Chapter 14
14
‘So, this is my family’s farm,’ he says.
We continue down the drive, cleared of snow, the chalet farmhouse coming closer. It seems to be welcoming us.
‘This is where I come when I need to clear my head. Let’s hope it works for you too.’
‘Wow!’ is all I can say. The mountains look just like the peaks of a Toblerone bar. Ahead, snuggled into the rockface, I see the farmhouse, its sloping red roof just showing where lumps of snow have fallen off.
We pull up outside as a man and a woman come out to wave at us. A white dog with pointed ears is there to greet us too.
‘This is my cousin Ralph and his wife Béatrice,’ says Gabriel, after hugging them warmly and telling them he’s brought a student from the chocolate school to look around. ‘Like I say, this farm has been providing milk for the chocolate factory for two generations, as have other farms around here.’
‘What would you like to see first? Perhaps you’d like to meet the cows,’ suggests Ralph. He leads me to a big barn where the cows are munching sweet-smelling hay from metal troughs.
‘These cows are what make my chocolate different. It’s because of them. There is no milk powder used in my chocolate. It’s fresh milk, the flora and fauna they graze on, the air up here, the happy life they lead.’ Gabriel leans forward to rub a cow’s forehead. ‘Come, say hello,’ he says.
I study the big creatures warily. ‘Er, not sure I’ve ever been this close to a cow before.’
‘They won’t bite,’ he says, and laughs, as does Ralph kindly.
I stretch out my hand tentatively and stop. Gabriel takes it and, despite my thick gloves, I’m excited as he guides my hand towards the cow and places it on her forehead.
‘See? She likes you,’ he says, as the cow nudges me when I stop scratching. I carry on.
‘What’s her name … or don’t you do names?’
‘We do, for some. The favourites. And this is definitely a favourite.’ Ralph smiles at Gabriel.
‘She’s called May. My favourite time of year when the cows are back on the higher fields, grazing.’
‘And how often are they milked?’
‘Twice a day,’ says Gabriel. ‘It’s hard work, but Ralph and Béatrice seem to love it.’
‘I can see why. I don’t think I would ever leave!’ I say.
‘Well, just until …’ He stops himself.
‘Until what?’ I ask.
He waves a hand. ‘Until … we decide not to farm any more.’ He gives a tight smile.
‘But that will never be, clearly. Who wouldn’t want to live here and do this for ever?’ I’m mentally taking pictures in my mind, then grab my phone, pull off my gloves with my teeth, photograph the cows, and the views from outside the shed … views I would find hard to put into words. Mountains and pines with snow-clad branches. And the smell. I wish I could bottle it. It’s so clear and fresh.
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I’m trying to decide what this place smells of. How I can remember it.’
‘Smells can form an image, tastes too. All of my first collection was based on the smells and tastes of this place, my home.’
‘And after that?’
‘Places I’d visited, been inspired by – Asia, Africa, New York.’
‘New York?’
‘Oh, yes, there’s even a bagel and pastrami chocolate! That was a mistake, I admit.’ He throws back his head and gives a carefree laugh.
‘Like my Thai green curry …’
‘To be honest, it could work in the right proportions. Anything can work if you use it wisely, carefully and in the right proportions, as long as it makes you feel something.’
‘No wonder they call you the maverick chocolatier.’
‘Do they?’ He raises an eyebrow.
‘Oh, yes! Didn’t you know?’
He nods. ‘Yes, but I have only ever done and created what I felt in here.’ He touches his chest with his large hands and I wonder how he can do such fine chocolate work with them. Everything seems to come back to chocolate right now.
‘What’s up?’
‘I was thinking about chocolate, actually.’
‘That’s a good thing.’
‘So all the flavours in your first box came from here?’
‘Yes.’
‘And now?’
‘And now …’ he lets out a long sigh ‘… I’m not sure what I want to say in the collection.’ He looks at the cows. ‘Part of me wants to return to where it all began. I suppose that’s why I ended up coming here to try to work.’
‘And the other part?’ I can smell the hay on the cows’ warm breath as they chew.
He shrugs. ‘A nod to where I’ve been,’ he says.
‘And maybe where you’re going?’ I offer.
He looks at me with his dark eyes. ‘Exactly … wherever that may be.’
‘Well, presumably back to your workshop and travelling the world.’ I gaze out of the barn again. ‘Although I can imagine it’s hard to leave this place. But a mix of where you’ve come from, where you are and where you’re going sounds like a good blend of experiences to me. Not that you should be listening to me, of course. Sorry, I mean, what do I know?’
‘By the sound of it, a lot more than you realize,’ he says, staring straight at me. ‘Worked out what the smell reminds you of?’
‘It …’ I say slowly. ‘It reminds me of … Oh, this is going to sound silly.’
‘Say it anyway,’ he says.
I take a deep breath. ‘It reminds me of a Christmas when I was young and Gran was still alive. Before … When everything felt … safe, like a blanket was wrapped around me and nothing bad could happen.’
‘Go on,’ he urges.
‘Back then, I remember the anticipation, the waking in the morning, hoping I’d done everything I could to get the present I wanted. I remember the smell of the Christmas pine filling the house, the stock simmering on the hob, chocolates from Woolworths hanging from the tree, a selection box and a satsuma in a bag, with a few nuts for amusement. She knew I wouldn’t eat them and would put them back into the bowl in the living room when I thought she wasn’t watching. She only ever bought them for my great-grandmother, who insisted on them every year, plus sherry and Turkish delight.’ I chuckle. ‘We weren’t close to her, but she came every year for Christmas. Everything was always the same and I liked that. It felt safe. There was always a plate of misshapen mince pies on the table when we opened our presents, then turkey, ham and pigs in blankets for lunch, followed by Christmas pudding and trifle. Later in the day there would be a chocolate log. I’d feel so full and just wanted it never to end,’ I smile, ‘until …’
‘It did?’ he says softly.
I nod.
‘After she died, none of it was the same. I wasn’t prepared for that. It was like she left and forgot to tell me what I was supposed to be doing, how to take things over. She didn’t leave a handbook. And my mum really wasn’t up to the job. She hadn’t had to be a mum all the time my gran was there. She told me I was too old for Christmas stuff, although she always bought me a selection box.’
Tears sprang to my eyes. ‘Gosh, sorry, it must be the fresh air up here!’ I wipe them away.
‘Losing someone or something we take for granted can be a shock. Maybe something we never get over,’ he’s looking ahead at the mountains, ‘but it sounds to me as if you have all the perfect ingredients for your own signature box.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes! Keep it simple. Do what makes you happy. Trifle, chocolate log, mince pies … a very British Christmas.’
I stare at him. ‘Why have I been finding it so hard to come up with something?’
‘Because sometimes what you’ve been searching for is under your nose. You just have to realize it.’
My mind flits to Daniel. Was he under my nose? Did I write off our relationship too soon? Should I have stuck it out longer and worked through things instead of just running away? Asked about the phone call?
We leave the cows and walk slowly out of the barn towards the amazing view in front of us, really like walking into a Christmas card.
‘Imagine a restaurant, somewhere like this, serving each course based on chocolate.’
‘I always use chocolate in my chilli con carne,’ he says.
‘But imagine … a whole chocolate experience in the location where the milk for the chocolate comes from.’
We walk over the snow towards the warm orange glow of the window in the farmhouse, the smoke from the chimney.
‘It must have been amazing travelling to all the places you’ve been. You’ve come a long way since growing up here. You have family?’
‘Er, a daughter. She’s at university. We don’t … We’re not really close.’
We walk a little further. ‘She must be proud of you, though. Did she follow in your footsteps?’
He clears his throat. ‘I’m not sure proud is a word she would use. More like hopeless.’
‘I’m sure she doesn’t think you’re hopeless.’
He sighs. ‘I have spent most of her life travelling around the world. I’ve missed birthdays and Christmases.’
‘Does she come here?’
The snow is falling and the day has started to darken.
‘I haven’t been here much myself,’ he says, ‘until now.’
‘Maybe you should invite her.’
‘I’d like that. When I have everything sorted. When the box is ready and … everything else.’
I’m curious, but don’t ask any more.
‘I’m afraid that life was tough for her with me travelling all the time. Eventually, her mother, my wife, had had enough.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘She left me. We divorced and she remarried, to a much more suitable husband. Someone who was there in the evenings, went on family holidays, turned up for school concerts, instead of being stuck on planes and in airports. But … I hope to make my daughter proud, soon. We haven’t spoken in a while. I’m hoping to have some good news to share with her. Try to make up for the years I’ve missed. You?’
I shake my head.
‘Never quite managed that bit. After Gran died, my mum hung around until I was legally an adult and then she went to Spain. I moved in with my boyfriend of the time. Thought it would make everything normal somehow. But it wasn’t right. We were with each other all the time and he didn’t like me having friends of my own so I knew it was time to get out. I found a room to rent with a couple of girls I worked with and we grew up together. Well, they’ve moved on but I stayed put in my job. I suppose I found the routine comfortable. But when Daniel and I met online, then went out and got on, I had the chance of redundancy. I thought it was time to break out of my comfort zone, take a chance on finding love.’
‘But you didn’t?’
I shrug. ‘It doesn’t seem so. I think we may have gone about it all wrong.’
‘Sometimes the best recipes come about by making a mistake. Look at Guinness, or Eton Mess!’ he says, making me smile.
‘Now,’ he claps his gloved hands together. ‘You hungry?’ he asks, as we come to stand by the door of the chalet.
‘I can’t believe I’m saying it after that lunch, but yes! I should probably be getting back and finding something to eat.’
‘No, Béatrice will have something on the go.’
‘Sure?’
‘Sure.’ The smile returns to his face. He opens the door and holds it for me, the heat reaching out to welcome me. He looks out at the darkening evening. ‘Where I’ve come from, where I’ve been and where I’m going …’ He nods slowly.
I can tell the creative cogs are turning in his mind, which looks very attractive indeed.
‘Come in, come in,’ says the woman in the kitchen. ‘Pull up a chair. You’re welcome!’
The kitchen is everything I imagine a Swiss chalet kitchen to be. The fire is lit. There are candles in the window where the snow is gathering in the corners of the panes outside. Daylight is leaving and I can just make out the shape of the mountains on the other side of the valley and the outline of the tall pines.
‘I heard you have tried raclette . Now you have to try our fondue!’ She smiles warmly, and despite a glorious lunch, I can eat again.
‘The only thing you have to remember with fondue,’ she tells me, ‘is the forfeit!’
‘The forfeit?’
‘Ah, yes, we take it very seriously indeed,’ says Gabriel.
‘You put a piece of bread on your fork, swirl it in the melted cheese around the pot, lift it out and eat it. If you lose your bread in the pot, you have to do a forfeit.’
‘It could be buying some drinks, or taking one, or even singing a song,’ she says. ‘Don’t worry – it’s not usually too bad.’
Gabriel pulls out a chair for me at the table. ‘Maybe I’ll have you helping me in my workshop, being my assistant.’ He chortles.
‘And I’ll get you to help me master the art of tempering.’ I smile back.