Chapter 16
16
As I hurry back along the small main street, heading in the direction of the chalet, the Christmas lights are glowing red and gold, as are the shop windows. I pass the restaurant where we ate raclette and wish I could turn back the clock, then walk past the terrace of the hotel bar, where the band will be playing. I see a figure I recognize coming towards me. A man walking closely with a woman, laughing and joking.
Oh, no, that’s all I need!
My heart plummets, and my spirits with it – if they could sink any lower.
It’s Daniel. We’re walking towards each other on the quiet road. I can’t avoid him, or his companion. I’m trapped.
‘Hey, Clara?’ he says, stepping away from the woman.
‘What – the Clara?’ she says, as if my name is a dirty word. My cheeks burn.
‘You’re still here?’ Daniel asks, surprised.
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘I thought you’d gone home. You didn’t reply to any of my text messages.’
‘No, I didn’t. I’d said what I needed to say.’
The woman next to him shuffles.
‘So, what are you doing up here?’ he asks.
‘I live here. In a shared chalet.’
‘A shared chalet – like, with other people?’ asks the woman, in a very clipped British accent.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘And you?’ I wish this unfortunate meeting was over, and that I didn’t think he was attractive. ‘You’re a long way from the city,’ I try to joke.
‘Came for a long weekend with the gang. Work trip. Get out of the office, team building. And a weekend on the slopes.’
‘Ah … the ones you needed a partner for to make you look like one of the gang?’ I say, and the woman frowns.
‘I don’t know where you got that idea from.’
‘From you, Daniel. You butt-dialled me. I heard everything. How you needed to look like you had a steady home life, a relationship, in order to lead your team, and enjoy weekends of downtime.’ I smile at him. I’ve said it. ‘That’s not me, Daniel. I’m not here to be a convenient partner when you need one.’
The woman attempts to glare but I think the Botox may be stopping her. She gives him a gentle elbow in the ribs.
He takes a step towards me. ‘Look, I didn’t mean …’
I move back and put up a hand. ‘I know what you meant, Daniel.’
The woman tuts and stomps onwards. ‘Meet you at the hotel, Daniel.’
‘You’d better follow her.’ I nod in his companion’s direction.
‘She’s just a work colleague.’ He watches her go. ‘Clara, honestly, I really didn’t mean any of that. I’d been asked to butter up this potential client. I was just telling her what she wanted to hear. Not that I’d have done anything. I was flirting. It was part of the job, making potential clients feel good so they decide to put their business our way. It was an act, not something I meant you to hear. I promise. I didn’t mean a word of it.’
I find myself listening to him, wanting what he’s saying to be true.
‘I’m not a cheat, Clara. What you heard was part of the performance to get the investor on board. I wouldn’t have cheated on you. What we had was good.’ He takes another step forward. ‘We could have made it work.’ He’s looking at me and I look back at him. I can see the attractive face I fell for, the sparkling eyes. He’s standing right in front of me and I wish I knew what to say. I have no idea. My thoughts are swirling: I’ve upset Gabriel and now I’m with Daniel. Suddenly I’m thrown a lifeline.
‘Clara! Clara!’
Fleur is on the terrace of the bar, waving to me, holding up a large jug of beer and beckoning. The rest of the group is there too. Usually I’d hold up a hand and politely refuse, but right now, it seems like a great way to get out of this situation.
‘I have to go. Friends waiting,’ I say, and see his face drop. ‘Colleagues, housemates.’ I smile. ‘Nice to see you, Daniel.’ I step away before I do something I regret, like kiss him goodbye and remember how his kisses felt on my lips and my skin. I wave back to Fleur, getting a grip on my weakening willpower. He may be attractive, but I can’t just forget what I heard. I really don’t know him well enough to believe what he says, even though I want to. Fleur waves back, gesturing me onto the terrace.
I might never really be one of them, but right now it feels pretty close as I head towards her. As I climb the steps to the terrace, I turn back and watch Daniel typing into his phone, no doubt apologizing to his companion – and then, at the far end of the main street, I see another figure. Larger than Daniel. Wild hair blowing without a hat on, having clearly left the workshop in a hurry. It’s Gabriel. I watch and wonder whether he’s come to talk to me. But before I can wave to him, he turns and is striding away, back towards the school. I hurry into the bar, keen to get lost in the crowd, take a glass of beer from Fleur and stand among my classmates on the terrace to watch Daniel walk after his colleague, confusion written all over his face. When I look back to the glow of light where Gabriel was standing, he’s gone.
The next morning in the classroom, my head is banging. No one else seems to be in the same boat. But most of them, apart from the tutor, the principal and the guest mentor, are younger than me. Replays of drinking games run and rerun through my head: I was determined that Sébastien wasn’t going to get one over on me in that department. I’ve been doing drinking games at parties way longer than he has. I may have won the game but, judging by how I feel this morning, he may have won the tournament. I just wanted to forget about Daniel, forget how cross Gabriel was, how I shouldn’t have interfered. Forget about him walking away after he must have seen me with Daniel.
Madame Pichon sweeps into the classroom carrying what looks like a cauldron made of chocolate. Gabriel is behind her, not meeting my gaze. I can’t help wondering if they spent the night together. Not that, again, it’s any of my business. At least it stops me thinking about the yard of ale I attempted to down against the clock. And Sébastien patting me on the back, proud of my efforts. Telling me I’d done well in class that week, for a beginner. But he’s right: I’m not one of them, just someone trying to be.
‘Today, we will introduce you to the smashing of the cauldron. Most of you will know of Geneva’s tradition, but for those who don’t …’ Madame Pichon stares pointedly at me, making me feel even more of an outsider. ‘In Geneva, where I come from, we are fierce about protecting our own.’ She gives me another pointed stare, and I don’t know what she’s referring to. Has Gabriel told her what I’ve accused him of? How am I going to put this right? I squirm. I accused one of the country’s – no, one of the world’s – most prestigious chocolate-makers of being a fraud.
‘Each year,’ she explains, ‘the citizens of Geneva take part in the tradition of smashing a chocolate cauldron. Decorated with the city’s colours, red and yellow, the cauldron also features its coat of arms. It is to remind the people of the city of an attack that was made on it. Mère Royaume, who was cooking soup, threw her cauldron and its scalding contents out of the window to prevent the enemy from advancing. It symbolizes the spirit of the Genevois in protecting their own.’ Again, I can’t help thinking she has me in mind when she’s talking. ‘Every year, we chocolatiers make chocolate cauldrons. And when the cauldron is finished,’ she lifts a small silver hammer, ‘we smash it!’ It shatters into pieces. ‘Inside, marzipan fruits are designed to represent the ingredients in the soup. This may help inspire you for your signature collection, those who have yet to come up with a suitable idea.’ Once again I feel eyes on me.
‘Now, help yourself to your ingredients. By the end of the day you will present your cauldrons to the tutors.’
At lunchtime, I check the messages on my phone. There’s one from Daniel: It was good to see you last night, Clara. There is a lot I want to say and apologize for. We always said we should talk about things. Let me have the chance to talk about this with you. Dinner. A talk, nothing more.
I read it again. I quickly message Daniel back: Let me think about it.
I push my phone into my pocket after putting it on silent.
By the end of the day, after smashing the cauldron and making mistake after mistake, all I want to do is head back to the chalet and my bunk. But instead of going out of the main doors and straight back to the chalet, I take a deep breath and climb the stairs to Gabriel’s workshop, clutching an empty chocolate box. Inside the workshop I can see his silhouette, his tall frame made all the more recognizable by his mass of curly hair. I knock at the door and open it slowly.
‘Clara?’ He’s surprised, and I’m not sure if I’m welcome.
‘Is it okay if I come in?’ I’m checking that I’m not going to be shouted at again.
‘Yes, of course.’ He takes off his glasses and puts them into his top pocket. He walks down to the end of the workbench, where there’s a high stool, and perches on it. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Sorry,’ I start. ‘I wanted to say sorry.’
He goes to speak but I carry on.
‘I finished the chocolates. Your signature box. I wanted to say that I understand what you said about how they make you feel, whatever you have going on right now. It’s not my business, but you should remember how proud you were when you made them.’
Tears are glistening in his eyes.
‘I just wanted to learn more,’ I say. ‘I’m stuck in a place and I thought being here, doing this, might help unstick me. Stop me going back to life as it was. I overstepped the mark. I’m sorry. I got it wrong. I don’t know what I was thinking of. Call it break-up madness. I seem to have spent the last couple of weeks just following chocolate-makers on Instagram, picking up tips and techniques. Maybe I’ve got a bit too close to it all. Maybe it’s why my relationship didn’t work. Anyway, I realize I’m way out of my depth. I know I’ll never be in the running for the residency, but I’ve loved my time here. I know my behaviour yesterday was unacceptable, and if you want me to leave the course, I’ll understand. I really had no right saying what I said.’
He nods, deep in thought. But he says nothing.
‘Well, let me know,’ I say. ‘And, again, I’m sorry. I lost sight of things. It’s not my business as to why you’re here, hiding – or not,’ I add quickly. He doesn’t respond. My cheeks are burning. I was expecting more of a reaction, anger, a dressing-down, disappointment … but not this.
Slowly, I start walking away from the workshop, down the marble steps.
‘Wait!’
I catch my breath and grip the handrail. Is he going to report me to Madame Pichon? Will I have to leave? I hold my breath and turn slowly.
‘It’s me who should be saying sorry. Can we talk? Please, let me explain. But not here. Let’s go to my apartment. Walls tend to have ears,’ he says.
‘You were right,’ he says, handing me a cup of hot chocolate in front of the fire. It’s snowing steadily outside and the flakes are dancing under the streetlights. ‘No one knows. I’ve lost my sense of taste. I can smell, just, but no taste at all. That must have been why I put salt in my hot chocolate. You were right. You get into routines. Try to cover it up. But I guess not everyone is easy to fool.’ He smiles. ‘I tried to come after you, to apologize, when you left here yesterday,’ he stirs his hot chocolate in the small, dark blue cup on a saucer, ‘but you were with …’ he hesitates ‘… a friend.’
Daniel. Hardly a friend. But if he’s not a friend, what is he? I think about his text. Do I want to talk to him? Clear the air?
He drinks his hot chocolate, then puts his empty cup on the table.
‘Actually, glass of wine?’
‘Why not?’ I say, wondering if it’ll cure my headache.
He opens the bottle with a pop and pours, then hands me a glass.
‘Covid changed a lot for many people. For me, I lost the thing that mattered most, my sense of taste. My ability to create. I didn’t know what else to do. I can’t let anyone know. Me helping out on this course is a favour in return for a quiet workshop here at the school, where I studied. I thought coming back would restart my system. Help my sense of taste come back.’
‘Any sign that it might?’
He raises an eyebrow at me.
‘No, of course not, sorry.’ I sip my wine. ‘And you didn’t think anyone would notice?’
‘I hoped not. If word gets out, it could ruin me.’
We fall into silence, just the crackle of the logs and the sound of Friday-night après -skiers trudging to the bar. I sip the fruity red wine.
‘So, what happens now?’ I ask.
‘Well, I can’t let Jacques know, that’s for sure. I had a plan. I just needed to produce one last box of chocolates.’
‘Last?’
‘You don’t need to know. The fewer who do, the better.’
‘What’s Jacques got to do with it?’
He lets out a long sigh, his shoulders dropping. I say nothing. ‘I just need to produce this one box.’
‘I won’t tell anyone, Gabriel. I promise,’ I say gently. He seems to relax a little. ‘What’s Jacques’s problem?’
‘You cannot survive in this world unless you are at the top of your game. If I can’t produce this final box, my line will end. And Jacques will be happy to see me fall from grace, believe me. But people will be hurt. I’ll have to lay off my workers, one way or another.’
‘But you can’t.’
‘I have no choice. Everyone is waiting for the new Gabriel Hartmann signature range and I can’t deliver it. And even when I do … I’ll still have to—’ He breaks off.
I sit forward on the sofa holding my glass in both hands. ‘I’ll help.’
‘Why would you do that?’ He throws up a hand. ‘And how?’
‘Let’s just say I like how it makes me feel. And I told you, call it my forfeit for dropping my bread.’ I try to lighten the mood a little.
We stare at each other.
‘I’ll help you and you’ll be helping me. I want to learn how to do this. I want to be good at it. I’m beginning to love it, but I have so much catching up to do. I don’t want to go home feeling I failed here. The one time I took a leap of faith and fell flat on my face!’
He’s thinking.
‘Gabriel, it’s not me we’re talking about here. It’s you and your signature box. Now, are you going to let me help you or not?’
‘And you promise to tell no one? About me?’
‘I’ll describe to you what needs to be described. And you’ll teach me how to be a better chocolatier. I’ll be your apprentice for the time being. I’ll help you after school, in the workshop. No one will know.’
He looks at me, clearly trying to find the catch in the idea.
‘I’m not one of your mad fans. I’m not going to try to sleep with you! I just want to learn more about making chocolate.’
A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. ‘That’s a promise, is it? You won’t be trying to seduce me?’
‘Absolute promise! Anyway, you’re not my type and I’m done with relationships. This is about finding me! I’ll be forty soon and have never found love, had a family, got married. I thought coming here and taking a leap of faith with a relationship was the answer. It really wasn’t. But maybe being the best I can be at this, telling myself I can go for the residency if I work really hard, is what I need to do.’
‘Well, it certainly changed my life. That year was the best thing that ever happened to me.’
‘I have to try … or go back to my old life and a Mr Tickle mug.’
‘A what?’
‘Doesn’t matter. I just don’t want to go home yet. I’m only just beginning to find myself. And you know how much I liked your first signature box.’
He smiles. ‘Very well. To my apprentice. And finding what we need!’
‘When do we begin?’
‘No time like the present.’
We clink glasses to our new-found partnership.