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

by Helen J Rolfe

  The Chocolatier’s Secret

  Helen J. Rolfe

  Fabrian Books

  BOOKS BY HELEN J ROLFE

  The Friendship Tree

  Handle Me with Care

  What Rosie Found Next

  The Chocolatier’s Secret

  Copyright © 2016 Helen J. Rolfe

  Published by Fabrian Books

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher and author.

  Helen J Rolfe asserts the right to be identified as the author of this book. All the characters and events in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to individuals is entirely coincidental.

  For Christine, who was brave enough to put me first, and to my parents for opening their hearts. This one’s for you.

  Chapter One

  Andrew

  Andrew Bennett stared at the computer screen. ‘After all this time,’ he said out loud, even though he was alone. Julia Mason’s name was right there in front of him, and he didn’t even need to click on her Facebook message to read what she had to say. There was only one word: ‘Why?’

  After what she’d done to him, he’d wanted to ask her the very same question for the last thirty years.

  He heard Gemma on her way up the stairs, probably with a cup of tea. She’d been up before him this morning and whoever was first out of bed usually did the honours. He shut the laptop, unable to concentrate on the online work he needed to do, and headed to the bedroom. He kissed his wife and took his tea into the bathroom, all the while trying to process memories of the past.

  He showered, ate a bowl of cereal for breakfast and left the house on Myrtle Close to take the ten-minute walk to Magnolia Creek Chocolaterie, the business he owned and ran. As he walked he tried to shake off thoughts of Julia Mason, the girl who’d broken his heart in the cruellest way possible. He thought about his wife, Gemma, the woman who had his heart now. They’d met at LJ Bennett Chocolates eleven years ago. Owned and run by his father, Louis Bennett, the business was a lucrative, successful chocolate shop that thrived in the heart of the city. Andrew had learned from his father, from the ground up, and as part of the business they’d run workshops. There had been a hen do one day and Gemma was one of the participants – Andrew, especially knowing the amount of champagne likely to be consumed and with no desire himself to get involved, had delegated the workshop to a female employee – and when he’d returned to the shop after running an errand, Gemma had literally fallen into his arms, drunk and more than a little unsteady on her feet. He’d been thirty-four years old at the time, and from that moment on he was smitten.

  Andrew and Gemma married three years later, and now all they wanted was a family. Eight years his junior, Gemma had age on her side, or so they thought when they’d started trying for a baby two years ago. She’d only been thirty-five then and they’d both been convinced it would happen easily enough. But after falling pregnant quickly, a miscarriage had shattered their dreams. Since then, she’d conceived three more times, yet none of those pregnancies had gone the distance. Only two days ago she’d called him at the chocolaterie to tell him she’d miscarried again and Andrew was beginning to feel powerless to help her. Added to that, his father, Louis, was on dialysis for kidney failure and with Andrew running the business, Gemma was the one who flitted between her own part-time job at the local school, the chocolaterie and home to be with Louis or take him to the hospital sessions. All of this was putting a strain on their marriage and both of them knew it.

  Andrew continued along the main street of Magnolia Creek, allowing the sun to gently warm his back. He loved this time of the morning, before most people got out of bed, before Magnolia Creek welcomed its first tourists of the day, before school kids bustled down the streets and up to the little school at the top of the hill. This morning held a welcome freshness after the stifling heat of summer that had seen temperatures into the forties all last week. In truth he was looking forward to the approaching autumn and winter seasons, which would bring with them plenty of requests for their signature hot chocolate in the café upstairs.

  Apart from family, chocolate was Andrew Bennett’s life. He loved creating new recipes, intricate designs. If only everything in his life was that easy.

  He unlocked the rear entrance to the chocolaterie, which led through to the office, the main kitchen where he switched on the lights and a segregated room where they held workshops and parties. He’d worried these premises would be too compact in the summer months, become unbearable when the heat bore down on the whole of Melbourne. Chocolate needed an ideal temperature – not too hot, not too cold. Gemma called it the Goldilocks Temperature. But the air conditioning had worked a treat, and the heaters would warm the place up when the cooler months were upon them.

  Andrew switched on the tempering machines, which had been on standby overnight, maintaining the melted chocolate so it was ready to begin using quickly in the morning. He sat on the wooden stool at the bench in the kitchen and checked the list he’d made last night. Through the day yesterday, as with every other day, when stocks ran low it was noted down; if they had an online order for a customer – Magnolia Creek Chocolaterie supplied one of the big Melbourne department stores – it was added to the list as well. He pulled on the brown apron embellished with Magnolia Creek Chocolaterie in silver writing on the front, and he set to work. This was something he could throw himself into so he didn’t have to think about his marriage and how it had once been so perfect, so dream-like; so he didn’t have to think about Julia Mason and what she’d done all those years ago. He was forty-six years old and ever since he was fifteen, he’d wondered what had driven her to treat him that way when they’d been a couple very much in love. But he guessed it wouldn’t be long, now Julia was in touch with him online, before he got the answers to his questions. He laughed at the irony. Technology was great in some ways; in others, it could turn your whole world upside down.

  Andrew let the smell of chocolate envelop him. This was his comfort, and despite working with chocolate every day, he never lost an appreciation for its beauty. As he worked he let the familiarity and his passion calm his mind. He visualised the process, the finished product, the love he’d felt since the day he started working in the family business. The job of a chocolatier was fiddly, it required patience. What it didn’t need was him losing concentration as memories of the past resurfaced, and taking his anger out on the stuff and ending up with inedible rubbish that anyone off the street could’ve made rather than someone with over twenty years’ experience.

  He watched the silky-smooth, tempered dark chocolate pour out of the spout into the vat below, wishing he could lose his own thoughts of the past in the depth and beauty of the mixture. He pressed the floor pedal to stop the flow, put a jug beneath the spout and released his foot to fill it halfway. Over at the benchtop he filled a piping bag with the dark mixture, twisted the top to secure the contents, snipped the bottom of the bag and piped chocolate discs onto the laid out transfer sheet of cocoa butter circles covered in multicoloured roses.

  This was what he loved. This was what always kept him sane. No matter what else was going on in his life, his work had a way of grounding him.

  His hands took control, his fingers applied the right amount of pressure to the bag to get the perfect shape and finish. Already he could see the green and red cheerful pattern from the transfers topping the dark, glossy chocolate and creating the perfect contrast. When he’d piped twenty, he set the tray onto a high shelf and piped a second batch onto another sheet. These chocolates were one of their
biggest sellers, and once they were cooled they would be packaged up for sale in the shop.

  Come midday, it was all systems go and the place was awash with activity. Emilio, an experienced chocolatier Andrew had plucked from competitors when he attended a conference in the city, put the finishing touches to dark chocolate truffles for the counter in the shop, and local girl Stephanie was working the floor out front, having taken well to her part-time job, which also involved designing packaging for their products. Andrew filled an online order, continued with the list of chocolates needed for replenishing the shelves in the shop, served locals and visitors ice cream they had supplied by a local farm in the Yarra Valley. Chocolate tempered in the machines to produce the rich, silky mixture to work with. There was mixing, moulding and decorating, and Andrew finished off the seashells he’d made earlier by sprinkling sea salt over the top to create the heavenly range that sold so well.

  By the time Andrew left the chocolaterie, the sun had begun its descent, sweeping a golden evening glow across the mountain ash trees of the surrounding bushland. The chocolaterie had been manic today with the last of the tourists enjoying the final weeks of Melbourne’s summer, and it had served as a distraction from the questions circulating in his mind about Julia and what had happened.

  When he arrived back at the house, he planted a kiss on his wife’s cheek. It was good to be home. He wrapped his arms around Gemma as she cuddled in close to him. As far as he knew, she hadn’t cried after the last miscarriage. She’d simply taken herself off for a bubble bath, as she’d done every other time, like a ritual, but not one you wanted to get used to.

  Gemma sighed exhaustedly before looking up at him and taking his face in her hands. She stood on tiptoes and kissed his lips – a soft brush to let him know they were still Andrew and Gemma, still the rock-solid couple they’d always been, but that life was being unfair to them right now.

  She moved over to the stove. ‘Your dad came for dinner.’

  Some days Louis ate with them, other days he preferred to fix a light meal in the annexe at the foot of their garden, a separate outbuilding that allowed him his coveted independence.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘He’s fine. Not too tired.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ He had to ask. Gemma was a rock for everyone else, but he often wondered when she was going to catch a break herself.

  ‘I’m fine.’ She patted the handle of a covered pan on the stove. ‘Leftover meatballs and sauce.’ She patted another. ‘Some pasta to go with it.’

  Andrew hugged her again until she relaxed in his arms, then he kissed the top of her head before she pulled away to dish him up a serving of dinner. ‘Did Dad eat much?’ he asked.

  ‘Stop worrying.’ She placed a bowl of pasta in front of him and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning to pull on the washing-up gloves by the sink.

  ‘Leave it.’ He told her twice until she relented and filled a glass of water beneath the tap.

  Satisfied she’d leave the clearing up to him, he asked, ‘Is he still complaining about swelling in his ankles?’

  ‘He is. I’ll mention it when I take him for his dialysis tomorrow.’

  ‘I can take him if you’d rather.’

  ‘No need. I’ve arranged cover at the school. They’re pretty good about family commitments. I’ll make sure I pop to the shops and get him the bigger size of slippers too.’

  Three times a week they took Louis to the hospital for his dialysis, and while at first it had seemed a minor imposition – it was only a thirty-minute drive each way – now it’d been going on months and it was getting harder. Gemma didn’t need to be doing this when she had her own health concerns, and he simply didn’t have much time himself, with the shop, especially in peak periods like Easter and Christmas.

  ‘I’ll take him next time.’ Andrew speared another piece of pasta with his fork. ‘Stephanie and Emilio are capable of looking after the shop if I get them started for the day, and they know what needs replenishing, whether there are any orders to fill.’

  Gemma came to her husband’s side, bent down and kissed the top of his head. ‘I’m going for a long bubble bath.’

  ‘You’ll wash yourself away one of these days.’ His lips briefly met hers and he hooked her blonde, bobbed hair behind her ears so he could see her face properly. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too.’ She looked deep into his eyes and then stood up. ‘Make yourself useful and pour me a glass of wine?’

  He knew what she was thinking – there wasn’t a lot of point in avoiding alcohol when she wasn’t pregnant … again. ‘Of course I will.’

  Andrew finished his dinner, stacked the plates in the dishwasher and poured Gemma a generous glass of red. By the time he reached the upstairs, she’d sunk deep into the bubbles and he knew she didn’t want to talk through anything, not tonight. Sometimes she’d ask him to share the bath with her, other times she’d pat the side of the bath and he’d know she wanted company. But tonight she wanted to be left alone.

  Andrew took his own glass of wine into the study and opened up the laptop. He had emails to respond to, orders to double-check, advertising to keep on top of, and he’d accomplished a grand total of nothing this morning. He’d been in such a hurry to shut off Julia’s message and every thought it came with. Hopefully by the time Gemma emerged from the bath, they’d be able to snuggle on the sofa and watch a movie, one of her favourite, simple things to do together.

  First step was to add some more photographs to the business Facebook page. He’d only started a profile on there because Gemma had told him to get with the times. He had a Twitter account for the business too and had to admit it seemed to bring people in. Only the other day he’d heard Stephanie chatting with a group of young adults in the shop as she arranged the packages on display. The group had told her they’d seen Magnolia Creek Chocolaterie’s Facebook page and were interested in having a chocolate-making party for a twenty-first birthday. Stephanie had referred them to him and he’d set up the event.

  He grinned, thinking how ‘with the times’ he was, and how Gemma was right, again.

  He’d taken photos of their newly created milk chocolate champagne truffles brushed with gold lustre dust, and he uploaded them beside another photo he’d taken of a steaming cup of their signature hot chocolate and labelled the advertisement, ‘winter warmers’. It made his mouth water so he hoped it would do the same for their followers, who had grown to almost three thousand already despite only being open for business for five months.

  He replied to a couple of messages, one requesting a kid’s birthday party and the other enquiring about mail-order chocolates, and then decided to move on to Twitter and post the same photograph of the hot chocolate cup there to cover all bases.

  When he had finished everything he needed to do for the business, he knew he couldn’t ignore his personal life any longer. It was time he replied to Julia’s message and found out exactly what was going on.

  Perhaps now, after all this time, he’d find the answers he’d needed for over three decades.

  Chapter Two

  Molly

  Molly had been a midwife in England for three years and as a student she’d observed her fair share of emergencies, and still, every time she was called to another, she felt the familiar adrenaline surge for the job she loved. This patient, a nineteen-year-old single mother called Sophie, was terrified. Her baby was posterior and had refused to budge for hours. Now though, it had turned on its own and it was time.

  ‘Okay, Sophie. It’s time to push,’ said Molly, loud enough to be heard above the groans and the tears from the labouring mother.

  ‘I can’t do it, I can’t!’

  Molly could see Sophie was exhausted. She had nobody with her in the labour room, nobody waiting outside as far as Molly knew, and she was so young.

  ‘I know this is hard, Sophie, but you can do this. You’re almost there, the head’s out.’

  Sophie dug her elbows into
the bed below her, and with one final push her baby boy came into the world. Molly cut the cord and lifted the baby onto his mother’s tummy.

  ‘It’s a boy,’ Sophie cried, tears streaming down her face.

  ‘Do we have a name?’ Molly asked, marvelling at mother and baby. She never tired of seeing this joy.

  ‘Max.’ Sophie sniffed. ‘His name’s Max.’

  ‘It suits him. Is there anyone I can call for you?’ She felt sure there must be a queue of people waiting to get in to see this little one and offer their congratulations.

  Sophie’s eyes were fully focused on her baby: his delicate features, the scrunched up fist moving against her breast as he suckled, eyes tightly shut as though he wasn’t quite ready to see the big wide world.

  ‘It’s just me and Max now,’ said Sophie. ‘And to think … they wanted me to have an abortion. God, look at him. How could they ask me to do that?’ Molly knew better than to make judgements and she let Sophie carry on talking. ‘The father isn’t in the picture.’

  She said it with such finality, and Molly was left wondering whether the father knew about the baby at all.

  ‘He’s at university studying to be a doctor,’ Sophie went on, ‘and I don’t think he needs this. Our families were both dead set against it.’ The new mum gazed down at her baby and stroked the downy head of dark hair. ‘I was supposed to go to university myself. My parents think I’m wasting everything I’ve ever worked for by having a baby. But you know what? They couldn’t be more wrong. I worked hard before all this, and now I have Max, I’ve even more reason to carve out a decent future. For both of us.’

  Molly carried out the necessary checks and left mother and baby alone as she went out to the nurses station.

  ‘Happy news?’ asked Freya, her colleague and friend.

  ‘Mother and baby doing very well.’ Molly pretended to be engrossed in the form-filling she was required to do. Sometimes she felt as though she were better acquainted with paperwork than the babies themselves. But her mind was elsewhere. Her mind was – if such a thing could happen – back in 1985, the year she was born. Of course she didn’t have any idea what the scene was like, but in August of 1985, she was born to a mother who hadn’t kept her like Sophie was keeping Max. She’d given her up for adoption.