When Chocolate Is Not Enough... (7 page)

Max Treveleyn, on the other hand, seemed totally impervious to the hot weather. He was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt promoting a long-defunct rock band and loose cotton work trousers which had dropped a couple of inches onto his taut round hips to expose the top of black boxers.

There was a smudge of dirt down one side of his long straight nose, the sun-bleached hairs on his tanned arms were grubby with grease, he had not shaved, and his hair was set with trails of cobwebs. His body temperature might be set to normal for a man used to the Caribbean, but to Daisy he still looked hotter than a hot thing from hot land, with a big dollop of hot and gorgeous on the side.

Which was more than a little annoying, considering how bedraggled she was feeling.

‘It’s a garage, Max. I was hoping for stainless steel and air-conditioning. And please tell me that you don’t actually
make
the chocolate here. Food standards? Hygiene? People are very picky about that sort of thing in this part of the world,’ she grumbled.

‘Ah—to
you
it is a simple garage,’ Max replied with a broad sweep of his right arm, totally unaware that he displayed a remarkable bicep at the same time. ‘But to me it is the manufacturing powerhouse of the entire Treveleyn cocoa empire. And you haven’t seen the best part. Come on inside. That is where the magic happens.’ He waggled his eyebrows up and down several times, then gestured with his head towards a solid metal door. ‘You wouldn’t want to miss that.’

Stifling a groan, Daisy flashed Max an eye-roll, then stepped through as he held the door
open for her. She stood to one side and took in the long, airy room.

Much to her surprise, the space was cool, clean and tidy, and apart from a few cobwebs in the corner of the ceiling, and a very musty smell, quite serviceable.

She had seen a lot of kitchens worse than this over the years.

Max had converted the brick shell of a very basic garage into a chocolate workshop by covering up the interior brickwork with generous applications of white paint and installing one long kitchen worktop which ran the full length of the far side of the room below double glazed windows. A smooth cement flooring soaked up what heat penetrated the white false ceiling, which was bright with halogen lights.

Sacks of cocoa beans and large plastic tubs were lined up on metal racking against one wall, and Daisy could make out a refrigerator at one side and various pieces of catering equipment covered in clear sheeting. But the centre of the room was dominated by a monster stainless steel mixing unit.

‘Isn’t she a beauty?’ Max asked, as he whisked away the covers like a magician demonstrating his latest conjuring trick. He stood with a hand on each hip, grinning at the mixer as though they were looking at some stunning example of Italian motor engineering. ‘Top of
the range. I picked it up at a great price from a small Belgian company that had been bought out by one of the big firms.’ He rubbed the palms of his hands together in delight. ‘I can’t wait to see the old girl in action at long last.’

At long last? Oh, no …

‘Please tell me that you have used this machine before?’ Daisy asked with a whimper.

‘Nope,’ Max replied. ‘I was waiting for the perfect occasion—and this is it.’

Daisy stared at the shiny steel behemoth, then chuckled to herself and shrugged as a totally silly idea popped into her head. ‘I bet you have even considered giving your mixer a pet name.’ She glanced up at Max, who was still stroking the metal cover. There was a slight tension around his eyes that made her gasp. ‘Oh, no, please—not that. You
have
, haven’t you?’

‘Dolores is a perfectly respectable name for a lovely piece of engineering which is going to make our fortune.’

‘Dolores?’

Max patted the mixing bowl. ‘Dolores, meet Daisy. This is her first time at the cottage, so I need you to be on your very best behaviour. Just for me. Okay?’

Daisy closed her eyes for a second, and fought down a very unkind comment about boys and their toys. Because Dolores was not
a toy. Far from it. Dolores was going to have to work first time or there simply wouldn’t be any chocolate. And if she did not have any chocolate to work with, then there would not be a contest.

‘Nice to meet you, Dolores. It’s good to have you on the team.’ Daisy smiled through half gritted teeth. This was what she had been reduced to—she was talking to inanimate objects.

‘Excellent,’ Max replied, rubbing the palms of his hands together again. ‘Team Treveleyn. I like the sound of that.’

With an athletic spin on his heels, Max turned to Daisy and gestured towards the carefully labelled large white tubs on the worktop. ‘I have everything you need. I have my cocoa paste, I have cocoa butter, I have vanilla and organic sugar, and a whole range of gorgeous extras in the fridge in the corner over there. So just say the word and Dolores and I will spring into action. Your wish is my command.’

He smiled at her with all the energy and enthusiasm of a teenager high on sugar and additives. His eyes were gleaming with an expression of such infectious excitement and happiness that she could feel his energy from across the other side of the mixing bowl.

‘We can’t wait to get started on my first commercial batch of Treveleyn Estate chocolate.
All you have to do now is tell me what the recipe is, and my lovely Dolores here will show us what she can do.’

Something close to a playful giggle threatened to bubble up inside Daisy, but she covered it with a quick cough. Because her brain had finally caught up with what Max had just told her.

‘Wait. I don’t understand. Did you just say that this was your first batch? You mean your first batch using Dolores or …?’

When he didn’t reply, Daisy became aware that her mouth had half fallen open, but she simply couldn’t help it.

‘No. You
can’t
mean to say that this is the first batch of chocolate that you have ever made?’ she asked with horror.

‘Of course.’ Max shrugged. ‘Oh, I have seen it done dozens of times at other estates where they make their own couverture, but not me. I have been holding back for the right time and the right opportunity. Why else would I drag you all the way from London? This is going to be a first for both of us.’ He frowned. ‘Didn’t I mention that part?’

Daisy closed her eyes and tried the deep breathing exercises her assertiveness training evening classes had suggested. They had never worked before, but it was worth a try.

You see? This is what happens when you
are swayed by a handsome face waving amazing cocoa under your nose
.

Duped
.

Sold down the river
.

Taken for granted by yet another hunkalicious fella who thinks you are going to be putty in his hands
.

Again
.

‘Not to worry,’ Max said with a smile in his voice. ‘It will be fine. How about a cold drink before we get started? I think I must have eaten all the biscuits last night, but the village shop might still be open.’

Nope. Still not working
.

She slowly creaked open her eyes to find that Max had slid over next to her and was bending over from the waist to peer at the contents of the refrigerator. His tight, delicious bottom was pushed back, so that his scratchy trousers were low on his hips, and the rough fabric brushed against her bare legs as he tugged two cans of fizzy orange drink from the bottom shelf. To her horror, a shiver of delicious pleasure quivered through her traitorous body.

Oh, no—she was
so
not going to that place. Especially not now she knew that she had pinned her hopes on a dreamer with delusions of grandeur.

Max was a charming, attractive, passionate
man who produced wonderful cocoa. But he was a dreamer all the same.

Normally she liked dreamers. She had to. She was one herself. But right now, at this moment, the futility of what she was trying to achieve hit her hard—then hit her again like the cold draught from the refrigerator as Max stood back to his full height. There was a time and a place for dreams—but this was not it.

‘Actually,’ she murmured through clenched teeth, ‘there are a few things that you forgot to tell me when you suggested that I drive down here for a … how did you describe it? Oh, yes. A planning meeting.
Planning
. Yes, that was the word you used.’

She pivoted around to face him, one hand flat on the worktop, the other pointing very rudely towards his chest, and stared hard into his rather startled eyes.

‘Not once did you mention the fact that you still have to actually
make
the chocolate I need in three days.’ Daisy paused and blinked several times. ‘Which actually makes my head hurt just thinking about it. Have you
any
idea of how much work there is going to be involved? The mixing time is crucial. I have no clue whether you are going to need nine hours or nineteen, and it all depends on the level of cocoa butter, and … oh, about ten other factors
which all need to come together to make something worth eating.’

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, because her heart was thumping too loudly for her to hear her own thoughts.

In a second she felt strong fingers pressed around her bare elbow and the sound of a plastic garden chair being pulled out from under the worktop.

Before she could complain, or fully register what was happening, Daisy felt the chair against the back of her knees and that was it. She was sitting down. Weight off her feet. Cool and comfortable.

It was such a relief that she sighed out loud and sat back in a slump.

‘Hot day. Do I need to find you a glass?’ Max asked as he ripped the tab from the can.

The icy-cold can of drink was passed into her hand, and Daisy greedily drank down several mouthfuls of fizz and artificial colours and sweeteners.

‘That’s fine, thanks,’ she replied, then took a moment for her heart to slow down.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Max said, as he drained the entire can and stretched out on another chair. ‘Rest assured. Freya doesn’t know that I keep my secret stash of contraband junk food in here. Adults only.’

Daisy exhaled very slowly, her eyes firmly fixed on the mixer, before taking another long drink. ‘That wasn’t exactly what I was thinking,’ she admitted, and lifted her chin towards Dolores.

Max shuffled forward in silence and she could see his legs stretched out in front of him—so that both of them were talking to Dolores instead of one another.

‘Ah. I see. You know, I have been working with the same team on the estate all my life. They know me and I know them. As a result it would seem that my communication skills and my assumption that you can mind-read leave something to be desired. Sorry. I shall try to do better going forward.’

‘Are we going forward?’ Daisy asked in as calm a voice as she could muster as she turned her head to look at him.

Max lifted his can and toasted her.

‘I hope so. Yes, I
do
still have to make the chocolate. But I was under the impression that a master chocolatier like yourself would bring her own recipe for the perfect blend of cocoa and other fine ingredients. I would be wasting my time and my cocoa in producing something which was not up to your exemplary standards. Hence the long mixing time. But—’ he crunched his drink can flat with one squeeze ‘—I can understand it if
you would prefer to spend the evening with your boyfriend in London, instead of blending chocolate with a crazy and deluded amateur.’

His eyes seemed to scan her face so intently that she could not stand it a moment longer and slipped out of her chair to walk the few steps to the steel sink unit. She swallowed down the remains of her drink to soothe her throat, before running cold water over the insides of her wrists.

He was offering her the chance to create her very own blend of chocolate
.

It had never even occurred to her that it was an option.

It was the golden prize she had always wanted but had held back from until she had a shop like Barone where she had trained in Paris, which was large enough to justify the expense of special equipment.

She was an idiot
. Max was treating her like a pro and all she could do was complain.

It was rare that she met someone who worked with chocolate at this level, and she had become accustomed to being treated as just another dessert chef instead of a highly trained chocolatier.

Even Marco did not expect her to mix her own chocolate blend.

How pathetic was that? She should be ashamed.

Only then was she finally ready to twist back to face Max and answer him.

She was standing, pressed against the sink. He was sitting, half turned in his chair, so that his head was about the same height as her chest.

‘Okay.’

‘Okay?’ he said, with a lilting question in his voice.

She nodded. ‘Okay. I may not have a boyfriend waiting for me back in London, tonight or any other night, but I
do
have a family recipe for the chocolate I have always wanted to make. I have been waiting three years to have the chance to see if it tastes as delicious as I hope it will.’

Daisy reached into her bag, found her wallet, and slowly pulled out a crushed single piece of paper. Her fingers held onto the precious note as though they were reluctant to hand it over to someone she barely knew. There was so much history associated with this single page. So many faded dreams and lost opportunities.

Max was giving her the opportunity to do something she had been looking forward to for a very long time.

But could she trust him with her hopes and dreams?

She looked into his face and swallowed
down her apprehension before passing the paper to him. ‘I have been carrying this around with me for years. Waiting for the day when I could finally find out if it would work. Or not. For that I am willing to give you a chance. Do not let me down, Max. I mean it.

Okay?’

Max stood up, stretched out his arms, and for a terrible, wonderful moment she thought that he was going to hug her. But he simply laid his hands on her arms for a fleeting second, leant forward, and pressed his lips to her cheek in a kiss which was so warm and sweet and genuine that the joy simply beamed out of him—as though he was reflecting the sun streaming in through the window that was warming Daisy’s back.