Chapter 4
4
‘ Bonjour . Good morning,’ says the slight, short, sharp-featured woman in the glasses and navy suit. ‘I am Madame Noeletta Pichon,’ she says. ‘I am the principal of the école de Chocolat. Can I help you? Are you lost?’
‘I’m …’ My throat dries. I try again. ‘I’m here for the course,’ I deliver.
There’s a murmur and even a titter in the room. She silences the students with ‘ S’il vous pla?t! ’ And the room falls quiet again.
‘You?’ She nods at me. ‘You are here for the course? The apprentice’s course?’
‘Yes. My name is Clara Mackenzie. I’m on your list,’ I say firmly. ‘It’s all paid for.’ And it wasn’t cheap. I deserve to be given a little more respect as the paying customer, surely. My ex-bosses have paid a lot of money towards this and I’ve made a hole in my redundancy compensation too. If I don’t finish this course, I’ll have to repay the money …
There’s another murmur in the classroom.
Madame Pichon picks up her iPad and consults it. No one says a word.
‘Very well,’ she says, beckoning me to join the class. ‘However, lateness is not tolerated in this classroom. Nor,’ she looks me up and down, ‘is inappropriate clothing. We have very high standards. Please take off your outdoor things and join us at your station.’ She points to the last available stainless-steel workbench. ‘We are about to introduce ourselves.’
I hurry to the other side of the classroom, with the windows behind me, stripping off my coat, scarf, hat and gloves. I put them into my rucksack and place it beside me. I’m standing next to a young woman who’s probably half my age. A young man opposite glances at me with what may be a smile of sympathy. In fact, everyone looks half my age.
‘As I was explaining, we take chocolate very seriously here.’ Her eyes rest on me.
‘She doesn’t look as if she’s ever eaten a chocolate,’ I murmur, to the young woman next to me. She doesn’t smile.
‘Very seriously indeed.’ Madame Pichon stares at me, making my cheeks burn. ‘If you don’t think you’re up to the challenge, this isn’t the place for you.’
I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, the cloak of imposter syndrome threatening to suffocate me at any moment. I look around the tables at the serious faces and the starched white toques. They are clearly wondering what on earth I’m doing here.
‘Most of you are here because you have worked in patisserie and want to take your chocolate skills to the next level, to learn from the best. Because the Swiss are the very best chocolate-makers. The Belgians may try to steal our crown, but they never will.’
A good-looking young man, with black hair waxed at the front, raises his eyebrows over laughing eyes.
‘Not with the passion we have for chocolate,’ Madame Pichon continues, ignoring him, ‘and learning academies like this one. We train our new hopefuls young. Our training is the best in the world. Some here today may even go on to become chocolate masters. Some will fall by the wayside.’ She looks at me and I bristle … but perhaps this was a foolish idea. My friends had their reservations about it. Maybe I should have listened to them.
Madame Pichon holds out a hand to the man in the chef’s outfit to her right. ‘Here is your tutor, Monsieur Jacques Grandjean.’ He gives a nod and a reserved smile.
Madame Pichon moves quickly on. ‘And, of course, we are lucky to have such an esteemed mentor on this course as Gabriel Hartmann. You will know Gabriel as one of our country’s finest chocolate-makers. He made his name as a student here with his first signature range of chocolates at Auclair. He has travelled all over the world and still does, sharing his knowledge, passion for and skills in chocolate-making.’ She holds her hands together and the frills at her wrists shimmy. ‘We are thrilled he is with us for this season between his other obligations. He will be here to judge your work, and offer advice to those of you who take seriously your learning opportunity here.’
There is a rustle around the room, a fizz of excitement. She raises her eyebrows and holds her hands together. ‘Ssh! Silence, please. But I can understand your excitement. Over the next six weeks you will make a range of your own signature chocolates. Twelve chocolates using the skills we shall cover and introducing your own flair and imagination. One for each day of Christmas,’ she says, and I think she’s attempting a smile. ‘The boxes of chocolates will be presented to our guests from the chocolate-making world and the judging panel as we finish for the Christmas break, at our graduation ceremony, when one of you will become Apprentice of the Year, winning,’ she looks at Gabriel, ‘the chance to be chocolatier in residence at Auclair for a year, developing and carving your own name in the chocolate world. Just as Gabriel did.’ He smiles, a very attractive smile, I notice, and clearly a rarity. He probably knows it’s an attractive smile and saves it for his adoring admirers.
‘Along the way we will ask you to take part in a number of other tasks, including a sculpture. We will let you know the other tasks as the weeks go on. But by the end of it you will have shown us exactly what you are made of, your chocolate skills and who is worthy of the chocolate residency here. But let us introduce ourselves. First?’ She moves her eyes to the young man to her left.
‘I am Frédéric. I am twenty-three and I love chocolate!’
‘Yes, we can see,’ says Madame Pichon.
Frédéric good-naturedly grasps his belly, and gives it a little shake. His cheeks are bright red – she’s embarrassed him, fat-shamed him, and that’s not on. My mind flits back to Daniel giving my stomach a little squeeze. ‘Um, excuse me!’ I go to call her out with my HR hat on.
‘We will come to you!’ She silences me again with a finger held up. ‘Next.’ She moves on swiftly.
‘I am Sébastien,’ says the blond man next to Frédéric.
‘Sébastien Dubois,’ Madame Pichon puts in, ‘from the world-renowned chocolate-making family. They developed their business here in Switzerland, and their Chocolat Maria was named in honour of your great-grandmother.’
He nods. ‘Yes. My great-grandfather made it. His wife and chocolate were his two big loves in life.’
‘We are delighted to have you here,’ she says, and appears to smile genuinely, as she did when she introduced Gabriel Hartmann. Clearly only a few warrant such special treatment.
‘And you?’ Her smile drops as she turns to the next young man.
‘I am Michel from Belgium.’ His smile is a stunner. ‘I am known mostly on TikTok for my sculptures and my chocolate-making performance art. With a following of over a million.’
‘And you?’ Madame Pichon moves on, clearly unimpressed by any of that. I plan to look him up.
‘I’m Patrice, here to learn from all of you,’ he says, with a pleasant smile. ‘Your reputation at this school spreads far and wide.’
I can’t help thinking he’s being a bit over the top.
‘And you?’ She’s speaking to me and I suddenly feel ridiculously nervous.
‘I’m Clara Mackenzie. I’ve just moved to Switzerland with my partner. He’s in finance. We’ve got an apartment. I’m looking at my options. I love chocolate,’ I babble. ‘I can fit four Lindors into my mouth!’ I laugh in a high-pitched idiotic way and wish my mouth would stop talking.
Madame Pichon says nothing, as if I hadn’t spoken. What I said was irrelevant apparently. She moves on once more.
‘And you?’
‘I’m Fleur,’ says the young woman next to me.
‘And what makes you come here?’
‘My grandmother runs an all-woman cooperative, selling cocoa to chocolate-makers here, in Switzerland. I decided it was time we made our own chocolate too. I’m here to learn, and to bring the flavours of the Caribbean with me.’
And if I’d felt stupid before Fleur spoke, I feel really stupid now. Come lunchtime, I decide, I’m out of here.