by Daisy James
Millie resisted the temptation to check her watch but she knew it was well past eight o’clock. She forced a smile on her lips and followed the trio to the veranda where they deposited their canvas tool bags before carrying their lunch pails into the kitchen.
‘Man, you can never get tired of this view, eh?’ said Fitz, his hands on his hips, stretching out his back muscles as though he had just rolled out of bed. He probably had, thought Millie with a jolt of annoyance.
‘True. I’ll get the coffee brewing, shall I?’
Millie made a swift getaway as she suspected Fitz was about to launch into an unprovoked monologue on the myriad benefits of St Lucia over London, Paris and that twenty-four-hour metropolis, New York. It was his favourite specialized subject and she had heard the lecture twice already. She refused to give them any reason to delay their day any further. All three men possessed that laid-back vibe, which they had clearly honed to perfection over the years, and nothing and no one could hurry them along. She wished she could bottle just a smidgeon of that stress-free lifestyle and smuggle it back to London where most of the time she felt frazzled and exhausted. She prayed that, despite their attitude to timekeeping, their workmanship would be up to scratch.
She tossed a handful of coffee beans into the grinder and set a cafetière and three sturdy mugs on a tray. She didn’t have to be a clairvoyant to predict that these items of crockery would be well used over the next two weeks. Carrying the tray from her studio across to the villa, she found the men congregated round a cardboard box, scoffing thick jerk-chicken sandwiches and chuckling about the exploits of someone called Jacques like a trio of fishwives.
She set the tray down and gave the gang what she hoped was a meaningful stare. ‘Claudia really needs the kitchen to be ready for her inspection on the sixteenth. There seems a lot to do so I’ll let you get started.’
‘Chill, man. We are craftsmen, artisans. You can’t hurry perfection. Did Leonardo da Vinci rush to finish the Mona Lisa? Did Michelangelo rush to finish the Sistine Chapel? No. They were allowed to take their time to express their creativity. Don’t worry, Millie. Be happy!’
‘Right, well, I agree that creativity is important and Claudia is keen that everything in the kitchen is finished to an ultra-high standard. But equally as important is delivering on time, because if she has to cancel the Chocolate & Confetti classes, the Paradise Cookery School might never get off the ground. I don’t think Ella will be very happy if her dream to become a cookery-school demonstrator is dashed because the sinks aren’t fitted, do you?’
Millie’s heart hammered painfully against her ribcage and her cheeks had flooded with colour, but she felt a surge of elation at the assertiveness she had displayed. She left the kitchen and strode down to the pool, inhaling deep, rejuvenating breaths when she knew she was out of sight of the men.
The sun had climbed mercilessly in the clear azure sky, sending the temperature on a steep uphill trajectory. Even in the shade of the leafy canopy around the pool terrace, the air was thick and oppressive. The humidity pressed into Millie’s chest, robbing her of a clear draw of breath, until relief flooded her veins when the rhythmic beat of calypso was accompanied by the sound of a hammer and circular saw.
Millie made a decision. It was time to take a closer look at the cocoa pods which, if Claudia had her way, would form part of the ethos and branding for the Paradise Cookery School. She selected a couple from the top crate and carried them towards her studio like precious cargo.
‘Hey, where do you think you’re tiptoeing off to with those?’
Millie experienced a flash of guilt before meeting Zach’s accusatory stare.
‘Oh, I didn’t think anyone would mind. I didn’t take them from the trees. I found them in the crates over there. Did you pack them?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
Millie saw a look of annoyance stalk across Zach’s expression and she opened her mouth to offer to return them, but Zach spoke first.
‘Fancy an excursion?’
‘What sort of excursion?’
She had a vision of them bucking and diving across the rough terrain on the back of the quad bike before indulging in a session of wild swimming in one of the mountain streams and cooking their dinner on a campfire. Maybe they would have to forage for edible bugs! Eeuw! And anyway, shouldn’t she be staying at the villa to oversee the workmen’s progress?
‘I’m not sure about leaving Fitz and his crew to their own devices…’
‘All sorted. I’ve spoken to Ella and she’s happy to hold the fort for a while.’
Zach had followed her up the stairs to her studio. Although the kitchen was an improvement on the previous day’s explosion of culinary chaos, it still bore the scars of that morning’s breakfast. Zach was staring with abject disgust at the pile of crockery shoved higgledy-piggledy in the sink. Before he could launch into a litany of criticism on her housekeeping skills, she decided to accept his offer.
‘An excursion sounds great, then. What did you have in mind?’
‘How does a personalized orientation tour sound? I was thinking maybe the Botanical Gardens, the Sulphur Springs, the Diamond Falls? Come on, let’s get out of here. I don’t know how you do it, but this kitchen looks like Downtown Fallujah. Claudia usually keeps everything pristine and organized, you know.’
Millie ignored his criticism, grabbed her purse and swapped her sandals for a pair of embroidered crimson Sketchers. She was keen to visit the famous multicoloured Diamond Waterfalls and she didn’t think sequinned flip-flops were the ideal footwear.
‘So, your chariot awaits, Princess Pretty Shoes.’
Zach gave a theatrical bow, his dark features more akin to the villain of the show than to Prince Charming. But when Millie saw what he was pointing to, her heart sang. Her ‘chariot’ was a lipstick-red BMW Roadster Convertible.
‘Wow! Is this yours?’
Zach laughed. ‘No. It’s Tim’s, but he doesn’t mind if I use it when he’s over in the UK.’
Millie smiled. This was exactly the sort of excursion she could get used to.
Chapter Eleven
They drove down the hill towards Soufrière. Some of the houses on the outskirts of the town were little more than sheds with corrugated-iron rooftops, but they had been proudly painted with bright Caribbean hues of emerald, aquamarine and sunflower yellow. She wondered how such flimsy structures managed to withstand the daily dose of what Clavie had labelled liquid sunshine, never mind the not-infrequent hurricanes.
They reached the harbour and Millie skimmed her eyes over the storefronts, which were awash with exuberantly coloured souvenirs, busy with bustling tourists from the two yachts moored at the jetty. Young boys swam in the sea at the boats’ sterns, squealing to those on board to throw in coins for them to retrieve from the seabed.
Millie couldn’t help but smile as they passed the Purple Parrot and saw Andrew in the alleyway indulging in a forbidden cigarette, his bandana – today’s blue – knotted around his neck.
They passed Dylan’s Dive Shack around which a disparate collection of surfboards and kayaks were scattered, along with rails of wetsuits drying in the sun. Dylan himself lounged in a white plastic chair, his ankle over his knee, plugged into his iPod, tapping his foot to the beat. She cast her eyes over her shoulder to the wooden veranda of the Purple Parrot and was not in the least bit surprised to see Lottie loitering on the steps as she delivered a tray of lunchtime drinks to thirsty patrons, her eyes resting on the object of her affection, her burgundy hair streaming in the breeze.
‘Doesn’t Dylan realize Lottie adores him?’
‘You’ve noticed that too?’
‘How can you not!’ she laughed.
Zach swung the steering wheel to the right, taking the road that skirted the foothills of the Pitons. They left the streets of Soufrière behind and followed the signs for the Diamond Falls Botanical Gardens.
‘I don’t think Dylan realizes the extent of her devotion. He’s happy
with his life as it is. He has his business; he works with his best friend, Ryan, and the third musketeer in his group, Elijah, works up at one of the luxury five-star resorts in the next bay. And there’s Marc, of course, who works at the Purple Parrot with Lottie.’
‘Sounds like an idyllic life.’
‘Dylan tumbles into a romance every other week with a girl who’s desperate for a holiday fling to boast about when she returns home to the wind and rain. You could write an epic novel about his exploits. Who better to cavort with for a while than a golden-tanned surfer dude with his own diving school? Alone in the boat, drifting serenely under a perfect sky, reliant on each other for your safety as you swim beneath the sapphire waves exploring the magnificent coral and all those secluded coves. Dylan’s been here for ten years and I don’t think he has plans to leave any time soon. Hang on!’
Zach swung the Roadster into a hidden clearing and jumped out.
‘Here’s the path. Come on, slowcoach! Watch out for the snakes!’
Zach forged ahead through the dense vegetation, occasionally slapping away an errant branch as Millie trotted in his wake. The intense heat prickled at the back of her neck and beneath her breasts as she tuned in to the gentle symphony that accompanied their walk through the rainforest – the call of the doves, hawks and St Lucian orioles mingled with the cicadas, frogs and trickling water.
They trekked in silence for a while, appreciating the splendour of nature’s diversity. Millie could tell that Zach was happier in these surroundings, mellower, more relaxed. Occasionally, he paused to point out a particular plant or flower, shrub or tree.
‘This one is a White Cedar and this is Mahogany. But can you guess what this is?’
‘No idea.’
‘This tree produces the mace and the nutmeg you probably use every day in your baking. The mace is the lacy golden-brown wrapping which is removed and dried, and the nutmeg is the seed kernel inside.’
Millie fingered the hard, outer shell of the nutmeg, pulling a branch down to her nostrils and sniffing, but, of course, it didn’t emit the familiar aroma. Every recipe she made requiring a sprinkle of grated nutmeg would now take on a whole new meaning.
When they rounded the next bend in the path, Millie’s jaw dropped. They had arrived at the Diamond Falls where the river tumbled through the sunshine, over a rocky outcrop, producing a kaleidoscope of colours into a pool below.
‘Wow!’
‘Gorgeous, isn’t it?’
‘What makes the waterfall so colourful?’
Millie walked to the edge of the falls as a group of chattering French tourists dutifully followed their tour guide back along a wide pathway to the car park. She reached for her phone and began clicking photographs to send to Jen and Poppy.
‘The stream is laced with volcanic minerals: sulphur, copper sulphate, magnesium, iron, manganese and calcium from the Pitons. Come on. This way!’
Zach branched out in the opposite direction to the tourists along a deserted footpath. After half an hour or so of pleasant, picturesque strolling, the gradient increased sharply and Millie’s calf muscles screamed at the unfamiliar exertion.
‘Hey, Zach, can we stop for a minute?’ she pleaded, her breath coming in spurts, sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades.
‘It’s just a little further. I promise you it’ll be worth it.’
Another ten minutes’ hard climb and they rounded the corner of a leaf-strewn pathway. As Millie rested her palms on her knees, drawing in gulps of thick balmy oxygen, she raised her head and gaped. The view spread before her was so majestic that her emotions got the better of her and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
They were almost halfway up Gros Piton, with the rich sapphire of the Caribbean Sea sparkling to their left, the glossy rainforest to their right, and nestled in the groove in between were the terracotta roofs of Soufrière. The lush vegetation encircled the urban development below like a laurel wreath surrounding a rose-coloured jewel. Fishing boats, sleek white yachts, ferries and old-fashioned clippers dotted the ocean.
A gasp escaped her lips. ‘It’s just so…’
A plethora of words tumbled around in her head but she discarded each one as inadequate. Her lexicon of admiration had been erased from her memory by the overwhelming beauty in front of her. They stood in appreciative silence for a long time, sipping from a water bottle, until Millie was jolted from her trance by a large bullet of water slapping onto the back of the hand shading her eyes from the sun.
‘Oh, no! It’s almost three o’clock!’ she gasped, ducking her head and shoulders as the habitual bombardment of rain increased in velocity.
‘Come on.’
Zach grabbed her hand and together they lurched, tripped and skidded down a hidden trail until the deluge prevented further advancement. Once again, Millie experienced the questionable pleasure of being drenched through to her underwear. She dragged her hair from her face and flicked it behind her ears. The pungent scent of rotting vegetation caused her throat to constrict and her skin to break out in a ripple of goose pimples. She stood in front of Zach, her arms by her sides, raindrops dripping from her nose. Laughing, he said, ‘Just another fifty yards, I promise.’
He hooked his arm around her waist and, true to his word, within a few moments they had arrived at a tiny wooden hut huddled beneath a canopy of palm trees, with a tattered veranda and a front door painted in sunshine yellow. Zach dislodged one of the terracotta pots crammed with pink orchids to reveal a large silver key. He slotted it into the lock and they tumbled in out of the rain.
‘What is this place?’
‘It’s a ranger’s cabin. A friend of mine, Mathias, works for the Botanical Gardens. He uses it to shelter from the rain and, on occasion for… well, you know.’
Millie glanced round the one-room shelter. Yes, it was definitely an ideal love nest – two plump leather sofas draped with mohair throws, a woven scatter rug and a pair of intricately carved masks decorating the walls. She giggled as she wondered if the wooden artefacts were some kind of fertility symbols.
She raised her eyes to Zach, intending to mention the artwork, but when she saw the expression on his face her breath caught in her throat. Heat rushed through her body and the shivers rippling up and down her spine had nothing to do with the drop in temperature inside the cabin. Her heart bounced to her toes and back into her ribcage as her brain tried to dissect the reason for her surprise reaction.
Zach took a step towards her, holding her eyes, his lips parted slightly. A blast of goose-pimples washed over her forearms and sent blood rushing to her cheeks and thrumming through her ears. When his hand touched hers, it took a supreme effort not to flinch from the spark of electricity that shot through her veins and southwards.
‘You’re trembling.’
‘I…’
Millie found that she couldn’t formulate a coherent sentence. She felt as though her brain had been temporarily disconnected from its modem. It was almost a relief when Zach severed their connection to grab a couple of fluffy white towels from a cupboard in the corner. He tossed one over to her and she took her time drying her arms and legs, then towelling her hair to allow her thoughts to calm and the colour in her cheeks to fade.
What just happened? screamed her brain when at last it caught up with her body’s swirling emotions.
She flopped down on one of the sofas and peered at Zach from beneath her lashes. He had his back to her, fiddling with a box of matches and a storm lantern. She took a moment to enjoy the way his wet T-shirt clung to his broad, muscular shoulders and the tufts of ebony hair sprang from his crown. With the towel draped around his neck he looked like a boxer in the ring, and when her eyes followed the contours of his body downwards a blast of desire detonated in her lower abdomen. She swiftly averted her gaze, but not before Zach had spun round and caught her ogling his buttocks.
‘Here.’ He handed her a bottle of water and smirked.
Just as she always did when she was
embarrassed or thrust unexpectedly into an awkward situation, Millie couldn’t help herself from launching into a garbled monologue of inconsequential utterings as she fidgeted with the tassels on the mohair throw.
‘Thank you for showing me the waterfall, Zach. It was amazing! I love St Lucia. You are so lucky to be able to call it your home, even if it is temporarily. I can completely understand why Dylan and Lottie don’t want to leave and Andrew started a business here. I absolutely adore the fact that the sun shines every day, that there’s an abundance of fresh produce all year round. I love the Creole cuisine, the calypso music, the friendliness of the people. I could even get used to the rain, especially as it only seems to last thirty minutes before reverting to luscious sunshine again. Oh, look! I think it’s stopped!’
She leapt from her seat and dashed to the door, wrenching it open to peer outside. It hadn’t.
‘Can’t have a tropical rainforest without the rain,’ Zach mused, calmly crossing his ankle over his knee and stretching his arms behind his head, ignoring her strange behaviour.
The daily downpour continued to hammer its staccato tune on the tiled roof overhead, but instead of feeling safe and dry inside the little hut, Millie felt claustrophobic. Something had changed between her and Zach, and whilst she much preferred the Zach she had spent time with that day to the snippy, sarcastic one she had first met, she still felt unsettled at the pull of attraction she had experienced. She craved some time to herself to analyse exactly what it meant, but she would have to wait. Instead, she decided to raise something that had been bothering her all day.
‘Zach?’
‘Mmm?’
‘You remember we were talking about the mysterious disappearance of the cocoa pods when we were at the Purple Parrot a couple of days ago?’
‘Yes.’
‘I know this is going to sound weird, but did you refill those empty crates at the back door of the villa?’
