Chapter 5
Léo was removing his floral quiche from the oven when Sylvia came in.
‘What have you been making, Léo? It smells – oh, and looks – marvellous.’
‘Merci. And you have arrived in perfect time to try some. Please, sit down.’
‘Wonderful, I’m famished. After that uncomfortable meeting, Juliet’s birthday lunch has apparently been forgotten. Frankie said it was looking unlikely and then I saw the girls going off down the drive. Heading to the pub is my guess, and Rousseau will survive on black coffee until supper time.’
‘Well then, let us enjoy a pleasant lunch à deux. This is something of a trial, after we discussed how we could ask our students to identify and use things that we grow here at Feywood. So, to make this, they will need to venture into the kitchen garden and then beyond. The goat’s cheese is also local, made at a farm just three miles away in the hamlet of Netherford. The wine I’m going to pair it with is, alas, French. I am beginning to learn about English wines, though, and I aim to use them exclusively, eventually.’
‘It’s so pretty!’ Sylvia cut a piece and tried it. ‘Léo, that is delicious. I don’t know how you do it. Your flavours…I would never have thought to put these together. Our students will love it – it’s a feast for the eyes as well as for the stomach.’
‘Wonderful! I will add it to our repertoire.’
They ate in a companionable silence for a few minutes, savouring the quiche and the perfectly matched wine.
‘Léo, I’m sorry about that meeting earlier. This family…None of them is bad, but there is such a headstrong streak. Everyone always believes themselves to be right. And I’m afraid we can all be somewhat tunnel-visioned, focused on our own goals without stopping to balance that with others’ needs. Juliet is a dear girl but had a difficult relationship with Lilith, my sister-in-law, and then a romantic relationship which…well, I won’t share the details with you, but it was a painful time.’
Léo sipped his wine thoughtfully. Sylvia saw the good in everyone, that much he knew, and while he respected her opinion, he wasn’t going to believe just yet that Juliet was nothing more than a sheep in wolf’s clothing. He had met one too many women who would have you believe that and turned out to be the big bad wolf after all.
‘I was…surprised, the way she spoke about her mother. She is very lucky to have grown up here – why doesn’t she want to help?’
‘It’s more complicated than that. Although she won’t talk about it, London has been an escape for Juliet, a chance for her to spread her wings. I’m not sure it has always been healthy, but even the bad parts have acted as some kind of purifying fire. I suspect that she is still not wholly at ease, that she is looking for something different. If she does come back to Feywood, I would like to ask her for her help promoting the cookery school – with your agreement, of course.’
Léo pushed away his empty plate, took up his glass and nodded. He would do anything for this lovely woman who had – although he wasn’t sure to what extent she realised – provided him with sanctuary and purpose at a critical time in his life, when he thought he would be chased out of France by the vitriol of the judgemental public, people he had never met who still felt it their place to hound and vilify him for what had happened with Veronique, without knowing the full story.
‘Of course, Sylvia, I would be glad to work with your niece and get to know her. You are clearly very fond of her.’
‘You know, I am. I love all three girls, but despite Frankie’s youth and recklessness and Martha’s dreamy gentleness, it is Juliet who I feel is the most innocent somehow, the most vulnerable. Despite her prickly exterior, I just want to give her a hug most of the time, although she hardly ever lets me.’
After lunch, Sylvia went to speak to her brother about some of the logistics for opening the school, and Léo tidied up the kitchen. He was pleased with how the quiche had worked out and knew it would be something their students would enjoy cooking as well as eating. His earliest days had been spent working in the kitchens of a bistro local to where he grew up in a small village near Reims, then he moved on to pot washing and watching the chefs at work at a larger brasserie in Paris. Finally, he had worked his way up to running the kitchen of a top Paris restaurant and been so nearly in reach of his first Michelin star. Throughout it all, Léo had loved to explore the ways ingredients came together perfectly in a dish as deceptively simple as a quiche.
Over and over again, he took the basics of pastry, eggs, milk and cheese and trialled different types, quantities and even temperatures of these, before adding fillings and flavours that would work both in taste and texture. Some were successful: the brie, mushroom and thyme, with minced dates sprinkled through, had been divine; the ill-fated attempt at ‘freshness’ with too many wet ingredients, including cucumber, less so, and he had still to perfect a vegan version. But the calmness and amount of time available to him at Feywood were perfect for working up new recipe ideas, and despite the mess he had left behind him in France, he felt himself soothed by the opportunity to immerse himself in his creations.
As the big sink filled with water and bubbles, he ruminated on what Sylvia had said. He had graciously agreed to her asking Juliet to work with them, although what a cartoonist had to offer, he did not know. But privately he was unhappy about the idea. If she did come back to her childhood home, she would be bound to make life uncomfortable, with her surly face and entitled ways. He already felt so ravaged by the press and the public – not to mention his own guilt – over Veronique, that he had been hoping for a quiet retreat, not a battle every day. God knew he didn’t need another heartless woman in his life – however attractive. No, Léo preferred a homebody, someone who would not chew him up and spit him out – again. But as he dried the dishes, he remembered the word Sylvia had used to describe Juliet – vulnerable. Although his first thought was that this could not be further from the truth, he recalled the young woman’s tired, wary eyes and tightly controlled emotions and wondered briefly – generously, he thought – if there could be something more going on behind that brittle exterior.