some of her outfits. Copacabana has nothing on the Glitzy Girls of Lourmarin!’

  ‘Oh, I’d love to meet her. She sounds like my kind of woman.’

  Millie smiled at the image of her mother dancing with joyous abandon, squeezing the most out of every moment of her life despite its setbacks. She knew she should strive to emulate her example. After all, her mother had lost her soulmate whilst she and Luke had only been together for a few years. She scooted to the edge of her seat, her arms resting on her knees, staring out over the infinite expanse of the Caribbean Sea, which undulated like a pool of spilled ink beneath a cerulean sky. She fixed her eyes on a brightly coloured bird pecking at a pod on the branch of one of the cocoa trees before skipping off to try something new.

  She pulled herself back to reality and resolved to put Luke completely from her mind. St Lucia was a fabulous place to be; not just for its physical beauty, stunning though it was, but for the underlying current of calm and tranquillity that flowed from the proximity of nature and from its people. Who could complain about doing the dishes when there was that view to distract you from the suds and the wrinkled hands?

  ‘They’re here!’ declared Ella, pushing herself up from the sunlounger.

  Accompanied by a fanfare of reggae music, a white van screeched to a halt in the courtyard and three men tumbled from the front seat.

  Millie glanced at her watch. Ten-thirty. Not a good start. She cast a worried look at Ella who nodded her agreement. They would have to express their concern about timekeeping from the outset otherwise the project would never be completed in time for the wedding guests. They needed the guys to turn up on the dot of seven a.m. every day in order to achieve the deadline, which meant they were already behind before they had even started. Anxiety gnawed at the pit of Millie’s stomach.

  ‘This it?’ asked the boss as he chewed on his unlit cigarette, his brown eyes widened in surprise. ‘Was the kitchen delivered like this?’

  ‘There’s no point in taking the offensive, Fitzgerald Clarke. You’re over three hours late and it just won’t do. I intend to have a word with your mother about your timekeeping unless you stay late to make up for what’s been lost today. You are fully aware how tight the schedule is. I shall expect you to stick to your promise to have everything finished by next Friday. This is Amelia Harper who will be overseeing the project. Don’t think of messing her around or you’ll have me to answer to.’

  Fitz and his two friends stared at the diminutive chef, their lips curled into smiles of amused contrition, but Millie could see a soupçon of apprehension in their eyes. Ella pushed her way past them and through the jungle of cardboard to retrieve the plans.

  ‘Now, these are the specifications. It all looks pretty straightforward. What are you waiting for?’

  Millie loved the way Ella’s Caribbean accent became much more pronounced when she spoke to her fellow St Lucians. She watched as Fitz opened his mouth and closed it again on seeing the steely determination in Ella’s expression. He removed the cigarette from his lips, shoved it in the pocket of his low-slung jeans and swept his dreadlocks from his lined face.

  ‘No worries, Ella. Me and my men will make sure that you have the best kitchen in the whole of St Lucia.’ Fitz offered Millie his hand before turning to his workmates. ‘Pleased to meet you, Amelia. This is Alphonse, but we call him Alph, and this is Vic.’

  ‘Oh, please, call me Millie.’

  The two young men in dusty jeans and ancient Bob Marley T-shirts offered Ella a respectful nod and a quick smile of acknowledgement to Millie but didn’t venture any conversati
on.

  ‘Ah, Alph, yes, I thought I recognized you. I know your Aunt Effie. She’s treasurer of our village council.’ Ella’s mahogany eyes held Alph’s for several seconds and Millie thought she saw him cower. All three men had clearly got the message that their tardiness would not be tolerated from here on in. Ella Johnson was not a woman to be messed with.

  ‘Yes, Ms Johnson. No worries. Sorry we’re late today but…’ He glanced at Fitz for support but he had wisely disappeared into the kitchen with Vic and started to remove the plastic wrapping from the huge slabs of marble that would one day soon become the bench tops for the very first Paradise Cookery School.

  Millie couldn’t help smiling. It was obvious they had hoped this would be an easy, laid-back job in a beautiful villa overlooking spectacular scenery with an infinity pool to cool off in after a hard day’s toil. They hadn’t factored in the indomitable Ella Johnson being on site to crack the whip and oversee their timekeeping. She experienced a surge of gratefulness for Claudia’s friend’s presence, acknowledging her own weakness for succumbing to a well-argued excuse. The Paradise Cookery School would never be delivered on time if it was solely down to her.

  ‘Now, Millie and I have important work to do organizing the menus, making shopping lists and testing out the recipes. If you need anything we will be in the kitchen in the studio above the garage over there. There’s a lot for us all to do and we’ll stay out of your way provided you press on with the work. Friday the sixteenth is the deadline. That’ll leave Millie and I only two days to make sure the place is spotless and to stock the cupboards for the arrival of our first students. Don’t forget, Fitz, time seeps through our fingers no matter how hard we try to snatch it back. The kitchen must be ready on schedule. I expect to see you here at seven o’clock sharp tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, ma’am. So, seven a.m. on the dot it is!’

  Fitz gestured to Alph and Vic whose jaws had dropped as they listened to Ella’s orders. The three amigos nodded in unison and attacked the renovations with a vengeance to the sound track of Eddie Grant throbbing from the speakers of a paint-splattered stereo.

  ‘Thanks, Ella. I don’t think the men would have listened to me. I suspect that you’ve just saved the whole project from certain failure. I owe you.’

  ‘Lovely,’ smiled Ella, bustling up the stairs to Millie’s tiny kitchen. ‘You can repay me immediately by showing me how to make chocolate millefeuille and pistachio macaroons and a perfect beurre blanc!’

  ‘Only if you show me how to cook authentic Creole dishes with local spices.’

  Millie smiled at Ella’s enthusiasm to experiment with French recipes. Her culinary zeal reminded Millie of her own passion for all things gastronomic before the fiasco with Luke had wiped all the joy from her soul. However, she was rediscovering her culinary hunger. Ella’s desire to learn something new was infectious and she felt her spirits nudge northwards. It felt good to be asked to pass on her knowledge and skills and she was keen to get started.

  A companionable silence descended as they sifted flour and whisked eggs and an idea began to snake its way round Millie’s brain – the birth of a dream that she had never thought possible before that day. Maybe, one day in the not-too-distant future, Claudia would allow her to present a course on French cooking to a class at the Paradise Cookery School. How fabulous would that be, doing what she loved most in the world against such an idyllic backdrop?

  The only seed of doubt in her mind was whether she could come to terms with what had happened with Luke in Oxford and fly away from the wreckage of their relationship. For the first time since the bombshell had landed, she truly thought she could. What was the alternative? Instead of starring in the lead role of her life, choosing to consign herself to that of supporting actress as a spinster aunt to Jen’s two daughters, Lily and Odette? There was no way she intended to die alone surrounded by a glut of uneaten macaroons!

  It was time to move on.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning Millie awoke to a clear head and the birds rehearsing their daily symphony instead of the usual cacophony of slamming doors and thundering traffic outside her tiny studio apartment above Café Étienne. Not only that, the views from their respective windows occupied diametrically opposed ends of the visual spectrum.

  Here in St Lucia, the Pitons wore nature’s cloak of dappled sunlight, their lush flanks shimmering in the breeze like an emerald waterfall. At home, her view over the rain-soaked rooftops rewarded her with a forest of redundant chimney pots, twisted TV aerials and satellite dishes. London did many things superbly, but one thing St Lucia topped the index in was its laid-back lifestyle. There was no frantic commute to the office, bistro or patisserie to work harder, faster and longer until your brain was frazzled and your dreams extinguished.

  As she sipped her cappuccino, sprinkled with a dash of locally cultivated nutmeg, her reverie injected a surprise pang of homesickness into her stomach. She thought of Jen, getting Lily and Odette ready for school before dashing off to present a cookery demonstration at the WI or the local college or village fair. She couldn’t wait to share what she had learned so far about the intricacies of the indigenous flavours of the Caribbean with her sister.

  She thought of Poppy, dressing for her shift at the patisserie, cursing as she shot down the four flights of stairs from her flat, late as usual. Luckily, Poppy was a prolific emailer and had kept her up to date with all the gossip at Café Étienne. This morning’s missive was all about a potential date with a guy from the Italian deli across the road. Millie had wished her luck and demanded a photograph, attaching her own of Zach and Henri in return. She had just read her friend’s reply but could have predicted her comments and her preference. Poppy adored men like Henri; intelligent, community-focused, clean-shaven with a strong jaw, neatly clipped hair, French Caribbean heritage – ideal boyfriend material in fact, save for the lengthy commute for dinner.

  She tossed her coffee cup into the sink and helped herself to a plate of chopped tropical fruit from the fridge – mango, pineapple, melon, guava – then went out to the balcony to continue her contemplations.

  It was not yet seven a.m. and already the sun was poking its face over the horizon, casting rippling fissures of pale amber and scarlet over the sea. It was beautiful and she would never grow tired of sitting on the rattan chair staring at the ever-changing panorama. At that time in the morning the air was cooler and the humidity lower – it was the best time to enjoy the peace and tranquillity, as well as the sweet aroma of jasmine floating on the gentle breeze.

  She selected a slice of pineapple and allowed its sweetness to trickle slowly from her tongue down her throat – pure liquid paradise. She finished her breakfast and grabbed a quick shower before pulling on her white capri pants and strappy scarlet T-shirt, gathering her straw-like hair into a high ponytail and trotting down the stairs to check on Fitz’s progress.

  By the time she arrived on the veranda, the sun had joined the day and bathed the whole scene in a golden glow, but there was no sign of Fitz. She glanced at her watch to see it was seven-forty-five – so much for Ella’s lecture on timekeeping. She sighed. If Ella couldn’t impress upon the men to be on time, she had no additional ammunition in her own armoury.

  Millie planned to spend the day as she had yesterday; triple-testing the recipes that would form the course’s itinerary. If she concentrated on two dishes each day – sourcing the ingredients, preparing the recipes, taste-testing and gauging the preparation and cooking time – then she would be finished by next Friday.

  Claudia was relying on her judgement and she had asked for a daily email with her findings and recommendations. She had explained to Millie that the Paradise Cookery School courses were to be intensive week-long programmes with a variety of themes, some of which could be tailor-made to the guests’ personal preferences, like the Chocolate & Confetti one arranged for the following week. Once the hotel side of things was up and running, Claudia was also planning to o
ffer a more general course focusing on the preparation of a Caribbean-inspired starter, main meal and dessert each day. The resulting culinary masterpieces would then be consumed at a communal dinner each evening with local wine and spirits or home-made fruit punch. Each guest would be asked to score their fellow chefs out of ten, with accomplishment certificates available for those requiring them. Claudia hoped the students would take the school seriously, but Millie knew that a handful of them would be attending for the social aspects of meeting like-minded people, maybe even hoping to hook up with a potential date. Or indulge in a holiday fling just as Jen had suggested she should!

  She decided to grab the bull by the horns and ring Fitz. Instead of leaving the villa via the French doors she opened the back door, stooping forward to remove one of the wooden crates that was blocking her access to the courtyard. It was heavier than she had expected. She dislodged the lid and to her surprise she saw the crate was filled with the purple-brown cocoa pods wrapped in a fresh crop of banana leaves.

  Oh, God! Could she have missed them the previous day? No way, she wasn’t crazy! The boxes had definitely both been empty. She screwed up her eyes and shook her head, but she was not mistaken or hallucinating. Someone had replenished the crates.

  The piercing shriek of an engine straining to ascend the incline interrupted the internal cross-examination of her sanity.

  ‘Hey, Millie! Good morning!’ sang Fitz in his infectious Caribbean lilt as he leapt from the cab of his rust-blistered white van, gifting her with a broad smile. That morning he had moved up in the world by ditching the self-rolled cigarette for a thick, Caribbean cigar.

  Alph and Vic shouted a friendly greeting, strolled to the back of the vehicle and prised open the double doors. Flakes of rust dribbled from the lock and hinges like dried blood. Vic extracted the largest stereo radio Millie had ever seen, liberally doused in lumps of plaster and splashes of paint, and carried it on his shoulder to the veranda at the front of the villa.