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She waved him off, managed to insert her key into the door and mount the stairs without too much difficulty. She flirted briefly with making a start on the washing-up, but the call of her bed was too strong. She collapsed on the cool cotton sheets and before she knew it she had tumbled into a blissful, dream-free sleep.
Chapter Ten
Millie lingered over her first coffee of the day in an effort to placate the overenthusiastic stonemason hammering away at his masterpiece inside her head. Her tongue felt like sandpaper and for the first time since she’d arrived in St Lucia she wished the Caribbean sun wasn’t quite so bright.
She had also made a pact with herself that from now on she would always do the washing-up before she went to bed because the sight of the culinary detritus with a storming hangover was enough to make a saint swear. It had taken all her willpower to fill the sink with hot soapy water and return the cooking utensils to their rightful home before allowing herself to indulge in one of the almond croissants that had been mysteriously left on the steps to her studio that morning and was calling her name.
She abandoned her seat on the balcony and stumbled into the bathroom to splash her face with tepid water, taking in her bloodshot eyes and her voluminous hair. She was in the process of brushing her teeth when there was the thunderous roar of an engine followed by a loud hammering on her front door.
‘Argh! The kitchen delivery!’
She grabbed her denim shorts and a fresh vest top, dragged her hair into a ponytail and shot downstairs to answer the door.
‘Hi,’ she breathed.
‘Miss Harper?’ enquired the delivery guy, his stomach straining against a dirty grey tee-shirt and his jeans tucked into heavy, steel-toed work boots. His dreadlocks hung well past his shoulders and his goatee sported three beads in the ubiquitous Caribbean colours of red, green, and yellow. The obligatory self-rolled cigarette was attached to his lower lip.
‘Erm, yes, yes, but please call me Millie.’
The guy smirked and strode back to the truck, slinging the butt of his cigarette into the trees.
‘Just show us where you want this stuff and we’ll get to work.’
‘Oh, yes, of course.’
Millie’s brain throbbed and she struggled to gather her thoughts. She ran back up the stairs to collect the villa’s key and almost vomited from the sudden exertion. She bent forward, hands on her knees, taking a moment until her head stopped spinning, but her temples continued to pulsate like the Caribbean beat. She grabbed a glass of water and slung it down her throat before racing to open the back door of the villa.
Somewhere in the dark recesses of her befuddled mind she registered the wooden crates, empty of the cocoa pods, as the delivery guys tossed them out of their way. If anyone had a sensible explanation about their disappearance it would be Ella and she resolved to speak to her about it when she arrived.
Was there a thief lurking in the grounds, waiting for the opportunity to steal whatever he could from the plantation? A shiver ran the length of Millie’s spine.
‘It’ll be better if you just let us get on with the unloading, miss,’ said the delivery guy with a blatant look that said,Get out of our way.
‘Oh, right, of course,’ she muttered, backing away through the French doors the men had folded back to ease delivery.
Millie perched guiltily on a sunlounger and watched the trio of men empty the truck of the cardboard boxes that would become the state-of-the-art kitchen from which Claudia would present her Paradise Cookery School courses. As her headache subsided, she made herself useful by preparing a huge jug of fresh lemonade, filled with crushed ice and freshly squeezed lemons and limes. A frisson of pleasure invaded her chest as she watched the men swallow the drink and smack their lips with appreciation. The driver’s features softened as he returned his glass to the tray.
‘That’s some awesome lemonade you make there, miss.’
‘Thank you. It’s actually a Parisian recipe…’
‘Sure it is.’
The men returned to the task of manoeuvring the huge, eight-burner stainless-steel stove and industrial-sized fridge-freezer from the veranda into the kitchen, and finally the dishwasher – an absolute necessity.
When the open-plan living area was crammed to the ceiling with cardboard boxes and appliances, the men bade her farewell with smiles and handshakes and disappeared down the hill, accompanied by the ubiquitous thrumming beat of a reggae anthem.
Millie leaned against the balustrade and stared out at the view. She could stay there all day and never tire of the natural beauty of southern St Lucia. She made a promise to herself that if she had any spare time, she would ask Henri about arranging a trek up one of the Pitons. She remembered his friend Leon telling her at the Purple Parrot the previous day that Gros Piton was the calmer climb of the two and she absolutely had to conquer the hike whilst she was there.
Andvisit the sulphur springs to partake of a mud bath… and take a trip to the drive-in volcano… and the waterfall…
Her eyes began to droop, and a wave of tiredness threatened to envelop her. It was already past eight o’clock and there was no sign of the builders despite their assurances via Ella that they would be there when the delivery men arrived. There was nothing she could do until they arrived, so she skipped back to her apartment, selected a white string bikini and returned to the pool, slinging her beach bag and towel onto the deckchair before diving into the liquid aquamarine of the infinity pool. The water caressed her senses – just heaven to her aching, journey-bruised limbs and her pounding head. She swam until her mind was clear and her tiredness had been chased into oblivion, before dragging her dripping body to a sunlounger and promptly falling asleep.
‘Millie? Millie?’
Millie opened her eyes and a blurry image floated across her vision. For a brief moment, she struggled to remember where she was, why it was so hot, and who had the temerity to wake her from such a glorious dream.
‘Mmm?’
