When Chocolate Is Not Enough... (2 page)

‘I beg your pardon?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to be responsible for a troop of eight-year-olds high on sugar and additives.’

There was a hiss from Tara as she whizzed past with an empty tray.

‘Whoops. Dangerous ground. You just said the A word. Be prepared to duck.’

Max turned back to Daisy, who was breathing rather heavily, her head on one side, eyes narrowed. Her voice had a definite frosty tone to it when she replied. ‘First of all, the only additives
I use in my chocolate are organic fruits and sugars. And secondly all raisins are sweet. That’s their job. And children adore them. I tried using plain chocolate on its own and they were left on the plate every time.’

‘That’s a pity,’ he replied, and lifted up another covered raisin and held it under his nose. ‘I can’t even smell subtle flavours in the chocolate. Perhaps you could try a less bitter cocoa bean? That way you could cut down on the sugar but still have the cocoa flavour. A single estate variety would work really well.’

The brunette’s mouth dropped open for a second, before she lifted her chin and crossed her arms.

‘Oh, really? Do go on,’ Daisy replied in a
faux-sweet
voice. ‘I’m quite fascinated to hear how I can improve the recipe for a chocolate coating I have just spent the last six months working on. I can hardly
wait
to hear what other little gems of advice you might have for me.’

Max cleared his throat. He had said the wrong thing again—but he liked a challenge. Time to throw the ball back and see how high it bounced. ‘I’m just saying that it might not be the best choice for coating dried fruit. And this
is
a fine-quality organic chocolate, isn’t it?’

Daisy did not have to answer, because at that moment Tara laughed out loud as she
served a young man in a slick business suit with four of the boobs Max had just been sniffing. ‘It certainly is,’ she said. ‘And it costs me an absolute fortune every week. But Daisy insists that our Belgian chocolate has to be the best. Your money won’t be wasted.’ Tara pointed at Daisy with her tongs. ‘And you, young lady, have an appointment somewhere else. Go—scoot. I’ll take care of your gentleman friend here. And thanks again for helping me out.’

Daisy glanced at her watch and gasped. ‘If that’s the real time, I am toast.’ She popped an extra raisin into the tray of rabbits and pushed it towards Max. ‘I hope that your daughter has a lovely birthday party. Even with all of that sweet mystery chocolate which is sure to rot her teeth. Bye.’ And with one swift movement she untied her apron, waved to him with the hand that was not occupied in swooping up her bag, and was out through the back of the stall before Max could reply.

He had barely regained his senses when he looked around to find the blonde standing in front of him, with her tongs raised in one gloved hand like a surgeon preparing to operate.

‘Hello again. My name’s Tara. What other tantalising treats can I tempt you with today?’

Max sauntered down the sunlit London pavement, swinging his Tara’s Treats carrier bag in one hand and his luggage over one shoulder. He was going to be late for his lunch date with Kate, but it had been worth it to meet the lovely Daisy and Tara.

Things had certainly changed in the artisan chocolate world if those two ladies were typical examples. Most of the chocolatiers he knew were professional older men, running chains of chocolate shops, or buyers from large-scale manufacturers of famous brands of chocolate being sold around the world in their millions. Not a moulded bosom in sight. More was the pity. But those girls had the right idea. Chocolate was a pleasure to be enjoyed—it should be fun! He was going to enjoy sharing these rabbits with Kate and Freya.

Max caught his reflection in the plate glass window of a designer clothing shop and winced. He ran a rough hand across his chin. Not his best look. He had barely slept these last few days, bringing in the cocoa harvest and collapsing into bed out of physical exhaustion only when it became too dark to work safely.

Perhaps he should have taken the time to wash and shave at the airport after his red eye flight before catching the tube into London? Kate might forgive him for not having the
kind of haircut and dress sense of her new boyfriend, who was a big City banker, but she would mind if he turned up at a smart art gallery and restaurant looking scruffy and dishevelled. He owed her a lot more than that. Especially when she had specifically asked him if they could talk over lunch before he picked their daughter up from school.

A broad grin flashed across Max’s face, wiping away his feelings of anxiety and concern.

He might have been an idiot in some ways, but he had done something amazing when he’d married Kate and they’d brought a ray of sunshine like Freya Treveleyn into the world. Almost eight years old, bright as a button, and so very, very precious. Some mornings, when it was lashing down with tropical rain, the cocoa beans were going rotten and he was struggling to pay his workers’ wages, just the sight of that little girl’s photograph on his bedside table was enough to get him back to work.

Freya was why he fought and fought to make his organic cocoa plantation a success. She was his inspiration, his motivation, and the reason he stuck it out. Even if it meant that he had to leave her with her mother in London for most of the year.

A cluster of tourists blocked his way and Max dodged onto the road for a few seconds,
watching out for the madcap cyclists, London buses and black cabs as he did so.

He had never been comfortable in this fabulous city, with its never-ending stream of action and life, the noise and bustle of people and traffic. His home was the Caribbean forest plantation house where he had grown up. The only real noise pollution there came from the flocks of wild brightly coloured parrots which descended on the treetops to squawk at the workers when they disturbed their calm life. Now he tried to block out the cacophony of noise from the traffic and the crush of people which seemed to deafen him, and was grateful when he spotted the entrance to the central London art gallery.

Minutes later Max hoisted his bag higher onto his shoulder and looked around the crowded restaurant until he spotted the woman he had once called his wife, perched on the edge of a dining chair at the best table in the restaurant.

Catherine Ormandy Treveleyn was wearing a caramel-coloured linen shift dress, gold sandals and gold jewellery. Her long straight blonde hair fell in a waterfall over her shoulders. She was elegant. Sophisticated.

But to him she would always be the backpacking university student who had sauntered onto the plantation on her way to meet up with
her friends on the beach. She had lost her way. And he had lost his head and his heart the same day.

This was the woman who’d had dreams of running an eco-cocoa plantation in the West Indies under the Caribbean sun.

Until it had all gone wrong.

Until she had decided that her future was in London, and that he could either come with her or stay in St Lucia with his one true love. The plantation. She’d used to call it the mistress she could not compete against—and she was right. He had sacrificed his family for that estate.

All the more reason for him to make sure that the estate did not fail.

Kate looked up from her glass of wine just as he stepped forward. She glanced at her watch with a smile and a gentle shake of her head as he bent to kiss her cheek.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting, gorgeous.’ Max smiled. ‘You are looking as lovely as ever. My feeble excuse is the organic food festival in the street outside the tube station. Can you forgive me? I picked up something for Freya on the way.’

Kate kissed him warmly on the cheek. ‘Time-keeping has never been your strength. I can see that you’re still not wearing that watch I gave you for Christmas.’

Max shrugged. ‘Watches and clocks are for other people. You should know that.’ He gave her a sly wink as he sat down. ‘How is our little girl today?’

Her reply was a gentle nod of the head and a wide grin. ‘She’s on fine form. And very much looking forward to seeing you. Do you still plan to pick her up from school?’

She passed him the bread basket and he inhaled the delicious aroma of freshly baked rosemary focaccia with a sigh. He nodded absentmindedly and peered at the food on the table, suddenly famished. ‘Absolutely. This looks good.’

‘The food here is terrific, and I took the liberty of ordering your favourite lasagne
al forno
. One of the few treats that’s hard to find on your tropical paradise.’

‘You know me too well,’ Max replied, and passed her the paper bag that Tara had given him. ‘In that case I trade one lasagne for a bag of chocolate rabbits. Can I add these to the birthday feast next week? I know that you can buy organic chocolates anywhere in London these days, but the stall was run by two pretty girls and the bunnies look almost good enough for our daughter to eat.’

Kate peered into the bag, then stared at him across the table. ‘You? Buying chocolate? Well, this is new. The very thought of
a supermarket chocolate bar sends you into a tizzy. They must be good—either that or the girls were particularly pretty. And please don’t growl at me like that.’ She reached out and lifted a curl of hair from his collar. ‘Even with hair that long, some girl might give you a second look.’

Max snorted a dismissive reply. ‘One special lady is more than enough in my life right now. Do you remember that special birthday present she wanted?’

When his ex-wife raised a querying eyebrow, Max patted his rucksack on the floor. ‘I finished carving a pair of jungle parrots last week. They are just like the ones she liked in the photo I sent her. I hope she likes them.’

‘Of course she will. But don’t be too disappointed if she prefers the new games console that Anton has bought her. She’s nearly eight years old, Max. Her life revolves around computer games, schoolwork and her friends. St Lucia is just a place on the map where her dad goes for weeks or months at a time. I’m sorry if that sounds hard, but I don’t want you to think that she is ungrateful,’ Kate said gently.

‘Even more reason why I should take Freya to spend the summer holidays with me on the island. She’s old enough now to watch out for danger, and the other kids on the farm would show her how much fun it can be.’

Kate sat back and sipped her chilled white wine. ‘We’ve been through this before, Max. July and August are your peak harvest times. I know that you’ll do everything you can to keep Freya safe, but you would be too busy to be with her every second of the day, and the island is a dangerous place for a city child.’

‘You’re right,’ Max replied, his arms stretched out across the table. ‘We do cut the cocoa during the summer. But nothing is more important to me than our little girl. And if I do get called out, the ladies on the plantation have been begging me to bring Freya to visit. I could have a swat team of expert grandmothers on standby, ready and willing to step in at a moment’s notice. Serious cossetting and overfeeding would be involved. She’d be totally spoiled!’

‘Well,’ Kate acknowledged, ‘that is one option. But, speaking of the summer holidays, I did ask you here so that we could talk without Freya in the room, because there is something I need to share with you.’

She paused, and Max noticed that a vein in her temple was throbbing in tune with the rate of her breathing. A clear sign that she was anxious about what she was about to say.
Interesting
.

‘Come on, Kate. What do you want to tell me? Get it over with.’

Her shoulders seemed to relax for a few seconds, and she made eye contact before speaking again. ‘Anton has asked me to marry him, and I have said yes. We’re choosing the ring next week, and I would like to tell Freya on her birthday as a sort of a surprise present. But I wanted you to be the first to know.’

Married!

It was as though someone had tipped an ice bucket of chilled water over his head.

He had always known that this was possible. They were both single now, and she was a lovely woman who enjoyed her social circle in London. But dating a French banker was a lot different from becoming engaged to one.

He was happy for her—happy that she had found someone who loved her and she could love in return—but he had not expected to have to face the reality of that possibility so soon.

It was as though the thin line which still connected them as friends who had become lovers, then friends again, suddenly seemed to stretch thinner and thinner, until it was almost at breaking point.

They had worked hard and talked through the night so many times to keep their friendship alive for the sake of their daughter. Suddenly it felt as though he was losing control.

And there was not one thing that he could do to change it.

She was looking at him now, her upper teeth taking the edge from her perfect lipstick. Expecting some response. He had to say something. Anything.

The air between them positively crackled with tension.

Flicking back his hair, Max dropped his head and laughed out loud.

‘Married? No! Wow—that’s wonderful. Congratulations, Kate. I am happy for you. Anton is a very lucky man. Can I be your manly maid of honour?’

Until that moment he had not even noticed that Kate had been holding her breath, but her gentle giggle told him everything that he needed to know. She had been nervous about telling him. Nervous that she might upset him. Knowing that it
would
upset him—which was so crazy that it made his head spin. Their marriage had broken up because of his obsession—his failure, his neglect. She deserved a chance at happiness.

‘No. You cannot be my maid of honour, but thank you for your understanding, Max. This is an awkward situation, isn’t it? It’s only been three years since we split up, and here I am getting married again.’

Instantly he stretched out his hand and gave
her fingers a quick squeeze, before drawing back and replying with a smile. ‘It’s okay, Kate. Really. I’m genuinely happy for you. The last few years have been tough on you, and I haven’t been around much to help. You deserve to be happy. Anton seems like a steady bloke, and he would be an idiot not to be crazy about you. Good luck to you both.’