Chapter 21
21
The alarm goes off as soon as my head hits the pillow, or so it seems. My eyelids are heavy but I can hear the church bells and count them. It’s time to get up. I check my phone. There’s a message from Daniel about our date this evening. I message him quickly to explain we’re having a get-together at the chalet. I follow it up by inviting him to it, maybe rashly. But, after all, I’ve met his colleagues – why shouldn’t he meet mine? But, first, we have the sculpture evaluation to get through, and Sébastien’s reaction to his.
I throw back the covers and climb down the ladder from my bunk, shiver in the shower, then quickly dress. I need to get to the classroom to check everything is still as we left it.
Outside, the snow is falling in fat flakes, like goose feathers, and is settling. I wrap my scarf tighter around my neck, pull on my snow grips and hurry out of the chalet. I set off, up the main street. It’s dark, and the snowflakes dance in the orange glow of the lanterns. I stop for a moment, the cold making my nose tingle. I breathe in fresh clean air. Perfection. If only there was a way to put it into a chocolate. There I go again, my thoughts leading back to chocolate.
A group of skiers pass me, as I reach the hotel in the middle of town, an early group hoping to catch the virgin snow. They head up to the lifts, ski passes jangling around their necks, like medals, fuelled by coffee, pastries and excitement for their day ahead.
‘ Bonjour ,’ I say to Alain, as I arrive at the school.
‘ Bonjour! By the way, I loved the hot chocolate bonbon you made.’
‘Thank you! I’m so pleased!’ I say, unwinding my scarf, hanging it on my peg, and pulling on clean chef’s whites. I want to get into the classroom before the others arrive.
‘Just eleven more chocolates to go!’
‘You’ll do it!’ He smiles.
If I’m still here after today , I think nervously. If it comes out about Sébastien’s sculpture it could be my last day at the chocolate school. As he says, who’s going to believe me over him? Why would he smash up his own sculpture?
Outside I hear the church bells ringing again, closer now, and that means only one thing: time for class.
‘ Merci, Alain, you’ve kept me going!’ I mean it. He had encouraged me in the first place. I feel as nervous now as I did on my first day. Maybe more so. After all, then I’d had no idea of what I was letting myself in for, or how much I would start to care about this place.
The others file into the classroom in front of me, Fleur giving me a knowing look, followed by Michel, who doesn’t catch my eye, and Patrice, who offers a reassuring smile. Last, Sébastien gives a sly grin.
I take a deep breath and follow the rest of the group into the classroom. ‘Wish me luck, Alain!’ I say quietly.
‘Good luck, Clara,’ he says. ‘ Bonne chance. ’ I’m holding my breath as I walk in and then I see it. It’s still there. Sébastien’s sculpture, looking, from what I can tell, as good as it was before he put a rolling pin through it. I turn slowly towards him. His face freezes in shock. His eyes widen, then narrow as he stares at the huge work of art, then back at me, sending a shiver down my spine. I look at Fleur and Michel and share a satisfied nod. Sébastien won’t be getting any of us kicked off the course today.
We walk purposefully towards our workstations. Sébastien is a little slower, staring at his piece, his cheeks pale, as if he’s seen a ghost. He glances at us one by one.
Madame Pichon claps her hands in glee when she is presented with Sébastien’s unicorn. I meet Fleur and Michel’s eyes and take a certain pride in having had a hand in making it.
‘The tempering is wonderful! The boldness of the build and the flavours, just amazing!’
Fleur gives me a little nod. ‘Good job,’ she mouths. Michel winks at me.
‘I agree. Your flavours are first class!’ says Jacques, smiling at Madame Pichon, who doesn’t return the smile but gushes some more over Sébastien.
‘You have excelled yourself, Sébastien,’ she says. ‘You are a first-class student and your family must be rightly proud that you are carrying on the family tradition of great chocolatiers.’
Sébastien’s face doesn’t move. He nods, in what looks like a gesture of solemnity, but I think it’s far more complex than that. And from our point of view, we may have helped him seal his position in the top spot.
My chocolate creation is far simpler than Sébastien’s. It’s a picnic blanket with food, a Christmas picnic with traditional flavours from Christmas when I was young. It may not stand out, but I’m pretty happy with it, especially the miniature mince pies and satsumas, and the surprise on Madame Pichon’s face.
‘Your chocolate work is good,’ she admits, with some difficulty.
‘Well done,’ agrees Jacques. His downturned mouth says he is mildly impressed.
‘It will look wonderful with the other sculptures in Reception at the final day exhibition, in just a week’s time,’ says Gabriel. Madame Pichon snaps her head round to glare at him. ‘You’ve earned your place here, Clara, among the other chocolatiers. Well done.’
Jacques raises a questioning eyebrow, like a terrier with the scent of something interesting in the air.
‘We still have the signature boxes to present. To be tasted on our final day. Also, the single chocolate task, when you will all be given the same simple ingredients and told to make a stand-out chocolate. Then, of course, our star pupil will be awarded their residency here.’
Madame Pichon turns and clips out on her stiletto heels, Gabriel following, Jacques watching them go, then ordering Alain to put the sculptures into storage ready for display.
We start to leave the classroom, some to make notes, others to get ingredients for their signature chocolates, a few for coffee. I take my moment as we head towards the door into the anteroom.
‘Sébastien,’ I say, catching up with him. He ignores me.
‘Sébastien, we were just trying to help.’ Judging by his murderous glare, he’s not in any mood to talk. And he’s not happy, not happy at all.
On the way back to the chalet from our day in the classroom, Fleur, Michel and I start to gather the makings of a party for Frédéric. We pick up bread from the baker, cheese, air-dried beef and pickles, a Black Forest Gateau, bottles of wine and beer.
Back at the chalet, we look around. ‘Let’s get this place warmed up!’ I say.
Once again, I find myself delegating and handing out instructions until the place is clean, the kitchen is clear and the fire is lit. We’ve even managed to cut down some greenery in place of a tree and hang paper snowflakes from it. With candles lit in empty wine bottles, the room looks lovely. Sébastien isn’t helping. He wanders into the kitchen, grabs a beer from the fridge and flicks off the lid.
‘Hey, pick it up,’ Michel says crossly. But Sébastien just throws him a couldn’t-care-less sneer, heads to the sofa and puts his feet up.
Michel picks up the lid and angrily throws it into the bin. I hope there won’t be trouble between them this evening. I have a feeling their mutual resentment is escalating, fuelled by today’s events in the classroom.
‘Michel, give us some Christmas Bublé!’ I say, hoping to improve the dark mood Sébastien has brought with him.
He hits the button on his phone, and in no time the chalet is feeling much more festive. We’ve lit the barbecue and Frédéric is cooking sausages as the snow falls in front of the covered balcony. Everyone seems to be warming up and having a good time.
The doorbell rings and Jacques, Alain and Gabriel arrive. Madame Pichon follows them, then Daniel appears, looking bemused and handing me a bottle of wine. He bends to kiss me, then remembers and pulls back.
‘Sorry, forgot.’ He holds up a hand, making me smile. I really like the effort he’s putting in to stick to the no-touching rule, even if I’m tempted to call it off. It does seem weird not touching a man you’ve spent several nights with. I asked him recently what his favourite colour is, only to discover he’s colour blind.
‘So this is where you’re living?’ he asks, sounding surprised.
‘Yes,’ I say, and feel a little pride. It may not be a fancy apartment, but we have made it homely. And the views over the pines from the balcony are spectacular.
‘And you don’t feel a bit out of place here, sharing with a bunch of students?’
‘Funnily enough, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more at home,’ I say. And it’s true. I would never have been hosting a party back home. Pizza nights and prosecco with two friends was the closest I got. This feels good.
‘Come in, there’s drinks, and sausages cooking on the barbecue.’
He’s smiling in surprise as I introduce him to Fleur and Michel, and offer him a glass of wine. I’m still not sure which colour he prefers.
‘Red, thank you,’ he says, and I pour.
He takes it, our fingers just touching, making me sizzle with excitement. I move my hand away. He holds my gaze, just for a moment, then turns to Fleur and Michel.
‘So you’re all at the chocolate school?’ he asks.
‘We are,’ says Michel.
‘And it’s something you’re really into?’ I like that Daniel is trying to make conversation with my friends.
I go to collect the wine bottles to top up everyone’s glass. Gabriel is at the kitchen counter.
‘So, this is your boyfriend,’ he says quietly, over his beer.
‘He’s not my boyfriend. I told you, we’re taking it slowly. Twelve dates, remember?’
‘I’m looking forward to finding out which flavours you come up with from those dates.’ He smiles.
‘Here, take these, will you?’ I hand him two baskets of bread, while I pull two wheels of cheese from the oven, bubbling and golden, smelling delicious, garlicky, with white wine.
We take the bread and the cheese over to the table where Daniel is talking to Fleur. Michel is taking selfies and gathering content, from what he’s explained to me.
‘Daniel, this is our mentor, Gabriel Hartmann, a master chocolatier, known all over the world.’
‘Oh, hi,’ says Daniel, with his charming smile.
Gabriel doesn’t return it. I’m on my way out to the balcony to check on the sausages, which Frédéric is eating and cooking. Sébastien is with him, seemingly having moved on to white wine in a pint glass.
‘Hi. You’re in finance, I hear,’ Gabriel says, without warmth.
‘Yes. That’s right. So, you’ve heard about me?’
‘I have,’ says Gabriel.
‘All good, I hope.’ Daniel laughs.
Gabriel doesn’t reply.
‘And you teach chocolate?’ Daniel asks.
‘No, I’m just a mentor. Helping others find their path.’
‘Isn’t it a bit, y’know, young, being a chocolate-maker?’ I hear Daniel say and I cringe, wondering if I should guide Daniel away from Gabriel before he offends anyone else in the room.
‘Young? As in childish?’ asks Gabriel.
‘Well, it doesn’t sound like a real job.’ Suddenly I’ve gone from being delighted he’s trying to make conversation with my friends and colleagues to my toes curling in embarrassment. Why did I think inviting Daniel here was a good idea? I’m not sure our worlds will ever mix. I have to get Daniel away from Gabriel.
‘Clara,’ calls Frédéric, from outside.
‘Hang on!’ I say to him and wave. He’s beckoning me outside.
‘And moving money around to make more money is a proper job?’ I hear Gabriel reply.
‘Well, it takes a degree of knowledge. You have to know what you’re doing.’
‘Do you imagine that with chocolate we just throw it into a saucepan and hope for the best?’
‘Oh, I’m sure there’s more to it than that.’ Daniel laughs.
‘Oh, there is, much more. Chocolate is a passion. It’s about finding out who you are, what you want to tell the world, how you want to be remembered. It helps inspire people. But, most of all, it brings a smile to people’s faces. I can’t think of many other jobs that do that. I know what I’d rather be doing.’
I’m frozen to the spot, listening.
Daniel clears his throat and Gabriel takes up a new tack. ‘So you and Clara are dating?’
‘Yes … Well, we’ve been having a break but I think we’re sorting things out now.’
There’s a pause.
‘Clara!’ Frédéric is more insistent, requiring my presence on the balcony.
‘Just don’t hurt her,’ I hear Gabriel say, and I wonder if I’ve heard him right. ‘She has become a valued colleague … and friend.’
There’s another pause.
‘I won’t,’ I hear Daniel say, and by the sound of it their conversation is over. But why would Gabriel say that? And then I repeat the words ‘valued colleague’, then ‘and friend’: I’m not Clara Mackenzie from HR any more.
Frédéric is gesturing to me and pointing to Sébastien. I hurry out onto the balcony.
‘Oh, here she is! Bloody Goody Two Shoes! Thinks she knows all about the world of chocolate, having been here for five minutes!’
Frédéric makes a drinking gesture, which tells me Sébastien has had more than is good for him.
‘Sébastien, would you like something to eat?’ I suggest.
‘No, I wouldn’t. And I don’t want any help from you.’
‘Hey!’ Michel has joined me on the balcony.
‘Just keep it down, Sébastien,’ I say.
Madame Pichon is at Gabriel’s side and he’s nodding, then walking towards the balcony.
‘Everything okay out here?’
‘No!’ says Sébastien, swaying.
‘Fine,’ say Michel, Fleur and I together.
‘Sébastien was just thinking about having a lie-down,’ says Fleur.
‘No, he bloody wasn’t. If it wasn’t for her meddling …’ He points a finger at me.
‘Really, it’s fine,’ I say to Gabriel.
‘Sure?’
I nod. ‘Nothing we can’t handle.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ he says, and looks back at Daniel, who is talking to Madame Pichon with Jacques.
‘Let’s hope your boyfriend doesn’t give Noeletta the benefit of his wisdom on where chocolate stands as a productive career choice.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend!’ And we laugh as we watch Madame Pichon pull herself up to her full height and lift her bosom, presumably preparing to tell Daniel more about the role chocolate has played in Switzerland’s history, its heritage, the communities it’s supported and financial benefits it’s brought. Even Jacques is struggling to contain a laugh as Madame Pichon takes Daniel to task.
‘I’ll walk her home. She has a headache.’
‘I bet Daniel will after his lecture.’
As I look up at him I suddenly feel something I haven’t felt before, something I know I shouldn’t feel, but attraction is pulling me towards him. As if Gabriel and I are standing alone in the night air, breathing in the smell of the sausages, warmed by the spicy red wine and the Christmas music. Everything about Gabriel Hartmann is suddenly very attractive indeed.
‘Gabriel,’ calls Madame Pichon. This time she breaks the glass of the snow globe I felt I was standing in, thinking about Gabriel and his words …
‘I’d better go,’ he says.
‘Yes, of course.’ What was I thinking?! He’s here with Noeletta Pichon. I’m here with Daniel. And, what’s more, I promised not to become one of Gabriel’s infatuated students …
‘It was a lovely evening,’ he says politely. ‘Well, this was the best bit!’ He kisses my cheek. ‘Goodnight, Clara. Thank you for all your help so far. I shall never forget it.’
With that he goes inside, helps Madame Pichon into her coat and leaves by the front door.
I hold my hand to my cheek. I didn’t experience the frisson I get when Daniel touches me. It was different. Gabriel’s kiss felt like the best chocolate in the world. It brings a smile to my face now, and a lingering memory. But I promised I wouldn’t start to find him attractive. I can’t! I’m here with Daniel. I can never let myself think about Gabriel like that again. I promised I wouldn’t.