When Chocolate Is Not Enough... (19 page)

The new dessert had been finished by four that afternoon, and it was the best chocolate cake that she had ever made. Her hands had seemed to move automatically as she’d folded in the cream and chocolate to make the light and elegant, delicate and frothy sabayon base.

Simple ingredients—the best that she could find.

So, so good.

But it was more than that
.

For the whole hour or so that it had taken to make the cake batter she’d felt as though her dad was standing next to her at the kitchen bench, chatting away, tasting and testing,
lining the baking tray, checking the temperature. Relaxed, calm, and happy that at last the culmination of so many years of work was finally being put to use in such a spectacular setting.

It had been totally crazy, but somehow magical and special at the same time.

With her dad by her side, smiling and encouraging, even the discreet TV crews had not bothered her in the least.

Of course she had tasted a tiny sliver of the cake—she’d simply had to. It was every bit as good as she remembered, and it looked terrific.

Thank you, Dad
.

But now it was all over. She had finished.

She had taken the challenge and worked harder than she had ever worked—she had done the very best she could to show how marvellous Trevelyn Estate chocolate could be.

No going back. No last-minute changes. All she could do now was wait for the after-dinner speeches.

Daisy collapsed down onto the silky cover of her luxurious super-soft bed and fell back with her arms out on either side as the stress and adrenaline of the past twenty-four hours hit her hard.

She raised one arm and squinted at her
watch. Drinks were scheduled for seven, and then she would have to tuck into a four-course meal complete with rich, creamy and chocolatey sauces, made by the hotel chef, and a selection of the contestants’ desserts before the judges made their final announcements.

Assuming, of course, that she would be able to eat anything at all. She felt way too nervous to eat food cooked by someone else.

Of course Max and Tara would both tell her that she was overreacting.

She would be okay. What was the big deal about strolling into a ballroom full of elegant and beautiful aristocratic people who came to this sort of splendid hotel several times a week?

Thank heavens she would have Max by her side.

She shuffled up the bed and picked up her cell phone from the bedside table. She had been so tempted to slip out of the preparation room that afternoon and catch a few words of encouragement from Max, but she’d known that he was way too much of a distraction at precisely the time when she needed to focus on what she was doing.

And he had needed space to deal with his problems in his own way.

She held the phone with both hands over her head, scanned through two good luck
messages from Tara and … there it was. Max had sent her a text message every hour, on the hour, during the whole day. His speech had gone well, he had serious customers, and he missed her. And then she noticed a voicemail from Max, sent around the same time as she had been standing outside the kitchens, palms sweating and mouth dry, ready to start.

Perhaps it was to tell her that he wasn’t coming back and she would have to deal with this on her own after all? Or that he had signed a wonderful deal with one of the major chocolate manufacturers he had been chatting to most of the previous day instead?

Oh, just listen to the recorded message and get it over with, you silly girl!

She pressed the button and Max bellowed out from her phone, sounding as though he was either in the car or running. Either way, just the crackly sound of his voice made her lie back on the pillow so that she could bathe in his words, savouring each one in turn.

‘Hi! I hoped to catch you before you started cooking. Instead of which I am walking in the sunshine on the way to meeting number four. So here goes—this is what I would say in my clumsy way if I was able to stand next to you right now. I am only a poor cocoa farmer, and you have only been in my life for a short time, but I know this: I know that you are remarkable,
beautiful and talented beyond measure. I know that I believe in you, and I know that I could not have chosen a better chocolatier to work with. You will always do your very best. So be ready to get out there and be audacious. Because the world deserves to see your beautiful light. It is time for you to come out of the kitchen, Daisy, and let that dazzling light break through the darkness. Both of us have been living under a shadow for far too long.

‘My meetings are running late—but I will be there to escort you into dinner. And whatever the judges decide we have already won. Because you know now that you are capable of achieving anything you set your heart on. So no more settling for second-hand dreams, Daisy Flynn. You can do anything. Anywhere you want. This is your life, so get ready to have a brilliant evening—and I’ll see you around seven. Oh—and I won’t get lost. Your dazzling light will be my beacon.’

Daisy lay still for a few minutes, eyes closed, with the telephone clasped to her chest. She was listening, just listening, to the sound of the world that was spinning all around her. Birdsong from the lovely grounds outside her bedroom window, lively chatter and laughter from a cluster of men in the corridor, and the sound of her own breathing as tears trickled down her cheeks.

Crazy, foolish, wonderful man! What was he doing, leaving her messages like that?

Wow, was she grateful that she had not picked up his message before she went into the kitchen—because if she had there would have been a very weepy girl crying into her egg whites while trying to read her own recipes and failing.

Max believed in her! Thought that she was capable of achieving anything. Doing anything. What was the term he had used? Second-hand dreams? Oh, yes, she knew about those.

Daisy rolled sideways and off the edge of the bed, the phone still clasped in her hand. From here she could see her reflection in the mirror glass of the wardrobe.

Ever since she had got back from Paris, and the humiliation of being taken for granted by Pascal, her one goal had been to open her own chocolate shop. She had told everyone from Tara to the chefs she worked with all over London that in two years, three at most, she would have her own place in the city. Her name over the door. Her brand.

But now, sitting here, it hit her—and hit her hard—that Max had seen through her claims and protests. She wanted to open a shop because that was what her father had wanted—and he’d never got the chance. He’d been a
loving, caring, talented man, and she’d adored him, but she knew that he could have cut back on the bakery and spent more time on his chocolate work. He hadn’t been brave enough to make the move.

Oh, Dad. She would be a poor example of a daughter if she didn’t make the most of every second of her life. She loved her work. She loved seeing the look of exquisite pleasure on the faces of complete strangers when they tasted the food she created. Those were the things that gave her joy and satisfaction. Not money in the bank or a big banner over a shop door—but real happiness, with people she loved around her.

Max was right. She was still living in her father’s shadow. And it was finally time to step out of the kitchen and into the light.

She
did
have choices. A bewildering selection of choices, if she was truly honest. And being with Max on a tropical island had suddenly shot right to the top of the list.

What she did and where she did it was still up for grabs.

A shocking and totally exhilarating idea swished around inside her brain. She did not need to spend her whole life tied to a single retail outlet on some city street to express her creative talent—she could do that anywhere she chose.

But there was one thing she was absolutely clear about. She knew now exactly who she wanted to spend her life with. Maximilian Treveleyn. The man she had only met a few days ago. The man she was totally in love with. The man she was ready and willing to fight for. And if that meant learning to be a farmer on an island in the Caribbean—well, that was what she was going to have to do. Because she was not letting him go. No second best for her. Not any more.

She was free.

For the first time in way too many long years she felt able to simply live in the moment and enjoy where she was and what she was doing. Not fighting or working or running from one place to the next with orders and deliveries. And free from Pascal and the pain of the past.

Tonight she was finally going to be herself.

Max was right. She had done everything she possibly could to impress the judges, and the recipes she had chosen represented the essence of who she was. Even the dessert cake was a triumph she would never have been brave enough to try without the superb organic chocolate that Max had created. There was nothing more to do but enjoy this lovely hotel and come out of the kitchen into the world.

She felt lighter. Almost as if the weight of responsibility for living the life she had planned with her father years ago had been lifted from her shoulders.

Daisy stopped, closed her eyes, and slowly, slowly exhaled.

She should be scared. Frightened of being cast loose onto an open sea of bewildering opportunities. But she wasn’t scared in the least. She could work anywhere she wanted. Go anywhere. Have fun. And just that one single thought made her dizzy with excitement and joy.

Daisy started unbuttoning her jacket. What was she doing, sitting in her room! She had a party to get ready for.

It was time to start living her life.

‘D
ADDY,
your little tie thing is all twisted.’ Freya sighed and stood on the bed so that she could tug at it, both lips pressed together tight with concentration.

‘It is? Thank goodness your mummy brought you to see me at this nice hotel. Otherwise I would have had to go down to an extra-special posh awards dinner with a crooked tie,’ Max replied, his neck already hurting from bending down so much. ‘And that would never do, would it? How’s that? Am I done?’

She nodded, and was rewarded by a big smoochy kiss as Max swung her up into the air, making her squeal.

‘Hey, what’s all this noise about?’ Kate asked from the bathroom.

‘Mummy, come and look at Daddy. He’s got his bestest suit on and
everything
.’

‘So he has.’ Kate stuck her head out of the bathroom door and nodded several times before pointing towards Max. ‘Don’t you think
he looks smart? Your clever daddy is going to be a wonderful hotel manager and sell lots of cocoa beans. And then we are all going to go to the island to see him, and stay for the whole of the Christmas holidays. How about that?’

‘Yay! Clever Daddy. When can we go, Daddy? Tomorrow? Can we go tomorrow?’

‘Hey! Hold on there, gorgeous,’ Max replied, as Freya flung her arms around his neck. ‘I am going to build a few extras onto the house first, so that it’s nice and cool for you all the time, and you can swim and play all day long. Can I tell you what the best bit is? I have to whisper it.’

She leant forward so that her ear and most of her party dress was pressed against his face, making breathing a challenge.

‘The best bit is that I get to be with my little girl for a whole Christmas holiday—but this time on the beach in hot sunshine. With real parrots and bananas you can pick straight from the bush. And boats and sailing and lots of jungle creatures to find. It is going to be mega.’

Freya’s eyes widened. ‘
Mega
. You are the bestest daddy in the whole world.’

Max looked over towards Kate as he hugged Freya so tight that she squealed, and Kate winked back as he mouthed silent thanks.

‘It’s time to let your dad go and talk to the
grown-ups and be a very important business person while we finish getting dressed. Five more minutes, then we can skip down and join the party. Okay?’

Freya slid down Max’s dinner suit and gave a huge shrug. ‘Five whole minutes? Okay. See you soon, Daddy. You have to go and be important now.’

‘See you soon.’ Max tapped the end of her nose with his fingertip. ‘See you very soon.’

Max practically slid along the marble floor at the hotel reception desk, and had to hold onto the counter to steady himself.

Was he in time? He had to be. He simply had to be! He would never forgive himself if he was late for the conference dinner and let Daisy down just when she needed him to be there.

Stretching up on tiptoe, he looked over the heads of the people who were wandering out of the cocktail lounge towards the splendid dining room.

There she was.

Chatting to the managing director of the company who owned this entire chain of boutique eco hotels. The elegantly dressed Austrian was clearly delighted at something she was saying, and as Max watched in awe the man actually threw his head back and laughed
out loud, startling the contest judges who were gathering at the top table near the dais.

Max blinked and shook his head for a second, before smiling across at her. His heart was racing just to see her beautiful face.

Daisy.

She was wearing a black cocktail dress, smiling and laughing like a total networking professional, with one of the most influential and most recognised hoteliers in the world, as though this was something she did every day of the week.

What happened to the girl he had met only a few days ago, who had steadfastly refused to come out of the kitchen and recognise her own talent and excellence? Now she looked relaxed. In control and comfortable in such exalted company.

A large lump ached in his throat. He was so proud of her. Proud of everything she had achieved. No matter what happened with the contest, Daisy was the winner. He could see it in everything about her—the way she held her body, the way she smiled and laughed with her hands flying about everywhere. She was stunning. And happy.

His Daisy was happy.

He sucked in a long breath and lifted his head as he made his way around the edge of the crowded dining room towards her. Constant
interruptions and greetings from fellow growers and conference delegates who had made him so welcome only the day before blocked his path at every step, and it seemed to take hours instead of minutes to finally reach the spot where she had been standing.