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‘Itisbeautiful, isn’t it?’
‘Stunning. I’ve had an amazing day, Millie. It’s been something that everyone can get involved in. I know Mum has had a fantastic time, but so has Gracie. Thank you so much for everything.’
‘You’re welcome. I’m sorry Claudia wasn’t able to be here.’
‘Gosh, don’t apologise. Okay, when Mum booked the course we were expecting the celebrated Claudia Croft to regale us with juicy anecdotes about her TV show and teach us a few of her personal techniques, but you and Ella have been fantastic. I can’t believe you’re a pastry chef at a tiny patisserie in Hammersmith. Why aren’t you working in a prestigious restaurant in the West End, shouting about your Michelin star accolade from the rooftops?’
‘Oh, well, you know, life gets in the way of our dreams sometimes. Maybe one day…’
Now was definitely not the time to divulge the details of her relationship catastrophe, especially not to Imogen who was about to exchange her wedding vows in a no-expense-spared ceremony on the lawns of an elegant five-star hotel, courtesy of her architect fiancé, Alex Watson. But Imogen was right. She shouldn’t be hiding in London whilst Luke continued to run the restaurant in Oxford where they had jointly achieved the coveted Michelin star.
However, the shock revelation of the identity of Luke’s girlfriend had meant she’d had to get away. She hadn’t been able to deal with the shame, and despite finding out that her best friend Frankie had been as much in the dark about Luke’s betrayal as she had been, she had chosen to run away, to hot-foot it to London where she had landed her job at Étienne’s Parisian Patisserie and elegant café.
But now, after her extended stay in the Caribbean, she had mixed feelings about returning to her studio home amid the chimney pots and TV aerials. She loved the hustle and bustle of her new life in the capital, and the fantastic nights out with her fellow pastry chef and new best friend, Pippa. What she wasn’t looking forward to were the dark, leaden skies, the terrible traffic fighting for supremacy on the city’s streets, or the pressure from her family to fulfil her dream of one day running her own restaurant again after the heartache Luke’s infidelity had caused.
A wave of tiredness rolled over her, her feet ached, but her overwhelming feeling was one of exhilaration. Now that the first day of the Paradise Cookery School had been a success, she couldn’t wait to showcase what she and Ella had planned for the rest of the week.
Maybe shecouldchange her life by branching out into cookery demonstrations when she returned home? A splash of excitement burst into her chest at the prospect.
‘I wish Alex and I were getting married here instead of up at the hotel,’ mused Imogen, gazing down at the rectangle of aquamarine glittering in the sunshine on the terrace below the veranda, where Julia was stretched out on a sun lounger with a cocktail she had invented herself. ‘It’s exactly what Alex and I want. Small, intimate, friendly.’
‘I think Claudia does have plans to offer guests of the Paradise Cookery School the chance to experience the full package; accommodation, gourmet meals and maybe even guided tours of the cocoa plantation. Since she bought the estate, it’s always been her ambition to revitalise the crop and to produce her own Paradise cocoa beans one day. That’s why they employed an estate manager last year to oversee the plantation.’
‘You mean Zach? That handsome hunk who’s taken the guys out on a rainforest scavenger hunt today?’
‘Actually, no. I meant his colleague, Dominic Lawson,’ Millie laughed, her stomach performing a swift somersault at the mention of Zach’s name. ‘Zach manages Claudia’s Cotswolds estate where she runs her UK cookery school. He did a swap so that Dom could go back home for a few months whilst his mother receives treatment for cancer.’
A sudden splat of rain landed on the wooden planks in front of Millie and Imogen, followed swiftly by several more.
‘Oh, my God! Is it raining?’
‘The locals call it liquid sunshine,’ said Millie, smiling at the bride-to-be’s wrinkled nose and upturned lip at the brief absence of the sun. ‘Without the daily deluge, we wouldn’t be feasting our eyes on all this tropical magnificence! Don’t worry. It’s just a shower, usual service will resume shortly.’
‘This isn’t a shower, it’s a monsoon!’ tutted Julia, dashing past them to shelter in the kitchen as the rain continued to hammer down with vicious acrimony. ‘Would you like us to help you tidy up the kitchen?’
‘No, thank you!’ exclaimed Ella, in a tone that brooked no argument.
‘It’s very kind of you to offer, though,’ said Millie, who privately would have loved to have taken Julia up on her offer. ‘See you tomorrow – is a ten o’clock start okay?’
‘Perfect.’
Chapter Two
Millie waved the women off in their hire car, a gleaming white Mercedes SUV, before turning to hug Ella. She took a few moments to enjoy the unfamiliar surge of confidence and accomplishment that whipped through her body. If someone had told her two weeks ago that she would be presenting a cookery school in the tropical island paradise of St Lucia she would have told them they were delusional. She couldn’t wait to call her sister to reiterate her heartfelt thanks for recommending her services to Claudia when Jen had been unable to help, and to share every single detail of the day’s events with her.
‘That was one of the most amazing days of my life!’ she sighed, her heart ballooning with pride at what they had managed to pull off against all the odds. “Everything went without a hitch – unless you count those exploding chocolate eggs Gracie insisted on daubing with edible glitter and daisy-shaped rice paper flowers!’
‘I agree – it’s been absolutely fantastic,’ smiled Ella as she filled a blue plastic bucket with hot water and added a generous spritz of disinfectant. ‘You’re a natural behind the lectern, Millie. But the day isn’t over yet. I reckon there’s a good hour of clearing up to do!’
Millie surveyed the chaos in the kitchen. She cringed when she realised that most of the culinary debris was hers. Not only was the marble top of the demonstration workstation dusted in a light coating of cocoa powder interspersed with slivers of red chillies, but there were mixing bowls, measuring jugs and wooden spoons stuffed into the sink awaiting a twirl in the dishwasher, not to mention the discarded aprons and tea towels draped on the bar stools. The copper jam pan she had used to make the marmalade had toppled onto its side and spilled its contents onto the bench.
The whole place looked like Marmalade Armageddon!
Working in the choreographed unison gained from spending two weeks together in the tiny kitchen above the villa’s garage where Millie had her temporary home, the tidying up part of the day was finished in no time. Millie yanked off her Marigolds, draped them over the swan-necked tap, and reached for the pretty glass pitcher to prepare a jug of home-made lemonade from the lemons grown just outside the kitchen window, adding a generous handful of ice.
‘Shall we take this out to the veranda?’
‘Great idea. I could do with a sit down! I’ve enjoyed every minute of the course, but it’s hard on the old feet, isn’t it?’
