Chapter 6
6
‘What the …?’ Daniel is up first and in the kitchen, trying to make coffee.
I grab my dressing-gown, now with chocolate-stained cuffs, pull it on anyway and hurry to the kitchen. I stand behind Daniel. ‘Oh, yes, that … Well, I thought about what you said and decided to practise.’
We gaze at the mound of truffles on the work surface.
‘What are we going to do with them all?’ he says.
‘Well, I thought you could take them to work, share them with your colleagues. Like a welcome gift from us to them,’ I say, as I manoeuvre myself around him and negotiate the mountain of truffles to switch on the coffee machine for him and grab the makings of lunch from the fridge.
He watches me. ‘So, you’re going back today?’
‘Yes!’ I nod.
‘Good. Let’s meet up later, tell me how it went. Go get ’em!’ He lowers his voice. ‘What time do you have to leave?’ He tilts his head to one side. ‘Time to go back to bed?’
‘I have to get ready to go!’ I laugh as he pulls me in, kissing my neck. I gently push him away. ‘I can’t be late. Madame Pichon will not be happy.’
‘Later then.’ He grins.
‘Later,’ I say, and get ready for another day at the chocolate school.
‘So far, we have run through the basics of chocolate-making, and you have revisited how to temper,’ says Jacques. ‘You have done truffles. Some of you have been practising with chocolate moulds and three-dimensional shapes in your truffle making. Now is the time to take this to the next level and introduce some creativity.’
‘At last!’ says Michel, running his hands through his sticking-up hair.
‘It is time to start thinking about your signature boxes. These chocolates need to tell me a story. Take time to plan your first signature chocolate. The first is the most important. You are telling us what matters to you. Your last will be the most telling, leaving us wanting to know more. If you do not have a story to tell, why are we interested in what you have to say?’
He looks around the classroom. There is tension. The others are well-trained hounds, waiting to please their owner.
‘You have all the equipment you need in front of you, heat guns, dipping forks, thermometers and scrapers. Anything else, just ask Alain.’ I look at the row of equipment laid out on each bench, neatly and with precision. Alain must have been here early, setting up each workstation.
Alain gives me a little smile.
One chocolate at a time, I remember.
And so I begin. Every day that week I turn up, practise ideas and tempering. I go home each evening to Daniel and make love in our wonderful big bed, where the sheets are clean and fresh. The next morning I turn up at the chocolate school and do it all again. It may not be perfect yet. Daniel and I still have a lot to get used to about living together, but it’s the start of a routine, even if we haven’t yet decided how our relationship is going to work.
During the week we have another lesson in a basic skill: hot-chocolate-making. Who knew it could be so involved?
By the end of the week I’m shattered, but still here. One of my favourite parts of the day has been the train journey up to the chocolate school, as night turns to daybreak and light snow is falling to settle on rooftops and pine trees. It’s beautiful travelling between the steep, snowy mountains, smoke from the chimneys curling up through the treetops. Every day, the snow lying on the ground and on the trees seems a little thicker as I leave the city and travel up past frozen waterfalls, steep, tiered vineyards also covered with snow, like the layers of a wedding cake, and fields with horses in coats eating hay.
As I walk from the station to the school, it’s quiet, apart from the church bells telling me it’s time to get into class, and the bells on the cows in their shelters near the farmhouses. They’re probably dreaming of summer days on the mountainside when the snow has gone and everything is green. I’d love to see it then. And, despite the bells telling me to hurry to the classroom, I have to stop and take deep breaths, filling my lungs as I lean against the rail at the viewing point, just in front of the big gates. Something about it is so invigorating, the cold making my nose tingle, the air filling me with bravery for the day ahead. This air should be bottled. Although I’m exhausted by practising my tempering every night, along with hot-chocolate-making and truffles, then falling into bed with Daniel, this air revitalizes me.
Daniel and I have hardly seen each other all week except at bedtime so I must make an effort to spend time with him this weekend instead of in the kitchen. The sniggers at my efforts on that first day have driven me to read all I can about chocolate-making and to practise in the apartment. I can tell Daniel’s getting fed up with my chocolate efforts everywhere and my head in my Kindle at bedtime when he joins me after showering. In the same way I’m fed up with him dropping ties, shoes and wet towels around the apartment, claiming it’s okay as we have Housekeeping to clear up. It’s the sort of thing we need to talk about, as we agreed we would. Otherwise everything seems to be ticking along nicely.
We’ll spend some time together this weekend, get these things ironed out and agree on a few guidelines, I tell myself firmly, gazing at the farm across the hillside and the smoke rising from the big chalet’s chimney. It warms me, despite the snow, which is falling steadily over the town where the Christmas decorations are now lighting the streets. Come Monday, there will be just five weeks to go until Christmas and I’m looking forward to a new version of Christmas with Daniel. There won’t be late-night drinks in the office, a tub of Celebrations and a bottle of Piat d’Or from the management on Christmas Eve. I won’t be back to open the doors on the Boxing Day sales. I hear the church bells finishing their peal and hurry through the gates to the school entrance, remembering to walk as I reach Reception.
‘ Bonjour! ’ I greet the receptionist, who checks the clock as I arrive.
She looks at me in surprise, possibly because I’m still turning up. It’s the end of the first week, and although I’m nowhere near the others’ standards I’m still here. And still out of my depth. I can tell by the way Sébastien sniggers when he passes my station, Frédéric and Patrice, too, who seem to copy everything Sébastien says and does. I’ve even caught Michel taking photographs of my efforts at chocolate flowers – I’ve probably racked up thousands of views on his TikTok feed, laughed at across his massive following for my chocolate rose, which looked more like dog poo than anything else. Fleur doesn’t talk much. She is focused. Patrice is the only one who is friendly – he’s invited me to join them at the bar in town this evening, but that was more out of sympathy than anything else.
I pull off my hat and scarf as the warmth of the building hits me. The classroom will be even warmer and I head for the anteroom where there will be coffee and we’ll gather for lunch. There’s a loo and a shower just off it, pegs and lockers so I can drop off my belongings.
‘And so we have come to the last day of week one and today we will be looking back at your work,’ Madame Pichon says, standing in front of the class, with Jacques to one side. He is sliding occasional dark glances at Gabriel, who is pushing his wild hair off his face distractedly, as if he had better places to be. He stands on the other side of Madame Pichon, his large frame making her seem tiny. His shoulders are wide, and he rolls them back as if releasing tension, swipes his hair off his face and opens his dark brown eyes wide, as if he’s trying to shake off his tiredness. There’s no denying that he’s attractive, taller than Jacques, more muscular, and his hair is a riot of unruly curls. His strong jaw twitches now and then, as if he’s focusing closely on something, his face set. I remember the laughter at my truffles and a steely determination rises in me.
‘This is your chance to improve on what you have done earlier in the week, make changes and consider your signature chocolates.’
By the end of the day, I’m like the last woman over the line on a marathon. Exhausted, but proud of myself for getting through it. My chocolate rose was indeed ridiculed and, frankly, I’m not surprised. I’m not intending to repeat it, and there’s no place for it in my signature box of chocolates. I’m actually considering staying until the end of the course. It would help my finances if I didn’t have to repay the fee to Duncan and Daughters. And the truffles I presented today prompted a nod of approval, which has given me a boost.
Michel’s New Year’s Eve hot chocolate, with mini fireworks and sparklers, created a spectacle that all the tutors loved. And Sébastien presented a chocolate reindeer family in a forest that he’s working on for his final statue. Fleur presented her first signature chocolate: ‘It’s based on a drink from C?te d’Ivoire I’ve been told of,’ she says. ‘The drink is called Nyamanku. It’s made from ground ginger root mixed with orange, lemon and pineapple juices.’ She passes around the dark chocolates. I can smell the chocolate before I even put it into my mouth.
There is a ripple of applause around the classroom and if we were handing out Star Pupil of the Week, I think Fleur would win. Patrice seems to have made a similar snow scene to Sébastien’s but without as much detail, and Frédéric has created a chocolate feast and can’t decide which flavour will go in his signature box.
‘So, you perfected the truffle,’ says Sébastien, as we gather our belongings in the anteroom.
‘Yes.’ I’m smiling, with a sense of achievement that Sébastien has taken time to talk to me.
‘Now you’ll be able to make truffles for your granny at Christmas when you go home,’ he says.
I feel as if the rug’s been pulled out from under me and I’ve landed on my back being laughed at again: Frédéric joins in and even Michel smiles.
‘Take no notice,’ says Patrice. ‘You did great. The tutors said so.’
‘I wish I believed them,’ I say.
‘You mastered the truffle,’ Patrice says. ‘That’s something. Little steps. Everyone had to start somewhere,’ he says kindly. ‘Only another eleven chocolates for your signature box, and a few other tasks along the way. Next week is chocolates with spice and botanicals. How hard can that be?’ He chortles.
I manage to join in.
My phone trills with a message. It’s Daniel: Come and meet me at the bar, have a few beers. You’ve made it to the end of the first week! That’s something to celebrate!
This is just what we need. A few drinks, and later we can set a few ground rules for the apartment.
I grab my bag and pull on my coat. ‘It’s my partner. We’re meeting for drinks,’ I say, and add, ‘Thanks for asking me to join you. It means a lot.’
‘No worries.’ Patrice smiles.
The others leave, and I’m about to follow them when someone says, ‘Well done! You made it!’
‘I did. Merci, Alain!’
‘You did the work,’ he says. ‘One chocolate at a time. Are you not joining the others at the bar?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t think that would work. I’m not one of them. Besides, I’m meeting my partner,’ I add, holding up my phone. ‘What about you? Will you join the students? Or maybe members of staff go for something a little more elegant, dinner perhaps.’
He shrugs. ‘It’s hard. I’m not a student, but I’m not a tutor. Just somewhere in between.’ He puts his head to one side. ‘See you next week?’
I nod slowly. ‘See you next week,’ I say, and smile. Patrice is right. It’s spice and botanicals and I don’t want to miss that.
‘One chocolate at a time,’ we say together, and laugh.
‘ Merci, Alain, bonne soirée ,’ I say, and hurry from the building towards the station.
A few minutes later, I board a train, find a seat and stare out over the mountains and the chalets scattered across them, their outdoor lights so Christmassy. Back in the city, I pull my hat down against the bigger, wetter flakes of snow and head to the bar.
When I arrive, Daniel is there. ‘Hey!’ He opens his arms wide. I fall into them and hug him. This is how it’s supposed to be , I think. Maybe there are still teething problems but things are getting better at home and at the chocolate school.
He’s sniffing as if he has the start of a cold and his tie is undone, but he looks happy and relaxed.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask, concerned. ‘We can go home if you like.’
‘Never better,’ he says brightly. ‘Glad you’re here.’ He kisses me fully on the lips, but although it’s an exciting taste of what’s to come later, I find myself pulling away, a little embarrassed.
The bar is busy, and noisy, with coloured lights flashing gently. I roll my lips in on each other, although no one seems to have seen us kiss. Everyone is busy talking in groups. I wish Marianne and Raquel were with me, although Marianne may have found this uncomfortable now that she’s heading towards her third trimester. Raquel, meanwhile, would be keen to get home and settle into an evening with her man, a bottle of red wine and The Traitors on television. Maybe a few years ago this would have been us. But not now. Life moves on.
‘I’ve got us a table,’ he says loudly, in my ear, over the music and hubbub of Friday-night drinkers, taking my hand.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Let’s have a drink, then go home. I’ll cook,’ I say, and we’ll talk. Tonight is about being us, on a Friday night, in our new home. He points me towards a busy corner of the bar. I can’t see a spare table, just a group of after-work drinkers, jackets off and slung over the backs of chairs.
‘Come on.’ He takes my hand. ‘Come and meet my workmates.’
I hesitate. This wasn’t what I’d had in mind when I’d thought we were going to have a few drinks and set some ground rules.
‘Relax – you’ll be fine. They’ll love you,’ he says.
But something in me isn’t relaxed. I wish we were at home, at the apartment, me cooking, telling him about my day, the little win with the truffles, the other chocolates the students made. Especially Fleur’s amazing flavour. And Sébastien’s deer in the forest.
‘I’ve got loads to tell you!’ I say. He seems a little different and I can’t make out how. His eyes are bright and he’s smiling, but his nose is red, as if he’s coming down with something.
‘Let’s just have a nice evening, shall we? I want you to get to know my workmates. You’re my partner and it’ll be great for us all to get on.’ He gives me a reassuring little tug towards the group. This is important to him, I realize, just like today was important to me. Of course I’ll join in. This is what it’s all about, supporting each other.
‘Sure,’ I say. We can talk afterwards. It’s nice he wants me to meet his colleagues and get to know them. This is part of settling in. I’d like him to come up and see the school one day, get to know where I’m spending my days. I want to tell him I’ve decided to go back next week, and the ideas I’m having for hot chocolate, like white chocolate with cranberry cream on top or salted caramel with toasted pistachios, or rum and raisin but I have no idea how that would translate into a drink. What would I do about the raisins? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all the way home, and I’m rather excited about going back after the weekend. I may never be in the running for the residency post, but maybe I could enjoy what I can do. I push Sébastien’s smirk and snarky comment out of my mind. I’m here to meet Daniel’s colleagues. Of course it’s all good.
‘What can I get you?’ He gestures to one of the waiters, collecting orders on an iPad.
I look around to see what others are drinking. ‘Erm …’
‘How about an Aperol Spritz?’ he says.
‘Okay.’ I smile. ‘Sounds great.’
Daniel orders in French and I know I have to do better with mine. And I will. Things are going to be okay.
My drink arrives as Daniel is holding out a hand to the table. ‘This is Clara, everyone. Clara, everyone,’ he says, with a dollop of bonhomie.
I haven’t seen him like this before, but maybe that’s because it’s always been him and me. He hasn’t even met my friends back home. We’re doing this backwards, moving in together, then meeting friends and family, and dating.
Someone moves up and makes space for me to sit on the red leather banquette along the wall. I swear the music’s got louder. Outside it’s still snowing steadily. I can’t help but think how far away this is from life back in the UK, coming home, putting on my pyjamas and binge-watching Ted Lasso . Everything has been a little more exciting since I swiped right for Daniel. I look at him, beer in hand, loosened tie, talking animatedly to a younger man next to him. Everyone seems engaged in conversation. There’s only one or two women in the group, both in suits and heels. I wonder how they cope on the snowy pavements. The men are wearing similar outfits too, shirts, ties, and expensive leather shoes that clack on the wooden floor when they visit the toilets. And they are frequent visitors to the toilets, I muse, as I watch them, surrounded by discarded coats and jackets. I sip my Aperol Spritz. I glance around, but no one seems to be looking at me.
I take another sip and shuffle closer to Daniel on the leather stool he’s sitting on, talking to his neighbour. ‘Hi,’ I say, muscling in on the conversation. But, after all, I’m here to meet people.
‘Clara, this is Luke. He’s on the team.’
‘Hi, Clara.’ He leans forward and shakes my hand as if we’re in a business meeting. ‘How are you enjoying Switzerland? Settling in?’
‘Fine, thank you. Learning my way around.’
‘And what is it you do? Are you in finance too?’
I sip the Aperol and shake my head. The thought of it! ‘No, I’m—’
‘Clara’s doing a little college course, in chocolate-making, to keep herself busy while she’s looking after me. Too well!’ he says, patting his stomach.
I’m bristling. A little college course? Looking after him?
‘Oh, right … Interesting,’ says Luke, who is clearly not interested and is looking around at the other colleagues, all engaged in conversations.
Daniel sees Luke’s boredom. ‘So, how was your day at Willy Wonka’s?’ he asks me, and laughs.
I’m stunned and have no idea how to reply. Suddenly I feel as if I’m here for entertainment value, to be laughed at. It’s bad enough when it’s coming from Sébastien and Frédéric. But from my partner?
‘It’s an international chocolate school, the best,’ I tell Luke. ‘Chocolate-making is taken very seriously in Switzerland.’
‘Oh, yes, it’s big business,’ he agrees. ‘Some of the major companies are worth a fortune.’
I bristle again. It’s not about the money. It’s the passion chocolate-makers have for what they do.
‘But, Clara,’ Daniel says, ‘it’s just a hobby for you, isn’t it? Something to keep you busy while you look for a proper job. Clara’s in HR.’
‘Ah, good line to be in. Can go anywhere with that!’ says Luke, looking impressed.
‘She’s got a few options and contacts, hospitality ones,’ Daniel carries on, as if I’m not in the room and as if I have contacts. I don’t right now.
‘But I’m taking this chocolate course. It’s really hard work, and, well, exciting.’
‘But it’s not like you’re serious about it. I mean, chocolate? That’s for kids, right?’ Daniel swigs his beer.
Suddenly I couldn’t be more serious. I gather my coat. I haven’t seen him like this before and I don’t like it.
‘I’m going back to the apartment, Daniel.’ I pick up my bag. ‘I’ll make dinner, but there’s a few things we need to talk about.’
Luke makes an ooh-you’re-in-trouble noise. I’m irritated by his childish behaviour.
Daniel reaches for my hand and tugs at it playfully. ‘Come on, Clara, we’re just having some fun. Stay.’
‘I really want to get back to the apartment. It’s been a long day.’
‘Making cookies.’ Luke laughs. ‘Got anything?’ he asks Daniel.
‘Er … yeah.’
Daniel reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a small packet of white powder. He hands it to Luke, who sniffs, stands and heads to the toilet.
‘Is that …?’ I ask.
‘It was just a little toot, just to get me in with the boys.’
‘I don’t do drugs, Daniel. You knew that when we first met each other and were asking about what we liked and didn’t. I thought I’d explained. It’s not for me. I’m just not into that.’
‘Yeah, I know, but just once in a while …’
‘I’m going,’ I say firmly. The music is louder, the bar busier, and I want to get out. ‘Goodnight, Daniel. I’ll see you back at the apartment.’ I push my way through the crowd towards the exit and head out into the cold night air, pulling my coat around me. He’ll follow me when he realizes this is a big deal , I think. He’ll come after me. Maybe I wasn’t clear enough. But little packets of white powder in a toilet is not my idea of fun.
I look over my shoulder at the Christmas lights now strung across the road, and the steadily falling snow. There’s no sign of Daniel. I pull up the collar of my coat, and my hat down over my ears. There’s no way I’m going back to the bar. I think of Alain, neither a student nor a tutor. I know exactly how he feels. I put my head down and head to the apartment.
Back at the building, the doorman Davide greets me and I say hello, in French, and respond to him asking how my day has been.
‘ Bon, merci ,’ I say, and hurry to the lift.
Inside the apartment I pour myself a glass of cold rosé from the fridge, draw back the net curtain from the French windows and watch the snow falling on the street below. He hasn’t followed me. I’m in the apartment on my own, watching the snow, looking down at the now emptying street. He didn’t come after me to find out why I’m unhappy, why this has gone so wrong. How do we move forward from this? He isn’t the same man I agreed to come away with. I think about his bright eyes, his nose twitching. Is it true that he takes it just once in a while? What else don’t I know about him?
Suddenly I feel very cold and stupid. I finish the wine. I should never have come. I make up a bed on the sofa in the high-ceilinged living room and climb into it, then listen to the church bells chime every hour throughout the night and think about hot-chocolate flavours to keep myself sane.