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Chapter Three
‘Hi, everyone. Welcome back to the Paradise Cookery School!’ said Millie as she concertina-ed back the full-width French doors to allow the scant morning breeze into the kitchen.
‘Hi, Millie. Hi, Ella,’ chorused the enthusiastic bakers as they grabbed a freshly laundered apron each and made their way to their respective workstations.
‘I’m sorry, Millie, Mum can’t make it today,’ smirked Imogen, catching her sister’s eye. ‘She sends her apologies.’
‘So she should!’ laughed Karen. ‘I’ve never seen her as sozzled as she was last night.’
‘Yes, but don’t you think it’s romantic?’
‘Everything’sromanticto you at the moment, Immie. Anyway, it’s probably just a holiday fling.’
‘It might not be,’ interrupted Carla, tying her pale lemon apron securely and slumping down on a bar stool, not looking exactly daisy-fresh herself.
Millie’s ears pricked up with interest. She loved engaging in a bit of harmless gossip and without her best friend Pippa around she had been starved of her regular fix. However, she was reluctant to intrude on family chatter that was none of her business. Fortunately, Karen wasn’t as circumspect with her mother’s privacy.
‘Would you believe that Mum bumped into an old flame in the hotel bar last night? Apparently, she and this guy called Brad Maxwell went to art school together – they even dated for a couple of months before they graduated. I remember Mum telling me about him the Christmas after Dad died when we were going through a box of old photographs. Brad left to take up an internship at a New York art gallery and asked Mum to go with him, but she’d just been offered a job as a trainee interior designer at Liberty and their relationship sort of fizzled out because of the distance. Then she met Dad and, as the saying goes, the rest is history.’
‘He is kind of dreamy though, don’t you think?’ said Imogen, her chin cupped in her hand. ‘Sort of an older George Clooney. Mum’s definitely got excellent taste.’
‘Well, looking at their body language last night, they could have melted a chocolate bar at ten paces!’ Harriet smirked, as she gathered her copper-coloured hair up from her shoulders and tied it into a high pony tail.
‘Yes, well, she should be here instead of lolling around the pool nursing her headache,’ tutted Karen, clearly upset about her mother rekindling the friendship.
‘Well, she did promise to chase up the flowers with the wedding planner, didn’t she? And the personalised confetti. You know, Kaz, I’m started to think Mum’s right about her. She’s definitely been conspicuous by her absence since we arrived. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not as obsessed as Mum is about all the arrangements, but I would like to have a wedding bouquet and a couple of posies for my lovely bridesmaids and flower girl!’
‘Heaven help the woman if Julia finds out she’s forgotten to organise the butterflies!’ laughed Carla. ‘Maybe we’ll be able to round up a flotilla of turtle doves for you instead, Immie.’
‘I’m pleased Mum has reconnected with an old friend. She deserves a bit of romance after everything she’s been through. Dad’s been gone for three years now, and she’s refused to even think about having dinner with anyone. She’s only forty-eight. I don’t want to think of her being alone for the rest of her life. I wonder if she’ll invite him as her plus one to the wedding?’
‘Immie! It was a drink, that’s all.’
‘And a walk round the grounds in the moonlight.’
‘Ah, she didn’t tell me that bit.’
‘Well, that’s probably because…’
‘Okay!’ interrupted Ella before the sister’s embarked on a sibling squabble. ‘A very warm welcome to the second day of yourChocolate & Confetticourse here at the Paradise Cookery School. Today we’re going to be showing you how to create a new twist on a Mississippi mud pie, experiment with a chocolate shortbread recipe my grandmother invented, and prepare a Pina Colada trifle made with chocolate custard and laced with Caribbean rum. So ladies, aprons on, whisks at the ready, let’s get started.’
All the women, apart from Gracie who wore her pink glittery sandshoes with pride, had clearly learned a lesson from the previous day and had swapped their designer heels for embellished flip-flops or, in the case of Carla, neon-coloured Sketchers. They watched in fascinated silence as Ella talked them through her family recipe, liberally interspersed with anecdotes about her childhood in St Lucia. Then it was over to them and, like the previous day, the burble of contented conversation accompanied the occasional burst of laughter as the students crafted their own, individual versions of the recipes.
Before they knew it, lunchtime arrived. Ella lit the barbeque on the veranda and set about grilling red snapper marinated in lime juice and diced chillies, tuna and chicken skewers coated in fresh mango salsa, and for dessert, bananas with their skins sliced open and stuffed with cubes of pineapple drizzled with honey. The aroma of chargrilled meat and fish wafted through the air as the party tucked in with gusto.
‘I love your earrings, Imogen. I’ve never seen anything like them.’
Ella was something of an aficionado of eclectic jewellery items and always sported a vast array of bold pieces, most of which had been hand-crafted by her friend Alisha who had a shop in Soufrière. However, Millie had to agree with her. Imogen’s earrings-and-necklace combo was exquisite. The twisted silver links caught the midday sun, streaming through the French windows into the Paradise Cookery School’s kitchen, beautifully.
‘Thank you! I’m so pleased you said that,’ Imogen beamed. ‘These are from a brand-new range I designed myself especially for the bridal party, but after the wedding, I plan to roll them out to my clients.’
‘Ah, so you’re a jewellery designer?’
‘Yes, I trained as a silversmith. I mainly do commissions, but I’ve always wanted to move into the wider bridal jewellery market. Everything went manic when a popular West End actor was photographed wearing one of my pieces at Wimbledon in July and now I can’t keep up with demand. It’s amazing and I’m so excited about the future. I’ve made our wedding rings, too.’
Millie’s heart softened at the excitement written across Imogen’s face when she spoke of her impending nuptials. She really did look like the happiest girl on the island, with a smattering of freckles on her upturned nose, and her hair smoothed down into an elegant chignon to combat the attack of frizz that was inevitable in the humidity of the Caribbean.
Despite the fact that her mother had turned her wedding into a Royal occasion, Imogen seemed to have taken it in good spirits. And why shouldn’t she? Millie had taken a quick peek at the website of the wedding venue the previous night. How could anyone complain about getting married in a magnificent white gazebo amid the lush, manicured gardens of an upmarket St Lucian hotel?
