When Chocolate Is Not Enough... (3 page)

He raised his water glass in a toast, just for something to do with his hands, while his head caught up with the implications.

‘So when is the wedding? Are you planning a spectacular event or something small and cosy?’

‘A huge extravaganza, of course! Anton’s family have offered us the use of their château in Provence, and are paying for everything as their wedding gift. You should see the house, Max—it is totally stunning and the perfect setting for a wedding. It’s really going to be magical.’

‘A château?’ He coughed and spluttered. ‘Well, that will be quite a change from your first wedding. That old hall was freezing.’

‘I know!’ She laughed, then ran a hand through her hair nervously. ‘As for the timing …? That is my next piece of news. I know I’m about to suggest something which will probably upset you, because—well, we are planning to have the wedding next spring,
and I would like Freya to spend the whole summer with us at the château in France this year.’

Max put down his glass and took a breath, counted to five before answering. ‘I thought we agreed at Christmas that Freya would spend all of the summer holidays with me at the cottage, since you refuse to let me take her to the island? That way you can have some personal time with Anton.’

‘Yes, we did. But that’s all changed now, Max. Anton’s family only meet once a year at the château, to spend the summer together, and I know they can’t wait to meet her.’

Kate was beaming across at him with such delight that the warmth in her voice went some way to melting the ice that had started to form around his heart.

‘You need not worry about her being on her own at the château. Anton has lots of young nieces and nephews for her to play with, and she will be totally spoiled. This is the first chance she will have to meet all of Anton’s family. Her new family. She’ll love it,’ Kate said.

Max sighed out loud and fought to keep a caustic mixture of anger, loss and disappointment out of his voice. ‘Well, that ties it. How could she possibly choose between a French château, being spoilt rotten with a whole new
family, and roughing it in my nana’s ramshackle old cottage in the middle of nowhere, with only her old dad to entertain her? The fact that I have been planning this holiday since Christmas doesn’t really feature, does it? Even if it means that I won’t have any time with her before she goes back to school in September.’

Kate looked sympathetic but determined. ‘I know this is hard on you, but having Freya with us this summer will make her feel part of the plans for the wedding. Part of the changes in our life, I suppose.’

Max tapped his fingertips on the table before giving in with good grace. ‘I don’t like this, Kate, but I suppose it isn’t about what I want any longer, but what is best for Freya. And then what happens? Are you planning to stay in the London house after you marry?’

She nodded. ‘Anton has a great job here in the City. There’s plenty of room, and Freya wouldn’t be moving away from her school and her friends. I think that this is going to work, Max. I really do.’

Max rearranged the cutlery on the table as he formed his next question, his eyes focused on the perfect alignment of the knife and fork set. ‘I trust your judgement, Katie—I always have. I know that you wouldn’t make Anton part of Freya’s life unless you were sure that
he was going to be a positive influence. But what about me? Where do I fit in?’

A lump formed in his throat as he asked the question he most dreaded hearing the answer to.

‘How soon do you think it will be before my daughter starts calling Anton Dad?’

Kate grasped his fingers, forcing him to lift his head, then lowered her face and looked up into his eyes.

‘Anton knows that you are part of our lives. He is very fond of Freya—yes, she will be sharing her home with him, and seeing him every day, but she knows who her father is. I’ll make sure that she never gets confused about that.’

He nodded, not trusting his own voice at that moment. ‘Thanks, but I think that we should both be there when you tell Freya about the wedding. Help her to understand that I am not going to walk out on her, or pass her over to Anton like some unwanted gift. I am still her dad and I will always love her. That doesn’t go away.’

He’d tried to keep the pain out of his voice, but Kate looked at him in concern. ‘She knows that. We raised a very clever little girl. This is about what is best for our daughter. But shall we talk about that later? Let’s enjoy our meal.
I hear that they have a wonderful new chocolate chef …’

The stunning aroma of bubbling grilled cheese and meaty pasta sauce saved his day as the waiter presented their food, blocking his view of the woman who had paid the price for his obsession with a cocoa farm.

The woman who was about to present their daughter with a new live-in stepfather.

She smiled at him across the table. ‘Now. Tell me all about this conference on organic cocoa that you are whizzing off to at the end of the week. Cornwall, isn’t it? It sounds so exciting. I want to know everything!’

D
AISY FLYNN
squeezed into the cramped office at the side of the restaurant kitchen and collapsed down on a tiny metal stool. She had made it with only minutes to spare, after a mad dash back to her kitchen to pick up an emergency supply of chocolate desserts for the restaurant. The head chef at the restaurant in one of London’s premier art galleries had become one of her best customers, so this was one delivery that she was happy to make in person.

Marco had given her the chance to produce a range of artisan chocolates and desserts that she had only dreamt of in her father’s bakery all those years ago. And every one of them was perfect practice for the only thing she had truly ever wanted. The one thing she had slaved and practised and experimented for day after day, week after week, month after month. Year after year—and it
had
been years since Paris.

Her very own chocolate shop, serving droolicious artisan chocolates made from the finest organic chocolate to her secret and unique recipes and designs. Her shop was going to be every girl’s fantasy of chocolate heaven.

That was her dream. And she was almost there!

She had the recipes. She had ideas for the shop and what its tantalising interior would look like. She could even imagine what it would smell like, with all the chocolates on display.

It would be amazing.

All she needed now was a great reliable source of organic fine cocoa and she would be ready to walk into the bank with a business plan that would knock their socks off. Plus a few samples of the actual goods if the discussions got tricky.

It was going to happen—because she was going to
make
it happen.

She would finally be able to show the world what a baker’s daughter from a small country town could do, given the chance—just as her dad had predicted she would. On her own. She didn’t need some famous-name chocolatier taking the credit—not again.

It was so sad that her father hadn’t lived long enough to see her achieve her dream. Even if it did mean that today she’d had to jog
most of the way through the streets of London with her precious cargo of desserts. She was tired, hot, out of breath and moist in places she would rather not be moist—but close enough to her goal to put a smile on her face.

In fact Daisy was still catching her breath when Marco waltzed in, wiping his hands on the towel tucked into the waistband of his apron and then reaching across the desk to shake Daisy’s hand.

‘Thanks for coming at such short notice, Daisy. It has been mad out there today, and we are fully booked with coach parties of tourists every lunch and dinner service for the next two weeks.’ Marco raised his right hand. ‘I’m not complaining. Far from it. But it leaves me with a problem. A big one.’ And he pointed straight at Daisy. ‘Namely you, young lady.’

Daisy swallowed down her anxiety, but leant forward to reply. ‘Me? Is there a problem with your order? I checked it through with the sous chef when I delivered the dessert trays. I’m sorry if …’

Marco waved his fingers at her and sat back in his chair. ‘No, no. There is no problem with your food at all. In fact it is just the opposite. I knew when I tasted your work that the chocolate dessert range would be popular with the
ladies who lunch, but I had no clue just how many portions we would serve. You’ve seen the orders double these past few weeks, and we actually ran out of that flourless melting middle cake last night. Our guests were not happy. And that brings me to why I’ve asked you to hang around for a few minutes.’

He leant his elbows on top of a pile of papers on the desk and formed a tent with his clever long fingers. ‘I have a proposition for you. Right now I order your chocolate from Tara’s company, and that was okay for the occasional one off event. But that was before I found out just how good you really were. We look after four art galleries in this city, and the bottom line is we need a professional chocolatier like yourself heading up our patisserie section.’

The breath froze in Daisy’s lungs as she tried to come up with a suitable reply, but she was too stunned to do more than stare.

‘Oh, I know,’ Marco said, flicking away her silent protestations. ‘You want to open a chocolate shop with your name over the door. You made that clear the first day you walked into my kitchen—and there is nothing wrong with that. Call it Flynn’s Fancies, or whatever. But think about
this
.’

His long arms pressed hard against the
papers on the desk and Marco’s intense dark brown eyes seemed to burn a hole in Daisy’s forehead.

‘What if we put your name on the menu and make this a full-time job, with your own kitchen area and a sous chef to help you? You could reach hundreds of diners every day
and
have the flexibility to experiment with new ideas. Buy the chocolate you want. Best of ingredients. Best of everything. The job is yours if you want it.’ Then he gave a short shrug and grinned. ‘You can breathe again now.’

Daisy realised that she had been holding her breath the whole time the head chef had been talking, and grasped hold of the desk as she sucked in enough air to help clear her dizzy head.

‘Wow. Thank you. I certainly wasn’t expecting an offer like this. I am flattered—I really am—but as I said before my heart is still set on opening my own artisan chocolate shop. The restaurant work is brilliant, and we really are grateful for it, but if I did come here it would only be for a short time, and Tara would lose the business after I left. I’m not sure that it’s fair to either of us. Does that make sense?’

Marco sniffed once before replying, ‘How close are you to opening your own shop?’

Daisy pushed her hands flat under her bottom to stop herself from bouncing with excitement. ‘So close I can feel it. The real problem is that I want to make my own chocolate. I mean—from scratch. Right now I am buying commercial blends and they are good—very good—but they’re not
there
yet. It could take years to achieve that perfect blend. Or it could be months. I simply don’t know.’

Marco’s reply was to fling open his arms wide as he rocked back in his chair. ‘Then come and work for us. We can buy in bulk, get good deals from specialist suppliers, and I can guarantee you some room to experiment.’ He waved his right hand in the air with a casual twist. ‘Think of our diners as your product testers. We win—you win. And we can still use Tara for other things. It could work very well.’

He paused and pursed his lips before shrugging.

‘It makes sense for us to find a wonderful dessert chef to look after all of our catering operations, and I would like it to be you. But if you decide not to take up my offer there is a long list of other chefs who would like to show us what they can do—and some of them have worked with chocolate before. They could come up with some interesting recipes.’

‘But not the same as mine.’ Daisy smiled, her ego marginally more inflated than normal.

‘Perhaps not. But still fantastic. And then, of course, we would not need to use outside supplies. Perhaps you should talk this over with Tara? She might have an opinion about that.’

‘Oh. Yes. Tara. Of course.’ Daisy’s heart sank. ‘How long …? When do you need to hear back from me?’

‘I was hoping you would call me in the next few weeks.’ Marco smiled persuasively. ‘It can be fun working here. We have great customers who love their food. Let me help you to make up your mind. We only have a few lunch guests left, but some have ordered your chocolate and almond cake. How would you like to go out into the restaurant and hear what they have to say about your work? You might find that interesting.’

Daisy blinked, and swallowed down a lump of panic before squeaking out, ‘Do you mean right now? I’m not sure I’m ready for that.’

Except Marco had already made the decision, and was on his feet rooting though a pile of chef’s jackets hanging up behind the office door. ‘This is your chance to hear what the customers think about your work face to
face. Here you go. This one should fit nicely. Ready?’

Before Daisy could change her mind she’d exchanged jackets and followed one of London’s most highly respected chefs out into the kitchen. Peering out over the serving hatch, she could see a few tables were still occupied.

Marco wiggled his fingers towards a table on the left. ‘Go and have a chat. You never know—the restaurant trade might be perfect for you after all.’

‘That table?’ Daisy stepped forward nervously and peered across the room towards a charming young couple who were obviously having a long, romantic lunch together.

The man’s back was to her, but the woman was dressed so elegantly that Daisy automatically ran her hands down the front of her clothing and checked that her uniform was clean and tidy. She knew the sort. This girl looked as though she had been born with perfect poise and style and did not have to try very hard to be stunning in any situation. In other words exactly the sort of girl who, quite innocently, always made her feel totally clumsy, tongue-tied and inadequate—like a country bumpkin out for a spree in the city, who did not truly belong there.