Confetti & Confusion

by Confetti

  Confetti & Confusion

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Also in this series

  Copyright

  To everyone who loves chocolate – may your tastebuds ever tingle!

  Chapter One

  ‘Hello, everyone, and welcome to Claudia Croft’s Paradise Cookery School here on the gorgeous island of St Lucia. I’m Amelia Harper and this week, along with my co-presenter, Ella Johnson, I’ll be demonstrating a whole host of delicious recipes before giving you all the opportunity to try them out for yourselves under our supervision.’

  Millie inhaled a deep breath to steady her rampaging nerves, but her heart continued to hammer out a symphony of fear, sending spasms of electricity out to her fingertips. How had she got herself into this? Overseeing the kitchen renovations for celebrity cookery book writer and chef Claudia Croft was one thing, but presenting one of her prestigious courses was quite another. As she stared out at the eager faces in front of her she pulled herself together. What was she so worried about? She could do this!

  ‘At the request of Imogen, our fabulous bride-to-be, Claudia has designed a week of personalised tutorials that she’s called Chocolate and Confetti, crammed with mouth-watering chocolate-inspired recipes, all of which you’ll be able to taste-test at the end of each day.’

  ‘Yay!’ squealed Gracie, the youngest member of the pre-wedding hen party at eight years old, clapping her hands and pogoing up and down on the spot in her two-sizes-too-big-for-her apron. A wave of laughter rippled around the room as Imogen patted her niece’s blonde curls affectionately.

  ‘Also, as a special treat, a good friend of ours, Lottie Bedford, has designed a range of delicious cocktails made from locally sourced ingredients, including a really delicious recipe that contains the flesh of the cocoa pods you see growing in the villa’s grounds.’

  ‘Mmm!’

  This time the sigh of pleasure came from the adult members of the group, particularly Imogen’s sister, Karen, and her bridesmaids, Carla and Harriet, whilst her mother, Julia, rolled her eyes at them.

  ‘Don’t worry, there’ll be a few alcohol-free versions to choose from, too. Lottie really is a maestro at mixing exotic flavours. Ella and I had hoped that she would be with us this week but she’s been promoted to manager of the Purple Parrot bar in Soufrière after the proprietor had a run-in with the local police. So, shaking cocktails will be a new skill that we can learn together.’

  Millie glanced around at the six chocoholics who had chosen to spend the week before Imogen’s glamourous nuptials learning how to create all things cocoa-related instead of indulging in the more traditional exploits of raucous hen parties down in the bars and restaurants in Soufrière, the former St Lucian capital at the bottom of the hill. Not only would they be turning their hands to producing desserts, cakes and patisserie containing their beloved bean, but Millie also intended to explain how the chocolate they were using was produced from the tiny nibs found inside the weird purple-brown pods that grew on the trees in the villa’s extensive grounds.

  ‘So, I hope you all have a fun and productive week but that you also leave the Paradise Cookery School with a treasure trove of new recipes in your repertoire with which to impress your friends when you return home.’

  ‘If you can teach Imogen to bake anything that isn’t tinged with the aroma of burnt tyres, or completely caramelised to a crisp, then I’ll be happy!’ laughed Julia, smirking at her daughter, her affection apparent for all to see.

  ‘Hey! Is it my fault that I prefer to support the products made by our friends at Patisserie Valerie and Hotel Chocolat?’ Imogen retaliated, a wide grin splitting her cheeks.

  ‘Okay, so I thought I would start by demonstrating a couple of my favourite childhood recipes passed down from my French grandmother – chocolate truffle tortes with hazelnut brittle and chocolate and cherry madeleines.’

  Millie smoothed her trembling palms over the front of the pale-lemon apron that had been embroidered with Claudia’s famous CC logo. Her knees shook a little and she was grateful she’d had the good sense to ditch her heels for a pair of sequinned flip-flops. However, as soon as she began to weigh out the ingredients, her anxiety vanished and the next three hours passed in a whirl of frenzied activity. She even had to admit that she was enjoying herself; after all, baking had always been her go-to activity to escape the grenades that life had thrown in her path.

  When Claudia had asked her to step into her shoes at the last minute, Millie’s first reaction had been to panic. She had been more than happy to temporarily swap her job as a pastry chef in a tiny patisserie in London to oversee the upgrade of the villa’s kitchen after Claudia broke her leg in a horse riding accident. It had been the perfect opportunity to escape the heartache caused by the breakdown of her relationship with Luke and spend some time in the Caribbean sunshine. However, she had never in her wildest dreams thought she would still be there two weeks later, wearing the course presenter badge!

  So, here she was, standing in front of six well-heeled women – in both senses of the word – all of whom were expecting to be guided through the labyrinth of culinary excellence by the celebrated TV chef and cookery writer. She had tried to refuse, but by the time Claudia’s doctors had forbidden her to travel, the hen party guests had already arrived at the luxury boutique hotel where the wedding of the year was taking place at the end of the week, and it was too late to cancel. Millie didn’t want to let Claudia down – or to disappoint the bridal party – so, against her better judgment, she had reluctantly agreed to step into the breach.

  As the proud owner of a Michelin star, she did have the necessary culinary qualifications to deliver the course, and she and Ella had spent the previous two weeks triple-testing every single recipe on the itinerary. Even so, she was terrified that Claudia’s very first Chocolate & Confetti course would be a flop, that the Paradise Cookery School would receive dreadful reviews, which in turn would jeopardise any plans Claudia had for future courses. Whilst that scenario would be upsetting for Claudia, who adored her Caribbean home, because her main place of business was located in a manor house in the Cotswolds, it wouldn’t affect her business too much. What Millie was most concerned about was how the failure would affect Ella, her co-host and newfound friend, whose long-held dream to run a cookery school was about to come true. Everything rested on Millie and she had to give it her best shot.

  At lunchtime, the group broke from their activities to gather on the veranda and feast on a kaleidoscope of Caribbean-inspired salads prepared by Ella before resuming their positions behind their respective workstations for the afternoon tutorial.

  ‘I’ll now pass the culinary baton over to Ella, who is going to demonstrate how to make mini chocolate-orange roulades filled with marmalade made from the oranges that are grown right here on the Croft estate. Then, to end the day with a sizzle, we’ll make one of Ella’s signature recipes that her son, Henri, swears are the best he’s ever tasted – chilli-chocolate brownies.’

/>   ‘Yay!’ squealed Gracie. ‘I love chocolate brownies!’

  ‘You might want to add a little less chilli to your own recipe!’ laughed Ella, taking Millie’s place at the marble-topped demonstration bench, every inch the Caribbean cook extraordinaire.

  That day, in honour of the occasion, Ella’s ample proportions were enhanced by a tropically inspired kaftan scattered with sequin and gemstone embellishments, and a necklace made of hand-crafted wooden beads the size of quail’s eggs with matching earrings. Millie smiled; her co-presenter clearly lived by the mantra that excess was better when it came to technicoloured wardrobe choices.

  Listening to Ella’s melodic Caribbean lilt as she explained the importance of lightness of touch when it came to making sponge cake, Millie’s heart gave a squeeze of gratitude for her friend’s expertise and calm professionalism in contrast to her own tendency towards culinary clutter. She adored Ella – with her penchant for exotic spices and habit of dispensing blunt, yet level-headed advice. Her knowledge of Caribbean cookery was extensive, embroidered over the years with a variety of influences from Creole to French, from Spanish to American. Millie knew she couldn’t have done any of this without her support.

  ‘Take care when slicing the oranges,’ cautioned Ella.

  ‘Yes, Immie darling, we don’t want the bride trussed up in bandages on her wedding day, do we? Not exactly the must-have accessory for the theme I have planned for the wedding,’ said Julia, who had reluctantly swapped her Italian-designed cropped jacket for one of Claudia’s signature pale-lemon aprons. With her towering Louboutins, her whole ensemble screamed the sartorial equivalent of ‘look at me!’ Yet her intensely groomed caramel bob had already succumbed to the ambient humidity, and her early morning visit to the hotel’s hairdressers had turned out to be a pointless exercise. ‘Never mind spoiling the photographs!’

  ‘Oh, Mum! I wish you’d relax over the whole “attention-to-detail” thing you have going on. We’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves, not stressing over the wedding arrangements. We have a wedding planner to do all that.’

  ‘But she’s useless. She was over an hour late for our appointment yesterday morning and when she did eventually turn up she’d forgotten to bring the floral samples with her. And would you believe that when I asked about the butterflies she looked at me as though I was crazy. I bet she hasn’t even ordered them. Honestly, Imogen, I don’t know what we are paying her for…’

  ‘Mum, I keep telling you, Alex and I just want a laid-back wedding day, surrounded by the people we love in a relaxed and stress-free atmosphere. I definitely won’t be devastated if we don’t get to release a kaleidoscope of butterflies after we’ve exchanged our vows, or if the confetti doesn’t have our picture on it. In fact, why can’t we have rice? That’s what I wanted in the first place.’

  ‘That’s what peasants do at weddings!’ shot back Julia, combing her fingers through her straw-like hair.

  ‘No it’s not,’ laughed Imogen, tossing jagged lumps of orange peel into the jam pan that was on the hob she shared with her mother, whose own fruit segments were perfectly sliced. ‘I really don’t understand why we couldn’t have had a quiet country wedding at home. I loved the idea of the village fête theme Karen suggested.’ Imogen smiled at her sister, who was concentrating on showing Gracie how to grate her chocolate without also grating her fingers. ‘Hoopla, juggling, guess how many sweets in the jar, a huge meringue-like marquee, pastel bunting floating in the breeze. I think our friends would have loved that!’

  ‘Don’t be facetious, dear. It doesn’t suit you.’

  Millie left the bride’s family to their obviously well-rehearsed argument and moved on to the adjacent marble-topped workstation where Imogen’s two bridesmaids were attempting a version of Ella’s chilli-chocolate brownie recipe. A giggle, followed by a very unladylike snort of laughter, erupted from Carla as she tried to conceal the fact that her cheeks were bulging like an over-zealous hamster, obviously having started early on the taste-testing part of the day. Not to be outdone, Harriet was squirting chocolate buttercream into her mouth from a piping bag. Every spare inch of their countertop was scattered with culinary debris – splodges of butter, snail trails of powdered sugar and dots of melted chocolate, not to mention the jumble of discarded implements in the sink.

  Millie smiled. She was the last person to chastise anyone for making a mess in the kitchen, having been told on more than one occasion that she could bring chaos to an empty room by many a friend and colleague, and more recently by Zach Barker.

  Her spirits edged up a notch further when she thought of Claudia and Tim Croft’s prickly estate manager whom she had crossed spatulas with when she arrived at the villa two weeks ago. From a difficult start, when she had mistakenly thought Zach was the gardener rather than their highly qualified estate manager on secondment from their country manor house in the UK, they had gone on to form an unexpected friendship. In the space of a few days, he had achieved what her friend Poppy back home in London had failed to do in six months – forced her to put her disastrous relationship history into perspective.

  So what if Luke had ditched her at their engagement party, in front of all their friends and family, and run off into the sunset with her best friend’s mother? That was his decision and there was nothing she could do about it. No amount of tears and painful soul-searching would change the situation, or lessen the embarrassment. With his special brand of sarcastic wit, Zach had helped her to face the demons that had taken up residence in her mind and serve them with an eviction notice. They hadn’t left yet, but they had packed their bags and ordered a taxi. She was even starting to come to terms with the fact that Luke and Donna were expecting their first child in a few months’ time.

  Satisfied that Carla and Harriet had everything under control, Millie sauntered back to the demonstration bench. She allowed her thoughts to linger briefly on the previous day when she and Zach had shared a kiss beneath the palm trees and a pleasurable swirl of desire meandered through her veins. However, mingled with the undoubted pull of attraction was a nugget of uncertainty. Did she really want a holiday fling? Even if it was with someone who made every one of her senses zing with excitement and anticipation whenever they were together? Because, sadly, that was all it could be – at the end of her brief sojourn in paradise, she would return to her life in London and it was unlikely they would see each other again.

  An enticing fragrance of warm sugar and chocolatey sponge cake floated towards Millie’s nostrils, dragging her back to the present.

  ‘Okay, everyone, time for that part of the day I know you have all been waiting for.’ Millie cast a smile in the direction of Carla, who was busy photographing everyone’s masterpieces with her beloved Pentax camera. ‘Let’s taste our creations!’

  She arranged the products of the group’s labour on four huge china platters decorated with Claudia’s signature logos. The first showcased a perfect selection of the patisserie she had made that morning, along with the miniature chocolate-orange roulades covered with chocolate ganache and the chilli-chocolate brownies baked by Ella. The second plate held the cakes made by Imogen and Julia, the third by Karen and Gracie, and the last one was piled high with the offerings belonging to Harriet and Carla.

  ‘Well done, everyone. These all look absolutely amazing!’ declared Ella, her mahogany eyes sparkling with pride.

  ‘You’re too kind,’ laughed Harriet. ‘My roulades look like a steamroller has reversed over them! I’m not sure I actually want to eat them.’

  ‘You’re right – we do initially taste with our eyes. But in my opinion, the most important part of any bake is its aroma and its taste. Don’t forget – the Chocolate and Confetti course is not a competition. It’s an opportunity for you to learn new skills and improve on old ones. By the end of the week – when we will be tackling chocolate eclairs and profiteroles – I promise you’ll be making patisserie fit to grace any Parisian store.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’
murmured Carla, eyeing her caramelized madeleines with disdain.

  ‘Okay. Let’s dig in!’

  ‘Mmm. Gracie, darling, your chilli-chocolate brownies are simply delicious,’ said Karen, holding her hand under her chin to catch any crumbs, smiling widely at her daughter.

  ‘Thanks, Mum. I think these biscuits are the best, though.’

  Amid the cacophony of animated conversation, coupled with the soft strains of calypso music emanating from the radio in the corner and the ever-present backing track of the cicadas, everyone in the hen party indulged in their favourite pastime – eating chocolate in all its guises.

  ‘Oh my God, Millie. These have got to be the most delicious chocolate tortes I’ve ever tasted!’ declared Imogen, reaching for a second and trying to stuff it into her mouth whole.

  ‘A little decorum, darling!’

  ‘This is the best hen week ever,’ continued Imogen, ignoring her mother’s chastisement. ‘Who else gets to indulge their love of all things cocoa-related and feast their eyes on that magnificent view at the same time?’

  The women gravitated to the sun-bleached wraparound veranda overlooking the Soufrière bay. Millie took a moment to appreciate the most spectacular example of nature’s artwork. To their left, the Gros Piton and Petit Piton mountains rose from the Caribbean Sea like the spikes of a slumbering dinosaur, their peaks melting into a soft eiderdown of cloud, their emerald interiors seemingly replete with legends, fairy tales and pirate stories. All this verdant beauty was set against the deep sapphire of the ocean, its surface dotted with tiny flecks of multi-coloured sails, cruise ships laden with tourists, and cargo ships trailing a ripple of cappuccino froth in their wake.

  ‘It is beautiful, isn’t it?’

  ‘Stunning. I’ve had an amazing day, Millie. It’s been something that everyone can get involved in. I know Mum has had a fantastic time, but so has Gracie. Thank you so much for everything.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I’m sorry Claudia wasn’t able to be here.’