She led me into the salon, where buckets of mostly white flowers bloomed in every corner of the room like fluffy clouds, making it a magical olfactory experience for my nose and my spirit, the sweet aromas potent. There were roses, tulips, and peonies, as well as a few containers bursting with blood-orange flowers with saffron-colored filaments, similar in form to an amaryllis.
“I mostly ordered white flowers,” said Jane, pointing to an arrangement. “The clivias offer a dash of color—my concept for the exciting change to come.” She smiled. “This is my favorite part of my job. What do you think?”
“I think you’ve outdone yourself,” I said, not realizing Jane was so creative. I should have picked up on that fact when she’d bestowed me with my gorgeous chef’s coat.
“The smaller arrangements will be placed in the guests’ rooms and on the tables in the dining room. The medium arrangements are placed just about everywhere—in the spa, in here, in the hallways—and the large one is displayed in the foyer on the marble table.”
“How are you going to get them all completed before the guests arrive?”
Jane placed her hands on her hips. “All the rooms were prepared yesterday,” she said and then bellowed, “Ladies! ‘Now’ means maintenant!”
The housekeeping team scrambled into the salon, said bonjour, and set to work, chatting amicably among themselves and copying Jane’s prototypes. Jane wiped her hands on her slacks. “Do you need me to quiz you again?”
“No, I’ve got it.”
“Good,” she said. “I think it was Ina Garten who said, ‘The most important thing for having a party is that the hostess is having fun.’ Sophie, you’re the hostess. Take a deep breath and have fun. You can do this. I have complete and utter faith in you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It means the world to me.”
“Don’t thank me. I should be thanking you.”
“And why is that?”
“Family,” she said, grinning. “Whether you like it or not, we’re going to be like sisters now.”
* * *
The next few hours prepping were frenetic and fast-paced. Even in the madness, the brigade had found a rhythm working together. It was an odd rhythm, with spills and other minor kitchen catastrophes, but it worked. There were a few moments when nerves started to kick and churn inside me like the immersion blender in my hand, but, breathing deeply, I was able to calm down. I remained focused, as did the rest of my motley brigade. By five p.m., all of the ingredients had been prepped, and I asked the team to prepare eighteen of each of the dishes they were responsible for.
Gustave chortled. “Why?” he asked.
“For the family meal,” I said. “We’ll all be tasting each and every dish on the menus this weekend. The extra dishes are for Grand-mère and Agnès,” I said. “We, as a team, as a brigade, need to be sure everything is perfect. If it isn’t, you’ll tell me and we’ll change it.”
“Yes, Chef!”
Finished with their duties for the evening, the granny brigade and Gustave scurried out of the kitchen at six thirty, murmuring how much they enjoyed the best staff meal they’d ever had—the best meal they’d ever had, period. Rémi disappeared to play piano at the wine tasting and apéro while Séb, Phillipa, Clothilde, and I were left to make final preparations for the dinner service.
I closed my eyes, preparing myself, giving myself a pep talk in my head. I can do this.
Somebody tapped me on the shoulder. Agnès stood to my side, holding a note. “It’s from your grand-mère,” she said. “I’ve got to get back to her.”
As she left the kitchen, I read the note.
Ma chérie, your skills in the kitchen have far surpassed mine. I felt your heart in every dish. I felt your soul. I’d say good luck for tonight, but you won’t need it. All my love, ta grand-mère.
With my confidence blazing, I tucked the note into the pocket of my chef’s coat and smiled. “Are we all ready to make this weekend a memorable affair?”
“Oui, Chef.”
Tingles shimmied down my spine right into my toes. We set to work, chopping and sautéing and slicing and dicing—each of us with our set tasks. I’d never seen the faces of a brigade look so concentrated. At seven thirty on the nose, Jane approached me. “The guests are seated. Are you ready for your big entrance, Sophie?”
I’d never been more ready for anything in my life. I walked into the dining room to a slow movie applause that escalated to a thunderous roar. Once it settled down, I did what I’d planned; I spoke from the heart.
“Merci beaucoup. Considering we have an international crowd, like the Changs who have joined us all the way from Hong Kong and the Goldbergs from San Francisco,” I said, nodding to their tables, “I’m going to speak in my native tongue, which is English. I’d like to personally welcome you to the château, and its flagship restaurant Les Libellules. As you’re probably aware, all of this, everything you see, was my grandmother’s vision, and a beautiful one at that. My grand-mère was the reason I decided to become a chef. From the age of seven, I learned everything I know and love about cooking from her. She also taught me about the importance of family and how far we’ll go to not only protect it, but also savor it. Here at the château, we are a family,” I said, eyeing the man with the white mustache. “We are also deeply rooted to this land, our terroir. All of the wines you have to choose from are the château’s, some of the vintages dating back to the 1950s. If you’d like a tour of the vineyard and our winemaking facilities followed by a tasting during your stay, please speak with Jane, the château’s brilliant manager.”
I took a deep breath.
“We are a garden-to-table outfit, the produce grown right here on the property. All of our meats and fishes are sourced in France. A lovely team of women makes all of our cheeses. We support our neighbors, who are family. And while I’ve taken creative liberties with tonight’s menu, I’m not straying from my grand-mère’s teachings. She always told me that recipes were guidelines, not necessarily to be followed word for word or ingredient by ingredient. With that said, I’d like to welcome you, dear guests, to our family, and it’s my greatest hope you enjoy the meals we’ve planned for you and your stay.”
A few women dabbed their eyes with napkins. The lone diner with the white mustache was the first to grab his spoon and clank it on the coupe de champagne glass. Every single table joined in.
“Merci, but if I’m going to feed you, I’d better mosey on into the kitchen,” I said, my statement followed by laughter. “Enjoy your meal. The first round of drinks to accompany the amuse-bouche is our sparkling wine and is compliments of the château.”
As the waitstaff popped open the sparkling wine, I floated back into the kitchen to the sound of roaring applause. To my delight, the next night played out the exact same way, and I savored every moment. The only worrisome thing was that the man with the white mustache, Monsieur LeBlanc, never approached me.
“Ne t’inquiète pas” (Don’t worry), said Grand-mère. “Perhaps he’s seen and experienced all that he needs to make his decision.”
31
sunday lunch surprises
I SHOULD HAVE been exhausted by the time the Sunday lunch rolled around, but adrenaline and excitement had taken over, jolting me with energy. There were no complaints of any kind, only accolades, as I’d learned when mingling with the guests the previous day. Plus, per tradition, on this day I wasn’t allowed to step foot in the kitchen. In addition to the granny brigade, the villagers of Champvert brought in the traditional dishes of southwestern France. Still, I hadn’t met the most important person, the man who could bring down the château—and me—with his decision. I tried to relax, but it was beyond difficult.
The courtyard bustled with activity—people laughing and eating. The large stone tables had been covered with beautiful French linens with poppy patterns. A self-serve buffet had been set up with
every quiche and tarte salée one could imagine, like a beautiful pissaladière made with onions, shiny black olives, and slippery anchovies, or the one with tomato, honey, and goat cheese. There were many salads, and foie gras, and roasted chickens. Most of the men played pétanque on the court. Phillipa, Jane, Laetitia, and the granny brigade chatted amicably with the other ladies from the village and the guests, drinking tea. Lola played in the garden with the other children, hunting down the chocolates I’d hidden, placing them in cute white wicker baskets—an Easter egg hunt. Toward the back of the terrace, Gustave manned the large spit turning the méchoui— a full roasted lamb, his bottle of pastis in hand.
I watched all of this from Grand-mère’s suite. People smiled and waved to the window, my grand-mère looking like the Queen of England sitting on her wheelchair throne.
“Ma chérie, I’m quite cold. Could you put a fire on? There are logs just over there.” She tried to motion with her hand. But couldn’t.
As I got the fire going, a sadness tore at my heart, my stomach. So did fear. The truth was, she wasn’t getting better. She was getting worse. Agnès had told me she’d pushed herself too far. Right about now, I couldn’t have cared less about the audit.
“Ma chérie, go join the others,” said Grand-mère. “I’ll be fine. Agnès is with me. I want you to enjoy yourself after working so hard. You’ve made this old woman very proud.”
“Are you sure? I’d kind of like to sit with you.”
“I’ll be falling asleep in no time,” she said, waving me away. “Off with you.”
There was no arguing with Grand-mère. I headed outside to mingle with the guests, catching up with Rémi. When he saw me, he placed his hands over his heart. “Ouah, I didn’t think it was possible for the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met to look even more beautiful. Green really is your color,” he said, eyeing me up and down, stopping at my legs. “Is that Chanel?”
“It is,” I said. “It’s Grand-mère’s.”
“You’re a vision of grace and beauty.”
“I’m not sure about grace,” I said, stumbling. “But I’ll take the compliment.”
The moment Rémi put his arm around me, the granny brigade pointed at us and whispered. Clothilde’s voice rang clear. “Quit your clucking,” she said. “Rémi and Sophie are now a couple and that little girl over there is Rémi’s daughter.”
Each member of the granny brigade’s eyes widened and they clucked on and on. All of the guests, around eighty of them, took notice. Normally, I’d have shied away from such attention, but this time I wasn’t the center of a scandal and I was proud of myself—and the handsome man standing at my side.
“No more secrets,” said Rémi, squirming a little bit. “In a way, it feels good. Awkward, but good.”
“It does,” I said with a slight smile.
As an outside observer, I thought it seemed that everyone was having a good old time, save for the man standing with a beer in one hand. He might have been good-looking when he’d been younger, but time had not been kind to him, and the effects of the sun had taken its toll on his weathered face.
I nudged Rémi. “Who is that man? The one staring at me? Clothilde and Bernard don’t look like they are all too thrilled to see him.”
“Oh,” he said. “Him? That’s Jean-Marc Bourret.”
My vision blurred. I couldn’t focus. “What?”
“I invited him.”
“Wasn’t meeting him supposed to be my decision?”
“It is yours. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to, but I wanted to give you the opportunity. You told me you were looking for answers,” he said. “I can tell him to leave.”
I didn’t know if wanted to hug Rémi or kill him. Of all the days he’d invited Jean-Marc, it was when we were under audit by La Société. “We’ll talk about this later.”
As I approached Jean-Marc, he smiled a feeble smile. I don’t know how my feet moved toward him without falling down. I don’t know how I found my voice, but it came out strong. “My mother was Céleste Valroux de la Tour de Champvert,” I said. “I believe you knew her.”
“I did.” His eyes flashed with the incredible sadness of deep loss, one that I knew. “I was very hesitant to come here today. Your grand-mère isn’t my biggest fan, but Rémi was insistent. There’s no easy way to ask you my question.” He straightened his posture. “Is it true? Are you my daughter?”
“I am,” I said, though wondering a bit as I took in his face. Aside from the shape of his jawline and his hair—now gray, but which had probably been an inky black like mine in the past—we didn’t share any similar features. “My name’s Sophie.”
“Please forgive me. I was young and stupid. Believe me, I’m not a bad man,” he said, not meeting my eyes.
It was time to walk my own path, to choose it. My battle scars had healed; his could, too.
“Everybody has a story, and I want to hear yours,” I said, thinking of Phillipa’s nonjudgmental reaction toward me. It was now my turn to listen to his words, even if I didn’t like what he said. I braced myself.
Jean-Marc straightened his posture. “What would you like to know?”
“Did you ever try to find me?” I asked.
His mouth curved into a sad frown and his eyes darkened. “I wanted to. But I was a man of little means. I barely had enough food on my table.”
“But wasn’t my grand-mère paying you?”
“She was,” he said. “But I only cashed the first check.”
He was telling the truth. Grand-mère had told me this after one of our reading sessions.
My eyes went wide and I motioned for him to carry on. He swallowed hard. “I worked here at the château as a seasonal picker during the grape harvest to make extra money.” His lips curved into a wistful smile. “Sometimes, Céleste would help collect the grapes. I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. It was, as they say, un coup de foudre. Love at first sight, and I did everything in my power to get her attention.”
“You loved her?”
“With all my heart,” he said with a sigh. “But she didn’t love me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“She told me,” he said. “She was eight months pregnant with you when we met by the river. I had to scale the fence on the far side of the property to get there, cutting myself in the process. I told her I wanted to take care of you, to take care of her. I told her I accepted the money from your grand-mère so I could do just that. When I asked her to marry me, she laughed in my face and told me she had other plans.” His face crumpled. “Big plans, she’d said. Then she looked me straight in the eyes and told me she wasn’t sure who the father was and shouted at me to leave.”
He didn’t need to mince his words. All of this had come from her mouth; I knew it. I swallowed my guilt back; I’d had big plans, too. But my plans had metamorphosed.
“She was a sick woman,” I said, grabbing his hands. I told him about her bipolar disorder, how her actions and moods would flip on a dime. “In the end, she committed suicide.”
Jean-Marc let out a breath as if somebody had sucker punched him in the gut. Finally, he spoke. “Before she died, did she tell you that I was your father?”
“No,” I said. “Grand-mère Odette did.”
“Your grand-mère didn’t like me. Why? After all these years?”
“She wanted me to know the truth, even if she herself didn’t like it,” I said. “It’s my choice now. Like I said, I’d like to get to know you.” I paused. “Did you ever marry? Have kids?”
“No,” he said. “I’ve been a bit of a loner ever since she left me.” He tried to regain his composure.
I wanted to get to know him. I needed to. Aside from Grand-mère, and who knew how much time she had, this man was the only blood relation I had left. And I believed his story. In this momen
t, I was truly free of the past. I nodded to Rémi, who had been watching the exchange from a distance like a hawk. He sauntered over to the table, exchanged les bises with Jean-Marc as men do in France, and sat down. Just then, the man with the white mustache caught my eye and waved me over. I knew the timing of this was all wrong, but I didn’t have a choice.
“Excuse me, Jean-Marc, I really do want to get to know you,” I said, “but, unfortunately, duty calls.”
“I understand,” he said. “I’ll have Rémi give you my contact information. That’s if you wish to see me again.”
“Of course I do,” I said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
Slowly, I made my way over to the auditor, smoothing out my skirt and hair on the way. Although I loved the suit I was wearing, I felt like a little kid playing dress up. Would he think so, too? Was he going to take the château’s status away? I let out a few deep exhales and picked up my pace. Confident Sophie needed to get back on track.
“Monsieur LeBlanc,” I said, thrusting out my hand, which he took with a surprised smile.
“You know my name?”
“It’s part of the experience here at the château. As I said in my opening speech, all of our guests are like—”
“Family,” he said. “You’ve certainly made your grand-mère proud. I’m hoping she’s feeling better. She’s in our thoughts and prayers.” He handed me a heavy box. “Open this after I leave. We had a feeling about you, and let’s just say, I came prepared. It was lovely meeting you, my dear.”
With that, Monsieur LeBlanc walked up the steps and turned the corner. For a moment, I stood stunned, wondering if I’d imagined the whole exchange—surreal as it was—and I hoped his feeling about me had been a positive one. I ripped open the package, finding an elegant embossed card placed on a large wooden plaque.
Félicitations, welcome to La Société des Châteaux et Belles Demeures family. We’re looking forward to getting to know the new maîtresse of the château and its Grand Chef.
The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux Page 27