Andrea Penrose: The Cocoa Conspiracy

For Saybrook College,

a fabulous community of students, scholars, and Fellows

whose camaraderie and intellectual curiosity is a source of

constant inspiration

While writing a story is a very solitary endeavor, the making of a finished book requires the hard work and dedication of a number of people. I’m very lucky to have an amazing support group who listen patiently to my questions, endure my querulous whining, offer sage advice . . . and help me keep the Muse well supplied with chocolate!

As always, I’m profoundly grateful to Gail Fortune, my agent, for all the brainstorming chats, and to Sandy Harding, my editor, for all her incredibly thoughtful suggestions and criticisms.

And no author could wish for more wonderful—and brilliant—friends! That they are willing to sit up into the wee hours of the night parsing the arcane little details of history and sharing their expertise is not only amazingly enlightening, but also provides a modicum of reassurance that I am not the only one who finds the past fascinating. So I raise a glass of wine (well, maybe two) to offer special thanks to Ammanda McCabe, Lauren Willig, Tracy Grant, and John Ettinger. You guys are the best!

¾ cup olive oil, plus more to grease pan

⅓ cup cocoa powder

½ cup plus 2 tablespoons boiling water

2 ounces unsweetened chocolate, finely chopped

2 large eggs

2 large egg yolks

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2½ cups sugar

1¾ cups all-purpose flour

¾ teaspoon kosher salt

2½ ounces bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped

2 cups shredded sweetened coconut

Fleur de sel , for sprinkling

1. Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Lightly grease a 9-by-13-inch baking pan.

2. In a large bowl, whisk together the cocoa powder and ½ cup plus 2 tablespoons boiling water until smooth. Add the unsweetened chocolate and whisk until the chocolate has melted. Whisk in the olive oil. Add the eggs, yolks and vanilla, and continue to whisk until combined. Add the sugar, whisking until fully incorporated. Using a spatula, fold in the flour and salt until just combined. Fold in the bittersweet chocolate pieces.

3. Pour half the batter into the prepared pan and smooth with a spatula. Sprinkle 1 cup of the shredded coconut on top of the batter. Pour in the remaining batter and smooth. Top with remaining coconut. Sprinkle with fleur de sel and bake until just set and firm to the touch, about 25 to 30 minutes. (These brownies solidify as they cool, so inserting a toothpick to check for doneness will not work; it will not come out clean.) Transfer the pan to a wire rack and allow to cool completely before cutting into 2-inch squares.

The book’s binding was crafted out of dark, fine-grained calfskin, its richly tooled embossings age-mellowed to the color of . . .

“Chocolate,” murmured Arianna Hadley. Removing her gloves, which were still sticky from foraging through the food stalls at Covent Garden, she traced the delicate leaf design centered beneath the gilded title. “How lovely,” she added, and then carefully opened the cover.

Dust motes danced up into the air, tiny sparkles of sunlight in the shadowed corner of the alcove. As she shifted a step closer to the diamond-paned window, the scrape of her sturdy half-boots on the Aubusson carpet momentarily disturbed the hush that hung over the ornate bookcases.

Her heel snagged, and to her dismay she realized that a streak of mud—and something that looked suspiciously like squashed pumpkin—now marred the stately pattern.

Hell and damnation.

Arianna gave a guilty glance around, but the room appeared deserted. The only stirring was a small flutter of breeze wafting in through the casement. It teased over the polished oak, mingling the scents of beeswax, ink, paper and leather.

The smell of money.

A wry smile twitched on her lips as she turned her attention back to the book. Set discreetly within the marbled endpapers was a small slip of paper that noted the price. It was expensive. Very expensive —as was every volume and manuscript offered for sale by Messrs. Harvey & Watkins Rare Book Emporium.

But then, Arianna could now afford such luxuries.

She slowly turned the pages, savoring the feel of the creamy, deckle-edged paper and the subtle colors of the illustrations. With her new husband’s birthday fast approaching, she was looking for a special gift. And the intricate engravings of Theobroma cacao were, to her eye, exquisite.

“Chocolate,” repeated Arianna, pausing to study the details of a criolla tree and its fruit. Her husband was, among other things, a serious scholar of botany, and cacao—or chocolate—was his particular field of expertise. The text was Spanish, and the date looked to be—

A sudden nudge from behind nearly knocked the book from her grasp.

“I beg your pardon.” The deep voice was edged with a foreign accent.

Arianna turned, about to acknowledge the apology with a polite smile, when the man gave her another little shove.

“I beg your pardon, but that book is mine ,” he growled. “Hand it over at once.”

Sliding back a step, she instinctively threw up a forearm to parry his grab. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, sir. It was lying on the display table, free for anyone to choose.”

“I assure you, there is no mistake,” he replied. “I must have it.”

Turn over her treasure to a lout who thought to frighten her with physical force? Her pulse kicked up a notch, its hot surge thrumming angrily in her ears.

“Sorry, but I saw it first.”

Her husband had jestingly warned her that serious book collectors were an odd, obsessive lot, and this one in particular sounded slightly deranged. Or demented. But, be that as it may, Arianna was not about to be intimidated by his bullying tactics.

“You will have to look around for something else, for I intend to purchase it,” she added, and not just for spite. She had already decided that the engravings were the perfect present for her husband.

“You can’t!” he exclaimed in a taut whisper.

Oh, but I can.

Closing the covers, Arianna hugged the book to her chest.

As the man edged closer, a blade of light cut across his pale face. Sweat was beading his forehead, and several drops hung on his russet lashes. “I tell you, that book is meant for me .”

“Then you should have asked the clerk to put it aside.” She gestured at the other volumes arrayed on the square of dark velvet. “Come, there is no need to squabble like savages. You have plenty of other lovely choices.”

He snarled an obscenity.

“Be advised, sir, I know plenty of worse words than that,” responded Arianna with a grim smile, and she added a very unladylike curse to prove it.

His eyes widened for an instant, then narrowed to a slitted stare. “Give me that book,” he repeated. “Or you will be sorry.”

His strike was quick—but not quick enough.

Her reactions honed by half a lifetime of fighting off drunks and pimps, Arianna caught his wrist and pivoted, twisting hard enough to draw a grunt of pain. “I wouldn’t wager on that.”