Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
VANESSA
Dani was an excellent Spanish teacher. She was enthusiastic and thoughtful and worked hard to help Vanessa understand the key words and concepts.
After her lesson, Vanessa strolled along the streets of old Barcelona.
There was an intensity to the closeness of the tall buildings, the sheer number of people living in close quarters.
Shops came thick and fast, then cafes and bakeries, their windows always full of beautiful bakes.
She couldn’t resist stopping and looking.
She could see how different establishments served their Napolitanas in different ways.
She couldn’t imagine any of them would be better than Joey’s.
Vanessa continued walking. Joey’s pastries.
Joey’s hands manipulating the dough. Her intense eyes, last night.
Her gruff gentleness this morning. She couldn’t help but feel there was something there.
But she had been so businesslike this morning.
Except that moment she’d reached out and touched Vanessa’s arm.
Vanessa wasn’t sure whether it was the lingering effect of the hangover, but she could still feel Joey’s touch now.
Vanessa knew that Joey didn’t do relationships.
That much seemed clear from the little she’d said and things Vanessa had overheard Carmen saying to her.
She was desperate to know why, but Joey’s walls seemed strong and high.
It wasn’t that she didn’t think Joey would answer if she asked, more that she didn’t feel like asking was even a possibility.
She reached the street she was staying on, looking in the windows of the other shops, then came to a stop.
There, set into the wall, were two pictures, depicted on painted tiles.
On one there was what looked like an old-style grand living room from years gone by, featuring a man and a woman sitting side by side on a sofa, with an older lady next to them holding a fan.
It looked a little like a scene from Bridgerton.
There were words underneath: De quant encore era nou i romantic el dinou.
While her Spanish was improving, this didn’t mean much to her.
She used her phone to get a translation, aware that it might not be entirely accurate.
How new and romantic the nineteenth century still was, suggested Google.
Vanessa furrowed her brow. She was certain the modern world could be every bit as romantic as the past, and she was delighted she didn’t have to endure an old lady with a fan.
There was another, similar picture below the living room scene.
This time the figures from the nineteenth century were on a street – a crowd going about their business, doing their shopping perhaps.
The words this time read: De llevant i de donent tot el die hi passagent. This one made more sense.
From East to West, passing by all day long. That certainly characterised the street they were on. Bustling with people going this way and that.
“You like our history?” Carmen had crept up behind her.
“I do,” said Vanessa, whirling round with a smile.
Carmen’s face was rosy and her dark hair tousled. She was just locking up the cafe. “Part of the Catalan tradition from the late eighteen hundreds and early nineteen hundreds. Celebrating our identity.” The older woman placed her hand over her heart.
“They’re beautiful,” said Vanessa.
“You should get Joey to take you to the Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya. I think you’d like it.” Carmen smiled. “Now I must get home. See you tomorrow?”
“See you then. Have a nice evening,” Vanessa replied with a wave. She wasn’t sure if Joey would want to take her there. But it sounded interesting, and she hadn’t yet had the chance to explore the city as much as she’d hoped to.
Vanessa was exhausted after a late night, a hangover, baking and learning Spanish. She was in bed embarrassingly early, and sleep came almost immediately.
“You look a healthier colour this morning,” said Joey with a wink when Vanessa walked into the bakery early the next day.
Vanessa smiled. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come on then, let’s see another of your bakes today,” said Joey, turning back to her work surface, which was already generously covered in flour.
“And if I do, what do I get in return?” asked Vanessa. She hadn’t meant the teasing, flirting quality to come out in her voice, but there was something about Joey that put it there without her intending it. Something that made her behave differently.
Joey seemed to pause for a moment before speaking. “I don’t really think that’s how it works.”
Immediately, Vanessa wished she’d not said anything. Why could she not stay quiet?
After a minute or two Joey spoke again. “How about I show you how to bake duquesas?”
Vanessa nodded. “Ok, you have a deal.”
Several hours later, Joey and Vanessa sat down for a break, complete with the duquesas they’d made – apple tarts edged with chocolate – and Vanessa’s lemon drizzle cake.
“Now this looks like you have been working very hard, Josefina,” said Carmen, pulling up a chair while one of her part-time members of staff took over at the counter.
“Not just me,” said Joey. “Vanessa baked this lemon drizzle.”
“A British classic,” said Vanessa, delighted that Joey had acknowledged her. “Although I note that it is pretty much the only thing in this bakery not dipped in chocolate.”
Carmen bellowed with laughter. “You do realise you are sitting on Carrer de Petritxol, right? I know you are learning Spanish, but that is Catalan, which is a bit different. It means Chocolate Street.”
“Well that makes perfect sense, then,” said Vanessa, pulling her hair from the ponytail she’d worn for her baking endeavours.
“Although, the obsession with chocolate is not limited to this street,” said Joey. “You’ll see it everywhere across the city. In so many recipes. And of course, there is the classic, churros and melted chocolate. The perfect pick-me-up.”
“You’re cheerful,” said Carmen, her eyes on Joey. Vanessa watched Joey’s face.
“Am I not normally?” Joey frowned.
“Ay, no,” said Carmen. “You are a talented baker and I love you. And you are also rather grumpy at times.” She folded her arms, as if challenging Joey to disagree.
Vanessa’s eyes were wide. She’d never have dreamed of saying anything like that to Joey, who still seemed to have a strong force field around her, marked ‘keep your distance’.
“Hmm,” said Joey, pursing her pink lips, then raising her coffee cup to them.
Since when had Vanessa started noticing Joey’s lips?
To break the tension, and to divert her own imagination, Vanessa changed the subject. “I brought something in to show you both.” She rummaged in her bag to find the old recipe book.
“Oh yes,” exclaimed Carmen. “My grandmother had a copy of this. So many Spanish homes did. It’s one of the most influential original home cook books.”
“So you know it,” said Vanessa, her heart beating faster. Maybe Carmen would know the mystery of the torn-out page.
“I know it very well. Where did you get it from?” Carmen beamed at Vanessa, and took the book gently into her own hands, opening it reverently.
“My grandmother. It belonged to her own grandmother, according to the inscription in the front.” Vanessa thought briefly of Maria, and wondered what she’d have thought of her granddaughter sitting in Barcelona, working in a bakery.
She hoped she’d approve. “She died a few weeks ago, and this is what she left to me.”
Joey looked at the book with interest. “Your inheritance.”
“Yes, exactly.” Vanessa took a bite of her duquesa. The pastry was flaky; the apple tart and the chocolate, sweet. It was a perfect mouthful. “My inheritance was that book, and a bit of advice.”
Carmen raised her eyebrows expectantly.
Vanessa chuckled. “That’s between me and my gran.”
“Quite right,” said Joey, her voice soft. Vanessa looked up at her in surprise. “I know you miss her.”
To her surprise, Vanessa felt her eyes fill with tears. “Yes, I do.”
Carmen patted her hand and then returned to the book.
“I actually wondered if I could ask you about the Coca de Sant Joan recipe,” said Vanessa after a moment.
Carmen flipped to the right page. But of course, when she got to it, it wasn’t there.
“Ah, I see.” She ran her finger down the soft edge of the torn page.
“The recipe in this book is no different from any other, actually. Nothing special. Most families have their own version of the Coca de Sant Joan, but I doubt this one was exceptional at all.”
Vanessa felt disappointed. She’d hoped for some kind of insight into what secrets this book held.
She was convinced there was something in it, a story she couldn’t quite see.
But perhaps it was just a recipe book without any secrets at all.
For a moment she was sure she was about to burst into tears.
She felt a gentle hand on her arm, and turned to look up at Joey.
Joey said nothing, but her eyes were warm, and she seemed to know that Vanessa was struggling in that moment.