When Chocolate Is Not Enough... (15 page)

Max lifted his right hand and pressed it against his heart. ‘You think I’m handsome?’ he asked lightly. ‘In that case, madam, my evening is complete. Shall we join the others? Let the schmoozing begin?’

‘By all means,’ she replied, grabbing her bag. ‘Oh—how did your meeting go? Did you come away with an order?’

‘Might have. He’s gone away to think about it until after the competition tomorrow, but he could be a useful contact. Small order now and then building up as his chocolate business expands. We’ve arranged to meet tomorrow
evening. After we’ve celebrated winning, of course. That has to come first.’

‘Oh, no pressure, then. Okay. Let’s do this.’ She took a long breath, then slowly exhaled. ‘Teamwork, remember? You smooth-talk the room while I listen and smile and talk about cooking to the other chefs. And I stay glued to your side the whole night. Teamwork. Deal?’

‘Deal. Get ready to have a great time. This is going to be quite a night.’

Daisy smiled up into his face, and his poor heart jumped so much in a rush of exhilaration and something else far more fundamental that he thanked heaven the sensible part of his brain kicked in before he did something reckless—like slide his hands somewhere, which would not be a good idea in public.

Then his heart opened and every bit of love and joy and affection he felt for this wonderful girl, who seemed totally unaware of just how talented and gorgeous she was, seemed to burst through in a bright bubble of happiness. He almost felt—no, he
knew
he felt happy. After so many years the feeling was almost overpowering.

Forget the contest. Forget the plantation. Tonight was going to be simply about being with Daisy and sharing a magical evening together in this lovely place.

He wanted her as much as he needed her.

Tomorrow would take care of itself. Tonight he was going to live in the moment and enjoy the company of this stunning woman on his arm.

‘I have an idea. Let’s go and enjoy ourselves and forget about the contest for a while. We have food—looking good, guys,’ he said, tipping two fingers towards the head chef, who grunted back at him and got back to his plates. ‘They’ll probably force us to drink delicious chilled sparkling wine. It will be tough—but, hey, we’re professionals. I think we can cope.’

‘Oh, I’m sure we can,’ she agreed.

‘I think it’s time to leave these chefs to their work.’ He gestured with his head towards the reception room, where the noise of the guests was growing louder by the second. ‘They’ll never get those meals out if you hang around in that dress.’

And with that he turned to the door and pushed out his right elbow for her to take. ‘Ready to face the music?’

‘And dance?’ she asked with a lilt in her voice as she hooked her hand through his arm.

‘Now, that would be pushing it. My feet? Your toes? Dodgy.’

She glanced down at their feet and wiggled her toes inside her sandals. ‘Good point. I do have to dash from one side of a kitchen to the other for several hours tomorrow without blisters,
bruising or broken bones. Maybe tomorrow evening?’

‘In that case …’ Max pushed open the kitchen door and a wall of music, chatter and loud laughter from way too many people crammed into one room hit them like a physical barrier.

‘On the other hand we could slip out of the kitchen door and make a run for it,’ she whimpered.

‘Not going to happen.’ He gazed into the room. ‘I can see three other cocoa-growers, and most of the organising committee. Let’s go and talk all things chocolate on the terrace. You know that you want to.’

With a final wave to the chefs Daisy strolled past Max, who held open the door, and moved along the edge of the crowded room until she came to the long patio doors which led onto the terrace.

And then she stopped dead, frozen to the spot.

Because the man strolling in through those patio doors as though he owned the hotel was Pascal Barone.

He was still as handsome as ever, and for just one fraction of a second her poor wounded heart expanded and threatened to overwhelm her.

Until she heard Pascal’s condescending and arrogant voice.

She had cared about this man once, but now he sounded so grating and so full of self-importance that the hard truth of who he was and how far she had come from being a green young girl on her first trip to Paris hit her—and hit her hard.

Looking at Pascal now, for the first time in three years, she saw him through new eyes. Attractive, elegant, self-confident—and as slick as a slick thing from slick land.

Just then Pascal half turned and looked at her—then looked at her again.

A half-smile, brimming with condescension, creased his clean-shaven olive-skinned face, and he had just opened his mouth to speak when a firm hand gripped Daisy’s elbow and propelled her forward until she was within touching distance of Pascal—who, to his credit, appeared just as startled as she felt.

‘Mr Barone,’ Max said coolly, and he gave Pascal a handshake so firm that the Frenchman winced and flexed his fingers the moment they were released from Max’s vice-like grip. ‘Max Treveleyn of the Treveleyn Estate, St Lucia. Lovely to meet you.’ Max wrapped his arm around Daisy’s waist and smiled warmly at her. ‘Have you met my lovely chocolate master Daisy Flynn? I consider
myself very lucky to have a star like Daisy on my team. She’s come up with some stunning ways to present my cocoa.’

As he raised a champagne flute to his lips Pascal’s response was to tip the glass ever so slightly towards her in a silent salute and raise one eyebrow.

‘Mr Treveleyn. Miss Flynn and I have already met.’

‘Well …’ Daisy said, trying not to choke, and gave Pascal a short nod. ‘This is quite a surprise, Pascal. I didn’t think that you were interested in organic chocolate. How is life in Paris these days?’

Pascal smirked, and one side of his mouth lifted dismissively. ‘Life in Paris is just fine, thank you. And how is life in …’ He lifted his eyebrows, looked upwards and pretended not to remember the name of the small town she came from. ‘I’m sorry. The name has completely slipped my mind.’

‘Oh, I’m based in London now.’ Daisy smiled back through gritted teeth, aware of other guests clustering around the patio doors and strolling out onto the terrace on each side of her. ‘Still working as hard as ever.’

Pascal shuffled one step closer. ‘I hear you have been working on a range of moulded novelty chocolate body parts. The catering business must be such interesting work.’

Daisy fought down a cutting response to his snide remark, and Max stepped in before she said something which would get them both thrown out of the contest.

‘Oh, wonderful work—and innovative. It took a while for me to persuade her to join my team, but the Treveleyn Estate could not wish for a better chocolatier. Daisy is going to knock the socks off those judges tomorrow. You wait and see.’

Pascal nodded with a derisive snort. ‘It’s good to hear that you are so confident about your chances, Mr Treveleyn. My own team have been working full-time for months to find the most delectable recipes using the finest organic cocoa. I think the judges are going to be quite impressed with what Team Barone come up with.’

Daisy could almost hear the cogs in her brain clanking over as the impact of what Pascal was saying hit home.

‘Why on earth would
you
want to take part in this contest, Pascal?’ she asked, her mind reeling. ‘I thought you were content with your chain of chocolate shops?’

‘You know I cannot resist a challenge, Daisy. I have plans to expand into the restaurant trade, and this is a useful opportunity to try out some of our new range of organic chocolate desserts. So, yes, this contest is
turning out to be very interesting indeed.’ He raised his glass to his lips and glowered at her over the rim.

‘The very best of luck to you, Mr Barone. Now, if you will excuse us, I promised Daisy a glass of champagne to celebrate our new partnership. Have a great evening,’ Max said.

‘Oh, I will—I certainly will,’ Pascal replied with a nasty glint in his eye, and tipped his head to them before turning away to join another group who were probably more useful to his career.

‘I think the terrace is calling us. I’ll be right back,’ Max whispered into her ear, then slipped his arm away and headed out to the bar.

O
N THE
terrace, tables had been set with beautiful linens and stained glass lanterns which shed a warm glow in the fading sunlight. A wonderful sweet scent pervaded the patio from the white gardenia plants in full flower, which bloomed in stunning terracotta planters, but the setting was completely lost on Daisy as she tottered away from Pascal with as much dignity as she could on the borrowed heels that Tara had supplied to go with her borrowed dress.

She collapsed down on one of the luxuriously appointed sofas and looked out over the stunning stone terrace, where elegantly dressed men and women were chatting.

The jewels on the women glittered, and fairylights hung from the trees. Everything shone bright and sparkly and new and exciting, and laughter echoed out of the patio doors.

While she felt like a tired old doormat someone had just wiped their feet on.

The happiness and the excitement of being here had been trampled on and ruined by the blast from her past that was Pascal Barone—and she hated it. Hated the effect he still had on her. Hated that just seeing him again had brought back all of those old feelings of being so inadequate and unworthy and so totally, totally inept and useless.

Here she was, surrounded by beautiful people in a beautiful place, about to eat beautiful food prepared by experts. And she had never felt more worthless.

What had ever given her the idea that she could compete against pros like Pascal? She was a complete phoney. Just another wannabe country bumpkin with self delusions that she could pull this confidence trick off.

‘Are you okay?’ Max sat down on the sofa next to her and looked into her face as he presented her with a champagne flute. ‘I am so sorry. I had no idea that Barone had decided to enter the cooking contest. That was where you trained, wasn’t it? But you can relax. The worst part is over now.’

‘You have nothing to be sorry for, Max,’ Daisy answered, her eyes firmly fixed on the glass of champagne as though mesmerised by the bubbles. ‘This is my problem and I have to deal with it. Thanks for getting me out of there. Pascal was … is …’

She swallowed down a long sip while Max joined the dots.

‘Pascal. Right. Tell me to get lost if you want, but the chocolatier who let you down in Paris … it was Pascal Barone. Wasn’t it?’

Daisy took another long sip of champagne before pushing her chin out and trying with all her might to sound positive when she replied. The last thing she wanted was for Max to realise what an idiot he had chosen to work with.

‘Oh, that was years ago. Water under the bridge.’ She took another sip, but her hand was shaking so much that she almost dropped the flute and quickly lowered it to the table.

‘So I see. Do you want to tell me about it?’

His long, strong and clever fingers were wrapped around hers now, and there was so much genuine sincerity in his voice that his few simple words broke through her barriers.

‘No. Yes. Maybe. Oh, this is so embarrassing.’

‘Embarrassing or not,’ Max replied, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, ‘you are going to have to cook tomorrow knowing the Barone team is in the contest. I think you had better tell me everything. We have a lot riding on this.’

Daisy sighed, low and slow. ‘I know. And you’re right. But I just never expected to see him again so it has thrown me a bit.’ She
blinked. ‘Okay. I first met Pascal in Paris when we were students together at Barone Fine Chocolate. It was fantastic.’ She leant forward and rested her elbows on her knees. ‘The best eight months of my life. No doubt about that.’

‘So you worked with Pascal? That’s amazing.’ Then Max frowned and looked at her quite quizzically. ‘Wait a minute—why was Pascal training at Barone? I thought he was one of the Barone family?’

‘He is. Chef Barone is the fifth generation of Barone chocolatiers, but he was looking for someone to take over the business. Pascal is his nephew, but it turned out that he was way more interested in the business side than the cooking.’

She turned slightly in her chair so that she was closer to Max.

‘But he got lucky. I was the other apprentice. He soon found out that I had always been happy to work in the background rather than seeking the limelight. I accepted that—after all, he was the nephew of my boss, and I was just the daughter of a baker from a small village in England. I was just Daisy Flynn. Wannabe chocolatier.’

She looked up at Max, who was staring at her with rapt attention.

‘I’m quiet and shy and I always have been.
Oh, I have worked hard to overcome it these past three years. But old habits are hard to break. Even now I feel a lot more comfortable in the kitchen than talking to customers.’ She shrugged and lifted her chin. ‘Pascal knew that from the start. The plan was that I would stay on and take over as master chocolatier in a couple of years. But we had bigger plans. Much bigger. Our idea was to develop a range of chocolates and petit-fours which would be sold to the local hotel trade and expand the shop. It sounded wonderful—so wonderful that I spent every night for weeks working and working on the perfect chocolates which were so unique and so delicious and bound to be a success. Pascal was thrilled, and was so was his uncle. We had everything going for us. And …’ Daisy faltered and gave a low sigh. ‘Pascal threw in an extra incentive for me to stay. A very personal one.’

She looked down as Max made gentle circles on the back of her hand.

‘It will probably come as no surprise to you that after six months I had a crush on Pascal Barone the size of a small planet.’ She gave a slight snort. ‘You have to remember that I had arrived straight from catering college in one of the most romantic cities in the world, where I worked every day to produce chocolates and pastries for lovers to buy. Then one Saturday
evening the shop was closed, the sun was shining, and Pascal asked me out for a drink. We had been working all day, it was April, and the trees were in blossom. So I said yes.’