by Julie Caplin
‘You OK?’ she asked before adding in a jokey way, ‘Been taking your painkillers?’
Sebastian gave her a half-hearted smile. ‘Busted, Nurse Nina.’
‘Painkillers?’ pouted Katrin. ‘Oh darling, why didn’t you say?’ She gnawed at her lip. ‘I don’t know if I’ll be able to get another reservation at this place.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.’ He gave her a reassuring nod. ‘I’ll take one now and I’ll be as right as rain.’
She patted him on the arm. ‘Oui, ma cherie. A man like you doesn’t like a fuss.’ She shot Nina a dry look which Nina interpreted as, ‘Ha! what do you know’.
Nina shrugged and watched as he pulled out the packet of tablets and punched two out of the blister pack onto his palm and then looked across at the sink on the other side of the room where the rest of the group were now rinsing out their coffee cups. Nina picked up her broom and began to sweep up again and as she passed by Sebastian she said, ‘I’d offer to get you a glass of water, but I know you don’t like a fuss.’
With a resigned look, his mouth flattening, he picked up his crutches and swung his way over towards the sink. Nina ignored the brief pang of guilt. If he needed help, Katrin could pitch in.
Chapter 15
‘Bonjour.’ Marcel rushed over to relieve Nina of her dripping umbrella.
‘Bonjour. Yuk, that rain is awful. It’s just like home. Whatever happened to Paris in the spring?’
‘This is Paris in the spring, we’re not so far from London. What did you expect? Leslie Caron dancing through the streets?’
Nina blinked warily. ‘I don’t know who Leslie Caron is.’
‘Dancer. Film. An American in Paris,’ said Marcel with a heavy sigh, his mournful mouth turning down even more. ‘What can I do for you this morning?’
‘I er … erm. I thought I’d do some cooking.’
Thankfully Marcel didn’t think there was anything odd in this and just nodded. ‘Café?’
‘Yes please, au lait.’
‘I know how you take it.’ He turned his back on her and she dithered a second. ‘I’ll bring it through.’
‘Thank you.’ Feeling dismissed, she hurried towards the kitchen. On the way there, she had decided that after the course a few days ago she would practise her choux pastry and make éclairs.
It was rather nice having the kitchen to herself and with Sebastian’s training fresh in her mind as well as his criticism, she knocked up her first batch of choux rather quickly but paying careful attention as she watched anxiously for exactly the right boiling point before she tipped in her flour. Beating the eggs into the slippery mixture seemed a bit easier and this time the icing bag didn’t feel quite like she was trying to take control of a wayward python, although she wasn’t sure the two dozen éclairs she piped out were anywhere near professional standards but, she told herself, they were a start. Playing it safe, as they were baking in the oven she made up a batch of coffee cream to go into the middle and coffee icing for the top.
‘More café?’ Bearing a small cup and saucer and placing it on the kitchen work bench beside her, Nina decided that Marcel’s question was definitely rhetorical and judging by his quivering nose, his sudden thoughtfulness had more to do with abject curiosity.
‘What are you making?’
‘I’m attempting éclairs, but don’t get your hopes up.’ She tilted her head towards the oven. ‘It’s my first time solo, so I’m not expecting much but I just wanted to practise.’
‘At least the kitchen is being used.’ Marcel did a slow three-sixty. ‘Once upon a time, this kitchen would have been full of people. Working from midnight to make the day’s pastries and the baguettes.’
‘Did they make everything here?’
‘Yes. And now it is delivered by a van from a factory unit on the outskirts of Paris.’ Marcel’s lip curled. ‘I preferred the old ways. No wonder we have no customers.’
Nina thought it might also have something to do with the tatty exterior, which was hardly welcoming.
‘And what’s in the boxes?’ he asked, poking a finger at the larger of the two boxes that Nina had pulled out from under the sink.
‘Some old cutlery and china. Look.’ She took out a plate and a tea cup and saucer. ‘Aren’t they pretty?’
Marcel’s face brightened and he stroked the plate reverentially. ‘These were used when my wife and I used to come here.’
‘Well, if Sebastian decides to get rid of them, maybe your wife might like one as a souvenir?’ she suggested.
His eyes went flat and dull, his mouth firming. ‘She’s dead.’ He withdrew his hand from the plate as if it had burnt him and with an abrupt turn, almost clicking his heels together, left the kitchen.
OK, so they weren’t about to win a star baker award but she was quite pleased with her éclairs and if she said so herself, the slightly bittersweet coffee cream centre combined with the sweet coffee flavoured icing was a pretty good combo.
Arranging the best of them on one of the pretty china cake stands, she took them through to the patisserie to show Marcel who, despite his disinterested demeanour, had popped back into the kitchen several times to see how she was getting on. She rather thought he had a bit of a sweet tooth and wanted to try one.
‘Here you go, Marcel,’ she called, walking up from the kitchen into the shop.
His eyes widened and his mournful mouth suddenly lifted in a broad proud beam lighting up his whole face.
‘Hey Nina,’ Maddie’s cheerful voice came from the corner where she was sitting with Marguerite. ‘How are you? And what are you doing here? Is scorching Sebastian with you?’
‘Hi, Maddie,’ said Nina with a laugh. ‘No, he’s probably tucked up with—’ she lowered her voice to a breathy whisper ‘—Katrin.’
‘Blimey, I thought she was going to knock herself out with those eyelashes. They had a life of their own.’
‘Mm, but she was very gorgeous. Perfect for Sebastian. He likes the glam type.’
Marguerite let out a very elegant snort. ‘I’m not sure Sebastian knows what he wants or more importantly what he needs. I don’t see Katrin, attractive as she is, as perfect for Sebastian. He needs someone more supportive and interested in his needs.’
‘Oh, I think she was all for servicing his needs,’ said Maddie raising her eyebrows. ‘The way she was stroking his chest! Although how she thought he’d manage to get his leg over with that cast, I don’t know.’
Nina wrinkled her nose thinking of the half-used pack of condoms and then wished she hadn’t.
‘I though you had work to do,’ she said suddenly to Maddie, changing the subject.
Maddie smiled. ‘I do. This is procrastination of the highest order. I brought my laptop with me and I thought I’d do some work here, but Marguerite was here and now you are. Beats being in the studio on my own.’
‘That’s a good idea. And I’m here on my own. No Sebastian. I just thought I’d check a few things.’ Her eyes met Maddie’s. ‘And I was a bit fed up with Once Upon a Time.’ They both smiled, united by the realisation that this rather scruffy patisserie was the only place they could both think of coming to. Somehow it felt more like home than anywhere else at the moment and it was comforting to see Marguerite, Maddie and Marcel’s friendly faces, not that until now Marcel had looked particularly friendly. She walked up to their table, passing Marcel who was hissing something at her from the corner of his mouth.
She looked uncertainly his way.
He hissed again. ‘Wait.’
‘Wow, they look delicious. I’m not sure even if I practise every day for the rest of my life, my éclairs are ever going to look like that.’ With a teasing smirk, Maddie narrowed her eyes. ‘Did you make them?’
‘Yes!’ Nina shook her head. ‘Cheeky mare. What do you think, Marguerite?’
‘They do look rather lovely,’ said Marguerite with a regal tilt of her head.
‘I wouldn’t go quite that far. Would you like to try one?’
asked Nina, suddenly rather proud of her slightly misshapen éclairs. ‘Fresh from the kitchen.’
‘Ooh yes, please,’ said Maddie. ‘They look yummy.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ said Nina. ‘But I’m hoping they’ll taste OK.’
‘Excusez-moi.’ With several rapid steps, Marcel had zoomed out of from behind his counter with a speedy self-importance reminiscent of Manuel from Fawlty Towers. ‘Un moment, si-vous-plait.’ Without further ado he whipped the plate from her hand and whisked it away and disappeared back into the kitchen.
The three women exchanged uncertain glances.
‘Do you think I’ve offended him or something? I know they’re not as good as Sebastian’s,’ said Nina.
‘Yes, but they look a million times better than any of ours on the course the other day. And as they say, the proof of the pudding is in the eating.’
‘Which we may never get to do if he doesn’t bring them back. What is he doing?’ From beyond her, there was a sudden shout.
With a frown she looked back to where Marcel had now reappeared, suddenly making a lot of noise.
‘Voila!’ And with a rattle of china and spoons, like magic, Marcel stood in front of them with a hastily assembled tray.
‘Allow me,’ he said, bearing it with pride to the table. Nina smiled at the sight of the china tea plates and silver forks she’d rescued from upstairs, which sat on the tray along with some neatly pressed damask napkins. With great finesse and careful attention to each place setting, he laid out the plates and forks in front of Marguerite and Maddie, before laying two more at the empty places. He pulled out one of the chairs for Nina to sit down.
‘Excuse me.’ With a precise little bow, he dipped at the waist, and then scuttled over to the doors, where he bolted them top and bottom and then with his nose in the air he minced back to the table and sat down. ‘This should be done properly. These are the first patisseries to be baked and eaten here for over ten years. The occasion should be marked. It may never ever happen again.’
‘It’s a terrible shame this place is going to close,’ said Maddie. ‘I kinda like coming here. I mean it’s nothing special but … it feels sort of homey. Does he have to close it?’
Nina suddenly felt the need to defend Sebastian. ‘I don’t think it’s making any money.’
Marguerite raised one refined eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Nina swallowed, recognising her as the sort of person who often left silences to fill themselves, the pressure of which weighed so heavy, you often found yourself volunteering to do something or agreeing a donation to the cause.
After a pause, where Nina was sure Marguerite was working out her total game plan, there was a rustle as the older lady finally picked up her napkin. ‘Well, this looks rather wonderful,’ she said, as Marcel jumped to his feet.
‘Allow me, Madame.’ He took the damask cloth from her and shook it out before laying it on her lap with the serious drama of a matador with his cape. ‘Nina, as pastry chef, would you like to do the honours?’ He handed her a pair of forks.
As she served the éclairs he poured coffee from a slightly chipped glass cafetière.
‘Bon appétit,’ he said and picked up his fork as everyone followed suit.
Metal clinked against china and then there were a few seconds of silence.
‘Mmm.’
‘Excellent.’
‘Très bien.’ Marcel nodded and closed his eyes.
‘Oh my goodness, Nina. This is divine,’ exclaimed Maddie.
‘It’s very good, my dear,’ said Marguerite. ‘A fine balance of bitterness and sweetness. That coffee cream is excellent and the icing isn’t too sweet. And the choux is lovely and light.’
Nina nodded. ‘They’ve turned out well. Next time I need to make them look a bit prettier.’
‘They look fine,’ said Maddie loyally as Marguerite and Marcel smiled.
‘I don’t think you could sell them, looking like this,’ said Nina.
‘A question of practice, that’s all,’ said Marguerite. ‘The taste is what’s important.’
Two cups of coffee turned into three before the rattle of the door disturbed them as Maddie was midway through talking about a fascinating lecture she’d been to on the history of the guillotine and its use in Paris.
Marcel let out another one of his sighs. ‘I suppose I must let them in.’
With ill-concealed bad grace, he marched over to the door, slid open the bolts and threw it open, and without saying a word went back to his usual position behind the counter.
‘Do you think it’s open?’ asked a diffident voice in an American accent.
‘Honey, the man opened the door, didn’t he?’
‘Yes but he didn’t look very happy about it.’
‘Don’t worry about him,’ called Marguerite with a royal wave. ‘He’s always like that.’
The middle-aged American couple in their sensible walking trousers and tennis shoes folded up the maps they both carried, as if neither trusted the other not to miss something, nodded and smiled at Marguerite with that not-sure-if-she’s-joking restraint before sitting down at a table on the other side of the room.
Almost immediately another, slightly younger couple came in behind them and took another table.
‘Blimey, it’s the most people I’ve ever seen in here,’ said Nina, ‘Although it is still raining. They probably wanted to shelter from the rain.’
‘Well, this place did have quite a reputation in its day. I quite often meet tourists who’ve been sent here by friends or relatives who came ten years ago.’ Marguerite’s eyes darkened. ‘It’s such a shame to see them disappointed. It used to be the most wonderful place.’ With a blue veined handed she tapped the china cake stand. ‘And I haven’t seen these used properly for many years. I remember coming here when my son was little. My husband would give him some Francs, so that my son could bring me here for coffee and pastries. It was always a big occasion and we would spend a long time choosing.’ She pointed to the long glass counter, which was empty apart from the front section, which held a limited selection of uninspiring gâteaux, fruit tartes and croissants. ‘The entire length of the counter was filled with Paris-Brest, macarons, mille-feuilles, rum babas and so many more. It was so colourful and pretty.
‘Mattieu’s favourite thing was the chandelier. There used to be a huge one suspended, just there.’ She looked up at the plaster rose in the centre of the room. ‘He thought it looked like diamonds. He was such a happy little boy.’ Her lip quivered and Nina wanted to lay a hand on hers. ‘And now he lives in England.’
‘How often do you see him?’ asked Nina.
‘I haven’t seen him for two years. He and his wife are getting divorced. They have two children, Emile and Agatha, but because they are still fighting over the divorce and custody rights, he is not allowed to bring the children out of the country and of course he wants to spend all the holidays with them.’
‘Oh that’s a shame. Will your ex-daughter-in-law not let you see them?’
Marguerite lifted her shoulders in elegant despair. ‘I don’t know. We always used to get on so well. I haven’t spoken to her since Mattieu left her.’ Her mouth firmed. ‘He’s an idiot. I don’t care about seeing him.’
Maddie and Nina both looked startled.
‘Just because he’s my son doesn’t mean I don’t recognise an idiot when I see one. Oh no, the foolish boy has run off with his secretary. Fine but be discreet if you must do that sort of thing and not when there are children involved. He was always a greedy boy. What? You look as if I’m not being very maternal. It’s the children I miss and Sara, his wife. She was a lovely girl.’
‘Have you tried talking to her?’ asked Maddie. ‘If you told her that you thought your son was an idiot, she’d probably love you.’
Marguerite shook her head. ‘I didn’t like to at first, I didn’t want to interfere and now it has been so long. I don’t know … but I miss the children. I’m so looking forward to see
ing them in the summer but I’m worried they won’t remember me.’
‘You should Skype them,’ said Nina, suddenly feeling guilty, as she’d deliberately avoided doing that with her mum. ‘My brother used to do that when he was in Australia last year. I think your daughter-in-law would probably be glad to hear from you.’ Then she realised that Marguerite was well into her seventies and might not have the technological facilities. ‘Do you have a computer or a tablet?’
‘I have a laptop which my son bought me. He set it all up for me so that I can play online bridge,’ she said rather proudly before adding, ‘But then he’s always complaining that I never respond to his emails. I daren’t admit I can’t remember how to find them.’
‘Would you like some help?’ asked Nina. ‘Not that I’m a computer whiz but I know the basics.’
‘That would be very kind of you. It’s rather heavy though, would you mind coming to my apartment.’
‘Not at all. If you don’t mind.’
‘Well, I can’t promise you homemade patisserie, but perhaps you’d like to come for lunch on Saturday. Both of you.’
‘I’m a student,’ said Maddie. ‘I never turn down free food. Yes please. And I need something to fortify me, I’ve got an essay to hand in in three days’ time and I haven’t started yet.’
‘That would be lovely, but…’ Nina shot a quick glance at Maddie, not wanting to deprive her of a free meal but not wanting to take advantage of the older woman. ‘You don’t need to do that. I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble.’
‘Spoilsport,’ said Maddie with a good-natured groan.
‘It’s no trouble and it will make a very lovely change to have the company of two young people.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Most of my neighbours are either almost dead or extremely dull.’
Suddenly as they were finalising arrangements for Operation Skype, Marcel appeared and whisked the cake stand away. Nina watched him take it over to the American couple’s table, where he served them each an éclair.
