The Little Paris Patisserie

by Julie Caplin

  ‘You tell me. There’s so much. I’ve been a bit … you know … fazed by where to go first and I don’t know much about art and stuff but I want to see it all.’

  ‘That’s a bit of a tall order, but let’s see what the weather’s like. Give us your phone number and I’ll text you.’

  Chapter 13

  Midway through trying to hand over her euros for a bag of apples, Nina’s phone rang. Busy trying to juggle her purse and purchase, and assuming it would be Sebastian, she answered it quickly. She hadn’t heard from him since the first day of the course, a few days ago, and was fully expecting him to ring her any day now before the next class this week.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hey Nina. It’s Alex.’

  ‘Oh hi,’ she straightened, surprised and a little flattered. ‘How are you?’ She’d liked his sense of humour immediately when she’d met him and he was a good antidote to Sebastian who seemed so horribly serious these days.

  ‘I’m good. I was…’ There was a pause, which was just as well as the market vendor suddenly yelled a loud greeting at a couple passing the stall. ‘Where are you? Sounds noisy.’

  ‘I’m at Saxe-Breteuil.’ She rolled her tongue around the French words, feeling rather wonderfully authentic. ‘I’m at the market and I’ve just bought the most gorgeous looking apples, some fabulous cheese and the most divine bread.’ And the smell of it was reminding her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She’d already decided to double back to a stall selling flatbreads with tabbouleh, thyme and sesame seeds.

  For the last few days she’d finally been exploring the local area and enjoying the spring sunshine sitting at pavement cafés watching the world go by. People-watching in Paris was fascinating, there was always a drama to see, a character to watch and imagine a life history for and a little dog to observe. The French seemed to love their pint-sized pooches.

  ‘Ah, you’ve gone native, have you?’ She could hear the amusement in his voice and could picture his smiling, handsome face.

  ‘Well, it was something of a necessity. The fridge promised possible starvation if I didn’t toute suite a la marché. I’m beginning to wonder if Sebastian has turned into a vampire, there’s absolutely no food in his place.’ She’d planned to stock up but had got a bit carried away by the sheer temptation surrounding her; cuts of meat she had no idea what to do with, even if she could have brought herself to touch them, a selection of charcuterie that made it impossible to narrow her choice, fresh fish and seafood that made her itch to cook. She’d also been charmed by the wicker basket she’d found in Sebastian’s kitchen, which made her feel liked she belonged and was now filled with an eclectic mix of items.

  ‘Your French is execrable,’ laughed Alex, reminding her of her brother Dan who never missed a chance to tease her.

  ‘Thank you, I’ve been working on it.’

  ‘Excellent job then.’

  ‘I think so. Although I’m not sure the market traders here are terribly appreciative. Most of them pretend they can’t understand a word I say. Deux pommes de terre is quite straightforward isn’t?’

  ‘Hmm it is, but didn’t you just say you’d bought apples?’

  ‘Yes. Pommes de terre,’ said Nina, still irritated by the snotty attitude of the Frenchman who’d rolled his eyes and snatched the apples out of her hand to put them in a paper bag.

  Alex sniggered, she could hear him. ‘You do know that the direct translation is apples of the earth.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Potatoes. Pommes de terre are potatoes.’

  ‘Oh, bollocks … of course they are. No wonder he looked at me as if I was a complete idiot. Oh God, I’d better watch out for him next time. Thank goodness there are plenty of stalls here, hopefully I won’t make a complete prat of myself and run out before I go home.

  ‘There’s always Bastille market. It’s on a Sunday and it’s very good. Huge.’

  ‘This one is pretty awesome,’ said Nina. Even now her eye was caught by the gorgeous contrast of a display of green beans fanned out in a wooden box, bordered by scarlet tomatoes and the delicious touch of oranges and lemons still adorned with leaves. ‘We just don’t have this at home. It makes you want to cook.’

  She’d just walked past a stall selling a huge variety of lettuce leaves, all laid out in individual boxes, bright green lamb’s lettuce and frisée, alongside the deep ruby red of romaine, lolla rosa and the darker green of baby spinach. In jewel-bright contrast was a box of loose cherry plum tomatoes in red, yellow and purple. It looked like an uber healthy pick’n’mix and made her mouth water.

  ‘If you say so. I’ll let you into a secret, I’m more of a beans on toast man.’

  ‘You’re not a cook?’ asked Nina horrified, her eye caught by the selection of bread on the opposite side. How could you not want to cook, when all this was available? Fougasse olive et lardons, flute tradition, grand campagne, cramique. They all sounded so thoroughly French she wanted to wrap her tongue around the words as well as try all of the rustic looking loaves.

  ‘Professional aversion. One, I don’t really get the time … and two, there isn’t really the necessity to be honest. Working in a hotel, there’s always food on tap. And it’s always fancy, so every now and then—’ he let out a ridiculously heavy sigh ‘—I long for beans on toast and a wee bit of haggis.’

  Nina burst out laughing at his mournful tone. ‘Haggis? Really? I think you’re pulling my leg.’

  ‘Both of them.’ She could hear the sunshine and amusement in his voice. ‘But I miss home-cooked every day stuff.’

  ‘I can understand that.’ Perhaps that explained why Sebastian’s cupboards were quite so bare. It had been preying on her mind since she’d seen the market today, all the amazing cheese, the fresh vegetables some with the mud still clinging to their roots, huge bundles of rosemary and parsley. Of course, he had no need to cook at home. And she’d been worrying that he’d lost his cooking mojo. One of her favourite memories was him standing in front of the fridge at home being challenged by her despairing mother, who was sick of cooking the same stuff every day, to come up with something different to cook.

  ‘Hello, Nina?’

  Oops, she realised she hadn’t been paying attention.

  ‘Sorry, I missed that, the signal went …’ She trailed off to allow the sentence to lie for itself.

  ‘I … well I said, I’d still like to go out … to dinner. Especially if I can persuade a gorgeous woman to go with me.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Nina, flattered and unused to this sort of blatant charm. ‘So who were you thinking of?’

  ‘Ideally Kylie Minogue, but as she’s out of the country at the moment, perhaps you’d like to take her place.’

  She smiled; he would get on so well with her brothers.

  ‘Let me check my diary, it’s a bit chocka at the moment. You’ll have to wait in line behind Chris Hemsworth who’s been on at me for a date for weeks. You know what it’s like being in such big demand.’

  ‘What if I told you I come paparazzi free?’

  ‘Ah, you should have said. That’s definitely pushed you to the top of the pile.’

  ‘How about lunch?’

  ‘I…’ She was about to turn him down, habit more than anything else, but she was fed up with comparing everyone to Sebastian. Why not enjoy some pleasant, cheerful company for a change? ‘That would be lovely.’ And it would be, she was fed up with grumpy, ill-tempered companions.

  Finishing the call, she wandered back through the market towards a stall she’d spotted earlier. With a big smile she caught sight of the florist’s stall down the aisle. Feeling a lot brighter, she decided to spoil herself with a bunch of flowers.

  ‘Oh, don’t they look gorgeous?’ said Marguerite, as Nina walked into the patisserie, feeling rather authentically French and romantic with her wicker basket and an armful of long stemmed alstroemeria, considerably more than the one bunch she’d intended.

  ‘You look like Little Red Riding Hood afte
r an allotment raid,’ said Maddie.

  ‘Aw, darn it,’ said Nina, delighted to see the pair of them sitting in Marguerite’s favourite corner by the window as she laid down the bunches of deep red, pale pink and creamy hued flowers. ‘And here I was hoping for Audrey does the French market with verve and style.’

  ‘You’ll have to borrow my beret,’ said Maddie with a quick grin. ‘But the flowers are a good look.’

  Nina laughed. ‘I’d only planned to buy one bunch but the market was closing and some of these were a little damaged, so he gave me the whole lot. Far too many for me, so I thought I’d bring them here.’

  ‘And they are a very welcome addition, they look so bright and cheerful,’ said Marguerite. ‘What a lovely idea. When I used to come here as a girl, they would have fresh flowers every week. The most superb displays in a rather wonderful marble planter. It used to stand just over there.’ She pointed to a mirrored alcove on the opposite wall. ‘I wonder whatever happened to it.’

  Nina studied the spot but before she could say anything, Maddie piped up, ‘Oh gosh, that’s exactly where the flowers should go. It will make the place look much nicer. It’s a bit … oops.’ Her eyes danced with distinct lack of remorse. ‘My tongue runs away with itself sometimes.’

  Nina laughed. ‘You’re right. It does look a bit…’

  Marguerite smiled serenely. ‘It has seen better days, hasn’t it, Marcel?’

  He grunted as he deposited a fresh coffee on the table in front of Maddie.

  ‘Oh, just what the doc ordered,’ she said. ‘Are you going to have one with me, Nina? Only my second of the day and that first one woke me up. Powered on caffeine and cheese, that’s me.’

  Marguerite’s eyes danced with amusement. ‘Well, one morning coffee is plenty for me. I have a hair appointment.’ With a discreet wave of her hand, she signalled to Marcel that she’d like her bill. ‘I’ve enjoyed your company Maddie, and lovely to see you Nina. I will see you here perhaps for morning coffee another day or at the next class.’ With that she turned to Marcel and spoke in rapid French. He escorted her to the door and she gave a regal wave before she strolled away down the street.

  Maddie was so easy to chat to and they whiled away a very pleasant half hour before Nina remembered that she really ought to get the flowers into water.

  ‘Marcel, do you have anything we might put these flowers in?’

  He eyed the bouquet with his usual sullen expression.

  ‘I thought they might cheer the place up a bit.’

  ‘It will take more than flowers.’ His mouth did its familiar prune impression again. ‘There might be something suitable up in the storerooms upstairs.’ With a bony finger, he pointed to a door that she hadn’t noticed before. Decorated with the same pink dado rail and blue paint, it blended in rather well. Now as she looked up, she could see where a staircase bit into the room behind the counter. The space had been cleverly used with a mirrored back wall and glass shelves to create a display area, although the only things displayed were a couple of bluebottle corpses.

  ‘Ooh. A secret passage. Very Enid Blyton,’ said Maddie. ‘Shall we? Or do we need to stock up on lashings of ginger beer before we set out?’

  ‘I’m far too nosy to wait for provisions,’ said Nina, already itching to explore. Probably as a result of reading too much Famous Five as a child. It had been a good escape from a boisterous and noisy household.

  ‘Wow, a treasure trove,’ Nina said at exactly the same time as Maddie said in a disappointed voice, ‘Wow what a mess.’

  They both laughed as they stared around the first room they’d come across at the top of the stairs.

  Maddie pointed to the assortment of furniture dotted here and there. ‘Most of that looks like its seen better days.’

  ‘It just needs a bit of TLC.’ Nina ran a hand over one of the tables, sending up a puff of dust which danced in the shaft of sunlight coming in through the open window. ‘Look at the detail on the feet. It’s lovely.’

  Next to the table was a stack of yellowing newspapers and brittle paged magazines. Curious, Nina picked up a copy of Paris Match, dislodging a puff of dust, and looked at the date: 1986.

  ‘Before I was born,’ she said, letting it slip back through her fingers staring around the room in amazement. ‘Do you think all this stuff has been up here all this time?’

  ‘I guess it must have been,’ said Maddie crouching down by a picture propped up against the wall, blowing on it to try and dislodge the dust.

  As the other girl studied the painting, Nina crossed to one of the boxes. Kneeling down, heedless of the dirty floor, she unlaced the flaps which were interweaved to secure them, her fingers leaving marks in the dusty tops. Feeling a flutter of excitement, she lifted the newspaper-wrapped parcel out of the box.

  ‘It’s like Christmas, when you start unwrapping the decorations to put on the tree and you can’t remember what’s inside,’ said Nina as she began to unwrap the oddly shaped parcels, shedding loosely crumpled newspaper sheets like cabbage leaves.

  ‘Oh, isn’t that gorgeous?’ she exclaimed holding up a beautifully painted bone china teapot, before rummaging some more in the box. ‘And these are pretty too,’ she added, finding delicate pale pink china cups rimmed with gilt.

  By the time both of them had rummaged through several boxes, periodically holding up the latest find with the enthusiasm of archaeologists hunting down Egyptian antiquities, they’d unearthed dozens of cups and matching saucers, china tea plates, bundles of silver forks – or at least Nina thought they were silver – jugs, sugar bowls, a box of tiny clawed silver sugar tongs and some rather gorgeous cake stands, the pretty floral-patterned china punched out with a lace pattern and topped with an ornate gilt loop.

  ‘Wow, I love all this vintage stuff,’ said Nina, her eyes shining as she stood up to brush the dust from her knees. ‘I guess it all belongs to Sebastian now.’

  Maddie frowned. ‘Do you think he’ll want to use any of it?’

  ‘Ha! Unlikely. He’s going to turn this place into a bistro restaurant, it’s going to be super trendy. It will be all slate serving boards and plain white china.’

  ‘You can’t blame him. It’s not exactly buzzing and the patisserie selection isn’t up to much compared to other places. And this stuff is hopelessly impractical. They’d last approximately five minutes in my house,’ said Maddie.

  ‘Mine too. I’ve got four older brothers. In fact,’ Nina said wistfully thinking of her strapping brothers and ignored the slight pang, ‘I don’t think they’d even make it into the house. They’d be vetoed.’

  ‘Four brothers. Oh no! I’ve got two and that’s bad enough. At least I’ve got two sisters to balance it out. No wonder you don’t miss your family.’

  ‘And where do you sit?’

  Maddie pulled a rueful face. ‘I’m the eldest. Which is why I’m so bossy.’

  ‘Ha! I should have guessed,’ teased Nina. ‘I’m the youngest. They all think they know what I should do and try to boss me about all the time.’

  ‘Which is why you can be direct when you need to be,’ said Maddie with a quick grin. ‘You know it’s because they care. They’ve been there, got the T-shirt.’

  Nina rolled her eyes with good humour. ‘Yes, but I don’t want to wear the same T-shirt as my brothers.’

  ‘Fair point,’ said Maddie.

  Nina perused the pile of goodies. ‘Still no vases, although I think I’ll take a few bits and pieces downstairs,’ she said, lifting up one of the pretty cake stands. ‘Marcel might like one for the shop and it would be nice to a have a couple in the kitchen so everyone can display their finished wares on them. You never know, Sebastian might be impressed with the quality of the china and decide to keep some of it.’

  They put the cake stands to one side and Nina carried on digging through the last of the boxes.

  ‘Hurrah! Look.’ Nina held up a heavy wide necked crystal cut glass vase with a shaky hand. It weighed a ton. ‘This is perfec
t and…’ She had to put it down hurriedly but then she pointed to a piece of furniture nestling in the corner. ‘That looks exactly like the thing Marguerite was talking about. The vase will look perfect on top. Which reminds me, I really need to get those flowers into water.’

  ‘And I really I ought to crack on with my essay,’ said Maddie. ‘Although I’d love to know what’s in the rest of the rooms.’

  ‘Another day,’ said Nina rising to her feet.

  ‘You have to wait for me. No sneak previews. I want to know what else is up here.’

  ‘Er, hello, Miss This-is-a-dumping-ground. It’s all junk.’

  ‘A girl can change her mind,’ said Maddie. ‘Now do you want hand lugging that plant stand thing downstairs or not?’

  In the end they made a couple of trips down the stairs, as Nina couldn’t bear to leave the cups, plates and teapots upstairs. They had to abandon the marble plant stand in the narrow hallway behind the door to collect on another day. On their final run, when they emerged back through the door carrying one last box each, Marcel gave Nina a distinct don’t-even-think-about-leaving-those-in-here look, so they went straight through to the kitchen and dumped their prizes still in their boxes under the sink.

  ‘Ungrateful so and so,’ muttered Nina. ‘I’m not sure he deserves any flowers in the shop. He won’t appreciate them.’

  But she was happy to be proved wrong when she took them through and Marcel’s mouth twitched in what might have been a near miss of a smile. ‘You can put them there,’ he decreed, pointing to the alcove where, magically, the marble plant stand had been placed while they were in the kitchen.

  Chapter 14

  ‘Sebastian, what a surprise. How lovely to hear from you.’ Could he tell she was scowling down the phone at him? ‘At last.’