Candace Sweet’s Confectionery

by Dee, Bonnie

  He’d never been happier to see the front gate of his home. All three exhausted travelers ate a light meal and slept from before dusk until late morning.

  Before Alain even checked on the factory, he met his estranged wife in town. Strolling on the quiet main thoroughfare of Marcoussis, cosmopolitan Geneviève looked as out of place as a peacock amidst mourning doves. Her elegance and unexpected return to the village earned many a long look from passers-by, fuel for gossip and speculation over many a dinner table.

  Now he and Geneviève were face-to-face without Vivienne’s presence, Alain wasn’t certain quite how to address the subject of divorce. Before solicitors became involved, he hoped to have an honest talk with the woman who had once been his wife. Perhaps they might reach a truce and an amicable arrangement.

  At the church where they’d been wed, Alain held open the gate to the small cemetery beside it. Geneviève had bought a bouquet to lay on her parents’ graves. At the Lambert family plot, she laid the flowers, murmured a prayer, then rose to stare at the weather-worn stones of the family plot.

  “I might have been buried here with all of them. Now, I never shall be.” Tears glimmered in her eyes. “I would have traveled home for Maman’s funeral but could not afford the passage at the time.” She delicately dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and sniffed. “My life is in America now. I will not look back. That is what I’ve learned in that eager young country. Forward progress is the lifeblood of Americans.”

  “You never were one for traditions or staying in one place,” Alain agreed. “Would you have been happier if we had moved to Paris? Do you think we might have remained a family if we lived in the city?”

  She tipped her parasol to shield her perfect complexion from the sunlight. “I would certainly have been more content with city life, but I doubt you and I would ever have been happy together at the same time in the same place.”

  Her honesty surprised him. Geneviève was usually a master at telling people what they wanted to hear while doing precisely as she liked. He recalled her as charming yet sly, yielding yet stubborn, shifting like sand upon which no solid foundation could be built.

  “Although I was in love with you, I think I was too young to truly understand you,” Alain replied with equal truthfulness.

  “I know. That is why I left you. I tried to be happy here, but I was not made for this place, you see?”

  “I do.” He looked her in the eye. “Why would you not release me long ago? I don’t believe your refusal was ever about religion but because you wanted a safe place where you might retreat to if things went badly overseas. Now you have a wealthy man willing to marry you despite your past, someone who would leave you a fortune.”

  She shrugged. “That is partially true. Mr. Grayson would be feel a family bond if Vivienne lived with us. But I am telling the truth when I say I want my daughter with me now. Vivienne ought to see more of the world than this dull village.”

  “She has been to Paris and to London, and she may travel more when she is older. But for now, all she needs is a structured, loving home.”

  Geneviève clicked her tongue unfurled her parasol with a snap. “There you go. Always assuming you know what is best for everyone. Why must you be so difficult? You will be a bachelor again, free to pursue that sweet woman who runs the sweet shop,” she taunted. “All I am asking for is some time in which to get to know my daughter.

  Why do you not ask Vivienne how she feels? Perhaps she would like to go to New York. Perhaps she has longed for her mother all her life.”

  That was his secret fear spoken aloud, for Alain had always worried a father’s love was not sufficient for a girl. And no matter how much Vivienne adored Madame Bernard, the nurse was not her mother. Perhaps he was being selfish in keeping his daughter away from the woman who had given birth to her. If she chose to go with Geneviève, it would shatter him. But Alain should at least speak to her about the matter before making a life-altering decision.

  Geneviève led the way from the churchyard. “Shall we stop at the café for a brioche?”

  Alain did not want to spend an entire meal listening to her prattle on about her adventures in America. “We have both made our desires clear. I don’t believe there is much more to be said. Our solicitors must work out the terms of the divorce, as I’m certain you do not wish a drawn-out court case any more than I do.”

  “No. It must be quickly done. My dear Harry is not a well man. I should be by his side in case things take a turn for the worse.”

  Like a vulture waiting to make certain she might pick the corpse clean.

  “I would like to come by this afternoon to spend more time with Vivienne,” Geneviève announced.

  He nodded curtly. “Agreed, but I will remain nearby.”

  She sniffed. “It isn’t as if I would steal her away.”

  Alain raised an eyebrow.

  She laughed and tapped his cheek. “Such a doubting man. Do you not have work you ought to be doing rather than wasting time behaving as a guard dog?”

  “The factory can wait. I will be attending you.”

  Geneviève lowered her eyelids. “I would enjoy that. There are some things I have missed in Marcoussis. I never tired of you where intimate matters were concerned mon chèr.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. Any desire I once had for you is long dead.”

  She pouted and shrugged. “Too bad. We might have enjoyed an interlude before I leave. My Harry is an adoring but not very energetic lover.”

  A picture he did not need implanted in his brain.

  Before she could say anything more, he walked away. But although he left Geneviève behind, she remained standing like a boulder in a stream. She would remain, altering the flow of his life, until he could manage to remove her.

  *

  “You have served the Moreau family well these many years, but as our business is entering a new phase of development, I believe the time has come for us to part ways.”

  Alain had rehearsed these lines prior to meeting with Jacques Renfro. Delivering them while meeting the old man’s gaze was incredibly difficult. The fellow had been a fixture for his entire life. Alain had to remind himself Renfro was an employee who continually undermined his authority. It was past time he made this change for the good of the factory and for employee morale.

  Renfro stared at him with extremely pale eyes. As a boy, Alain had imagined the man could see like a wizard into the future and into his thoughts, perceiving any naughty deed he might do. Even now that far-seeing gaze made him nervous. But it was time to stop deferring to age and assume his power as head of the company.

  “May I ask who you have found to take my place?” Renfro asked. “If you imagine young Chappelle is up to the task of running operations, you will find him sorely lacking in management skills. He wants to be liked too much.”

  Jerome Chappelle was precisely the person Alain had chosen to fill the role, at least while he searched for a better candidate from outside the company. If Jerome proved himself, he might retain the position.

  “You need not concern yourself.” Alain offered the envelope he had prepared. “I wish you all the best in your retirement. You have worked hard for many years. Take this time to enjoy life.”

  Renfro regarded the severance with disdain before accepting it. “I pray this decision does not ruin the company it has taken generations to build. I always told your father you were not a man capable of filling his shoes.”

  Whatever sympathy Alain may have felt evaporated as he watched Renfro walk out of the office.

  Alain remained sitting behind his father’s old desk, thinking it was time to buy a new one. He inhaled deeply the scent of roasting cacao beans from the factory ovens below. He’d been right to release Renfro and to expand to a wider market. Their classic recipes could be duplicated on a larger scale without losing quality. He would make certain Moreau Chocolates did not become an outdated relic that faded away in the new century.

  For perhap
s the first time, Alain fully believed in himself. Success was there for the taking, and he would have it.

  He went to summon Chappelle to his office.

  *

  Upon being told her wayward mother would be sharing le goûter with her, Vivienne erupted in a twirling dance of excitement. She spun around her playroom and finally stopped in front of Alain. “I thought you did not like her, Papa.”

  “Why would you believe that?”

  “Because you did not look happy to see Maman when she arrived at the boarding house, and you frown whenever you mention her.”

  He had not been aware he telegraphed his disapproval. He would not have Vivienne feel disloyal in caring about her mother.

  “We have been apart for many years so I did not expect to see her. But she is your maman. My feelings and yours may be different, and that is all right. You have every right to enjoy your afternoon together.”

  Still she frowned. “But you are worried. I can tell. You must know I would never leave you to go with Maman to America.”

  Alain drew a long breath. “Without considering me, what would you like to do, Vivienne?”

  With the toe of her shoe, she prodded her dolly on the floor. “Someday I wouldn’t mind visiting. But no, I would not want to live with her. I always imagined her as a queen in a fairytale castle, but I am not so babyish now.” Vivienne stooped to pick up the doll and cradle it. “She is merely a lady. Like Miss Sweet, only not so nice, I think.” She gazed up at Alain with her young wise eyes. “My home is with you whether we live here or move to London near Miss Sweet.”

  Her words stole his breath. Clearly, she’d given much more thought to the future than Alain had imagined. She echoed what he had only dreamed of. But the idea was too much to think about or talk about. Not until Geneviève was rooted out of their lives.

  To change the subject, Alain enquired after the health of Vivienne’s doll, Antoinette. Apparently, she was suffering a terrible toothache. Together they doctored the poor thing with an aspirin powder and cloth wrapped around her head before Vivienne put her to bed.

  After Madame Bernard arrived to help Vivienne tidy up and change her dress. Alain waited in the front parlor where he could look out the window. A half hour past the appointed time, Geneviève had still not arrived.

  Fifteen more excruciating minutes crept past while memories of the day she had disappeared crowded his mind. He had spent a full day worrying and searching for her, even going so far as to contact the police. Alain imagined his wife injured, lost, or kidnapped by some evildoer. But in his heart he’d also pictured her with a lover in a Paris hotel room, since he had begun to doubt her faithfulness. What he’d never imagined was that Geneviève had left him permanently and without warning, putting an entire ocean between them.

  He couldn’t have believed her capable of such an extreme action—not until he found her note and a large portion of their savings gone.

  Father had been quick to chide him about the financial loss and to shake his head over Alain’s failure as a husband. You should have known what she was up to. You are very naïve for a man your age.

  The hurt and anger Alain had felt both for himself and for their baby daughter returned to him now. Frustration tipped into anger and seething fury by the time Geneviève alighted from a carriage and sauntered up the path without a care in the world.

  Alain waved off the housekeeper to answer the door himself. “You are late! Vivienne has been anxiously waiting.”

  “Am I? I didn’t realize. I decided to walk to the abandoned mill. Remember how we would meet there in secret when we were young? Oh, là, one does not forget her first kiss or her first…” She pressed a hand to her heart. “Sad to see the place completely in ruins. I muddied my gown and returned to the inn to change. But I am here now.”

  There was no point in arguing with her logic, so he gritted his teeth and stepped aside for her to enter.

  Just then Vivienne pelted down the stairs and stopped at the bottom, arms crossed. “You are late, Maman,” she scolded severely. “And not just a little bit. Tardiness is considered very rude, you know.”

  “Pardon, ma chère. I lost track of time. Will you forgive me?”

  Vivienne looked to Alain for an answer. He kept his expression neutral so as not to influence her. “I suppose so, but now the cocoa will have to be reheated and it is never as good as when it is fresh.” She slipped into hostess mode. “May I invite you to my playroom? I have refreshments ready there.”

  Geneviéve’s laughter went some way toward mollifying Vivienne, who cast off her irritation. They climbed the stairs together with Alain walking behind them. His clenched jaw ached, and he would’ve liked nothing better than to grab the trailing hem of Geneviève’s skirt and yank it until she fell down the stairs. Angry emotions dulled by years of separation returned in a flood. This woman owed him an apology for her behavior he would never receive—not the desertion but the manner in which she had done it. She owed Vivienne the mother she had robbed her of. If he truly believed Geneviève was penitent, he might feel differently. But her selfish, careless ways had not changed.

  He would express none of this in front of his daughter, and remained in the hallway outside the playroom, listening to their conversation as they shared le goûter, France’s rough equivalent of British teatime.

  Geneviève asked what entertainments Vivienne liked best. Vivienne spoke about her love for animals then explained in great detail the lives of the toy people in the elaborate block city she had erected. Her mother barely responded to the tale before turning the conversation to her own life, describing the grandness of the New York social scene and her place in it.

  Alain listened to her self-aggrandizement and wondered how much was fabricated. A gentleman’s mistress could not possibly be invited to all the functions she described. He supposed, this was the world she dreamed of becoming a part of should Harry Grayson marry her. In typical Geneviève fashion she refused to acknowledge that old New York society would never accept a social climber into their ranks.

  After a while silence fell in the nursery. It seemed neither mother nor daughter had anything more to say.

  “Papa, I know you’re out there,” Vivienne called. “Why are you in the hallway? Come join us.”

  He moved to the doorway. “This is a time for you and your maman. I do not wish to interrupt.”

  “You wouldn’t. Please come in!”

  Two similar faces with nearly identical eyes turned toward him beseechingly, throwing out a lifeline to save them from awkwardness.

  Reluctantly, Alain sat nearby to shore up the lagging conversation. He asked Vivienne to recite a poem she had composed involving rats, cats, and bats. Geneviève applauded the short recitation enthusiastically. But no artifice would make up for the lack of connection between mother and daughter. Soon the three of them were reduced to discussing the weather. That was when Geneviève excused herself.

  “I am afraid I must go now, my darling. I have correspondences to write. I will see you again tomorrow.”

  “I think I’ll be busy with lessons,” Vivienne spoke quickly. “I am learning my times tables you see. Nounou Bernard says division is next and that will be even harder.”

  Geneviève laughed. “My goodness, Madame Bernard sounds very strict. Why would a little girl need to know arithmetic?”

  “Because I will be in business one day,” Vivienne explained patiently as if enlightening the uneducated. “There will be books to keep and things like profits and losses. And taxes,” she added as an afterthought. “When I am in charge of Moreau Chocolates, I will need to know all about those subjects.”

  “What a funny little imp you are.” Geneviève tapped her nose.

  Vivienne’s eyes squinted in annoyance. She despised not being taken seriously. Standing up, she offered her hand to shake.

  Geneviève drew her into an embrace and kissed her forehead. “Ma chère, it has been so good to see you at last.”

  “Well
, Maman, you might have come a long time ago, but you didn’t,” Vivien replied curtly. “I want to make it clear that I do not wish to go with you to America. My home is with Papa.”

  Geneviève gave Alain a narrow-eyed glance, obviously believing he had guided Vivienne to make this declaration. “But I have my heart set on showing you the city. We would have so much fun together, and I’m quite certain you would like Mr. Grayson.”

  “I am not going. You can’t make me.”

  Never had Alain been so glad for his daughter’s stubborn nature.

  Geneviève whirled toward him. “You have done this. You’ve turned her against me.”

  Vivienne stamped her foot. “I know what I want. I don’t need Papa or anyone else to tell me what to think.”

  Her mother dropped down to her knees and grasped her shoulders. “But, mon coeur, I am your mother and we have so much time to make up for. We must come to know one another better.”

  “Why?” Vivienne stared into her eyes. “We have met now and talked. You are a nice enough lady, but you aren’t really a mother, are you?”

  Geneviève gasped and pulled back as if slapped. “How could you be so unkind? Of course I am your mother.”

  Vivienne gave her habitual I beg to differ shrug. “Not like Nounou Bernard is. I’m glad you came though, because all this time I imagined you were…I don’t know, special somehow. Now I know better so I will stop dreaming about you.”

  “Oh! You little—” Geneviève’s lips compressed and her eyes flashed. She drew back a hand as if she might slap Vivienne.

  Alain stiffened, ready to intercept if she tried.

  Instead, his soon-to-be-former wife scrambled to her feet most inelegantly and whirled toward him. “You have raised an insufferable brat!”

  “Simply opinionated. You should know something about being headstrong,” Alain replied calmly thought he would like to throttle her. “Now you know she will not serve your purpose with Grayson we will legally end our marriage and then you may return to him.”

  A myriad of emotions darted across Geneviéve’s mobile features: anger, certainly, but also hurt, sadness and regret, before her expression settled on resignation. She shrugged—a mirror image of her daughter. “Very well. I did not come here to do battle, but simply to see my family. If neither of you care for me, I suppose there is nothing I can do about it.”