The Chocolatier's Secret (Magnolia Creek, Book 2) (15 page)

Chapter Twenty

Andrew

‘How could you?’ Andrew repeated, over and over. He got to his feet, paced the kitchen.

Louis looked at the floor. ‘I’m so—’

‘Don’t you dare say you’re sorry!’ Andrew’s fists balled against his sides, his head hung as low as it could go. He leant against the kitchen bench for balance.

‘I’ll be upstairs if you need me.’ Gemma had stayed while Louis told his story, but now she put a hand to Andrew’s shoulder, and he briefly touched his cheek to her skin. He felt her grip holding him, holding him up from all of this, until she retreated from the room and the kitchen fell into silence.

‘How could you do it, Dad?’

He’d trusted this man sitting at the kitchen table. He’d trusted him his whole life. This man he loved and respected; a man who’d betrayed him so brutally.

‘You had no right to do it!’ Andrew yelled. ‘I might have been young, but I wasn’t stupid.’

‘I don’t know what to say, son.’

‘How could you pay her mother to get rid of our baby, part of your own flesh and blood?’ Andrew spat.

‘I did it because I thought she’d ruin you. She said as much.’

‘But the sex was consensual.’

‘She would’ve twisted it, maybe even persuaded Julia to say the same. God knows what the woman was capable of.’

‘All this time … all this time, I’ve despised Julia for not having the decency to face me and tell me what she had planned. And all along, she didn’t even do anything wrong.’ He thought about Julia as a teenager, giggling as they listened to the radio in his bedroom, her cheek as soft as silk against his as they both promised silently to never love another. He sat opposite Louis now, unable to stop himself worrying at how pale his father was, how weak. But no, this wasn’t about Louis today. This was about him. About Julia. About the child he’d never met.

‘I didn’t see I had any choice,’ Louis said quietly. ‘I had to give her the money or she’d have dragged your name through the mud and I didn’t want to take the risk.’

‘We could’ve tried.’ Andrew shook his head.

‘I didn’t want you to settle either.’

‘I’m not sure I follow.’

‘I didn’t want you to settle, like I did,’ he mumbled.

‘What are you talking about?’

Louis rubbed at his swollen fingers. ‘When your mum fell pregnant, there was no discussion about what we would do. What you did in those days was you got married and that was the end of it.’ When Andrew looked at him, he said, ‘I loved your mother, we were good together and really close friends. But I’m not sure I ever loved her the way you should. The way you love Gemma, like she’s a jewel at the bottom of the ocean, someone you found and keep looking at as though you can’t believe your luck.

‘Penny was younger than me, she was besotted, and we had a lot of fun when we first got together. But I’d already decided what I wanted to do, career wise, and I was going to go off to make my name in the world as a pastry chef in America or Europe.’

‘But you did all that, here in Australia.’

Louis shook his head. ‘I should’ve been applying for apprenticeships instead of running around with a girl. I lost my focus and the next thing I knew, Penny was pregnant. I was in a job I didn’t mind, but not an exciting job given my ambition. But it paid the bills and so that’s where I stayed when I married. It wasn’t Penny’s fault, not at all, but when you were a baby I resented her for tying me down.’

‘It takes two to make a baby, Dad.’

‘I know it does.’ His breathing sounded raspy, but Andrew didn’t ask whether he was okay. ‘I wanted you to fall in love,’ he wheezed, ‘have everything, including the one part of my life that perhaps I was missing. I was a horrible husband for a while, angry because I wasn’t doing the things I wanted to do. I battled with it until my own father gave me a stern talking to. He told me I had responsibilities. He told me not to let them down. And I did love your mother. I learned what true love really was, right up until the day she died, but I had a life with tinges of regret that I’d never found a love that was so passionate it was all-consuming. A love I couldn’t live without. You change a lot in your late teens and early twenties. It’s the age you really start to learn about yourself, and believe me, it’s much easier to do when you only have yourself to think about. My love with your mother grew out of mutual respect and friendship, but it didn’t come naturally. I didn’t want you to face the same battle.’

‘I loved Julia,’ said Andrew. ‘I know fifteen is young, and maybe we wouldn’t have stayed together anyway if she hadn’t got pregnant, but you had no right to take the choice away from me. We both deserved to find out for ourselves.’

Louis nodded but stayed silent.

Andrew was mildly aware of the sounds from upstairs: Gemma flushing the toilet, using the sink to clean her teeth as she got ready for bed, waiting for him to find out what had happened. Waiting to see if he yelled, screamed at his dad, threw something else. He watched Louis, the elderly man who looked as though his world was rapidly falling apart around him, just as his had done all those years ago. The lines on his face always spoke of wisdom and experience, but right now all they looked like to Andrew were marks from the lies he’d told.

Andrew pushed back from the table, scraped both hands through his hair. ‘This all feels like a hellish nightmare to me. I don’t understand how any of you could rest easy after you did it … the money, the letters. It was all such a ruthless and sick plan. I can’t believe you played any part in it.’

‘I can’t believe Julia had the baby,’ said Louis, hands shaking. ‘Kathleen assured me she wasn’t going to let it happen. She was so sure of what she wanted for her child. If I’d have known, I–’

‘You what? You would’ve taken her to the clinic yourself?’ Andrew’s voice went up enough to bring Gemma down to the kitchen in her pyjamas.

Louis met Andrew’s stare for the first time. ‘I don’t know what we would’ve done had Julia wanted to keep the baby and you wanted to stand by her.’

‘What you would’ve done? You would’ve stood by me, Dad, like any normal parent!’

‘I wanted what was best for you!’ Louis’ raised his voice the best he could. ‘What any parent wants.’

‘Well, I hope if I ever become a parent,’ said Andrew, ‘I do a damn sight better than you.’

‘Andrew …’ When Gemma came into the kitchen, she touched him on the arm. ‘Enough.’ She went over to Louis who was struggling for breath now. ‘Slowly, Louis, slowly.’ She put a hand on her father-in-law’s back and held his hand with her other, trying to calm him.

Louis squeezed Gemma’s hand before continuing. ‘We did what we thought best. For our child. When you become a parent—’

‘Don’t you dare talk to me about becoming a parent! Thanks to you I never ever got the chance to be one. And by some cruel twist of fate, it’s not happening for Gemma and me either. God, I can’t believe this.’

‘I’ll go. Let you digest this.’ Louis stood up from the table, shuffled across the kitchen.

Andrew flew across the room, his face inches from his father’s. ‘I will never forgive you for this, never.’

Louis’ body shook, his hand on the back door. Andrew didn’t know if he’d ever look at his dad in the same way again. How he’d ever have the respect and love he’d once had for him. He wasn’t sure they could move on from this.

‘You broke both of our hearts that day,’ he told Louis. ‘We were fifteen years old and we were fucking terrified. And you were responsible. You. You were the reason for my unhappiness, for what Julia went through on her own, responsible for my daughter, who is out there somewhere probably convinced she wasn’t wanted.’

Louis pushed the door handle down to make his escape.

‘How can I give you a part of me knowing what you took away from me?’ Andrew yelled after him.

Gemma put a hand on his arm. ‘Andrew, don’t say anything you’ll regret.’

But Andrew wasn’t finished.

‘Your kidneys may be failing, but your sense of compassion disappeared back then when you ruined three peoples’ lives.’

‘Andrew!’ Gemma was desperate now.

‘No, Gemma.’ Andrew looked at his father. ‘I won’t do it. I won’t go through the pain of an operation to save you. You can go to hell!’

Andrew stormed out of the kitchen, away from the father he didn’t think he’d ever be able to respect again.

Chapter Twenty-One

Molly

Magnolia Creek was as picturesque as its name suggested. Molly drove along Main Street with its shops on either side, but with someone right behind her, she didn’t have time to slow and look for Magnolia Creek Chocolaterie. She followed the signs to Magnolia House, a huge white structure with a veranda at the front, and drove round to a modest tarmac car park at the rear servicing a row of eight holiday cottages. It was such a beautiful day, and when she knew the mid-March weather back home would be fighting to grab a tenth of the sunshine she’d had in her short time here, it made her want to stay outside. In truth, she wanted to bask in the holiday weather and not have to tackle the reason she’d come.

Stepping out into the sunshine and a cool autumn breeze, Molly lifted her suitcase from the boot and stood for a moment beside the magnolia trees, which were naked save for a few burgundy leaves. This bushland setting was a complete contrast to the hustle and bustle of Melbourne’s city with its trams, tall buildings and vibrant culture. The photograph of this place on the internet had shown the magnolia trees in full bloom with port wine leaves against the stunning whitewash of the cottages with their miniature verandas and tiny doorways, but even with the change of season, the cottages looked delightful. She took in the view of the lake as she walked over to the main house to check in.

Molly collected her key and went over to let herself in to cottage number six. The front door led into a dinky square hallway with a skylight fitted into the pointed roof. Off one side was a double bedroom and small en-suite bathroom, much like a holiday cottage in Cornwall, with seashells collected in an ocean-blue china bowl, photographs of sandy beaches strung together with old rope hanging on the wall by the mirror. The bed was made up with pale blue linen, fluffy ice-white cushions sitting on top, a white satin runner at the foot of the bed.

The lounge room was off to the left of the front door, and off that a kitchenette, which was modern and bright. All rooms in the cottage carried on the themes of sea blues and pearly whites, and she wondered whether all eight cottages were the same. Tea and coffee supplies had been added, two scones sat beneath a see-through cloche and Molly couldn’t resist lifting it to inhale the fresh smell. And with her suitcase still at her feet, she spread one with the awaiting jam and cream and tucked in hungrily.

After she’d eaten, Molly wheeled her case into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. This was certainly a step up from the basic and tired-looking little apartment in South Yarra. The window in the bedroom had been left open, and Molly checked for bugs, relieved to find the fly-screen covering the open gap to stop anything getting in. And when she saw the little basket beside the bed containing a selection of chocolates, her heart leapt. Little luxuries were a big thing in her book.

She unwrapped the first and tasted a hint of orange, and then she unwrapped another two, both milk chocolate mint. She threw the rubbish in the bin, and it was only as she reached for the fourth chocolate, that she noticed the inscription on the wrapping: Magnolia Creek Chocolaterie.

Her jaw stopped working as she wondered whether Andrew Bennett had been inside this cottage himself, whether he’d laid the chocolates in the delicate straw baskets for the guests.

Don’t be stupid, Molly. Of course he hadn’t.

But then again, he could’ve made them in the first place, his hands could’ve wrapped them.

This was driving her insane.

The sooner she got out there and did what she came here to do, the better.

*

Molly took a full hour to psych herself up to venture outside of her cottage. She showered, changed – twice – ending up in the same pale pink shirt and dark denim jeans she’d had on in the first place. She’d brushed her hair more times than a fairy princess, preened what little make-up she had on and hummed and hawed about whether to wear her flip-flops or more sensible attire for walking and exploring.

When she finally left the cottage and stepped off the miniature veranda at the front, the sun reflected off the lake and she pulled her sunglasses down. She followed the curve of the wall past the swaying branches of the surrounding trees, past Magnolia House where a redhead was stringing up fairy lights. She followed the path up to Main Street, but when she reached the top she started to feel afraid. She wished she’d logged on and got a talking to from Ben before this moment, but they’d messaged this morning and he was about to catch his flight from Singapore. She wondered whether they’d ever meet again. He’d offered to meet in the city. He seemed keen, and she had to admit, so was she. She was intrigued about him, this caring man who people looked up to in their Facebook group and all because of what? Because he’d got over his fear of flying and they wished they could too? He was a great mentor and encouraging to others and this thought warmed Molly as much as the sun on her back as she carried on walking. She’d trusted him right from the start and had no explanation as to why. They’d simply fallen into a friendship, and it felt right.

She paused opposite a shop undergoing renovations. She couldn’t make out what the sign in the window said from here. She’d heard there had been bushfires last year, and when she looked to the right, she could see blackened trees, still standing tall, refusing to be defeated. This place felt strong, it had a presence, but it didn’t make her feel any less nervous. She continued on her way and nodded a hello to a lady with bright red lipstick and dark wavy hair that caught the light. And when Molly reached Magnolia Gifts she stopped, still. She knew from her Google research that the chocolaterie would be the next stop.

Molly pretended to look in the window of the gift shop as a teenager emerged from the chocolaterie, licking at an ice cream. It looked like rum and raisin, her favourite. Behind her a blonde woman manoeuvred a wooden board outside and crouched down to write on it. She used several different coloured chalks, and when she pushed herself to standing, Molly saw she’d drawn a picture of an ice cream in a cone with a wafer sticking out one side. She’d written a list of flavours: cookies & cream, rum & raisin, strawberry, chocolate, honeycomb, mint choc chip. The woman turned, smiled and went back into the shop and Molly turned back in the opposite direction, bumping into the same dark-haired woman as before.

‘Whoa, slow down there missy,’ said the woman, smiling.

‘I’m sorry, I forgot my purse.’ Molly scurried past her and didn’t hear what the woman said in her wake.

When Molly reached the lake again the fear subsided. She hadn’t even made it to the entrance of the chocolaterie, let alone any nearer to Andrew Bennett. She could imagine it now. Going back home to the UK and saying to everyone, ‘Hey, I spent hundreds of pounds on a flight to Australia, got over my fear of flying and it was so worth it … I could practically smell the chocolate itself. Hey, maybe next time I’ll actually make it to the doorway and meet the man I went to see in the first place.’

Molly sat by the lake a while. She dipped her hand into the water. It was colder than she’d imagined. For some reason she’d never associated cold, or winter, with Australia. It always seemed to her to be a tropical place, with nothing but sun, sea and sand.

She climbed up onto the low wall, and balancing, walked most of the way round before she heard a voice behind her.

‘Careful you don’t fall in.’ It was the woman she’d seen writing the sign outside the chocolaterie. Her neat, blonde bobbed hair swung gently when she walked, a wide, shallow straw basket looped over her arm, and she was very pretty as she smiled. ‘Are you staying at the cottages?’

Molly jumped from the wall to dry land. ‘I’m in cottage number six.’

‘How long are you staying for?’

‘Until the Easter weekend.’ Molly wondered how many times she could get back onto the wall and walk back and forth without falling in. How many hours could she waste messing about before the chocolaterie was shut and she no longer felt as though she should be doing what she came here to do?

‘Well, welcome to Magnolia Creek,’ said the woman. ‘Did you like the chocolates?’

Molly noticed the contents of the basket, the looping silver Magnolia Creek Chocolaterie writing on each of them, the lettering standing out against the brown background of the wrappers.

‘It’s a new thing we’re trying,’ the woman continued. ‘My husband and I are attempting a little marketing ploy.’ She winked at Molly, who stood gawping in return. ‘You should stop by sometime, buy some souvenirs. Where are you from?’

‘England,’ Molly said in a small voice as it dawned on her that this was Andrew Bennett’s wife.

‘I’m sure the folks back home would love these.’ Thank God she didn’t ask why Molly was here. ‘I’m Gemma by the way. Ask for me by name if you do come in and I’ll make sure we give you some tasters.’

And off Gemma went, humming a tune Molly didn’t recognise and completely unaware of Molly still standing in the same place, fixed to the spot, too shocked to move.

*

In the evening Molly messaged Ben, but when he still didn’t reply, she gave up and went out for a walk. This time, she was definitely walking right past the chocolaterie. Or at least up to the doorway. There was no risk involved. This man had no idea who she was, and as long as it stayed that way for now, perhaps for a day or two, then nothing could actually hurt her.

Nothing could go wrong until she let it.

Molly turned the corner and her heart thumped against her chest. She got all the way past the gift shop and right up to the chocolaterie. And she breathed an enormous sigh of relief when she saw the sign on the door: Closed.

A rapping from the other side of the curved window suggested otherwise. ‘Hey!’ It was Gemma, crouching down, putting together some kind of Easter display with colourful eggs and bunting, and now she was positioning a basket with what looked like a giant egg in it, wrapped in shiny purple foil wrapping.

Molly reluctantly lifted a hand to wave back. She tried to go on her way, but Gemma came out before she made it past the doorway.

‘Hi, remember me from earlier? Gemma,’ she prompted.

‘I remember.’ Molly nodded, and then because Gemma’s look begged the question, said, ‘I’m Molly.’

‘It’s nice to see you again, Molly. I’ll see you around?’

It was a question rather than a statement. She wished Gemma wasn’t so nice. It’d be easier if she was a real cow because right now with her sparkling eyes, friendly smile and a certain innocence, she had no idea of the bombshell about to blow up in her life. ‘I’m sure I’ll come in the shop before long,’ said Molly.

‘Please do. We’re a friendly bunch in this town.’

Molly said goodbye and continued on her way, nerves pervading every part of her. It could easily have been Andrew she’d bumped into just now, instead of Gemma. How would she have reacted then?

Walking along Main Street, Molly finally came to the town pub, Magnolia Tavern. It had the same Olde Worlde feel she was used to with English pubs, with a weathered brick exterior and its name hanging from two chains attached to the post out front. The beer garden was dotted with tables, and fairy lights were strung in the branches and already switched on, ready for the darkness to descend.

She pushed the door open, relieved a local’s silence didn’t fall across the entire room. A few years ago, before Isaac had met Claire, Molly and her brother had gone through a phase known as Boring Sunday Syndrome and each week had taken turns to drive out into the countryside, the satnav switched off, no navigation other than an impromptu ‘turn right’ or ‘turn left’ when they reached a crossroads. Their antics saw them discover pubs all over Somerset, some less welcoming than others. One pub in particular had been terrible. They’d pushed open the door, and the entire room had fallen deathly silent. Pints fell from open mouths, the chatter of women came to a stop, eyes burrowed into them as they bought two orange juices, downed them as quickly as they could, and escaped into the fresh air.

‘Hello there.’ The man standing at the beer pumps greeted Molly with a smile when she went in and sat down on a stool at the mahogany curved bar.

‘Hi. I’ll have a bottle of Budweiser, please.’ She was relieved to see the familiar-looking brand in the glass-fronted fridge.

He deftly flipped the metal top from the bottle using the opener attached to the bar. ‘I’m Chris, the landlord here. It’s nice to meet you.’

‘It’s nice to meet you too, and I’m Molly.’

‘Just visiting, Molly?’

‘I’m on holiday, over from England.’ She welcomed the cool amber liquid of the beer as it rid her of some of the stress from her day, coming face-to-face with a member of Andrew Bennett’s family.

‘England you say?’ He leant against the bar, tea towel slung across his shoulder, deep brown eyes inquisitive as a landlord’s should be. You couldn’t be an antisocial bugger to work in a place like this … a love of people was surely a prerequisite. ‘I’ve never been there myself. My wife keeps saying we’ll go on a tour of Europe when we retire, but I don’t know, there’s plenty to see here. I’ve got visions of hiring one of those enormous campervans – a Winnebago – just me and the wife, travel round the edge of Australia taking a couple of months.’

Molly smiled, loving the way he talked so openly when they’d only met moments ago. He looked like he’d disappeared on his travels already, at least in his head. She wondered whether his wife was the typical woman, and instead of seeing the adventure he saw, she couldn’t see past the endless days of being couped up in a tin on four wheels, a bed that probably doubled as the dinner table and a toilet you had to empty periodically.