Chapter 15
15
Four weeks to Christmas
The following week, I put everything I felt at the farm into the chocolate flavours I’m working on. Most of all, I want to describe the elation I experienced when I first saw the view. It was heady, and left me wanting to see what the mountains are like in the spring when they’re covered with flowers and the cows are grazing on the higher slopes. More than that, Gabriel and I seem to have slipped into a friendship. He is guiding me on how to make the best chocolate, and we’re finding common ground, shared taste in music, films and food, debating the benefits of raclette over fondue and the other way round. Somehow, up there, everything that was worrying me just slipped away. It’s a very special place.
I imagine the fields filled with the scent of the flowers that grow there and start to create a ganache with their flavours. Another for that feeling when I’m looking at the mist as it begins to lift and the mountains are still there to welcome me. A sense of being grounded … which is exactly what I want to feel right now. But how to describe it in a flavour? I can’t work it out. How can I put what I felt when I smelt that clean air into chocolate flavourings?
I think about doing a very milky one, with white and milk chocolate, to represent the milk from the cows I met. Especially Rose, a friendly brown and white cow. She was my favourite.
The more I think about the farm, the more I want to go back and the more I want to put what I felt there into flavours. Like sitting in the kitchen, by the fire with Gabriel’s cousin and his wife, a feeling of family. I could use spices for the fire and brandy for the warmth I felt, like a huge hug in that kitchen.
And, seemingly, the judges are starting to nod their approval with my latest creations, on a cake, in a Christmas scene with figurines … again. This time, they don’t collapse.
‘A little more attention to the design detail, please,’ says Madame Pichon, but nods her approval.
‘Yes, attention to detail,’ Jacques repeats. ‘And watch the balance in your flavours,’ he adds.
Gabriel smiles. ‘Well done. You are beginning to tell your story,’ he says. ‘You are at the start of your journey.’
Madame Pichon gives a sharp sniff.
Jacques looks at Gabriel, arms folded, eyes narrowed.
I work late into the night all that week. And as I do, I begin to have an idea. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea, or a dreadful one, but there is one chocolate in particular I want to deliver this week.
Come Thursday, when all the students have left and are heading to the bar in town, I make my way out of the classroom, checking that no one has seen me, climb the big wide staircase and find my way to Gabriel’s workshop in a quiet corner of the first floor.
I knock on the door tentatively.
‘ Oui, all?! ’ he calls.
I push the door open. ‘Gabriel?’
‘Hey,’ he says, pulling off his glasses. ‘You’ve had a good week.’ He smiles, making my stomach fizz, like a strawberry bonbon on my tongue. ‘Your chocolates started to tell us how you feel about being here. By the way, there’s a band playing in the town tonight. At the hotel. They’re good. A bit more geared towards our taste. Maybe you’d like to go later. It’s nearly the end of the week and you deserve a break.’
A little frisson of excitement zips around my body. He seems to have this effect on me, like some alchemy I can’t explain when I’m with him, just him and me, like up at the farm.
‘Older than my fellow students’ taste?’
‘All shouting and no tune.’
‘You sound like someone’s father.’
‘I am!’
The laughter peters out.
‘Um, I …’ I wonder if I’m making the right decision here. Maybe not. Maybe I should turn and run. ‘How’s your new signature range going?’
‘Slowly,’ he growls.
I swallow.
‘I brought you this … I wondered if it might …’
He turns to study the chocolate I’m holding on a small white plate. ‘Your decorating is getting better. It has a good shine and I like the vibrant colour.’
‘I thought you might.’
‘What’s it about, this chocolate?’ he asks.
I hesitate. ‘Helping … a friend.’
‘Intriguing,’ he says, picking it up and holding it to his nose. ‘What flavours did you use?’
I give a little cough. ‘Just a little vanilla and rose. For Rose, the cow.’
‘You took a shine to her.’
‘She was a lovely cow. They all were. I loved it there.’
He taps the chocolate. ‘Good tempering,’ he says, putting on his glasses and looking down at it with an approving nod.
I watch him as he opens his mouth and bites. I hold my breath.
‘Good,’ he says, and puts the other half back on the plate, brushing his hands.
I stare at him. ‘And the filling?’
‘Good,’ he repeats, and my heart plummets.
I drop my head, while holding the plate.
‘What? What’s up? You’re doing well!’
I take a deep breath.
‘Gabriel … I know this may be none of my business, but you’ve been really helpful to me, encouraging me, and I wondered if I could help you too. Call it my forfeit for losing my bread in the fondue.’
He frowns.
I take a deep breath, then say what I’ve been thinking ever since he drank hot chocolate with salt in it and didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘You can’t taste it, can you?’
There is a moment of very awkward silence when I wish I could take back the words, every single one. And then he shakes his head, frowns and laughs.
‘What? No. I can taste – of course I can!’
I take another deep breath. ‘That’s why you told me my flavours were bland. You can’t taste them.’
He stares at me. ‘What? You’re being ridiculous!’
‘My flavour wasn’t bland. It was just dreadful. And Noeletta Pichon is too scared to tell you the truth, because you are the master chocolatier! And Jacques seems to agree with everything she says!’
‘Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.’
‘It’s why this new range of chocolates is so stressful for you.’
He stands and stares at me, then turns away. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m the mentor here. Like you say, the master chocolatier.’
And just like that, the walls that have seemingly melted away over the last week are back in place, his barricade well and truly up.
‘I know you can’t taste, Gabriel, and I can help you.’
‘That’s ridiculous! I thought you’d taken that criticism on board and you’re really getting the hang of things. It’s completely insane to say that …’
‘Is it?’
He says nothing.
‘You can’t taste. You know it. That’s why you put salt instead of sugar in your hot chocolate. That’s why you’re hiding here. Looks like I’m not the only one who has no idea of what their future holds.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. Shut the door on the way out,’ he replies angrily.
I storm out, wishing I hadn’t tried to help. My eyes are smarting with hot salty tears at my well-intentioned idea that couldn’t have gone worse.
I grab my coat from the classroom, wishing Alain a brief goodnight, hurry out into the snow and back towards the town. You shouldn’t have got involved, I tell myself angrily, pulling my coat tightly around myself. Why does it even matter to me? I know the answer and that makes me even crosser. I’m finding him more and more attractive and I have to stop that happening. But how can he be so stubborn? Why not just admit what’s true? That chocolate was made from minced garlic and lime pickle! ‘Good flavours’, indeed! I shake my head. He knows I’m right, but I shouldn’t have got so close to him or his problems. He clearly doesn’t need my help or my interference. He made that quite clear.