“Come this way,” he beckoned, taking us down a narrow path where the songbirds chattered. Here the trees were taller, and the leaf canopy thicker. The air was more humid now and smelled faintly of composting leaves, bark, and soil. The vines that wrapped around the trunks were almost ethereal in their beauty, with winding shoots and tendrils that climbed with determination. It reminded me of the forest primeval.
“And here we have our wild vanilla orchids,” he said, pointing to one vine that had clusters of buds. “Most people think orchids are native to the island, but the truth is only three types originated here. The fancy orchids used to make leis are actually cultivated.”
“I did not know that,” said Jeff, surprised.
“These vines, as you can see, have been trained to remain closer to the ground, for harvesting purposes. We try to encourage them to grow horizontally, rather than vertically, thus you will see the support cables.”
No wonder it appeared that the vines were taking over the forest. As I looked closer, I could see they had been carefully tended.
“These orchid plants grow forty or fifty feet, sometimes more. If we let them grow straight up, they will not produce blooms,” Étienne told us.
“Why is that?” Jeff wanted to know. I started to laugh before I answered.
“It’s a birds and bees thing. The pollinators like to stay closer to the ground,” I told him. Our host nodded.
“Very good, Chris. This is the time of year the vines in the wild will produce buds, usually in clusters of about twenty or more. Every day, one blossom opens, expecting to be pollinated.”
“Wild? Does that mean you normally do something different with them?” P. J. asked.
“We have the bulk of our vanilla orchids in a managed grove, but this is an experiment in wild organics. Camille’s begun to plant gardens near these vines that will eventually attract birds and insects, in the hopes we can increase vanilla bean production the old-fashioned way, by letting nature take its course. We don’t rely on the birds and the bees, at least not yet, so we have to pollinate by hand. We only do this with about half of them, and then, once the pods begin to grow, we keep just five or six on each inflorescence. That way, the beans are bigger and have a better flavor.”
He reached up and carefully exposed a section of vine for us to examine, where there was a healthy cluster of buds. Étienne pointed out a tiny pod that was only a couple of inches long.
“How many beans do you get from each vine?” P. J. wanted to know.
“It varies. Older vines, healthy ones, might yield up to one hundred and fifty beans. Young vines might only produce thirty or forty. We are constantly propagating new plants, tucking them away in the forest for several years, until they are mature enough to bear fruit. They need the right kind of light -- not too much sun, not too much shade.”
“How long does it take before the beans are ready for harvest,” I wondered, “a month or two?”
“Good heavens, no.” Étienne shook his head, amused. “It takes the better part of a year, maybe eight or nine months after the flowers have been pollinated. Vanilla is a very labor-intensive crop.”
“Wow, that’s much longer than I expected,” I admitted. P. J. shared my interest in the answer.
“I assumed it was the same as an apple or tomato,” he said. “A couple of months after the blossom falls off, you’ve got fruit. How do you know when they’re ready to be picked?”
“They turn yellow at the tips, and then it is time to cure them. And to do that, we must first kill them by heat, be it hot water or sunlight.”
Jeff shook his head. “I’m surprised. Much of what I saw on Guadeloupe was the harvesting of the beans by small-plot farmers. The plants looked a little different than these.”
“Ah, those are Vanilla pompona orchids, grown in the Caribbean. We grow Vanilla tahitensis....”
“Tahiti gold,” I interrupted.
“That is right. It is prized by cooks for its cherry overtones.” Étienne’s eyes were watching me with amusement. “You are a baker?”
“I am. It’s such a pleasure for me to see the real thing growing here. It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”
“Ah, I think that is why Camille insisted on planting them here. She loved her Guadeloupe rainforest. It was her favorite place to hike.”
“I can understand that. I’m also a fan of Serena Duvall. I loved Vanilla Orchid Magic.”
“You read my wife’s book?” Jeff’s father looked at me with surprise and I suddenly realized my mistake. I dreaded the next, inevitable question. “You know she’s not just Lisbeth Causley; she’s also Serena Duvall.”
“Oh?” There was a long pause as I scrambled to cover my misstep. “Is she?”
“How did that come about?” Jeff’s father pressed on. As our eyes met, I suddenly thought there was no deceiving this man, not without some effort. I stuck as closely to the truth as I could.
“Ah...I started with The Secret of White Jasmine. A friend of mine shared her copy with me and after that, I was hooked.”
“Right,” the history professor from Cornell smiled, glancing at his son knowingly. “Of course.”
“So, how did you two meet?” Étienne suddenly asked. Jeff immediately stepped in and answered the question for me.
“Chris joined us for dinner last night and I was lucky enough to convince her to come with us today.”
“Is that your story and you’re sticking to it?” he wanted to know. Jeff and I both looked at the Frenchman in alarm. Étienne waved his hands, dismissing our concerns with a good-natured chuckle. “Do not worry. Your secret is safe with me. But if I were to give you one piece of advice, it would be this. Don’t look directly at each other. Every time you do, it is as if you cannot take your eyes off one another. That is a dead giveaway.”
Chapter Fifty Four
“Is it that obvious?” Jeff asked. His father shrugged good-naturedly.
“To all but the blind, perhaps.”
“You can’t tell anyone, not without endangering Chris. No one can know we met anywhere but here in Hawaii.”
“Not to worry,” Étienne promised. “We shall cover for you.”
“If it’s any consolation, son, your mother believes in love at first sight. This morning Liz said to me, ‘I think Jeff has met his Nora.’ My wife is a romantic,” P. J. confided to me. “Once she gets an idea like that in her head, she will not let it go. She’s convinced that the women who chase Jeff are just after his money, and therefore, they are never worthy of her boy. For some reason, Chris, she believes you might be a potential bride for Jefferson; hence, her heavy-handed effort to play matchmaker. Of course, she actually thinks you two just met last night and fell instantly in love. Rather naive, if you ask me.”
“That’s fine by me,” I grinned, “as long as she doesn’t hate me for stealing her son away.”
“She’ll want to know if family matters to you,” P. J. told me. “If you pass that test, you’re in.”
“Dad, Étienne, Chris has been through so much...too much. I promised her a great life. I intend to make that happen, but I’ll need your help to get it done.”
For the Frenchman, it was an easy sell. “Ah, say no more. A man in love will move heaven and earth for the woman who captures his heart. Tell me what you need from me, mon ami.”
Jeff outlined the plan he and Rocky concocted to convince people our meeting took place on Kauai. As I stood there listening, I realized that P. J. knew more about Jeff’s business than I expected. It was as if the two men were cut from the same cloth. Maybe the apple really didn’t fall all that far from the tree. And maybe Lisbeth Causley wasn’t the greatest influence on the Cornwall boys, despite tales to the contrary.
“Shall we rejoin the others?” our host suggested. We piled back into the golf cart and he drove us to the house, where he gave us a tour of the charming home he shared with Camille and their children.
We had lunch on the covered lanai, a feast Camill
e prepared ahead of our arrival. There were cold salads, freshly baked breads, and sliced meats to pass around the table. We had Hawaiian wine with our meal, one made from grapes and guava, bottled on the Big Island.
Étienne and I helped Camille clear the table as the others talked. Her kitchen was a chef’s dream. I took the plates and forks out to the lanai while she cut slices of cake and arranged them on a cut glass platter. Her husband hovered over the sink, doing the washing-up. They followed me out to the porch a short time later with dessert and coffee.
“What smells so divine?” Liz wanted to know.
“We call it ‘Camille’s Paradise Cake’,” Étienne replied. “It’s one of her most memorable concoctions. It’s full of bananas, pineapple, shredded coconut, macadamia nuts....”
“Such an ordinary-looking cake, it hides in plain sight,” the baker told us with a smile, as she passed the platter. “You might be tempted to pass it by without a second glance. But when you bite into it, you are transported to paradise. It is a tropical wonder, right down to the spices we grow here on our land.”
“Delicious,” P. J. declared as he took another bite. “It’s like an unforgettable woman in cake form, powerful enough to make a man want to surrender.”
“Now you understand why I had to marry her,” Étienne smiled.
“Was that my husband speaking?” Liz sat back in her chair. “Did he actually just say something bordering on romantic?”
“You’re not the only one who can wax poetic in the family, dear wife. Perhaps I shall one day take up my pen and write a hot, heart-throbbing novel of my own,” he teased. “Alas, it will be for the male sensibility.”
“What does that mean?” Liz asked. “We shall see lots of manly blustering, hemming and hawing about the fairer sex?
“No, no. My hard-boiled hero is going to play hard to get. Let the woman romance him for a change.”
“Oh, like that will happen,” she scoffed. “Would you really respect a woman who chases you and indulges your every whim? How quickly you would grow tired of her!”
“Spoken like a woman who still knows what makes you tick, Pop,” Jeff laughed.
“Well, Liz has never been known to be boring,” P. J. agreed, winking at his wife. “Exhausting on occasion, but never boring. She certainly keeps me on my toes.”
The subject of marriage We got into a discussion about the trend of many of the area farms to start side businesses to draw visitors in.
“Several of the local farms operate produce stands and sell baked goods, and I know of three that also have bed and breakfast accommodations,” Camille told us. “Molly Zimmer wants to start a wedding service at hers. She thinks creating a small wedding venue would be a hit, especially for couples wanting to elope.”
“Chris, didn’t you tell me you have some experience as a party planner?” Jeff asked. “You must have done weddings.”
Feeling like a deer in the headlights, I froze momentarily. What was I supposed to say in response?
“She has,” my father acknowledged proudly. “She’s an expert.”
I was careful not to look in Jeff’s direction as I answered, still mindful of Étienne’s advice. “Well, I’ve done a few.”
“Oh?” Camille was very interested. “Tell us about your last one.”
As I glanced at her eager face, I found myself wondering if she was in on Jeff’s plan. Had he spoken with her before we arrived, convincing her to sell the story to Liz and the others? If she was the real Nora, perhaps Jeff had played a far more significant role in her escape from Guadeloupe than I knew.
“My last one? That was in California.” I thought about Clovis and David’s wedding, suddenly caught up in the sentimentality of their story. By the time I shared the details of Julie’s situation and Clovis’s walk down the aisle, Camille insisted on introducing me to Molly before I left the island.
“She is more than able to pay your consulting fee,” my hostess informed me with a conspiratorial wink. That’s when I knew she and Jeff were working together to keep me in Hawaii a little longer.
The six of us bid Camille and Étienne farewell and drove back to the resort just after one o’clock. The ladies went off to change into their suits for a trip to the pool. P. J. and my dad decided to go to Kapa’a Beach Park for some shoreline fishing. That gave Jeff and me a chance to spend some time together.
“Fancy a drive up to Princeville? I’ll show you some of the sights.”
We stopped by the pool to let the ladies know we were leaving the resort. They were lounging in the shade. Liz was in a respectable black tank suit, wearing sunglasses, flipping pages on her e-reader. Lara was in a vibrant pink skirted suit and a straw hat, her eyes closed while she rested beside her. They looked like what they were, a couple of long-time, middle-aged friends on vacation.
“You’ll be back here for dinner, I presume.” Liz looked up at her son expectantly. I could feel Jeff’s hesitation, even when he tried to mask it.
“Sure, Mom. We’ll be here.”
“Good. I’ll make a reservation for all of us at Hukilau Lanai.”
“Great,” he replied, with all the enthusiasm of a dental patient facing root canal. That didn’t seem to deter Liz.
“Toodle-oo. Have fun,” she called after us.
Cooper came along for the ride up to Princeville. He sat on my lap, his eyes on the scenery going by. We stopped at Shave Ice Paradise for guava and passion fruit treats before we parked the Explorer and strolled down to magnificent Hanalei Bay. Enraptured by the scenery, I assumed we were there for a little romance, especially as we walked hand in hand, like several other couples did. But Jeff came to the point about his reason for bringing me to this favorite beach, a discussion of the future -- our future, to be exact.
“I need you to stay on the island a while longer, spend some time with your dad, Chris. I’ll fly out a few times over the next couple of months, on the pretext of visiting my mother.”
“Why?” I felt my heart flutter momentarily. We had only just been reunited, and now he was telling me we needed to part once more. I barely had a chance to spend any time with Jeff, and it didn’t look like I’d get to do that any time soon. Was he dumping me and this was supposed to soften the eventual blow?
“We need people to believe we met in Hawaii, so that when I bring you back to Atlanta, we’ll have a public history.”
“I don’t understand. You used your address to on my new Georgia driver’s license. I thought that meant we were....”
“You needed the required identification in order to board your flight. Now we need you to establish your residency in Hawaii. You’ll have to apply for a driver’s license here.”
“That sounds like we’ll be separated for quite some time,” I sighed, my disappointment growing. “Are you trying to tell me you feel that we rushed into this relationship too quickly?”
Jeff’s eyes grew wide as he stared at me. “What? God, no! Is that what you think?”
“Why can’t I be with you in Atlanta?” My throat was tight as I pushed back the tears. “What about the condo project?”
“We have to lay the groundwork for the creation of Chrisanth Neeson. I’m a public figure, Chris. That means the press will want to know all about you, and we just can’t afford for anyone to dig too deeply into your past.”
“Oh.” I leaned over and hugged Cooper, trying to get my anxiety under control. Jared Spears had ruined my life. He had manipulated me, pretending to care when all he really wanted was to steal my identity. I had wasted too much time on him, squandered too much of the life I had built for myself, and it all evaporated into thin air because Jared was a criminal and I didn’t know it. Now Jeff was insisting that we needed to establish my life as Chrisanth Neeson. Without Jared, it would have been possible to be with Jeff. I told him so.
“Is that what you believe, Chris?” He put his hand on my knee. “Without Jared, you and I would never have met. The Cornwall family and the Neeson family would have remaine
d in their separate orbits, far, far apart. Why, if you hadn’t needed my help, I’d probably have gone on living my life as it was, thinking women like you only exist on the pages of a book.”
“You would have?”
He pulled me close, pressing his open mouth on mine with a hunger that was unmistakable. His kiss tasted of passion fruit and promise. When he finally let me go, he wiped my tears gently with his fingertips.
“Relax. I intend to marry you. That’s why I brought you in Hawaii and put you in a two-bedroom condo, Chris. I want you to invite your father to stay with you for the duration of your time on the island. You two need time to get reacquainted. Camille and Étienne will introduce our botanists to other farmers on Kauai dealing with pests and diseases; Lara and Woody will have plenty of opportunities for more agricultural projects. They won’t want for work.”
Some of my initial panic subsided as I considered the immediate future. I might have lost my naïveté about human nature, but I gained in new experience in self-preservation. I was older and wiser now, no longer the timid Marigold Flowers who always looked over her shoulder in fear. It had been so long since I had seen my dad; so much had happened, we were almost strangers. I could never share the story of Jared Spears, especially now that the bastard was a protected witness; that was something my father didn’t need to know. But it would be nice to be reunited with my father and eventually my sisters, to recapture the sense of belonging somewhere in this crazy world. The Cornwall brothers had brought that back to me. As I got to know them, I began to understand why Liz was so determined to keep her brood together. She made sure they understood the power of family. Maybe some of her magic would rub off on the Neesons.
“I haven’t seen him this excited about a fungus in years.” I brushed away a stray tear.
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