Chapter 13
13
‘Clara, what are you doing here at the weekend?’ It’s Gabriel, pulling on his coat in the foyer as I return to the classroom from the loo at Saturday lunchtime.
‘Practising my tempering. I still have a lot of catching up to do. Snap, shine and … What’s the word? It shrinks when it comes away from the side of the moulds.’
‘Contraction!’
‘Contraction!’ I beam, pleased to show I’ve been studying online. ‘There’s so much to think about – cooling it, but not too fast, keeping it away from light and different smells. And looking for ideas for my signature box.’
He laughs. ‘Yes, there is a lot to think about. Chocolate can be a tricky and clever thing! But ideas are everywhere. You just have to be open to them. How are you getting on?’
I shrug and shake my head. ‘Well, so far this morning, I’ve overheated my chocolate, chilled it too fast and had moisture damage where I haven’t allowed it to breathe.’ I sigh.
‘It’s a tricky beast to tame.’
‘I’m not sure I’m ever going to get it to walk to heel, let alone put ideas into practice. I’m still way behind the rest of the class.’
He looks at me as if he’s about to say something else, but apparently changes his mind. ‘Why don’t you take a break, go for a walk around the town?’
‘Oh, I think I should just keep working at it.’ I haven’t forgotten the mound of untempered chocolate that’s gone into the bin. And how I’ve sat scrolling through my phone, trying to come up with flavouring ideas.
‘Okay. Well, I’m going to get some lunch. Sometimes it’s good to take a break.’
My stomach growls. ‘Oh …’ I say.
‘Maybe your stomach’s trying to say you should take a break too.’
‘Yes, maybe … I didn’t bring anything for lunch.’
‘Well, as I told you the other night, the restaurant in the centre of town does good food. I’m going there. Would you like to join me?’
I hesitate.
‘Two chocolate-makers on a lunch break?’ He grins.
‘That would be lovely,’ I say, suddenly realizing it would. And I don’t have to be back when the church bells ring because it’s Saturday. ‘I’ll get my coat.’ I go to the anteroom with a smile and a strange sense of anticipation. I’ll get to spend a whole lunchtime talking chocolate.
I grab my coat and hat, and pull on my snow grips, and we walk out of the big glass doors of the building. The drive has been cleared but the water feature is frozen. For the moment, it’s stopped snowing. There’s stillness in the air, which is cold but invigorating. I breathe in the lungfuls I need to keep me going. Some people rely on coffee in the mornings or hot chocolate, but for me it’s the air here. I look at Gabriel’s profile, wondering why he’s bothering with a student like me. But this is an opportunity for me to learn, to find out more about his chocolate journey, and that’s really exciting now I know who he is – I’ve searched his name on Google and I’m embarrassed I didn’t know of him before. In fact, I’m embarrassed that my chocolate journey had been about supermarket purchases, sharing tubs at Christmas and splashing out on big-brand boxes on Thursday nights. Now I know the difference in taste, it has me hooked. I want to learn more and make it through the next four weeks until Christmas, no matter how hard it gets.
I look down at where I’m walking. I’m tentative on my feet since the fall, but at least this time I’ve remembered my snow grips.
We walk steadily side by side down the slope towards the bridge and, again, I can smell dark chocolate, pine and eucalyptus on him as I did when I showered in his apartment. It reminds me of how I felt, standing in his shower, surrounded by his belongings. It felt illicit, as if we’d had a brief encounter, even though we haven’t and never will. We cross the bridge and the river rushing beneath it over the dangerous rocks and around the bend, past where I fell.
From there, we can see straight down the main street, to the church at the far end. The town looks amazing, dressed up in all its glory for the festive season. Snow is lying thick on the roofs, sparkling. They look as if they’ve been dusted with glitter. The medieval beams of the chalets are dark against the backdrop of white mountains. Shoppers are out, and a band is playing saxophone, guitar, keyboard and drums. Christmas is well and truly under way and I’ve barely noticed. I can smell hot chocolate from the stall at the end of the main street and chestnuts roasting, over a brazier.
‘How come the factory and the chocolate school ended up here?’ I ask. ‘It’s a long way from the city and must make transporting the chocolate more difficult.’
‘The owner wanted to move out of town to the place where the milk came from, to use local farmers to supply it and local employees. As I said, my family were among the milk suppliers,’ he says.
‘And the farm, the one up there?’
He points. ‘Yes, the one you see from my apartment.’
‘So you’re a farmer too?’
‘No, I have someone who manages the herd for me, but none of my immediate family are there any more.’ He shoves his hands deeper into his coat pockets.
‘That’s a shame. And you don’t live there?’
‘I visit. But it’s easier for me to have a place near the school, to get to my workshop.’
We walk on over the snowy cobbles.
‘It was also a good place to create a chocolate company where secrets could stay secret.’
‘Secrets?’
‘Yes. It’s well hidden,’ he says, raising his eyebrows.
I remember Sébastien saying we were all hiding away … and wondering what would happen when we finally emerge. Will we be swans, or ugly ducklings?
‘The company’s most popular chocolate bar, Peace, was inspired by this area, but they wanted to keep it quiet until they launched it. When they did, it went massive. Lots of other chocolate-makers tried to copy it – it was so simple, but delicious, inspired by the landscape here. But the company was way ahead of the game, the leader in that shape and taste of chocolate. Up there,’ he points to a covered terrace, ‘is what used to be a lookout point, to keep the town safe. Now, it’s one of the best places in town for hot chocolate, served by Charles.’
‘I know!’ I smile. ‘It is!’
We walk past the hotel and the bar next door, looking up towards the church.
‘This is the place I told you about the other night that does very good raclette . And,’ he adds, ‘as I’ve promised you, the views are fantastic. Are you happy to eat here?’
‘Absolutely,’ I say.
He opens the dark-panelled front door and we walk into the restaurant, which smells of warm nutty cheese.
‘Hey, Gabriel, good to see you!’ The chef comes out of the open kitchen to kiss him on each cheek and shake his hand. ‘I heard you were back in town. You here for long?’
‘Just until the new year. Then I have something planned.’
The chef laughs heartily. ‘Always a new adventure for Gabriel!’ he says to me.
‘This is Clara, one of the chocolate-makers working at the school,’ Gabriel says.
The chef seems surprised. ‘A new tutor?’
‘I’m still learning, and about everything Swiss!’
‘In that case, you must try our raclette ! It is the best!’ He gestures to the restaurant, making me feel welcome and glad I’d agreed to come.
‘So Gabriel tells me!’ I smile.
‘Ah, he has excellent taste! Like his chocolates!’ He turns to Gabriel and says, under his breath, ‘I hear there is a new signature range on the horizon.’ Around here, it’s a serious business.
Gabriel nods, but says nothing. Instead he turns to shake hands with the waiter.
‘My brother,’ says the chef to me. ‘We were all at school together.’ He turns back to Gabriel. ‘Only some of us left now to enjoy the wonderful life we have here. Come, you must have a seat in the conservatory.’
The waiter shows us into the conservatory where it’s bright and light. And the view! We’re seated by the window looking out onto a valley between two snow-covered mountains. A waterfall is gushing to the fast-flowing river in the valley, its spray creating a mist.
‘You weren’t wrong about the view,’ I say to Gabriel.
‘Nor the raclette ,’ he says, as he picks up the wine list and orders from it. The waiter nods happily and heads to the bar.
We sit for a moment, just gazing at the view from the warmth of the conservatory. The wine arrives first and we sip as we wait for the raclette . And when it appears, it is indeed amazing. A warming plate is attached to the table that can be pushed towards either of us.
‘Like this,’ says Gabriel, pushing it backwards and forwards. ‘I’ll show you.’
The waiter brings out a large slab of cheese and places it on the warm plate, warning that it’s hot. It begins to melt. Then some little plates arrive. Tiny new potatoes, roasted cherry tomatoes and broccoli. There are pickled onions and cornichons, eye-wateringly sharp, and a wooden board of air-dried beef.
‘Now, like this,’ says Gabriel, having offered me potatoes and pickles. He swings the warming plate towards himself and scrapes off the bubbling cheese from the block, then pours it over the potatoes. ‘Now you try.’
We talk and scrape at the melting cheese, sip the crisp rosé and, from time to time, I glance at the view, imprinting it on my mind.
‘You have to try the chocolate mousse. It’s the best around, but don’t tell him I said so.’ Gabriel laughs as the waiter checks we have finished, then clears the plates.
‘I really couldn’t!’ I hold up my hands, smiling. ‘I’m so full! It was wonderful!’
‘You have to!’ Gabriel encourages.
‘You really do.’ The waiter whips off to the kitchen and returns with a chocolate mousse, in a glass, dusted with cocoa powder. ‘I brought two spoons.’ He places them between us.
‘Go on,’ says Gabriel, picking up a spoon and handing it to me. ‘Call it research!’
I take it and scoop up a little mousse. It looks creamy and full of bubbles. I put it into my mouth and let it sit on my tongue. My eyes widen. ‘Oh, my God! It’s like …’
‘… the best chocolate mousse ever!’ Gabriel finishes and smiles widely. I can’t help noticing again that it’s a very attractive smile. ‘I told you!’
‘How does he do that?’
‘Well, it’s a simple recipe but made with the best ingredients,’ Gabriel says.
‘It’s so light, and creamy, like there are no calories in it!’
We laugh.
‘And how does it make you feel?’
‘Amazing! It feels like when you’ve had the worst day ever, your world is all out of kilter and a spoonful of this makes everything okay. Puts the world straight.’
And we laugh again.
I end up eating it all.
‘That’s how a chocolate should make you feel. Happy. Yes, you need well-tempered chocolate.’
‘All of mine has been bad-tempered this morning.’ I giggle at my own joke. I’m relaxing and enjoying myself. I don’t want this meal to end. ‘I’ve got sugar bloom, fat bloom, cracked shells and holes in my bottom. Everything that can go wrong has gone wrong.’
He’s clearly heard that joke before, but he looks more relaxed too.
I look out over the view, the tall pine trees covered with heavy layers of snow, and the sun making everything sparkle. Two large buzzards circle the valley, between the trees, in front of the huge waterfall.
‘Yes, you need the snap and the shine. And you need it to smell good, have a bite to it before it finally melts on your tongue.’
And suddenly I feel a little shiver of excitement.
‘But most of all it should make you feel something.’
‘Like your signature box?’
He pauses. ‘Yes. It was an exciting time for me. Life was full of potential and I hope that’s what the flavours say.’
I have a thought. ‘Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s because I don’t like where I’ve come from and I don’t know where I’m going that I don’t have a story to tell.’
‘But you do know how to feel. Start with that,’ he says, and I look out at the view again, feeling as if I’ve started to fall in love with the place and sad at the idea of leaving. But I will have to leave eventually. Now that Daniel and I are no more, my time here will come to an end. ‘Start by celebrating the now,’ he says, and adds, ‘You should try the hot chocolate here. It’s very good.’
He motions to the waiter, who arrives and puts two cups in front of us.
‘ Merci ,’ I say.
‘ à vous! ’ he replies.
Suddenly Gabriel’s phone beeps. He pulls it from his pocket and looks at it. ‘Sorry,’ he frowns, ‘I should get this.’
‘No problem,’ I say.
‘Hey,’ he says, into the phone, cheerfully, but the relaxed Gabriel has disappeared. His shoulders have tensed, as does his face as he talks into the phone.
‘Yes, all fine,’ he says, and stirs his hot chocolate. ‘Yes, I’ll be ready.’
He reaches across the table and my heart skips. His eyes flicker to me and he gives a little smile as he listens to the caller. I realize with embarrassment he’s reaching for the sugar, adding his usual two teaspoons to his chocolate. He pushes the sugar towards me. I do the same, and stir, while focusing on the view and trying not to listen in to his conversation. He lifts his cup and knocks it back, like an espresso coffee.
I lift my cup to my lips and sip. ‘Bleurgh!’
He laughs as he finishes on the phone. ‘Too strong for you? You’ll get used to it. The stronger the better.’ He stands to head towards the bar.
‘No, wait, let’s go halves,’ I say, as I grab my bag and stand up. Then I take another sip of the hot chocolate. He can’t like it like that, can he?
It tastes of … salt.
I look at the sugar shaker on the table and pour a little into my hand. I taste it. Definitely salt. He’s put salt into his hot chocolate and seems not to have noticed.
‘Thank you for lunch. It was very kind of you,’ I say, as we step out onto the steps leading to the main street. ‘As you didn’t let me pay, it’ll be my turn next time.’ I realize what I’ve said. ‘Oh, no, I mean …’
‘Next time.’ He arches an eyebrow. ‘I look forward to it.’
‘Sorry, I forgot then, you know, mentor and student. I was just enjoying myself.’
‘Me too.’
I felt excitement in my stomach again, wishing that the lunch hadn’t ended, that I wasn’t going back to cracked bottoms and bad-tempered chocolate.
‘Call it a working lunch,’ he says. ‘You’re allowed a break and maybe you learned something too.’
‘Well, as long as the others don’t think of it as favouritism.’
‘They have all had a lot more experience in their journey to chocolate-making than you. Besides, there has to be some reward for spending your weekend trying to improve.’
We stand on the street, and shoppers pass us, the band still playing.
‘Right, well …’ We shove our hands deeper into our pockets. I’m reluctant to head back to the classroom. On the other hand, I don’t want to go to the chalet. There are so many more questions I have for him. ‘That was a wonderful lunch. Thank you again.’
‘Thank you for the company,’ he says. We start to turn in different directions, both with reluctance that such an enjoyable couple of hours has ended. I have the smell of nutty melted cheese in my head, and the taste of the chocolate mousse, chasing away the saltiness of the hot chocolate.
‘I, er …’ He turns back to me, hands still deep in his pockets. ‘If you didn’t want to go back to the classroom, I could show you a bit of this place. I’m heading up to my family farm to check on things.’
‘I’d love that,’ I say, quicker than I’d intended. ‘I mean, I’d like to see more of this place. It inspired you.’
‘It did. Come on.’ He waves towards a parked car in front of his apartment, and all of a sudden I feel like I’m skiving for the day. Just like I’d hoped Daniel and I would do. His messages have all but stopped now. I’m guessing he’s given up on us trying again. It’s probably for the best. It’s sad that we couldn’t make it work, even though we came into the adventure with our eyes wide open. We had to get to know each other better and work on things, but I won’t be made a fool of. Judging by the call I overheard, that was exactly what was happening. I can’t see any way back for us, and I’ll have to confess all to Raquel and Marianne.
The car beeps into life as he directs his key fob at it and in no time we’re leaving the main street and travelling up the mountain road. It’s narrow, the car taking up its full width, brushing against branches on the way and creating little snow plumes in the air as we pass. I can’t look down the mountainside – the drop is so steep – and pray we don’t meet another car. I grip the edge of my seat as we drive on.
‘Erm, is salt a thing in hot chocolate round here?’ I ask, trying to distract myself from the precarious road and the rockface I seem very close to.
‘Salt? In hot chocolate?’ He glances at me, then back at the road. ‘I don’t think so. Why do you ask?’
My brain is whirring. ‘No reason, I was just thinking about our hot chocolate task. Thinking through a few ideas, wondering if it’s something I should try.’ I swallow.
‘Well, I don’t think salt would be a good one. Keep it simple, strong and sweet. We have the Spanish to thank for adding the sugar. And remember, all good chocolates begin with melting chocolate.’
Something isn’t right but I’m not sure what as we turn off the main road. In the distance I can see that the track we’re now driving along opens onto a snowy yard, next to a picture-perfect Swiss farmhouse with the most breathtaking views down the mist-filled valley. That is a feeling to put into a chocolate. I smile.