by Daisy James
Millie returned to her studio and decided to follow Fitz’s example and take a short siesta herself. When she woke, the men had left for the day and she only had an hour before she had to be at the Purple Parrot. She hopped in the shower and luxuriated in the cool cascade that reminded her of the waterfall she had visited the previous week. She styled her voluminous hair with coconut oil and even painted her fingernails – something she rarely did as a chef.
She drained the glass of Prosecco she had poured for Dutch courage and stepped into her peach-and-cream sundress – a new addition to her wardrobe courtesy of Lottie’s friend Anisha. She had also made her a beautiful necklace from tiny peach-and-cream shells and as she fastened it around her neck, Millie felt as though the whole of the Purple Parrot was involved in her date. With a final glance in the mirror, she grabbed her bag and trotted down the stairs.
Marc wouldn’t stand her up – would he?
Chapter Fifteen
Millie locked the door of her studio and, out of habit, glanced across at the crates on the step, expecting them to be filled to the top – just as they had been when she returned from the villa earlier. In a split second, she not only noticed that the boxes were empty but caught a glimpse of a jeep’s red tail lights disappearing around the end of the driveway. Without thinking she gave chase.
‘Hey! Hey! Stop!’
The jeep did not stop. If anything, the driver increased their speed. But it didn’t matter – she had recognized the vehicle. She shook her head as she made her way down the hill towards where a taxi waited to take her to the town and her rendezvous with Marc at the Purple Parrot, unable to believe what she had just seen.
Why was Dylan stealing Claudia’s cocoa pods? It didn’t make any sense. He ran a diving school, not a restaurant or a bar.
She hopped into the back of the cab and stared up at the sky. It was not the usual expanse of inky black dotted with an infinity of stars, but leaden, with steel-grey clouds pressing down on the twin peaks of the Pitons, their flanks soaring dark, high and foreboding. The wind had increased and, whilst she appreciated the fresh whisper of salty air flowing through the open windows, she sensed a storm was brewing out at sea. A shiver ran the length of her spine and she was grateful to duck into the welcome hospitality of the Purple Parrot.
Her preoccupation with the kitchen and her unease about Dylan had pushed any lingering nerves about her date from her mind, especially when she spotted Dylan drinking a beer at the bar with Ryan. Lottie leaned over the varnished top, hanging on his every word. Clearly her threat to move back home to the UK was on hold for the time being. Her hair rippled like burgundy wine down past her shoulders and she wore a gathered, white linen, gypsy-style blouse and a pair of very short shorts.
Millie studied Dylan’s face in profile, searching his expression for an indication that he knew she had seen him at the villa. Nothing – just a wide-open, friendly smile. His Hawaiian shirt would have looked ridiculous anywhere else, but with his tousled hair, denim shorts and tanned forearms, he looked every inch the classic beach boy: attractive, happy and relaxed in his own skin. She could understand Lottie’s love for this man, but the question still remained – why on earth was he stealing Claudia’s cocoa pods?
She glanced around the veranda but there was no sign of Marc. Instead of joining Lottie and Dylan, she decided to grab a seat overlooking the beachfront. After a few minutes of waiting, a swirl of apprehension started to curl around her stomach. Would he come? Had he changed his mind about taking her out for dinner? She didn’t think she could stand the collective sympathy of the Purple Parrot if that were the case. She slid her mobile from her bag and glanced at the screen – no messages.
‘Want a drink while you wait?’ asked Andrew, holding up a glass, unable to meet her eyes.
Oh, God! thought Millie. Andrew knew that Marc wasn’t coming and that was why he’d brought a cocktail outside to her to soften the blow he was about to deliver. She glanced at the lacklustre attempt at a daiquiri he set on the table in front of her, minus the usual embellishment of a slice of lime or parrot-topped cocktail stick or sugared rim. She offered him a nervous smile and saw from his face that he wore the stress of his financial difficulties heavily around his eyes and in the sag of his shoulders. It was a worrying time for many businesses that relied on the tourist dollar or pound or euro, and the Purple Parrot was no exception. Andrew turned his back without uttering an exchange and strode back to the kitchen.
‘Don’t mind him, Millie. He had a meeting at the bank yesterday,’ whispered Lottie, appearing at the table, her eyes trained on the door through which Andrew had disappeared. ‘The manager refused to extend his overdraft. Apparently, the restaurant’s been running on empty for the last year. There’s a chance he could lose the business. And one thing I do know is that he doesn’t want to go crawling back to the rain-splattered streets of Oldham.’
‘I can totally understand that! There’s no comparison.’
‘Not just that, though.’ Lottie checked Andrew was still safely ensconced in the kitchen. ‘He was made bankrupt before he came over here. His wife left him destitute after their divorce, he couldn’t pay his bills and his restaurant folded. So he can’t go back. He has to make the Purple Parrot work. Only, I’m not sure what his options are.’
Millie could see that Andrew O’Leary was one of those unfortunate people who couldn’t allow themselves to be happy and carried a mantle of melancholy throughout their lives – even when surrounded by paradise. To the casual onlooker, Andrew was living the dream – certainly owning a bar overlooking golden sands and the magnificence of the St Lucian Pitons was Millie’s dream. What a waste.
But wasn’t that exactly what she had been doing for the last six months? Yet another of life’s lessons was delivered with a sharp slap to her face.
‘Don’t tell him I said anything, but he’s been like a rampaging lion all day. He disappeared for an hour earlier without a word and when he got back it was obvious he’d been drinking – lots!’ Lottie cast a worried glance over her shoulder at the kitchen door.
‘I see our friend Marc’s not a man to impress his date with his timekeeping,’ said Dylan, arriving at the table and slotting his arm around Lottie’s shoulders, producing a wide grin.
‘Actually, perhaps it’s just as well. I think I’ll…’
‘Oh, no, Millie, you can’t bail yet. Marc’s always late for everything. He’ll be here. He promised. It’s just a drink, then maybe a meal, and a stroll along the beach in the moonlight, hand in hand…’
‘Don’t think that would be wise, Lot. There’s a tropical storm on its way – Category two. You’ve heard the warnings to stay indoors after ten p.m. Look, the wind’s already getting up.’ Dylan gestured towards the beach where the waves galloped across the dark surface of the water like a cavalry in full battle-mode.
‘Oh, okay… then perhaps you could go back to his place, hide out from the storm, listening to the rain cascade down the roof tiles as he encircles you in his strong, muscular arms, sheltering you from…’
‘Lottie, please shut up,’ Millie giggled, taking a gulp of her cocktail.
‘Love is the answer, Millie!’ Dylan laughed before his face grew more serious. ‘Just be careful, that’s all. Marc has a reputation with the ladies. You need to know he’s not in it for the long term.’
‘It’s just a drink, Dylan,’ Millie smiled, grateful for his concern, even more confused about his actions earlier before blurting, ‘Did you lend your jeep to anyone this evening, Dylan?’
‘Hey, Dylan. Can I borrow you for a minute?’ called Andrew, poking his nose around the kitchen door, his eyes bulging with tiredness, his bandana in need of a good wash and press.
‘Sure, Andy, I’ll be right there. Good luck, Millie. Enjoy your date. And remember about the storm. Make sure Marc gets you home safely. You don’t want to be climbing that hill alone in the rain.’
‘Love is the answer, he says!’ spluttered Lottie, putting a se
cond cocktail in front of Millie who hadn’t realized she’d finished the first. This one had all the trimmings and she relished the zing on her taste buds. ‘I wish he’d take his own advice.’
‘Millie! Millie! Sorry I’m late. A Red Stripe and whatever Millie is having please, Lottie.’
Marc’s appearance squashed all the intentions Millie had of reprimanding him for not being on time. He looked like a polished Greek Adonis. His black dress trousers fit him snugly around the buttocks, belted at his trim waist. His matching D&G shirt was open at the neck to reveal just a hint of chest hair. And he smelled delicious. She inhaled the mixture of wood spice and cloves and an arrow of desire shot to her stomach and travelled south. His brown eyes smouldered and she melted.
‘You look gorgeous,’ said Marc, staring straight into her eyes when he spoke and leaning down to peck her on the cheek before taking the seat opposite her.
A cauldron of emotions rushed through her veins as she anticipated the night ahead. He was handsome, confident in his own golden-tanned skin, and proved to be an attentive companion. Millie sipped on the daiquiri mixed by Lottie and stared at the churning sea delivering thick ribbons of froth to the beach whilst the moon played hide-and-seek with the heavy clouds scooting across the sky. Palm trees fringed the scene, bent so low under the strengthening wind that Millie thought they would touch the sand. The mats and napkins on the outdoor wooden tables flapped so vigorously that the diners abandoned their attempts of a romantic dinner à deux under the stars and retreated into the restaurant.
Marc went to order another round of drinks from the bar, speaking to Andrew instead of calling Lottie over to their table. She watched him cast his eyes over his shoulder to look at her and then continue in a sweep around the restaurant taking in everyone who was there. A squirm of annoyance writhed in her chest. Was he checking the room for his next conquest? But she chastised herself. Marc didn’t owe her anything. This was only a drink.
The rum scorched through Millie’s veins and the conversation flowed. It turned out that they had a great deal in common, liked the same films, even shared a love of rugby. Marc told her he had worked at the Purple Parrot since the previous summer season and before that at numerous bars in Antigua, Martinique and Jamaica. He also revealed that he had a connection with Andrew, a second cousin or something, Millie couldn’t remember as her attention was taken up by his chocolate-brown eyes and the proximity of his muscular body. The guy oozed charisma. Every time his hand brushed hers an electrical pulse shot through her veins.
The cocktails slipped down easily. She was enjoying herself immensely and when Marc suggested they go and eat she followed him out of the bar, a wide grin on her face, tripping over the kerb and forcing her to grab on to his arm. They walked hand in hand to a secluded backstreet restaurant filled to bursting with locals enjoying their evening out.
Marc ordered for them both, which Millie was a little surprised about, but she let it go. She was happy to try anything on offer in the rough-around-the-edges restaurant, complete with live band playing reggae tunes at full blast and a tantalizing aroma of roast chicken. As they waited for their starters to arrive, the conversation dried up and Millie realized that she was more than a little tipsy. She cast around for something to say and went with the first thing that came into her head.
‘How well do you know Dylan?’
‘Fairly well. Great guy.’ Marc sipped his beer, his eyes resting on hers.
‘It’s just, well, I’m not sure whether I should say anything…’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘I know it’s nothing really, but over the last week a stack of cocoa pods has been disappearing from the villa. At first I thought I was going crazy, but tonight I saw Dylan’s jeep speed away down the hill and another crate had been emptied.’
‘Did you actually see it was him? There’re a lot of jeeps around here, you know.’
‘I’m certain. I know the pods are worthless, but it’s strange, don’t you think? What would Dylan want with a few dozen cocoa pods? It’s not as though he’s into cooking!’
‘Have you said anything to him about it?’
‘No. I thought about it, but then you arrived and…’
‘I’m sure you must have been mistaken, Millie.’
‘Do you think I should mention it to Henri? He’s friends with Leon, the police sergeant in Soufrière.’
‘No, I wouldn’t do that. Those pods would have probably been left to rot, anyway. I’m sure Claudia doesn’t mind anyone helping themselves.’
‘But why wouldn’t he say what he was doing? Why did he speed away when he saw me? It doesn’t make any sense.’
Their meal arrived – red snapper stuffed with chopped spring onion and tomato salsa that had been doused with soy and ginger and wrapped in banana leaves, and another rum cocktail for Millie. She ate very little, giddy with the alcohol and Marc’s attentive company. The humidity and reggae music swirled around her head and she felt mellow and attractive under Marc’s gaze, as if he had cast a spell of enchantment over their evening. She was surprised to find that she craved his touch on her arm, on her neck, her cheek. The pounding of her heart, insistent on the continuance of these welcome emotions, blotted out all sense and prudence.
The music stopped and so did the conversation as a loud crack of thunder hurtled down from the sky. The gathering laughed and the chatter resumed as a second flash of lightning sliced through the open frontage of the restaurant.
‘Dylan mentioned there would be a tropical storm tonight,’ said Millie before throwing caution to the wind. ‘Why don’t we ditch the dessert course and go back to the villa for a nightcap before the rain arrives?’
‘Sounds… Oh, hang on.’ Marc extracted his phone from his pocket. ‘Excuse me, I need to take this.’ He left his seat and strode out through the back door of the restaurant.
Millie finished her cocktail. She had lost count of how many she’d had. She reached down to grab her handbag and, giggling to herself, stumbled to the Ladies’ to splash cold water on her face. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were like two ripe tomatoes and her hair was springing out from her head like a clown on speed. She groaned, running her fingers through the tresses to straighten them.
As she peeped out through the back door of the restaurant down the alleyway, another crack of lightning lit the sky. Huge raindrops splashed down onto the tarmac and she expected to see Marc finishing off his conversation, but he was nowhere in sight.
Must be back at the table, she thought. She decided that it might be a good idea if they stayed for coffee, not only to avoid the deluge, but so she could sober up before they left. When she arrived at the table Marc wasn’t there either. She glanced around the room, but he wasn’t chatting to any of the clientele or the owner. She waited a few more minutes and when he didn’t materialize, she strolled out to the street and scoured the road to the left and the right and then, again, the alleyway.
Nothing.
She stood on the doorstep, watching the storm, a sense of unease mounting. Where was Marc? He couldn’t still be on the phone, nor could he have visited the Gents’ for such a long time. She looked at her watch and saw he had been gone for over twenty minutes.
The fuzziness in her head was starting to clear. She pushed her way back into the restaurant and found the waiter who had taken their order.
‘Erm, have you seen Marc… my date?’
‘No, ma’am. Sorry.’
‘Oh, erm, okay, thanks.’
Millie didn’t know what to do next. She rifled in her bag for her purse and left more than enough dollars to cover the cost of the meal. She fiddled with her empty cocktail glass for ten more minutes and then left the restaurant by the back door, stumbling down the alleyway to the front street, but still there was no sign of Marc.
She checked her phone. Nothing. Glad they’d exchanged numbers, she tapped out a text, uncertain whether to be worried or annoyed. Had he had such an abysmal evening wi
th her that he’d done a runner?
Oh, God! Her stomach contracted violently. It was the same scenario as she had endured with Luke at their engagement party. Was it even statistically possible that lightning could strike the same person twice in exactly the same way?
To answer her rhetorical question, the meteorological gods confirmed their answer by sending down a violent crack of light in front of her. Another cacophonous rumble of thunder followed and the fronds of the palm trees lining the road leaned so far over that it looked like a foliage tunnel. Reluctantly she came to the conclusion that there was nothing else she could do except make her way back to the Purple Parrot and ask Lottie to order a taxi to take her home.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Oh, my God, Millie. What’s happened? Where’s Marc? Why do you look like a drowned rat?’ Lottie shot from her position behind the bar and steered Millie into a cane chair at the back of the restaurant. It was after midnight and the majority of the Purple Parrot’s customers had retired to their villas and apartments to shelter from the storm.
‘Can you call me a taxi, please, Lottie?’ Millie muttered as an onslaught of trembling overtook her. She had opened her heart to being bruised again and just look what had happened. Bruised? Ha! Sliced open with a cleaver. Dating was a mug’s game and she had no intention of ever, ever securing a rematch! She had never been brilliant at choosing a life companion, but once again she had scraped the bottom of the barrel.
‘Of course I’ll call you a taxi, but I think you need a brandy first.’ Lottie’s pale blue eyes widened with concern and she was back at Millie’s side with a glass of Andrew’s best cognac in seconds. ‘Tell me what happened! Why aren’t you with Marc?’
