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

  Ben: It must be frustrating … the not knowing part, I mean.

  Molly: I’m not sure I could handle rejection all over again. It hurt so much the first time.

  Ben: I don’t doubt it. But if you were curious about your birth mother, why not find out about the birth father? Do you know anything about him?

  Molly: His name is on my original birth certificate.

  Ben’s reply took a couple of minutes to come through.

  Ben: I know we’ve never met and probably never will, but I’ve spent enough time in this group to get to know some of the members pretty well. You seem like a determined young lady (all adjectives used are subject to change if we ever should meet!) and you seem the sort of girl who would rather know and deal with the consequences than never know at all. Am I making sense?

  Molly: Kind of.

  Ben: Well … you have a name. Start the easy way … our good friend, Google. I’ll do it if you like – give me the name and I’ll see what dirt I can dig up about this man.

  Molly: I don’t think that’ll be necessary.

  Ben: Go for it … clear up the emotional mess afterwards. Maybe this man has the right to have the chance to get to know you. (Btw I’m cringing here in case you’re angry at me for being so blunt.)

  Molly: I’m not angry.

  Ben: Oh God, do you think this makes me the male version of a feminist?

  Molly: Yep, I can just see you burning your boxers in a protest!

  Ben: How do you know I wear boxers? I could be a Y-fronts man!

  Molly: Don’t bother to flirt … it’ll never happen. We live in different countries.

  Ben: Plenty of people have long distance relationships.

  When the buzzer to the flat sounded she hurriedly typed, ‘Gotta go, hot date for dinner …’

  She pushed the button beside the door to release the lock on the main entrance downstairs, conscious this wasn’t the first online exchange to leave her wondering what Ben looked like in real life. His profile picture was of a glass of Guinness, and before that it was a croissant from his travels to Paris and before that a photo of him as a baby. She’d asked him about it once and he’d claimed he wasn’t exactly photogenic.

  When there was a knock at the door of the flat, Molly knew she’d have to stop wondering about Ben for the time being and whether he could turn out to be some crazy online predator or not. Still, she was definitely having fun with him, whoever he was.

  ‘How’s it going, sis?’ Isaac lived around the corner, and they saw each other at least every couple of weeks.

  ‘Good, thanks.’ She hugged him. ‘Claire not joining us?’

  ‘Next time. She’s got a lot of work on at the moment and she wants to leave with impeccable references.’

  ‘I’m sure she will.’ Claire was doing a two-year stint with an insurance company, working as a marketing assistant, and when she left in a few months to return to America, taking Isaac with her, she’d need to find a new job.

  Molly pulled on her leather jacket. ‘You finish early tonight?’

  ‘What can I say?’ He waited for Molly to lock the flat door behind them. ‘I haven’t eaten a Chinese in a fortnight, I’m having withdrawal symptoms.’

  ‘Sounds about right.’ Molly laughed as they went down the stairs.

  ‘I’ll work some more tonight at home.’ Isaac was an estate agent and alternated working between the Bristol office and the Bath office and other days from the study in the semi-detached house he shared with Claire.

  ‘I’ll drive if you like,’ he offered. ‘You can have a couple of drinks.’

  ‘Sounds perfect to me.’

  The local Chinese was a firm favourite, and when they were seated and had ordered their meal, Molly sipped on her beer as Isaac told her about the nightmare of a day he’d had.

  ‘Sixteen people in the bloody chain, Molly. Sixteen. And one idiot pulls out and the whole thing collapses, and now fifteen people are up shit creek.’

  Molly took a prawn cracker from the basket in the centre of the table. ‘It’s a stupid system.’ She often wondered how anybody got a foot on the property ladder. And even if they did, it seemed pretty easy to fall off or be pushed off.

  ‘I’m off to Center Parcs with Claire next weekend.’

  ‘Jealous,’ said Molly. ‘Love it there.’

  ‘Hey, her idea not mine. I’d rather go to an all-inclusive somewhere hot than be bashed around on the rapids, guzzling the entire swimming pool when you go down one of those fast slides.’ Isaac rolled his eyes, but Molly knew he was jesting. They’d been as teenagers with their parents and had loved every second.

  ‘And how’s Mum coping with the thought of you upping and moving to the other side of the world?’

  ‘Get to the point why don’t you, Molly.’

  The relationship their family had been sure would fizzle out had done nothing of the sort. It had quickly blossomed and before Isaac knew it, he’d fallen for Claire and they were engaged, and she’d made it clear all along that she wanted to live in America near her own family. Long-distance relationships were a touchy subject in their household. Twenty years ago their maternal grandmother had decided to emigrate and follow their Uncle over to Canada. There, she’d started a new life, leaving Molly and Isaac’s mother to sell her house, clear out all the clutter and manage her own feelings of being abandoned. Molly’s mum had been heartbroken and both Molly and Isaac knew it, but when Claire had come onto the scene, Margaret Ramsey had done what all good English people did. She’d maintained the stiff upper lip, the respectable distance from interfering and told her son it was his life and he was free to do as he liked. But Molly hadn’t been fooled. A part of Margaret Ramsey’s life was about to fall away, and Molly had known then that she could never do the same to her mum. Sometimes she wondered how Isaac could.

  ‘Mum’s fine,’ said Isaac as the waitress brought shrimp spring rolls over to their table and they both tucked in.

  ‘Or so she says.’

  He bit into a spring roll and changed the subject. ‘How was your day? Deliver lots of gorgeous babies?’

  ‘It was okay.’

  ‘Just okay?’

  ‘Stressful.’ She watched Isaac, ready to gauge his reaction. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘Sounds dangerous.’

  ‘I’m considering tracing my birth father.’ There, she’d said it.

  The last spring roll paused on its way to Isaac’s mouth, and then made the rest of its journey as he shook his head. They’d always been close, and her brother had struggled to see why she’d ever want any other parents apart from their own mum and dad. But he was tied to them biologically and she wasn’t. She’d reached a point in her life where she wanted, and needed, some answers.

  ‘And you criticise me for trying to upset Mum,’ was Isaac’s reply.

  ‘I didn’t say you were trying to upset her.’

  ‘No, but it’s implied. But you can’t help who you fall in love with, Molly.’

  Molly smiled. ‘I don’t suppose you can, and Claire’s great … Mum thinks so too.’

  ‘Thanks, and I really think she’ll come round eventually. She’ll come and visit and realise it isn’t so bad.’ Isaac smiled back at his sister, although he looked as unconvinced as she was. ‘Do you really think it’s wise to go ahead and search? Remember how you felt last time, when it all blew up in your face?’

  With a roll of her eyes, Molly said, ‘I was hurt last time.’ She’d got so drunk the night after she was turned away by her birth mother. Tequila slammers, vodka shots. It made her feel sick to think of it even now. ‘All I know is that if I don’t do this, I’ll never get answers. At least if I search and find him, then I’ll have done everything I can to make sense of who I am.’

  When Isaac didn’t speak for several minutes, she asked, ‘What are you thinking?’

  Isaac sat back in his seat. ‘You had a great childhood. Why do you feel as though you need more?’

  ‘It’s hard to
explain to someone who isn’t adopted. It’s not about wanting more.’

  ‘What is it about? I’m doing my best to understand, Molly.’

  She sipped her beer. ‘I’m curious. I want to know if I look like someone, I want to know where I get my mannerisms from. It probably sounds ridiculously clichéd, but it’s the only explanation I have. Please don’t take it personally. God, I could end up with another big brother!’

  Her attempt at a joke placated him. ‘You should be so lucky.’

  ‘I am lucky, Isaac. I have you, and I have Mum and Dad. But I’d rather know my background than go through my entire life wondering. Do you remember when I had those hideous migraines in my final year at school?’

  ‘How could I ever forget? Mum worried herself sick about you.’

  ‘When I went to the doctor, he asked whether I had a family history of migraines and of course I had no idea. And neither did Mum or Dad.’

  ‘But everything was fine,’ said Isaac.

  ‘Don’t you see? It’s the same whatever the ailment – if I turned up at the surgery with a mole that had turned funny, they’d ask if there was a history of skin cancer, if I had heart problems, they’d want to know my background. And if I want kids one day, it’ll be even more difficult. I know from my job that to be forewarned is to be forearmed. Every time I’m asked anything about my health history, I have to say I don’t know.’

  ‘I never thought of it that way.’

  ‘Do you see now why I’d like to know something, anything?’

  ‘I’m starting to.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll make sure I hide all the alcohol this time, shall I?’

  She grinned at him. ‘No need. I’m prepared.’ Saying it out loud, however, cast serious doubts in her mind. What could she possibly do to prepare for a stranger, tied to her biologically, who could turn her away, slam a metaphorical, or even physical, door in her face?

  Their main courses arrived and Isaac spooned out his Szechuan chicken while Molly dished out her sweet-and-sour pork, and her brother served them both a helping each of the egg fried rice.

  ‘How’s Operation Wedding going for you?’ Her brother asked.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘The online support group.’

  ‘Good.’ She scooped up the fried rice with her chopsticks, laughing at Isaac’s attempt. She’d always been much better at using them than he had. ‘Another member made their first flight last week and it went without a hitch.’

  ‘Wow, this Ben bloke should take commission for all these members he cures.’

  ‘You make it sound like he’s some freaky god we pray to.’

  Isaac finally secured a piece of chicken with his chopsticks. ‘As long as he can help get you on a plane by the time I get married, he’s got my vote.’ He popped the morsel into his mouth before it had a chance to fall. ‘I want my little sister to be at my wedding.’

  ‘I know you do.’

  They chatted some more about the ghastly UK chain system when it came to buying a house, and they talked again about her plans to trace her birth father.

  ‘It’d mean a lot to me if you said you support me,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve never known you to back down about much, Molly, so I’ll be there to pick up the pieces if you need me.’ He winked at her.

  ‘I think I’m old enough to not have my big brother looking after me.’

  ‘You need a boyfriend to pick up the slack.’ When she giggled, he added a little more seriously, ‘I mean it though. If you decide to go through with it, then I’ll help you in any way I can. And you know Mum and Dad will too.’

  After Isaac dropped her home, Molly filled a glass of water in the kitchen and took it into the bedroom. She lay on her stomach on her bed and logged back on to Facebook, but Ben had only said, ‘Catch you later,’ in answer to her hurried goodbye, so she shut off the iPad dejectedly. She turned over onto her back, her arm thrown above her head as she looked at the ceiling.

  Was she really going to do this? Was she really going to find her birth father?

  The question went round and round in her head for a good ten minutes as she lay there looking at nothing, and then the decision was made.

  She rolled onto her tummy and pulled the iPad back across the bed. She clicked on Internet Explorer, and when the Google search field appeared at the top of the page, she typed in her birth father’s name.

  And before she could talk herself out of it, she pressed Enter.

  Chapter Seven

  Andrew

  On his lunch break, Andrew drove around the corner to Magnolia House to deliver a chocolate fountain, glad of the job that kept him so busy and focused. It kept his mind off Julia and the messages they’d exchanged since she’d first contacted him. He’d fired more questions her way, but so far her answers had been short and to the point. It was like trying to squeeze out a dishcloth that had spent all day in the Aussie heat and any time she liked, she could completely dry up and he’d struggle to find out more about the daughter he’d never met.

  Andrew had no idea where to go from here. The only thing he knew right now was how to do his job, and how to do it well.

  Rosie, PR assistant and wedding coordinator, was chatting with a florist, double-checking the order for the wedding that afternoon – cream carnations with green foliage for the groomsmen and deep, velvety pink lilies for the bride and bridesmaids.

  ‘Sorry.’ Rosie apologised for the wait after she’d directed the florist on where to take the flowers. ‘There’s so much to do on the actual day.’

  ‘You do look a bit frazzled.’ He smiled warmly at her.

  ‘I’ll be fine as long as everyone turns up when they should and does everything they’re supposed to.’ She put down a clipboard and tied her chestnut hair up into a ponytail as Andrew opened the rear doors of his van.

  It was warm again today, forecast to reach the high thirties by mid-afternoon. People in Magnolia Creek were talking readily about waiting for the cool change, the moment all Melburnians breathed a collective sigh of relief. And from what Andrew understood, residents were still on edge this summer since the bushfires that had swept too close for comfort right after Christmas.

  Rosie picked up the clipboard and flipped to the appropriate page as Andrew waited for instruction.

  ‘Right,’ she said, ‘to confirm … we have one large ultimate chocolate fountain, unlimited milk chocolate and someone to help out for five hours at the function.’

  ‘Correct,’ he answered.

  ‘Why are you smiling?’

  Andrew laughed, he couldn’t help it. ‘Well, here you are getting ready for a beautiful wedding with – and I can only assume – at least one white dress, and probably umpteen other things in white.’ He glanced around. ‘And here I am installing one of the messiest things you could ever have at a function like this.’

  ‘You know, when you put it like that, it sounds pretty crazy!’ Rosie laughed as she led the way to the main function room in Magnolia House where the air conditioning was working full pelt to keep the temperature bearable.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind betting the bride doesn’t come anywhere near this fountain.’ Andrew set the box down on the trestle table at the edge of the room and began to unpack. Unexpectedly, he found himself wondering whether his own daughter was married. Had he missed the chance to walk her down the aisle? Maybe she even had her own children by now.

  There was so much he didn’t know.

  ‘From memory,’ said Rosie, clutching her clipboard, ‘the bride was the one who wanted this.’

  Andrew looked doubtful. ‘Maybe after all the photographs are taken and all the champagne is drunk.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘Are you staying to help out?’

  ‘Not me. I’ll set it up for you now and run through what’ll happen later, but it’ll be Emilio who comes along for the five hours. He’ll top up the chocolate and make sure it doesn’t run out, and he’ll keep the fountain clean and flowing.’

  ‘Fabulous. See, n
o stress when everyone and everything is as they should be.’ Rosie briefed the kitchen staff about the chocolate fountain and the fruit, marshmallows, wafers and mixed lollies to be arranged on the table around it, ready for the guests.

  Andrew liked Rosie. She lived in Rosie Cottage with her boyfriend, Owen, and was fairly new to town after house-sitting for his parents and falling for their son. From what Gemma told Andrew – she’d gleaned the gossip from Bella – the path to true love hadn’t gone smoothly, but they were incredibly happy now. Rosie looked to be in her late twenties, around the same age as his daughter. He wanted to put a name to the end of his train of thought but he couldn’t. Julia had told him the bare facts in her message and nothing more. It was the little details that disturbed him the most: the fact he didn’t even know the name of his own child, how he didn’t know what colour her eyes were, her hair colour, her height.

  Since Julia had dropped the bombshell that the baby he’d believed to be aborted had grown up with a new family, Andrew had found himself wondering not only what his daughter was like physically, but how she was emotionally. Had she been happy all these years? Had the parents who’d cared for her all her life loved her as much as they would their own flesh and blood?

  When he arrived back at the chocolaterie, Andrew checked his watch. Gemma would be with Louis at the hospital now, getting his dialysis, possibly finding out the test results. He tried not to worry, but ignoring the train of thought lead to thinking about Julia’s revelation again. His mind was messy, like a circuit board experiment with its tangle of wires connected by alligator clips. Whenever one section switched off, another went on, and sometimes you had no idea at all how to turn it off.

  He’d only exchanged a couple of messages with Julia, and all she’d offered in her latest reply was to say this was too painful for her to go into detail and he needed to be patient with her.

  Andrew was a patient man. You couldn’t do this job if you weren’t. But he also felt like shouting from the rooftops, ‘What about me? Don’t I have a right to talk about it after being kept in the dark for so long?’