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‘Okay,’ said Ella. ‘We’d better get started. We’ve got a very busy schedule today if we want to finish decorating the wedding cake and finalising the wedding favours.’
‘Oh, I’m so excited. You know, Ella, I actually think I like this chocolate one better than the one we lost in the fire.’
Imogen trotted off in Ella’s wake to assist in the construction of her three-tiered chocolate extravaganza that would be the centrepiece of the top table on their wedding day.
‘And we get to decorate our cake pops!’ said Harriet, snatching up an apron to cover her pristine white linen tunic that Millie knew had cost more than she made in a month. ‘Which shall we start with?’
‘Mmm?’ murmured Millie when she realised the silence meant Harriet was waiting for a response from her. The echo of Zach’s telephone call with Clio had stayed with her, pulling a knot ever tighter in her stomach and causing her to lose the thread of her explanations.
‘Are you okay, Millie? Has something happened to upset you? It’s just that you look like you spent the night in the village morgue. Why don’t we have a coffee outside on the veranda before we start?’
‘Oh, no, sorry. I’m fine, really. Right, we should start with the goldfish, the owl, and the shark we moulded yesterday as practice before we move on to decorate the bride and the groom combos.’
Millie switched into professional chef mode – the go-to setting for when life tossed random grenades in her path. It’s what she had done after the Luke fiasco when she had felt like she had landed on an alien planet – that everyone and everything around her had changed. Baking, baking, baking until she dropped had saved her from chasing imaginary monsters down blind alleyways until she was clutching at her sanity with her fingernails. She secured her apron strings, brushed aside her worries and resolved to occupy her hands and her mind with culinary activities.
She removed the five trays of shaped cake pops from the freezer and set about preparing the candy melts she and Ella had sourced in Castries the previous week which, when softened, would form the outer shell of the cake pop wedding favours. She emptied the packets of different coloured chocolate buttons into individual bowls so she could dissolve them in the microwave before adding a dribble of vegetable oil.
‘So, you hold the end of the stick and dip the cake into the melt like this.’
Millie demonstrated the action required to coat the cake pop that she had moulded into a passable goldfish shape with the bright orange candy melt, twirling it gently then removing it and setting it to cool in a block of polystyrene.
‘Wow! Gracie would absolutely love this activity! Look Millie, what do you think? Shall we add a few of these for the guests with a sense of humour?’ Carla held up the shark she had coated in a vivid purple-blue melt.
‘I think we should stick to the brief,’ interrupted Imogen from where she was piping buttercream onto one of the practice cakes. ‘Any diversions and Mum will have a coronary.’
Carla rolled her eyes. ‘Spoilsport!’
‘My turn!’ said Harriet. She selected the owl she had made the previous day and dipped it into the pink dish, twisting it as Millie had demonstrated, giggling with pleasure. ‘I love this! It’s like a baking class and an art class all rolled into one. Can we paint them now, Millie?’
‘We need to pop them into the freezer to harden whilst we get on with making the wedding favours.’
Millie coached Carla and Harriet in how to coat the balls of chocolate cake with either white chocolate for the bride or dark chocolate for the groom. When they had finished all thirty-six, they were whisked into the freezer and the earlier “test” cake pops were removed. With paintbrushes and mini pots of food colouring, Millie showed them how to paint on the goldfish’s eyes and the white and black Nemo stripes.
Carla gave her shark a huge set of teeth. ‘No prizes for its inspiration!’
‘It’s certainly got Greg’s eyebrows!’ laughed Harriet, painting huge white eyes on her owl and highlighting the contours of its chest feathers in black.
Once again it was almost six o’clock by the time the women took a break to assess their progress. Imogen and Alex’s wedding cake was finished. It looked amazing: each of the three tiers covered in swirls of buttercream and scattered with handcrafted flowers, chocolate hearts, butterflies, and double clefs in a nod to the band Alex played guitar in when he had time. Fearful of another disaster, Imogen had turned down Ella’s offer to take it back to the hotel with them that evening, insisting that she would ask one of the men to drive over to collect it on the Sunday morning before the ceremony.
However, the stars of the show were most definitely the cake pops.
The bride version had been dipped in white chocolate and sported a tiara of tiny edible pearls and white lace decoration for the wedding dress. The groom had been given a splendid top hat painted in black food colouring and even had a tiny waistcoat etched on his chest along with a miniature pink bow tie to match the bride’s bouquet. The unique wedding favours were stored in the freezer and would be wrapped in cellophane and tied with colour-co-ordinated ribbons ready to be given pride of place on the tables in the wedding marquee.
Millie was exhausted. Her face muscles ached from the charade of excitement she had been forced to enact all day when all she could think about was what was happening with Zach and Clio. Only Ella, and perhaps Imogen who kept sending her worried looks, suspected that something was amiss, but neither of them dared to ask in case they upset her further. She was thankful for their discretion.
In fact, once again she found herself grateful for her obsession with all things culinary that had come to her rescue when her world had tipped on its axis. She knew she could count on her cakes to rise, her pannacotta to set, her soufflés to rise. She could predict which mix of spices would meld into a sensation on the lips, which liqueur would enhance which fruit compote, and what herbs to use with which meats or fish. What she would never be able to understand, no matter how much effort she put into it, was how the male mind worked.
From now on, she wasn’t even going to try.
Chapter Eleven
After Imogen and her bridesmaids had left, Millie couldn’t face making a start on the tidying up. One thing she knew for certain was that Zach would not be appearing at the French doors, the usual smirk on his face and a sarcastic comment on his lips about her propensity for scattering culinary chaos. Ignoring everything she had been taught at college, and all the encouragement from her super-organised sister Jen, she decided to leave the clearing up until the next morning.
She locked the French doors and took a moment to drink in the view from the veranda. The Pitons seemed to reflect her mood perfectly: dark, glowering pyramids of shadow setting sail in the inky black of the Caribbean Sea. The town of Soufrière slumbered peacefully at their base, amber streetlights twinkling like dancing fairies. She glanced down at the swimming pool, the rectangle of turquoise somehow drawing her towards its depths.
On impulse, she kicked off her sandals, dropped her straw bag on one of the sun loungers and skipped down the wooden steps to the terrace. Without allowing herself the time to talk herself out of it, she stripped off her capri trousers and Breton tee shirt and launched into the pool in her underwear. The cool water felt like a veil of silk slipping over her skin and she powered through twenty laps without stopping until her breath came out in spurts but her mind was clear and refreshed.
So what if Zach was probably, at that very moment, entertaining his ex-girlfriend in his little wooden cabin amidst the cocoa trees whilst Binks snoozed outside on the decking. It was not as though they had been an item, just two friends who enjoyed each other’s company while they were far away from home.
