The Chocolatier's Secret (Magnolia Creek, Book 2) (16 page)

Chris beckoned to a man over in the corner who came to collect his drinks.

The man in question was good looking with dark hair, and he was tall. The tail end of a tattoo on his arm poked out from the sleeve of his T-shirt as he reached for the drinks left to settle beneath the pump before the landlord topped them up.

‘Where’s your brother, Owen?’ Chris asked the man. ‘I hear he’s back in town.’

‘He sure is.’ The man smiled. ‘He’s on his way.’

‘Good lad, that one.’ Chris nodded in Owen’s direction when he left to take the drinks over to a table with three chairs and the girl with red hair who Molly had seen earlier as she strung up lights at Magnolia House. She figured the brother would be claiming his pint soon.

‘And Rosie’s a lovely lass,’ Chris continued. ‘She moved here from the city last year and they live up at Rosie Cottage.’

‘Lovely name,’ said Molly. ‘Is the cottage named after her?’

‘It is,’ Chris smiled. ‘Owen looks rough and ready, fights fires in his spare time, but he’s an old romantic at heart.’

Molly smiled. ‘Do you know everyone in this town?’

Chris emptied a drip tray into a bucket. ‘Pretty much. Lived here my whole life. Fair dinkum,’ he added when Molly looked suitably impressed.

She giggled at the colloquialism. She intended to ask about the chocolaterie, but she didn’t have to say a word because Chris got there all by himself. He talked about Bella and Rodney Finnegan and how many years they’d been in Magnolia Creek, the school at the top of the hill where his daughter Stephanie had been a student and the fires that had come this way and destroyed so much of the surrounding bush.

‘The newest recruits are the Bennetts,’ he said.

Molly’s beer bottle paused before she drank the last dregs.

‘Can I get you another?’

‘Yes, please,’ she managed to say. She prayed he wouldn’t forget his train of thought.

He flicked the top off the bottle and placed it on the bar. ‘The Bennetts own Magnolia Creek Chocolaterie.’ He looked around, checked nobody else was within earshot. ‘It’s a dream come true for chocoholics like me. Don’t tell the wife’ – he patted a portly belly – ‘she’d have me dining with rabbits on lettuce if she could.’

‘You should go for the dark chocolate, it’s got health benefits.’ Molly sipped her drink. ‘Tell your wife. And also tell her it’s supposed to be an aphrodisiac.’

Chris laughed. ‘I don’t know about that, but it’s definitely popular around here. The Bennetts seem like fine people too. And fine people always fit in well in Magnolia Creek.’

Chris looked up as the door opened. ‘Ah, look what the cat dragged in! Welcome back, stranger!’

A raucous cheer went up, and Molly turned on her stool to face the newest customer tonight, but as Owen whistled to his brother and held the fresh pint aloft to get his attention, the only eyes this man had were for Molly. And Molly couldn’t take her gaze away from him either.

‘Molly?’ In disbelief, Ben’s eyes crinkled at the sides, his smile revealed a slight dimple in his right cheek. She hadn’t noticed it on the plane. She’d been sitting to the left of him – maybe that was it – or else he hadn’t smiled as big as this until now.

Molly hopped down from her stool and stepped towards him. He closed the gap and hugged her before pulling back, his hands on the tops of her arms. ‘I can’t believe you’re here.’

‘It’s a bit crazy, isn’t it?’

‘When you said Melbourne, I never would’ve thought you’d be all the way out here. I thought you’d be in a trendy, beachy suburb somewhere.’ He pulled a face. ‘Wait a minute … are you stalking me?’

‘I was here first,’ she laughed.

His brother was looking their way, and Molly didn’t miss Chris giving them the odd glance.

A faint layer of stubble lighter than Ben’s hair covered his chin … she expected he’d had more fun things to do in Singapore than shave and keep himself shipshape.

‘I still can’t get over it,’ said Ben.

‘Stop gawping at her,’ Owen called over. ‘And get the girl another drink!’

‘I suppose I’d better.’ Ben didn’t turn his body or his gaze away from her, and when the door to the pub creaked open again, she was too busy smiling at Ben to notice who had walked in.

Two men went up to the bar. One patted Ben on the shoulder in greeting, and it was then Molly realised who the other man was.

It was him. It was Andrew Bennett.

Molly went hot all over. Her throat felt as though it was closing up. Ben was asking if she was okay, but eyes wide, mouth dry, she bolted. She went out of the door, without a word to anyone, straight past Andrew Bennett and out into the cool early evening and beneath a few spots of rain, she simply ran.

She ran past the chocolaterie without a moment’s thought, past the gift shop and to the end of the street where she stopped at a corner. She could see a fire station ahead but turned right to go round the back and down to the lake where Magnolia House and the cottages sat.

‘Molly, wait!’ It was Ben, behind her, shouting.

She stopped and doubled over, hands on knees. Heart racing, chest pounding, the black sky above her spinning as she stood tall again. She couldn’t catch her breath, she felt as though she was going to faint.

A hand on her shoulder steadied her. ‘Breathe, Molly. Breathe. In, out, in, out.’ Ben’s voice soothed her.

She tried to focus on his voice, let him lead her over to the gum trees marking the top of the path. And leaning against the trunk of a tree, she felt calm quiver its way through her as she breathed in, then out, over and over again. The dizziness abated, the pressure on her chest lessened.

‘My God, you can run.’ He put his hands gently on her shoulders. ‘I hope you know I’ve left a pretty good pint of Guinness in there waiting for me.’

Molly managed a smile.

‘You had a panic attack,’ he told her. ‘What happened back there? I know it’s a shock seeing me, but—’

‘That was him.’

‘Who?’

‘My birth father.’ She closed her eyes, it helped her to concentrate on breathing normally. She’d never had a panic attack, not in all the time she’d been terrified of flying, not in life-threatening situations at work, never.

‘Your birth father? In the pub?’ Ben got to his feet. ‘That was him!’

‘Yes. Andrew Bennett.’

Ben sighed, and then he started to laugh and slumped against the tree next to her.

‘It’s not funny. It’s the first time I’ve seen him.’

‘It’s not that.’ He was still laughing.

‘Then what?’

‘He walked in with
my
dad. For a minute I thought … well, I thought …’

Molly laughed out loud, wondering if the swaying branches of the trees above would carry her whispers to the pub and tell Andrew Bennett all about her without her having to. She looked up at the stars starting to make their grand entrance in the sky. The moon crept out from behind the white pointed roof of Magnolia House.

Ben smiled. ‘Of course, my dad is no chocolatier so I should’ve known, but let’s just say we’ve had a bit of strife in our family regarding paternity. It’s a touchy subject. I won’t go into detail now, it’s family stuff, but it could be why I was a bit more understanding than others might be, when you told me about your search.’

‘You were adopted?’ Molly asked.

‘No, but there were family secrets and the truth took a long time to come out. The man in question, my brother’s biological father, isn’t likely to ever be a part of our lives. Something we’re all grateful for. But the secrecy did make me wonder, when it came to your situation, whether this birth father of yours has his own story, a story that needs to be told by him, and only him. It’s the reason I encouraged you to find him.’

‘I still can’t believe you’re here, standing next to me,’ said Molly.

‘Neither can I. Small world, eh?’

Molly giggled, mostly from nerves.

‘What’s funny?’

‘The look of panic on your face that we could be related.’

He blew air out from between his lips. ‘Yeah, not funny at all. If we were related, it would mean nothing could ever happen between us.’

She laughed loudly this time. ‘Never going to happen.’

Who was she trying to convince? Him? Or herself?

‘That’s what they all say. Where are you staying?’

She tipped her head in the direction of the lake and the holiday cottages beyond. She knew his dimple would be back now as she felt his smile on her, but she didn’t look up at his face as they walked down past the lake, dark but ever present. She’d felt a pull to him even when they only knew one another online, then again after the plane journey he’d helped her through. And seeing him tonight had felt like coming home in a way she couldn’t explain.

‘You know,’ said Ben when they reached Molly’s cottage, ‘you can’t run a mile each time Andrew Bennett comes near. You need to let him know who you are.’

She leant against the white wood of the veranda. ‘I know.’

Ben took out his phone. ‘Sorry, it’s Owen. He’s getting impatient.’ He declined the call.

‘Do you know anything about him?’

‘Owen, or the chocolatier?’ He grinned.

‘You know who I mean.’

‘All I really know is that he’s new to town.’

‘But he knows your dad. They were chatting when they walked in.’

‘It’s a small town, Molly. Everyone knows everyone else. But if you like, I’ll ask about him, you know, casually. See what I can find out.’

She smiled sheepishly. ‘Thank you, Ben.’

‘I’d better go and have that Guinness. Are you sure you won’t come back with me? Rosie and Owen are a good laugh.’

‘I can’t, not with him in there.’ She didn’t need to explain who she was referring to.

He smiled. ‘Then have a good sleep, Molly.’

‘You too, goodnight.’

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.