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As it happened, she didn’t have to.
‘Mum won’t mind me telling you this, but my father has never been a part of my life either. Things were tough when I was growing up, but we managed. I owe her everything for keeping me from succumbing to the scourge of marijuana, or worse, like so many of my contemporaries have.’
Henri paused, his mind adrift on the wings of difficult memories. Millie glanced across at her new friend, taking in the stubborn determination apparent in his clenched jaw and the strength with which he gripped the steering wheel and studiously avoided meeting her eyes. She decided it was time to grasp the conversation baton from Henri and share a little of her own story with him.
‘My parents gave me and my sister, Jen, a happy, carefree childhood in a small village in Provence where my mother grew up, before moving to the suburbs in Oxford, and I make sure I count my good fortune every day. But when Dad died, I forgot about all the good things I’d had and concentrated solely on my grief and sorrow over his loss. Why couldn’t death have stalked a worthier prey?I used to ask of anyone prepared to listen.’
Millie felt the familiar tightening at her throat and heaviness in her chest as she spoke about her father, but found she was able to hold back her tears and continue with their conversation.
‘When Mum left to go back home to France, Jen and I decided that we wanted to stay in Oxford. After completing my training, I landed a fabulous position in a restaurant there and met a great guy... well, I thought he was. I thought that with Luke by my side, I could dream of a future where I could allow myself to smile and laugh and not feel guilty. I still think about Dad every day, but with the support of good friends I’ve finally turned the page on my grief.’
Although it was painful, she thought of the time she had spent with Luke, grateful for the way he had challenged her tendency to wallow in her sadness and had urged her to tread the path towards healing. It was ironic that he had also been the person who had sent her reeling back to square one. But she wasn’t ready to share that horror story with Henri quite yet.
The town of Soufrière appeared before them, red-tiled roofs, brightly painted shutters and verandas, dogs roaming the gutters in search of a discarded morsel for dinner. Ella woke from her doze and Henri slowed down to navigate the bustling streets of the popular town, threading the car skilfully through the tourists spilling out from the colourful shops and bars.
‘I’ll jump out here, Henri, if you don’t mind,’ said Ella as they came to a standstill outside Alisha’s Souvenirs. ‘See you at dinner tonight. You’re welcome to join us, Millie? It would be lovely to have your company.’
‘Thanks, Ella, but I’m still working on my jet lag. I would be dreadful company. I’ll catch up with you on Monday.’
‘Why don’t we all meet for cocktails at the Purple Parrot tomorrow?’ suggested Henri.
Ella rolled her eyes. ‘No, thanks. I’ve got enough to do getting the recipes for the cookery classes organized. But you should go, Millie. I told you, Andrew makes a mean rum cocktail.’
‘Thanks, Ella, I will. I’ll see you on Monday morning then. Youwillbe there when the kitchen fitters arrive, won’t you?’
‘Sure.’
Millie waved her off before Henri continued their journey. She didn’t want to acknowledge the nerves that spun around her stomach when she thought about dealing with a gang of Caribbean workmen. Issuing orders, directing tasks, pointing out snags had never been her forte. But she knew Ella would possess no such reticence. Their schedule was tight, and she hoped they would deliver on time without any need for her to flex her recalcitrant authority.
‘Thanks for driving me up the hill.’ Millie smiled at Henri as he pulled up outside the villa.
After their conversation on the way home she felt they had connected. They occupied the same wavelength on a diverse range of issues and she was comfortable in his company. Maybe it was because of their French genes. There was definitely a chemistry between them. It had nothing to do with sexual desire – that was not on the agenda – and she felt even more of an affinity with him for it.
‘No problem, Millie. It’s been great to show off a small part of our island. Sorry I droned on about the drugs issue but it’s something that boils my blood. My best friend Leon, who is a police officer in Soufrière, is a potent source of reliable information, and it’s my intention to co-publish my academic paper with a former university professor when I’ve finalised my research. I’m hoping it will attract attention and therefore some funding.’
Millie smiled at him as she opened the car door. ‘See you tomorrow at the Purple Parrot.’
‘Three o’clock on the dot!’ Henri called, waving from the window until his car’s taillights disappeared around the bend at the bottom of the drive.
Twilight tickled the tops of the palm trees. The Pitons had taken on a dark, sinister aura as fissures of apricot and amber spread over their flanks and the sky above swiftly turned an inky blue. However, the air was still humid, and she didn’t feel like retiring to her studio bedroom just yet, despite the dragging exhaustion in her bones.
She strolled to the villa’s veranda and flicked on the pool’s backlights which glowed beneath the surface like industrial-sized diamonds. She slipped off her sandals, peeled off her shorts and plunged into its cool embrace in her tee-shirt. The water slid over her skin like silk and, with an audience of squawking parrots as encouragement, she swam until her muscles burned with the unexpected exertion.
Pausing to catch her breath, she clung to the edge of the pool, staring down at the town nestled at the bottom of the hill, its lights twinkling next to the calm, coal-black sea – a rippling mirror reflecting the ivory orb of the moon. Peace pressed its blanket of comfort to her ears, broken only by the chirp of the cicadas and the buzz of a solitary motorcycle engine as it strained to overcome the gradient.
She dragged her limbs from the water and shook away the droplets of water. Slipping her toes into her sandals and stepping back into her shorts, she padded down the garden path, switching on the outdoor lights as she went. The evening’s humidity triggered a veil of mist to rise from the earth like dry ice at an eighties disco. Dragging her hair from her face, she caught a faint whiff of the coconut conditioner she had used that morning in the hope of taming the frizz. She surrendered to the inevitable hair disaster and pressed on with her mission in the hope that her sacrifice of sartorial vanity would lead to the satisfaction of her curiosity.
To her right, just behind the garage complex, stood a large clay oven which had been painted in a rich ochre. Millie assumed this was where Claudia roasted the cocoa beans she harvested. She arrived at the edge of the plantation where cliques of birds and butterflies peppered the air with the flutter of their tropical wings, and squinted through the descending gloom.
The subsequent rows of the cocoa palms melted into a liquid mirage beyond the path. They were the weirdest things she had seen, their fruit growing from their branches like huge warts on a gnarled finger. She ran her fingers over the wrinkled pods, balancing one in the palm of her hand, curious to see what bounty was held within.
She noticed a small machete leaning nonchalantly against one of the trunks next to a woven bamboo basket. She had no idea how long the pods in the wooden crates at the villa’s back door had been there, but she craved the chance to dissect a freshly harvested specimen. She weighed the knife in her hand and carefully tapped at the spot where one of the pods joined the tree. It came away easily. She tucked the fruit under her arm and made her way back to the crates on the doorstep, balancing her impromptu harvest on the top of the others ready for its experimental surgery the next day.
Although her tee-shirt was completely dry after her swim, perspiration trickled from her temples and between her breasts. As she unlocked the powder-blue door to the studio, a harsh wave of exhaustion grabbed at her bones. She locked the door behind her, mounted the stairs, and fell onto her cool cotton sheets to enjoy another deep sleep of the jet-lagged.
Chapter Seven
When Millie woke the next day the dawn chorus outside her window was well into its second verse. She felt rested and enthusiastic to start experimenting, not only with the ingredients she had purchased at Castries market, but with the cocoa pod she had collected the previous evening. She had a plethora of favourite recipes that included chocolate as an ingredient and was curious to understand where the beans came from.
