From Paris With Love (12 page)

I grabbed one of the fancy buttons and smelt it before putting it in my mouth.

‘Excellent,’ muttered JC, as he caught my eye. ‘That sniff is ze sign of a good chef. Aroma is paramount.’ He popped a button in his mouth. ‘Now, vamoose. No chef becomes good without hours of hard work. And at the end of your afternoon shift I want you to scrub the kitchen floor ‘til eet is shinier than Hugo’s shoes. And then…It would please me if you came back in tonight. You can be my close righthand man – or rather, woman. After service and under my close supervision, you can have a go at making a couple of the dishes. It will be a late night but…’

Wow. What an honour – personal training from the head chef.

Feeling perkier than I had done all morning, I put another circle of chocolate in my mouth, before heading back into the steamy kitchen. Mmm, what a smooth, creamy texture – and then pow! That fierce smack of dark chocolate ignited the back of my throat. Instantly I felt a burst of energy and began, once again, to pound the dough, imagining it was Edward. Except I couldn’t stay angry for long and the movements soon morphed into me pretending to massage his back. If physical attraction was the only thing a relationship needed, then we’d have had no problems and could have stuck together as long as my favourite, immortal vampires.

The kitchen doors swung open and Edward walked in, curly blonde fringe almost hiding those sincere blue eyes. My heart skipped a beat.

‘I’m about to take my break but Pierre asked me to see if you needed any help in here first – due to the special booking at lunchtime,’ he said.

‘Waiters are not chefs,’ barked JC, ‘
especially
when we are expecting important guests.’

A table for one p.m. sharp had been booked by representatives from the League of Nations, which, I remembered from school, was formed at the end of the First World War. As part of the commemorative centenary events, they were touring Parisian high schools to talk of their work nowadays.

‘Pudding, take your break now,’ said JC, without looking in my direction. ‘I need you later. Go! Whilst it is quiet.’

‘But…’

‘
Maintenant
!’ he said and without further ado, I washed my hands and followed Edward into the restaurant. If I didn’t know better, I’d have accused JC of purposely throwing me and my Ex – *sob*, hated that word – together. In silence, we each made ourselves a coffee and sat down at the corner table, reserved for staff on a quick break.

Edward half-smiled. ‘Pierre has gone to a lot of trouble for this lunch. His grandfather was a First World War hero. He’s clearly very proud of him.’

Not daring to speak, in case my voice wobbled, I raised one eyebrow.

‘Louis – that was his name – lied about his age and joined up at only sixteen. Eventually he became a tunneller. One day the tunnel he was working on got bombed and Louis made sure everyone else got out before him. When he finally emerged above ground the German infantry was within shooting distance. He was killed instantly. Having wed his childhood sweetheart at eighteen, whilst home on leave, he never received her letter telling him he was to be a father. It arrived a week after he died.’

‘That’s terrible,’ I muttered.

Edward nodded and we both sipped our drinks. ‘Look, um, I’ll pick my things up after work.’

‘But where will you stay?’

‘Moni will put me up for as long as I want.’

I felt sick. Surely, Edward wasn’t already moving on? Although under different circumstances, part of me could have chuckled. If nothing else, I’d certainly given Edward the gift of spontaneity, since our time together. When I first met him, his life was as orderly as his military-standard polished shoes. Appointments. Expectations. Appearances mattered. The Edward of old would have never suddenly crashed at someone’s flat. No, he’d have needed a hotel with a laundry service, trouser press and proper mattress.

‘How accommodating of her,’ I muttered.

The light left Edward’s eyes. ‘Yes, Monique’s been
very
accommodating, under the circumstances. She waited on me hand and foot last night, insisting I have her best red wine and constantly topping up my glass – despite the fact she was injured.’

‘Now she’s really getting her claws into you.’ I shook my head. ‘Honestly, Edward, open your eyes.’

‘Please don’t speak about her in those terms,’ he said in a tight voice. ‘I was hoping we could stay friends.’

‘How quickly you’re defending her against me.’

‘Look… this isn’t a battle…’ He sighed. ‘Gem…. Why don’t I make us dinner this evening? We can talk.’

No. Whilst I shouldn’t have given Edward an ultimatum last night, I’d thought all through the early hours and concluded our split really was for the best. In any case…

‘JC – he’s offered to give me a personal cookery lesson tonight. You know what he’s like – he’ll never make another offer like that and –’

Edward’s cheeks flushed. ‘So just like the first weekend here, when you left me standing, I come second again tonight?’

‘No! It’s just…’ The pit of my stomach squeezed.

‘Forget it, Gemma. Your heart’s not in it.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t want to believe it, but perhaps Moni is right.’

‘About what?’

‘She says you are young – have a career to forge that requires a degree of independence… that it wouldn’t be fair of me to hold you back.’

‘Edward!’ I shook my head. ‘Can’t you see what that bitch is doing?’

‘That “bitch”…’ he grimaced at the word, ‘… is thinking of you.’ Edward pushed away his cup.

‘Well, for your – and her – information, my supposed career and plans to cook my way around the world, have nothing to do with our fall-out. No, our problem is, clearly, that I gel with someone like down-to-earth Cindy, whilst you are in awe of highfalutin Monique. It was obvious you hated Disneyland.’

‘
Hate
is a strong word.’ He shrugged. ‘Surely differences regarding our hobbies don’t matter? Not if the initial spark is there – just look at cousin Abbey and Zak.’

‘Yeah, but she’s been to college and Zak’s been to uni. Intellectually, they’re on the same page. Whereas us… me…’

‘But she’s the daughter of a wealthy catering magnate…’ he continued. ‘Zak does charity voluntary work. Abbey is partial to smart clothes, whereas he’d be happy wearing a potato sack. But they’ve made it work and I don’t think that’s just down to both of them passing exams. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day he was my brother-in-law.’

‘Perhaps Abbey and Zak’s relationship is an exception,’ I interrupted, my thoughts since last night having turned to Auntie Jan. ‘Over the years I’ve watched my aunt split up from boyfriend after boyfriend because, most of the time, they were so ill-matched… One went poaching – she hates cruelty to animals. Another ate no carbs and loved canals whereas she lives for bread and gets seasick. Dad and me could always tell when one of her relationships wasn’t going to work out, but Auntie Jan would put her blinkers on.’

‘Your point is…?’

‘That if we had spoken up, Dad and me could have saved Auntie Jan painful heartache. Despite the warning signs, she always eked relationships out for months and when they finally broke up, she’d be in bits. I… I don’t want that for us.’ My throat hurt as I looked at his wide eyes, speckled with green. ‘The last few months I’ve been living a fantasy, I can see that now – me and a member of the nobility, it was never going to work…’ Not without mutual interests, to act as a strong bond, once the lust faded.

‘In fact Monique has done us a favour…’ My voice wavered. ‘I care deeply for you, Edward, but we’re just not compatible. Our mutual physical attraction…’ I stood up. ‘It’ll never be enough. The pain will be less if we call it quits now.’

Edward got to his feet as well. ‘Clearly you have me pigeon-holed as some straight-laced, narrow-minded, inflexible pseudo-intellectual toff.’

‘No, what I meant –’

Edward took a couple of deep breaths, then attempted a half-smile. He reached out his hand to clear a strand of hair from my face. The frownlines on his forehead smoothed out a titch. ‘It’s okay… Dear Gemma – the last thing I want is to cause you any sort of pain. Consider the subject closed. And… thank you for articulating your opinions with such honesty. I won’t mention the possibility of a reconciliation again.’ He gave a half-smile and my heart skipped a beat as his gave me one of his adorable soulful looks.

‘Okay,’ I stuttered.

Edward leant forward and gently brushed his lips across my cheek. It felt like a wave goodbye.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Back to work. Even in romantic Paris, I doubt affairs of the heart are considered a decent reason to slack off…’

We gazed at each other for a second before he took our cups over to the bar.

Chapter 10

*Sigh*. If only my name were Bridget Jones I could wallow in my pain with booze and fags. Chocolate and croissants would have to do. Apparently Edward didn’t feel equally as low. Today at work he’d been his normal charming self, helping one smitten elderly diner right back to her car. Plus he shared his break with Henri, a Tuesday regular who was keen to learn English. Then, in his most gentleman-like manner, he’d teasingly ticked off a bunch of young women, trying to get him to take their phone numbers.

I gazed around the flat, feeling suddenly alone. Perhaps Bridget had the right idea and jotting down feelings about my day might help. Maybe I’d give “Gemma Goodwin’s Diary” a go:

***

Morning
.

New French words: 3

Tissues used: 4

Got to the restaurant. Hugo muttered something about me being late. I shrugged and made myself a strong espresso. Eyes wet, I sipped it slowly, until the last drop was gone. Stupid, wasn’t it? Me being upset about the break-up, when I’d kind of brought it about. Urgh. It had been what Abbey would call “horrid”, sleeping in the flat last night, on my own. In fact talking about best buddy Abbey, I’d been tempted to text her and pour out my heart. But I couldn’t face talking about the split, yet, to people who thought Edward and I were made for each other.

Hugo stared as I pulled out a tissue. He asked me what was the matter. I blew my nose hard and declared I had a terrible allergy to… to cherry tree blossom, remembering the Japanese takeaway I’d passed earlier on and its floral sign. Yes, that was it – I’d stood next to some flowering branches, whilst checking my texts, on my way to work.

Hugo made some funny French noise (yes, even noises were different – like, in English, it’s “atishoo” for a sneeze, but in French they say “atchoum”.)Then he said:

‘
Bêtises
!’ (new word number one, meaning “rubbish”) and something about cherry trees not blossoming until much later in the year.

Oops. I’d been caught out. So, I said my eyes were just tired after being up late last night, braising duck with JC. After a glare, his face relaxed and he went to the coffee machine to make another strong espresso. Then he ordered me to drink it down in one.

Blimey. Could the head waiter actually have a heart? In fact I had already seen signs of Hugo’s gentler side – the way he kept a supply of crayons out the back, for younger guests… How he’d clapped Edward on the back when he’d taken his first three course order in French. His brusque tone hid a man with a decidedly soft centre – or if not exactly soft, well let’s just say as far as boxes of chocolates go, I reckoned he was definitely more of a chewy toffee than a rock hard, nutty nougat.

Pierre was definitely a soft-centred bloke. He must have heard about the split. After I’d downed the espresso, he came out of the staff room and kissed me on both cheeks. He patted my shoulder, then glanced across at Hugo and said there was a box of muffins in the staff room everyone could help themselves to– apparently Pierre’s girlfriend, Agnes, loved baking.

‘I put a particularly delicious, triple chocolate one aside for you,
mon troqnon
’, he said quietly to me (new word number two, meaning the core of a fruit and no, I haven’t a clue as to why that is a term of affection). Then he asked if I wanted to change any shifts…Bless. Pierre clearly thought I’d want to avoid Edward and, feeling a titch better, I blew my nose again.

Whereas JC, as I’d already established, was… a bitter dark Brazilian chocolate truffle, with a brittle outside and secret melt-in-the-mouth middle. When I arrived in the kitchen, after dumping my bag and coat in the staff room (okay, and taking a nibble of that yummy muffin) he was having a panic about a late delivery and quickly barked at me to hurry up and get on – although, like Hugo, he stared at me and asked quickly how I was today. After a dab of my eyes, I said fine and smiled before washing my hands.

Clearly he thought I wasn’t and had decided there was only one remedy for my heartache.

‘Keep as busy as you can, Pudding,’ he declared, in his thick accent. Then he ordered me to peel one hundred potatoes, to mash for the fish pie and to shred five cabbages for coleslaw. To check I could cope he tentatively gave me the thumbs up and a wink. Ooh, I felt fuzzy inside.

‘Honey, wanna talk about it, later today, over a strong drink?’ said Cindy, after I’d finished the potatoes. Edward had just bobbed in, to fetch some biscuits from the pantry, that we often served with coffee. Briefly she slipped an arm around my waist and gave me a squeeze, which made me realise how much I missed Abbey and Auntie Jan – and Lady C.

I muttered something about being fine and not one to wallow. Cindy replied that she’d always known I was no “
lavette
”, (new word number three, from “dish cloth”, meaning a girl with no courage or energy). Then she showed me a catalogue from under the counter, full of typical Cindy clothes, all fun and sunny. Her suggestion we went shopping made me realize what a good example she was of someone who didn’t need a partner to have a good time. I’d been single before meeting Edward and coped. I had my career, friends and family and my health…

Lunchtime
.

New French Words: 3

Tissues used: 1

Busy, busy, busy indeed. No time for contemplating my love life – there was work to do. The triple chocolate muffin from Pierre’s girlfriend kept me going, as did Cindy singing her favourite Disney song, the dwarves’ “Whistle whilst you work.” In fact, I broke into an out-of-tune rendition of another Snow White favourite, on my way to the pantry, namely singing it was “off to work I go”. A hush fell in the kitchen for a moment. JC winced and muttered “
pénible
” (meaning painful, new word number one). Also, a couple of kitchenhands looked at me pityingly. Cue a very embarrassing moment until Cindy caught my eye and we both hooted with laughter.