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To add to her mortification, Zach burst into raucous laughter, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
‘Okay. It wasn’t that funny!’ Millie snapped, turning her face away from him to look out of the window.
‘Well, not if you don’t possess a sense of humour!’ Zach revved the engine, gripped the steering wheel and, still chuckling, set off down the hill.
‘Are you always this irritating or do you save up your insults and deliver them all at once?’
‘You know, there’s just something about you that brings out the comedy in every situation. You must have spent years honing the skill, eh?’
Millie decided that Zach’s rudeness did not warrant a reply and that silence was preferable to engaging him in a conversation he obviously thought passed as wit. She clutched her bag to her chest and sank down into her seat, hoping he would get the message. Thankfully, he was too busy concentrating on navigating the twists and bends of the only road that led to the Caribbean island’s capital than on his mission to wind her up until she snapped.
They shot past tiny hamlets of no more than a dozen houses, each painted in a different hue – canary yellow, fiery red and green, cobalt blue – some pristine with well-kept gardens, others in need of a fresh coat of paint, all with the most magnificent, uninterrupted view of the sea. Fields crammed with the island’s staple crops of banana, coconut and mango lined both sides of the road, interspersed with palm trees and cocoa plantations, until they dropped down to the coast and the scenery became more urban.
‘You’ll love Castries. You should try to see a bit more of the town than just the food market, though.’
An unpleasant thought suddenly occurred to her and before she could stop herself she had blurted, ‘You’re not coming with us, are you?’
‘Now here I was thinking you would jump at the chance for someone to carry your bags!’
Millie glowered at Zach, causing him to laugh again. ‘Don’t worry. My instructions are to drop you off at the entrance to the market and leave. Henri will meet you after lunch to give you and Ella a lift back to the villa when you’re ready.’
Zach slowed down to almost a walking pace as they approached the outskirts of the capital, and the roads became tight with traffic. To Millie’s eyes, Castries presented a slightly frayed-around-the-edges vibe; several houses and shops were in desperate need of repair, with rusting oil drums and broken-up vehicles in their yards and mangy dogs roaming amongst the scattered detritus of city life. A brigade of teenage youths loitered outside a roadside bar, cigarettes dangling from their lips, passing round a bottle of home-brewed rum.
‘Okay,’ Zach grinned, his eyes shining. ‘Your ordeal is over. We’re here.’
Millie couldn’t get out of her seat fast enough. She muttered her thanks, then slammed the passenger-side door with a resounding thud and stalked away without saying goodbye. What had she done to deserve this onslaught of mockery? Next time she would insist on calling a taxi. Even if she had to walk up the hill in the daily deluge of liquid sunshine, it was better than being subjected to Zach’s personal brand of humour at her expense.
Castries market presented a kaleidoscope of local produce. Every stall was stacked with the best St Lucian horticulture had to offer. All around her Millie found inspiration; from the abundance of fresh fruit and salad vegetables to the herbs and spices for the sauces and flavourings she was keen to experiment with.
She spotted Ella and Denise lingering over a basket of mangoes and they gestured her over. They squeezed and sniffed the flesh – neither overripe nor underripe – perfect. Millie snatched up a curved fruit that looked like a green banana, exclaiming at her amazing discovery as though she had never set eyes on such magnificence before.
‘Do you know what that is, Millie?’ asked Denise, indicating the green fruit Millie was waving in the air.
Millie searched her jet-lagged brain for the name of the banana-like object but couldn’t drag it from its slumber.
‘Well, I know it’s not an underripe banana,’ she laughed, running her fingers through a basket of fresh cinnamon sticks and inhaling the spicy scent that screamed Christmas.
The two childhood friends smiled, clearly enjoying their role as gastronomic guides of the picturesque market that teemed with locals and tourists alike. The intoxicating fragrance of nutmeg, vanilla, mango and jasmine rippled through the air, so thick with humidity that Millie thought she could slice it into segments and serve it with a splodge of mascarpone – and perhaps a dribble of her favourite amaretto added for flavour.
‘It’s plantain – we eat it pan-fried in a dollop of butter and sprinkled with soft brown sugar and cinnamon. It features in lots of Caribbean recipes, along with sweet potatoes, cassava, dasheen, and okra.’
The three women moved on to the next stall, greeting the proprietor with an enquiry into her husband’s health. The tabletop was heaped with pyramids of multicoloured spices and bunches of freshly cut herbs – some Millie recognised, others were unfamiliar. She stuck the tip of her finger into a paprika-like powder and touched it to the tip of her tongue. A myriad of flavours burst into her mouth and her brain whirred with possibilities – fish,tick, lamb,tick, courgettes,tick, bitter chocolate soufflé,tick…
Next, they chatted to a fisherman about his daily catch of seafood, landed fresh in Castries harbour that morning. Tuna, swordfish, red snapper and shark, all fought for prominence alongside lobster, crab and shrimp. Then came a stall crammed with examples of local craftwork – wooden carvings, woven shopping bags and baskets, garish souvenirs and tee-shirts, hand-crafted jewellery.
As the early afternoon heat intensified, the market throng thinned to housewives contemplating that evening’s supper and restaurant owners bartering noisily for a good price. A smattering of tourists sat on the wall outside, cooling down with a fresh globe of coconut water or indulging in a lunch carton of dorado in tangy Creole sauce topped with tomatoes, onions and mashed green figs, swilling it down with the tart, green mango juice on offer from a smiling vendor at the entrance to the market.
Millie could have spent all day meandering the market pathways, questioning the traders, fingering the intricately carved masks and brightly coloured scarves and kaftans. The sun smiled down on their shopping expedition and the conversation flowed easily as she chatted about her job at the patisserie and her excitement at being involved in Claudia’s brand-new venture.
‘It’s going to be a push to achieve a fully functioning kitchen in time for the arrival of the wedding students, you know,’ Ella said to Denise, surreptitiously casting a glance at Millie’s face for her reaction.
‘I’m sure it’ll be okay, Ella,’ said Millie, with more optimism than she felt. ‘As long as all the appliances, cabinets and worktops are with us on Monday morning and the tradesmen start work straight away, we should finish on time. Although, we might still be cleaning the floors when the first guests arrive.’
Ella and Denise exchanged looks and a soupçon of anxiety gnawed at Millie’s abdomen.
‘What?’
‘Oh, nothing. Don’t mind us.’
