The Chocolatier's Secret (Magnolia Creek, Book 2) Read online

When he’d gone, Molly stood at the tiny front room window, the light off so she could watch him go back the way they’d come. Was fate trying to tell her something by having Ben turn up in the small town where her birth father lived? She smiled at the thought as Ben disappeared into the darkness, but the smile was replaced by a frown when she thought about what she still had to do.

  Tomorrow, it was time to confront her past and face the man she’d really travelled across the world to find.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Andrew

  Andrew arrived home from the pub and staggered up the stairs. He’d avoided Louis, avoided Gemma and found comfort in the amber nectar, tipping it down his throat as though it were water. He’d found company too, good company who knew nothing of the latest family saga. He and Michael Harrison had talked sport. They’d talked about the idea of a trip to Europe for Andrew to attend a chocolate conference, and somehow Michael must’ve sensed all was not right because, despite a medical background, he didn’t once mention the kidney transplant.

  Andrew fell into bed. Gemma was asleep already, but facing away from her he fell into a fitful sleep. He was awake at two, three-thirty and then again at five a.m., thirsty as hell. He went to the kitchen and downed two big glasses of water and then went into the study and turned on the computer. The only woman he should be thinking about right now was Gemma and how she was handling all this shit that kept getting thrown at her from a great height. But the only girl he could think of was Julia. All these years he’d thought she was a bitch for walking away, a traitor for aborting their baby without a care in the world. Since he’d discovered the truth, those feelings had morphed into something unrecognisable, a fireball of anger, hate, spite, bitterness and regret that he didn’t have a clue how to control.

  It took him an hour to write the message to Julia this time. He deleted sentences and rewrote them. He deleted whole paragraphs, added them in again, deleted them a second time. How could you find the words to tell someone how their parents had betrayed them, how they’d supposedly acted in their best interests?

  The next morning, Andrew showered away some of the hangover. Emilio was covering for him at the shop first thing so it was a later start than usual, and in the kitchen at home he cooked two fried eggs, toast and mushrooms. No need to be healthy any more … he had no operation coming up. He was free to pile as much cholesterol into his body as he liked, put away as much alcohol as it took to numb the pain. When the eggs were cooked he even shook salt across the tops of the yolks, more making a point than because he needed the hit.

  ‘What time did you get in last night?’ Gemma didn’t comment on his breakfast, which was a complete contrast to his usual muesli or wholegrain toast.

  ‘Late.’ He stabbed the square of toast he’d cut, dabbed it in the yolk and watched yellow explode all over the white plate.

  ‘There’s caramel mixture in the fridge,’ said Gemma.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Gemma pulled out a fruit salad she must’ve prepared the night before. For Louis, Andrew assumed.

  He said nothing.

  Before she opened the back door, Gemma stopped. She came over to the table and pulled her pale grey cardigan tight around her torso. ‘Can’t you talk to him?’

  Face like thunder, Andrew looked up at her.

  She retreated and at the back door said, ‘Think about it. He’s your father. And he’s dying.’

  She let the screen door slam shut behind her.

  *

  The chocolaterie was quiet when Andrew arrived an hour later. Kids were in school, tourists were yet to surface and Andrew lost himself in the joy of his work, his first task to progress through the to-do list out back: white chocolate discs covered in multicoloured sprinkles, frogs in dark chocolate and milk, milk chocolate bunnies to make now it was approaching Easter and people prepared for the Easter Bunny’s arrival. He also had the order for the Easter Egg Hunt to fulfil, and he was glad to be so busy. It took his mind away from his family, to a place it needed to be so he didn’t do or say anything else rash.

  Emilio came through from the shopfront. ‘We need more hollow milk chocolate eggs. They’re selling out early this year.’

  ‘Good idea. Can you mark down dark chocolate eggs too? I think we’ll need more before long. Oh, and you can take the chocolate discs from the fridge. They’re ready for packaging.’

  ‘I’ll get right to it.’ said Emilio.

  Andrew felt the tension ebb out of him as he worked. His shoulders relaxed as he filled a jug of dark chocolate from the tempering machine and tipped the mixture into a mould of bunny shapes. He held the filled mould on the vibrating grill covering the machine, watched as the chocolate levelled out into place. He did the same for another three trays and set them all to dry.

  Business was thriving. At least something was.

  ‘Everything on the left-hand side of me is ready for packaging,’ he told Emilio, who was wrapping up chocolate discs. Andrew had already assigned the lot numbers, essential for identifying the chocolate and the date it was made should any issues arise. He ran Emilio through the labels he’d already printed to ensure the correct one matched the correct chocolates ready to be packaged up.

  Out front, Andrew refilled a shelf with long plastic tubes containing miniature chocolate koalas and kangaroos and checked supplies in the ice cream freezer at the front counter. Honeycomb was a popular flavour this year, and he’d be sure to reorder it within plenty of time. He liked to keep his customers happy.

  ‘Good morning.’ He greeted his latest customer, a young woman he’d seen last night at the pub, briefly. She had dark hair and was wearing a red and black checked shirt. He didn’t usually notice such things, but Gemma had a similar one. Her cropped jeans and Converse shoes looked typical of a young tourist, and he wondered what it was like not to have a care in the world, to be out in the beautiful countryside able to saunter into a chocolaterie and browse.

  Oh the simplicity of youth.

  He filled another shelf with white chocolate discs and helped the local veterinarian choose between a chocolate shoe, chocolate handbag or a chocolate flower basket as a gift, and when he rang up the order, the same girl was still browsing. Or was she? Perhaps she was lurking and trying to steal something, but given the fitted jeans he wasn’t sure where she was going to stuff any of these packaged chocolates, let alone stop the rustling of the cellophane as she tried to make her escape.

  He clasped his hands together as he approached her. She was engrossed reading the label on the back of the giant koala. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I was just … er …’

  ‘Sorry,’ he held up a hand, ‘didn’t mean to startle you. I wondered if you were looking for anything in particular.’

  ‘Er … chocolate,’ she stammered.

  His head tilted to the side. ‘Then you’ve come to the right place.’

  Her eyes darted around. ‘Workshop,’ she added. ‘I was interested in the chocolate workshop.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ He went behind the counter and took out the diary for upcoming slots. ‘Well, our next chocolate lovers’ workshop is …’ he flicked over a page, ‘this afternoon, three-fifteen.’ He’d thought about cancelling it because Gemma couldn’t take the workshop, and given his hangover he wasn’t keen on running it. But that was no way to conduct a business. ‘There are four other people down. Would you like me to add you?’

  She seemed reluctant to come forward, reluctant to speak. ‘Yes,’ she whispered from the other side of the shop.

  ‘If you come to the till,’ he suggested, ‘I can take some details.’

  She was a striking young lady when she got up close: dark hair, rich hazel eyes as round as a film star’s.

  ‘Sure. My name … my name is Molly. I’m staying at the cottages.’ She pointed to the back of the shop and he knew she meant those cottages at Magnolia House, which pretty much sat directly behind but at a distance.

  ‘And do you have a phone number, Molly? A
number I can reach you on if the workshop is cancelled?’

  ‘Is it likely to be?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nope. Not unless something happens to me.’ He smiled, and she froze like a possum, big eyes wide, spotted running across the top of the roof as night fell.

  She gave him her number.

  ‘You’re English,’ he noted.

  She nodded.

  ‘So am I.’

  She cleared her throat. ‘You are?’

  ‘Moved here in my teens.’

  She didn’t seem keen to engage in further conversation so he said, ‘We’ll see you this afternoon.’ And off she went.

  Andrew went upstairs to the café. It was deserted up there, but he wiped down a few of the tables, mopped up a milk spill and replenished napkins from the supply in the cupboard beneath the till. He went outside to the balcony and looked out over the bush. The shopfront had grabbed Gemma when they’d first looked at buying this place, but for him, it was this. Looking out over the bush and the tip of the roof of Magnolia House, this was a dream location.

  Back downstairs, he reordered honeycomb ice cream, and when he served another customer at the counter, he saw her again. Molly. She was standing out front, looking at the shop, peering up at the sign.

  He shook his head. An odd young woman, that one.

  *

  Gemma had been in to the chocolaterie at lunchtime. She was occasionally able to take a break, if she wasn’t on playground duty, and would walk down the hill to see Andrew. Sometimes they’d walk by the lake and sit in the sunshine, appreciate the calm before they both went their separate ways back to work. But today all she’d done was try to talk to him about Louis. It was the same thing, again and again, how she knew he was hurting but at the same time telling him what he already knew. His refusal to speak to his father was most likely going to kill him. But he couldn’t look the man in the eye, let alone anything else. Gemma had taken over all of Louis’ runs to and from the hospital to do his dialysis. It was an hour’s round trip, and while he knew how unfair it was to his wife, he couldn’t bear to relieve her of any of the pressure. If he sat next to his father in a car, he thought he might kill him with his bare hands, never mind by denying him a kidney.

  ‘You’ve got fifteen minutes.’ Stephanie poked her head around the corner of the room where the workshop was to be held that afternoon. Bella had signed up – Andrew knew she was bored with the café still out of action – and Rosie and Rebecca from Magnolia House were coming along too. They’d been talking about learning more ever since the chocolate fountain at the wedding.

  Andrew lay out moulds on each table, a jug, flat trays with no edges, three small metal bowls filled with three types of couverture chocolate: milk, dark and white. He put out several tiny metal bowls filled with decorations: dried, crushed strawberry pieces, gold lustre dust, sprinkles. He positioned a laptop at the desk at the front of the room and ensured the media was up and running to do his presentation he’d named From Bean to Block, meaning how the chocolate from the cocoa bean eventually became the chocolate you bought in his chocolaterie.

  When he looked up he saw his first attendee in the doorway. ‘Bella, great to see you. Come in, pick a spot.’

  ‘This is so exciting!’ She squealed like a kid who’d finally got to go to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. Her eyes lit up when she saw him taking a cold bottle of Prosecco out of the fridge.

  ‘Complementary,’ he explained. ‘All part of the workshop.’

  ‘I like the sound of that!’

  Next through the door were Rosie and Rebecca from Magnolia House. Andrew smiled at the newcomers as he lined up four glasses. Gemma always laughed at him when he ran the workshops filled with ladies. Kids warmed to her, she joked, but the women warmed to Andrew. He was charming in an effortless way and had them eating out of his hand without even trying. She’d always said it’d been what won her over from the get-go.

  When Andrew looked up again after fiddling with the laptop, Molly hovered nervously in the doorway. These English girls were different to how he remembered. He didn’t remember many girls at school being this afraid of him. Or maybe he was getting old and had forgotten.

  Molly came in and took up station at the table in the corner at the back.

  ‘You’re just in time, Molly.’ He held the glass aloft and she nodded. ‘Talk among yourselves, grab an apron from the collection hanging at the back and we’ll get started.’ He poured four glasses as the women engaged in friendly banter and when he handed them out, Molly didn’t look him in the eye. She was so shy, with beautiful long eyelashes casting shadows across her cheeks beneath the bright downlights of the room.

  The next hour was fun. The women quietened, listened, asked questions in all the right places. They were in hysterics trying the chocolates he’d selected, holding their noses as they put chocolate discs on their tongues and then letting go of their noses to let the flavour explode powerfully.

  ‘Eurgh … coffee. I hate coffee!’ Rebecca Martin reached for her Prosecco, and the rest of the room had erupted with laughter as she downed a great big gulp, even Molly who seemed to be starting to relax.

  When it was time to decorate their truffles, Andrew gave Molly some guidance on how to apply the gold lustre dust. ‘Dip the tip in the dust and sweep it over the chocolate, lightly. Less is more in this case. It’s great for champagne truffles.’ He winked at her, but she looked so uneasy that he left her to it and went over to Bella.

  ‘Colourful,’ he commented at the sprinkles covering some of her truffles. ‘Matches your lipstick,’ he nodded to the rest of the pieces covered in dried strawberry bits.

  Rosie made a comment about being unable to enter MasterChef with her creations, and Rebecca had painted the gold lustre dust on so thick he wondered how it would taste when she bit into it.

  Andrew topped up all four glasses for the ladies. It was the end of the day, and hosting this fun group he found himself more relaxed than he’d been in ages.

  Stephanie appeared in the doorway and spoke in hushed tones, barely audible with the laughter filling the room. ‘I don’t mean to bother you, but your dad is here to see you.’

  Andrew tensed. ‘Tell him to go home. I’m busy.’

  A bit taken aback and blissfully unaware of the turning tides in the Bennett household, Stephanie did as she was asked. Andrew took out cellophane wrapping and some small cardboard trays ready for the women to take their truffles home. But when he turned round, there was Louis.

  Andrew said nothing. He looked up at his father, across at the women and then down again as he separated four cardboard trays and pulled out the roll of Sellotape to fasten them once the truffles were safely inside.

  Louis shuffled forwards in his slippers. Andrew glanced briefly at him, and in those few seconds noticed his father was paler than last time he’d seen him and looked as though he’d shrunk a good six inches. Or perhaps that was how Andrew saw him now he knew his dirty little secret.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Andrew snapped. His voice was as quiet as he could manage.

  Louis took a moment, steadied himself against the table Andrew was working behind.

  Bella was at Louis’ side. ‘Let me get you a chair.’

  Andrew was angry, but didn’t want to see his father fall. He nodded his thanks to a confused Bella, who pulled a chair over and then went back to the other women and her Prosecco.

  ‘I need you to talk to me, son.’

  Andrew said nothing.

  ‘Andrew, you won’t talk to me. You won’t talk to Gemma. I understand you’re angry, but—’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Andrew snapped. ‘You don’t get it, and you don’t get to come here, to my place of work, the one place I can get some sanity, and force me to talk to you.’

  Andrew adopted a jovial tone, left his father sitting at the front of the room and handed out the four boxes with instructions to carefully lay the truffles inside so they could be wrapped to take home. ‘This
is your party bag!’ he called out to the welcome delight of the women. The only woman who wasn’t so enthused was newcomer, Molly, who seemed more intent on watching the exchange between him and Louis.

  ‘Dad, go home,’ he told Louis as he separated out the sheets of cellophane. ‘This isn’t professional.’

  Louis bowed his head. ‘I don’t know what else to do.’

  Andrew nearly weakened. All his life they’d been close, they’d laughed, joked, batted out business strategies, talked chocolate and crazy concoctions late into the night over a bottle of wine. And he’d offered this man a kidney, a piece of him.

  But he couldn’t do it. Or he wouldn’t. Even he didn’t know which answer was accurate any more.

  ‘Andrew, please, I’m begging you.’

  ‘For part of my body?’ Andrew’s voice was fierce and he knew the need to keep the volume down was the only thing stopping him from roaring.

  ‘I don’t care about the damn kidney.’ Louis’ breath became shallow. ‘I honestly don’t give two hoots about it. But I do care about you. I do care about this family. And even if you let this come between us, do not let it come between you and Gemma.’

  ‘You leave Gemma out of this. Now I’ve got work to do.’

  He barely glanced at his father as Louis shuffled out of the workshop and through to the main shop. Instead he focused on showing the women how to wrap the box carefully in cellophane, then handed each a sheet and some ribbons. ‘Make it look as beautiful as the truffles,’ he said, unable to make eye contact with any of them.

  Andrew zoned out of the chatter. His fun mood had gone the minute Louis stepped into the room, but he’d at least been reminded how none of this was Gemma’s fault. And he’d been a bastard to her, letting her bear the brunt of his withdrawn moods, letting her take Louis to each dialysis session. She’d shouldered the worry of everything, and he knew how wrong that was.

  And Louis was right about one thing. He couldn’t let this come between him and his wife.

  Chapter Twenty-Three