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‘I hope you get what you need, Henri. I’d like to read your article when it’s finished.’
‘Thanks, Millie.’
Millie saw from Henri’s tightened jawline how much the subject matter of his interview meant to him and whilst she would have loved his calm, level-headed presence at Imogen and Alex’s wedding, she knew what he was doing was much more important in the wider scheme of things.
Chapter Nineteen
Ten minutes later, they arrived at the villa and Millie’s heart ballooned with joy at the sight that met her eyes. The whole place looked magical, like a wedding-themed grotto set amongst the palms tress and lush tropical vegetation. If she was ever lucky enough to have a wedding day, she wanted exactly the same kind of backdrop for exchanging her vows.
She smiled to herself, recognising that even the aspiration was a huge step forward in her recovery process from the heartbreak Luke had caused. Only a few weeks ago she would never have been able to contemplate a future wedding day, let alone one that caused her to smile so widely.
‘Doesn’t it all look fantastic!’ exclaimed Ella, clapping her hands with excitement. She leapt from the back seat of the Fiat and, along with Denise, shot across to greet Zach and Dylan with exuberant hugs, chattering about the produce they had purchased at the market.
Millie followed more slowly in their wake, her stomach churning with a kaleidoscope of errant butterflies when Zach’s gaze met hers over the shoulder of an extraordinarily handsome man who was holding a coil of black cable as though it were a venomous snake.
‘Hi, Millie, allow me to introduce Brad Maxwell, an old friend of Julia’s who’s very kindly agreed to help with the sound equipment. Brad, this is Millie Harper, culinary maestro at the Paradise Cookery School. You should taste her chocolate-and-chilli soufflés – they are delicious! Sadly, she refuses to share the recipe with anyone!’
‘Great to meet you, Brad,’ said Millie offering him her palm, but instead getting pulled into a tight embrace. Imogen had been right – at close quarters Braddidlook like George Clooney’s older brother. She was surprised to feel her cheeks flush with heat, so she turned her back on the four men to survey the courtyard. ‘It’s all absolutely gorgeous! What do Imogen and Alex think?’
‘Actually, Julia thought it would be better to keep it as a surprise,’ explained Brad, his voice deep and gravelly with the hint of an American accent. ‘They’ve been dispatched to the Diamond Falls for the afternoon with Carla and Greg, and Harriet and Owen. But you’re right, the whole place looks as though it was made for wedding ceremonies – intimate, relaxed, romantic.’
When Brad smiled his eyes crinkled attractively at the corners and Millie understood why Julia had spent so much time in his company over the last week. Not only that but he smelled like a Parisian perfumery, and he endeared himself to her even more when he asked ‘Need any help in the kitchen? We’re just about finished out here.’
‘Oh, that’s really kind of you, but I think we’ve got everything under control – or we will have once the hotel chefs arrive. Is there any sign of them yet?’
‘Yes, they arrived half an hour ago. They’ve made a start setting up the catering equipment they brought with them.’
‘Although I’m sure Millie will probably need to take you up on your offer tomorrow morning, Brad. You should see the state of the villa’s kitchen after she’s spent the day in there,’ interjected Zach, giving her a mischievous wink.
Millie considered issuing a witty retort but chose to ignore his comment. However, what she couldn’t ignore was the effect his proximity was having on her. She experienced an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch his muscular forearms, to trail her fingertips along the scattering of hairs that had been bleached gold by the Caribbean sunshine. She felt as if her breath had been trapped in her chest and that her light-headedness was due to the lack of oxygen, but of course it wasn’t. The man standing before her, eyes dancing with amusement, had flicked a switch on a part of her body she had scarcely known existed. And if she had thought Brad’s cologne was potent, it was nothing compared to the divine fragrance emanating from Zach and she almost swooned.
He had seen her reaction and his lips curved into a smirk, producing those cute dimples that caused her heart to flutter uncontrollably. Damn him! Why did she have to discover there was an undeniable chemistry between them when his girlfriend was back on the scene? She was so the mistress of bad timing!
She spun on her heels and followed Ella and Denise to the veranda where a tray of drinks had been left for the workers to help themselves. She poured herself a glass of home-made lemonade and she had never tasted such sweet nectar. As the ice-cold liquid slipped easily down her throat, a sudden image of Zach swimming in the pool floated across her vision – minus swimming trunks!
Oh, for goodness sake, Amelia Harper! Get a grip, she chastised herself.
She knew that the sooner she submerged herself into the cooking the better, otherwise she would end up a melted mass of hormones. She paused on the threshold to the kitchen where two young men in chef whites were busily helping Ella and Denise to unpack their shopping baskets, chatting about the menu, making suggestions for variations, and generally indulging in what a chef liked best – talking about food.
‘Ah, Millie, there you are,’ said Ella. ‘Boys, this is Amelia Harper, but it’s Millie to friends. Millie, this is Marcel and Eddie. Eddie went to school with Henri and I’ve known him since he was six years old. I am now entirely confident that this wedding reception will be perfect. Eddie is a genius with fish dishes. His grilled lobster with coconut and lime marinade is to die for.’
Millie bumped fists with Eddie and then Marcel before grabbing an apron and a kitchen knife. To the strains of a jaunty reggae rhythm, the fivesome spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening slicing, chopping, squeezing, whisking, gutting, and sculpting, until everything that could be prepared in advance had been stored in the huge SMEG refrigerator where there wasn’t an inch of shelf space to spare.
Everyone worked together like a synchronised dance routine, no one claiming head chef status, no one relegated to washer-upper. The jerk chicken was marinating, the carrot and sweet potato soup had been made, and Ella had created a mouth-watering lemon-and-lime sorbet with a hint of fresh mint from the garden. All the vegetables were prepared, and Denise had been given a lesson by Marcel in vegetable sculptures and had produced a passable rose from a cucumber.
Millie had been responsible for baking the dark chocolate tortes. She had made many variations on the chocolate torte theme during her career in the kitchen, but she had decided to use a recipe from one of Claudia’s cookery books. She knew Claudia would be delighted and she was proud of how they had turned out.
By the time Marcel and Eddie had finished wiping down the benches, twilight had begun to tickle the horizon sending long shards of apricot and salmon pink into the indigo sky. Storm lanterns and garlands of white fairy lights transformed the poolside terrace into a mesmerising place to rest weary bones and gulp down a celebratory glass of pomegranate juice before Marcel and Eddie headed home. Only Denise partook in a tot of rum to soothe away the tiredness, the others abstaining for fear of not being at their best the next day which they agreed would start at six a.m.
‘See you tomorrow,’ called Eddie as he and Marcel sped down the driveway on their motorbikes, revving their engines like boy racers. Ten minutes later, Henri appeared, poured himself a drink and crashed into one of the deckchairs next to Millie, expelling a long, ragged sigh.
‘My God! Julia certainly knows how to squeeze the last ounce of strength from her band of volunteers. However, I’m here to report that everything now matches her vision for her daughter’s nuptials. She and Brad said to tell you how grateful they are and that they’ll see you tomorrow at the ceremony.’
‘What? No, Henri, you must have misheard. I’m not invited to the ceremony at the hotel.’
‘Well, you are now. Here.’
Henri handed her a thick white envelope with her name scrawled across the front in Julia’s elegant handwriting. She ran her fingernail under the flap and withdrew the enclosed card, its edge embossed with gold, inviting her to attend the wedding ceremony of Miss Imogen Andrea Faversham and Mr Alexander Fredrick Watson.
