by Gow, Kailin
Cocking his head to the side, he laughed. “I never was that cool guy who had it easy with the ladies.”
“Yet, you’re so adorably handsome.”
He blushed and Taryn wanted to laugh. He was refreshing in every way.
“You like?” Henri asked as he held up his glass of wine.
Though her knowledge of wine was definitely lacking, she’d recently become accustomed to very fine wines with Errol. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was a lack in depth of flavor that left her a little flat. “It’s good,” she said all the same. No doubt the bottle had cost a fraction of the price Errol paid, but she was touched by Henri’s eagerness to please.
For a few moments they sat in silence, watching passers-by who hurried to run errands, rush to get home, or simply stroll amidst the bistros and shops.
“Is the Institute everything you thought it would be?” Taryn finally asked.
“It’s certainly a lot more work than I would have thought, but I’m looking forward to learning to work with ingredients I’m not used to. I think that will be the next lesson. What about you?”
“I’ve enjoyed every single second so far and…”
“Really? You didn’t seem to be enjoying yourself yesterday.”
“Ah, yes. Madame X.” Taryn shook her head and chuckled. “What a number. It’s hard to believe she teaches pastry making when you look at how she fills out a dress. She’s probably never eaten anything she’s made. I mean, did you see that itsy bitsy tiny waist. I could probably wrap my hands around it.”
Henri laughed. “She certainly is… interesting.”
“I guess… if you like that sort of thing.”
“Don’t let her get to you.”
“I’m trying.” Exasperated by the thought of Xaviera, Taryn felt the temperature rise. She rolled up her sleeves and sought to change the subject. Anything was better than talking about her tormentor. “How are you coming along on that menu assignment?”
They’d all been asked to create a full six-course dinner. Every course had to be original and creative.
“I’m having trouble with the main course,” he admitted. His gaze dipped down to her forearm.
Taryn followed his gaze, saw the red welt and quickly brought her sleeve back down.
Henri reached across the table and slipped his finger under the cuff of her shirt. “I’d always heard the Institute was rough. I knew I’d have a lot of hard work ahead of me and that it wouldn’t be easy. I’d also heard of the tyrant Chef King could be at times.”
Casting her gaze aside, Taryn swallowed. “Easy and permissive teachers only breed mediocrity.”
“I’ve also heard a lot about Mr. Kings personal preferences,” Henri went on. “He likes things rough.”
Taryn said nothing as she picked up her glass and took a sip.
“He gets pleasure out of bringing pain…”
“I thought you wanted to have a drink to discuss school, cooking, anything other than a teacher’s personal life.” While her defenses had gone up on the inside, she managed to speak with surprising calm and poise. The words almost sounded light and amused as they floated in the air.
“Taryn, I just think you should know…”
She pulled her hand away and pressed her lips tightly together.
“If he’s already playing this rough with you, don’t think it’ll get easier. He’ll want it rougher and more brutal. It’s no secret what he’ll…”
She cocked an annoyed brow and immediately regretted it. She knew he meant well. “Look, Henri, I’m a big girl. Don’t worry about me. After all, I’m a New Yorker. I know rough.”
“Fine, but I think you should know one last thing about Chef King. His lovers never last longer than a month or two. It’s already been how long for you?”
Her mind and body went numb as his words sank in. She wanted to argue, to tell him he had no idea what he was talking about. But it made so much sense. How much longer could they go on like this? How much longer before he grew bored of her?
How long before he went off looking for a new toy?
Chapter 17
Taryn sat in the passenger seat of Henri’s car, taking in the beauty of the lush countryside far outside Paris. They’d already been driving for almost four hours and she still gasped with awe as the beauty took her breath away.
After a third day home alone, she’d finally accepted Henri’s invitation to visit a dairy farm in the rolling hills of the region of Alsace.
“Knowing where real food comes from is important,” he’d argued. “I also know this organic farmer I think you’d like to meet. And I took down the address of a pigeon farmer.”
She shook her head and grimaced. “I still have a hard time wrapping my head around the idea of killing and cooking a pigeon.”
Henri shrugged. “No different than killing or cooking a chicken.”
Pressing a tight grin, she looked at him. “Thanks.”
“For what? Introducing you to a pigeon farmer.”
“For insisting I come with you. This is nice. I never thought the countryside could be so spectacularly beautiful.”
He looked out at the pastures, meadows and gentle valleys that surrounded them. “It is pretty, isn’t it? If we have time, we’ll stop at a vineyard. Alsace has great white wines.”
They stopped briefly at the pigeon farm, but Taryn still found herself unable to digest the idea of eating pigeon.
“I know I have to keep an open mind about these things,” Taryn said as she got back in the car. “But to actually see them in those cages…”
Henri chuckled and drove off. After skirting the city of Haguenau, Taryn noted a subtle difference in the signs that dotted the roadside. Her French was weak, but she had a good idea of what a French word should look like.
“Is it just me, or have we left France?”
Laughing, Henri playfully slapped her thigh. “If we leave the country, believe me, I’ll be the first to let you know.”
“Then what’s with all these… Are those Dutch names? I mean Vosges and Betschdorf. That’s not French.”
“You’re very perceptive, but that’s not Dutch. It’s German.” He turned the car in the direction of Walbourg. “We’re very close to the French/German border.”
Their next stop was a dairy farm. Owned by Monsieur Chartrand, the farm was set in the middle of some of the most beautiful countryside Taryn had ever seen. The rustic farmhouse was inviting in an old world way, and picture perfect. Everything about the look and feel of the farm spoke of old times, old customs, and old ways.
Inside the graying old barn, however, the old looking country farm was a marvel of modern technology. While milking was occasionally done by hand to show visitors how it was once done, a lot of modern machinery now surrounded the process of getting milk from a cow.
“I can’t believe the cows aren’t freaked out by those pump things attached to them.”
The farmer, a middle-aged man with a sun dried face and calloused hands, looked at her. “Dey like de pumps,” he said in a heavily accented English.
Henri patted the bovine between her big, brown eyes. “Est-ce que je peux prendre la cariole pour aller au ruisseau, Monsieur Chartrand?”
“Bien oui, bien oui.”
Taryn looked at Henri for a translation.
He took a hold of her arm and led her out of the barn and into the stable. “If you think the scenery was beautiful on the way here, wait until you see this.” All while murmuring gently to the horse, he led it out of its stall and deftly hitched it to a small wagon.
“Where are you taking me?”
Grinning, he helped her up onto the wagon seat and pulled himself up beside her. With a quick but gentle flick of the reigns, he set the horse in motion. “I love that smell, don’t you?”
Taryn sniffed the air and glanced sidelong at him. “Really? It smells a bit like manure.”
He shook his head. “Beyond that.”
The horse trott
ed at a brisk pace along a dirt path that led away from the barn and farmhouse. Soon the odor of manure diminished and left room for fresh country air.
“Ah,” Taryn said with wonder. She’d smelled fresh laundry before and had often sniffed air deodorized with artificial scents, but nothing compared to this. “That smell. Yes. That’s…”
“Pure. Refreshing. There’s nothing like real country air. Breathe it in. Fill your lungs. Feel it flow through your nostrils.”
She giggled. “You really like it out here, don’t you?”
“Nothing better.” He glanced at her. “Don’t get me wrong. I love Paris, but my heart…” He pounded at his chest with his fist. “My heart is out here.”
Pastures of green seemed to go on for miles and miles. “Are we still on Monsieur Chartrand’s land?”
They crested a small hill and Henri pulled the horse to a stop. “You see that creek down there?”
Taryn looked down, but Henri guided her gaze further out. “Way out over there.”
The hills rolled on and on, lazy and lush with only the dirt path cutting through it like a dusty dull ribbon. In the distance, Taryn spotted the sparkling reflection of water gurgling its way down the creek.
“Yeah, I can see it.”
“Monsieur Chartrand’s land ends at that creek. It curves over there.” He pointed to their right. “And over there, his property ends with that forest.”
“Wow. That must feed a lot of cows.”
He grinned and nudged the horse on. “Have you ever been to the country before?”
She turned to him. “Does Cape Cod count?”
With a charming chuckle, he shrugged. “I don’t know Cape Cod.”
Taryn shook her head. “No, Henri. I’ve never really been to the country. I’ve lived in New York my whole life. We went to the beach in Jersey a few times, went out to the mountains in the Catskills, but I’ve certainly never been on a farm before.”
He reached for her hand. “Then I’m happy to be the first to introduce you.”
Laughing, she leaned playfully into him. He was so easy to be around; so uncomplicated. There was never a dark cloud of moodiness that threatened to erupt; never a streak of anger bubbling over. It was nice being with him; safe.
As they made their way down to the creek, Taryn let the rocking motion of the wagon lull her into a deeply relaxed state. The stress of the past week faded and bliss caressed her like a warm summer breeze. When the wagon suddenly stopped, she took in the sight Henri had wanted to surprise her with.
The creek of pure, clear water splashed over large stones then fell in gentle cascades. A large apple tree grew on the very edge of the creek, offering the only hope of shade. Beyond it, a field of corn rose high, blocking their view to the right offered a sense of intimacy.
“I thought this might be a nice change of pace from the days at the Institute,” Henri said. “I’ve always loved this particular spot. After the immensity of endless fields, this little nook…”
“I see what you mean.” Taryn hopped off and looked around. A pair of cardinals fluttered around, chasing each other in their own little ritual dance. “This is heaven.” Taryn turned to see Henri reach for a basket in the wagon.
Blushing, he held it up. “Lunch for two.”
He was so sweet. Taryn knew he wanted to please her, but began to wonder what had really brought him to invite her on this trip. Keeping a platonic grin on her lips, she helped him set a blanket on the ground then sat and watched him as he pulled a variety of items out of the basket.
“You brought enough to feed an army,” she said.
“Just because we’re out of the city doesn’t mean we can’t eat well.”
“Let’s see,” she said as she picked up each item he set down. “The French cheeses; Brie de Meaux, Camembert de Normandie, and… Munster Géromé? But Munster isn’t French.”
He grinned. “Again, very perceptive. Munster is a city in Germany where it is said the monks there once made this cheese. However Munster is also Latin for monastery and some say Irish monks settled here and made the cheese. Either way, it is a cheese that is made in this region.”
“Oh, that’s cool.” She continued her itemizing. “Pears, apples, and green and red grapes; refreshing to the palate. Paté de foie gras, terrine de sanglier and confit de dinde; all sounds good. A baguette; of course. A bottle of fine wine from Alsace… wow, let me try to pronounce this one; Gewurztraminer.”
“Close. It’s pronounced gah-vorts-trah-meener.”
“Well, we can’t have a picnic without that, right? And, for dessert, profiteroles. Wow, you went all out.”
“Think I forgot anything?”
“Coffee?”
Grinning, he pulled out a thermos.
“I was only kidding,” Taryn said with a hoot of laughter.
“Just in case you need a caffeine boost after all this food.”
While Taryn cut off a chunk of soft camembert, Henri opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses. “Here,” he said as he opened the brie. “Try this.” With a spoon he carved out a small piece, squished it into the spoon with a fork then poured a sip of wine over it.
Taryn opened her mouth as he guided the spoon to her, feeding her. The soft cheese and Chardonnay blended perfectly over her tongue. She tore off a piece of the baguette and stuffed it in her mouth over the cheese and wine. “It’s like a Swiss fondue in my mouth.” Her muffled voice was filled with laughter. “This is really good.”
They settled in to taste the various cheeses and patés while taking in the beauty of their surroundings.
“You know,” Taryn said as she glanced at Henri. Her belly was already stuffed with bread and paté, but she enjoyed the big, juicy grapes with tiny bites of cheese. “When you invited me out here, I thought you were going to take me to your farm.”
He nodded. “So did I.”
“Is Monsieur Chartrand your father and you didn’t want to tell me?”
Laughing, he reached for another fistful of baguette, but seemed to have no interest in eating it. “No. My father’s not quite that old.” Leaning into her, he put his cheek to hers and pointed far down the green hills to their left. “My farm… my family is over there.”
She turned to him. “But we’re so close. Why…?”
“I was afraid… if I brought you to my home… to meet my parents, you’d… I didn’t want to scare you off by being too… presumptuous.”
Smiling, she looked into his eyes. “You really are an old fashioned guy, aren’t you?”
“I was raised in an old fashioned way, by old fashioned parents in an old fashioned part of the country. What can I say?”
“I think it’s sweet, but I wouldn’t have thought any less of you because you introduced me to your parents, Henri. I mean, we’re friends; practically co-workers in a way.”
Chuckling, he looked down at the picnic blanket then slowly brought his gaze back to her. “I guess I’d hoped…” His voice was a soft whisper. “I enjoy working with you. You’re easy to talk to, and you make me laugh.” His fingers found her cheeks and chin. “So beautiful…”
He leaned in and kissed her; his lips tender and questioning.
For a brief moment, Taryn leaned into the kiss. His lips were soft and the kiss so innocent and pure. It lacked the harsh demands and high expectations she’d become used to. Warmed by the whole atmosphere that surrounded her, by his sweet touch, she surrendered to the kiss, but quickly pulled back. “Henri,” she mumbled as she brought her fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
Henri frowned. “It’s Chef King, isn’t it?”
Taryn shook her head. “No…”
“Then what is it?” Henri asked. “We’re in the middle of the most romantic place in the world…”
Taryn silenced him with her finger to his lips. “I…”
Henri looked earnestly at Taryn, his eyes filled with longing. He took her finger into his mouth and sucked on it and closed his eyes. “You t
aste as sweet as you are.” He kissed her fingertips. “I would be good to you, I would treat you as the lady you are, I would…Chef King would only hurt you, Taryn.”
“Henri…” Taryn tried again. As much as she wanted to forget Errol King, as much as she wanted to break from him and have a normal relationship with a man she could call a boyfriend, she couldn’t stop wanting him.
Chapter 18
After the aborted kiss, Henri drove Taryn down to his own family farm. His parents, Gilles and Yvette, were kind and inviting, while Henri’s younger brothers, Pierre and Bertrand, were curious and intrigued.
“Elle est joli,” Bertrand said as he shyly glanced up at Taryn.
“Of course she is beautiful,” Henri said as he patted his younger sibling on the head.
They all had dinner together and Taryn was charmed by them all. The atmosphere was light and cheerful; the food plentiful and full of flavor.
“I see where Henri gets his culinary talent,” Taryn said.
Accompanied with a robust red wine, the dinner hour was filled with tales of Henri’s childhood, anecdotes of farm life and a few colorful fibs from the two younger boys. After dinner, Yvette showed Taryn the room she’d sleep in.
“I hadn’t really thought we’d be staying overnight,” Taryn told Henri after his mother left them. She looked around the small, but cozy room. “I didn’t even bring anything.”
“I’m sorry. I should have mentioned how far away from Paris this was.” He looked down at the floor. “I guess I thought you’d choose not to come if I told you we’d be going five hours from Paris.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t mind. It’s nice out here. I like the change of pace.”
He nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Taryn closed the door and looked around. Henri’s mother had already set some flannel pajamas on the bed along with a pair of warm, fuzzy slippers. “A real change of pace,” Taryn whispered as she ran her hand over the flannel.
Her phone rang and she sat on the edge of the bed to take the call, her hand still absentmindedly running over the flannel. “Hello.”
“Taryn,” Errol snapped. “Where are you? I’ve been calling the apartment for an hour.”