Chapter 30
30
I wake to someone shaking my shoulder gently. I try to lift my head and my neck is sore, making me grimace.
‘Hey, sleepy head,’ says a voice I recognize. ‘I’ve made you coffee.’
I open my eyes. ‘What’s the time?’ I ask. I barely remember falling asleep as I try to sit up and hear the church bells ring.
‘Time to get moving,’ says Sébastien.
I sit up among the coats hanging above me where I’ve slept on the bench below them in the anteroom.
‘How come you ended up here?’ Sébastien hands me the coffee. ‘White, one sugar,’ he says. ‘I took a guess at it.’
‘I …’ My voice cracks. ‘I wanted to make my final chocolate. I knew exactly what the end of the journey should feel like. I couldn’t help myself. I know I can’t submit it for the final judging as part of my course work. I didn’t finish all the tasks. I won’t complete the course. This was my final chocolate for my signature box, the twelfth. But I didn’t make the single chocolate. Same ingredients given to all. I should have. But I couldn’t leave here without completing my signature box, making the last chocolate exactly as I wanted it. I had to make it to remember how it made me feel.’
I sip the hot coffee. Michel arrives and hands me a warm croissant.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘It’s an almond one.’
‘ Bonjour! ’ It’s Alain. ‘Good to see you here,’ he says to me. ‘We’re starting to assemble the pieces for the presentation.’
‘Oh, yes, of course.’ I straighten myself up. ‘I should go! I’m no longer a student, I suppose, since I failed to complete the single chocolate task.’
But go where? Perhaps a walk into town – I could do a little window shopping, but there hardly seems any point as I’ll spend Christmas on my own again this year. But where? On my sofa back in my house with my tenant, Pot Noodle Pauline, and her friend who’s moved in whilst I’m away?
‘Stay,’ Alain says. ‘Finish your coffee and croissant.’
‘But I’m not a student any more. I walked out, remember? Or ran out. I didn’t finish my final classroom task. The single chocolate. If we didn’t finish all the tasks, we haven’t completed the course. I can’t be here when Madame Pichon arrives, and I can’t face seeing Jacques. They were right. I didn’t finish the course. They knew I wouldn’t.’
‘But you did,’ says Patrice.
‘Not the final piece! I left my grinder on when I left the building. I didn’t get that last piece in on time.’
‘No,’ says Fleur.
‘We did!’ says the group as one, beaming.
‘What?’ I look around at their smiling faces.
‘We weren’t going to let you leave without getting over the finish line,’ says Fleur.
‘If anyone deserves that certificate it’s you,’ says Michel. So not only have you completed your sculpture, made a fabulous last chocolate for your signature collection but you have your single stand-alone chocolate too. You completed the course!’
‘You helped to get us through the last six weeks, so it’s only right you come with us,’ says Sébastien.
‘You made us realize that team work was far better than working alone,’ says Michel.
And we fall into a very happy, and on my part slightly teary, group hug.
And suddenly I need to tell Gabriel what the other students have done and about the chocolate I made last night. My final chocolate in my signature collection, the never-ending kiss. The chocolate where I have left my heart. It’s him I love.
I stand up, hurry out of the anteroom and across the reception area where the receptionist is walking towards me.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ I say, and slow to a fast walk.
She laughs. ‘I shall miss your speed,’ she tells me, as she adds more greenery to the decorations. The space is starting to feel festive, with Alain up a ladder hanging stars from wires. Church candles stand on the reception desk and the scent of pine fills the air.
‘And I’ll miss everything about here,’ I tell her. ‘Merry Christmas.’
‘And to you, Clara,’ she says, finally acknowledging she knows my name and making me feel I belong.
I hurry up the stairs. I can hardly wait to pick up with Gabriel where I left off last night. As midnight ticked around I knew Daniel would be waiting for my return. Instead, as the clock turned to twelve, I deleted his number from my phone. There was no going back.
‘Gabriel,’ I say, as I launch myself up the stairs and into his workshop. But something feels different and very wrong. He’s not here. In fact, nothing of his is here. He’s gone.
I look around. All his flavourings from the shelves have gone, his chocolate moulds and the chocolates. He said he was leaving, but I thought he’d be here for the presentation. Looks like he couldn’t wait to go. I replay the events of yesterday evening: riding on the snowplough, arriving here, him tasting the chocolates, his sense of taste returning, that kiss, and me running out. Did he think I’d gone back to Daniel after all? A change of heart? I’d told him I wasn’t going back to Daniel. But I didn’t tell him how I felt about him. I should have told him exactly how I felt, even if we couldn’t be together. What have I done? I look around the empty workshop. All I have left is the chocolate I made to remind me of that kiss. The one I wanted to last for ever. The final chocolate in my signature box of chocolates.
By late afternoon, the school is a hive of activity and excitement. There are plinths on which the installations are standing throughout the reception area. Fairy lights weave through the greenery around Reception, the stars from the ceiling light up and the tree in the stairwell is finally twinkling with hundreds of tiny white lights, like the sky at night when it isn’t snowing. Outside the snow has stopped.
One by one, the installations are placed on the plinths and dressed with ivy, winding around the solid stands. They’re lit with more tiny fairy lights, and Alain positions footlights to show off the installations to their best advantage.
Sébastien’s is brought out into the foyer and placed on its plinth. Alain carefully directs the light up towards it. ‘It looks fabulous,’ Sébastien clasps his hands. ‘Thank you!’
‘It does,’ I agree. ‘Have you changed your mind about not wanting a life in chocolate-making?’
‘No way!’ he says, making me laugh. ‘But I have an idea about how not to be a chocolatier.’
‘How?’
His eyes are sparkling. ‘Can’t tell you. Just wait.’
And still I’m hoping Gabriel will reappear at the school, but as time marches on, there’s no sign of him. My installation comes out, much smaller than all the others, especially Michel’s, which is a huge Prada handbag, and Frédéric’s Christmas tree covered with candy canes – some are missing. Maybe he got peckish. Patrice has scrapped his plans to copy the forest scene Sébastien did early on in the course and finally made his own sculpture of a jug of beer and glasses, just like the ones from the bar in town. Finally Fleur’s is brought out and I catch my breath. There is a universal hush as Alain and she carry it into place, with Sébastien and Michel’s help. As it’s put on the central plinth, we stand back and stare. It’s beautiful, with all the bright colours of her grandmother’s home and a Caribbean Christmas under the cacao tree. Decorations hang from the tree, and a table is filled with the flavours of the island, fresh fruit, and jugs of rum punch. There’s even a little light that works as a star on the tree. Everyone stops to admire it and Michel has already posted it on his social media.
Then, in the classroom, our signature boxes are laid out at our workstations, surrounded by Christmas decorations and foliage. And on the front desk, there’s a plate of our single stand-alone plain chocolates, where we were all given the same ingredients. I did it. I finished the course. And only one thing is missing to make this day perfect, or one person: Gabriel.
By six o’clock, I’ve found a change of clothes in my suitcase. I shower in the bathroom off the anteroom and put on a little black dress with some jewellery.
‘I have just the thing to go with that,’ says Fleur, as I come out of the bathroom, and hands me a brightly coloured scarf. ‘This is no time to be a wallflower,’ she says. ‘Time to celebrate our achievements. Happy Christmas!’
‘The guests are coming!’ calls Frédéric.
I thank Fleur, hugging her, before we make our way out of the anteroom and into Reception. Waiters and waitresses are standing by the door, dressed in black trousers and white shirts with black bow-ties, holding silver trays of sparkling wine. Christmas music plays gently in the background. The church candles are lit in clusters, and the whole place smells heavenly, just as Christmas should smell.
Family and friends start to arrive in Reception, brushing snow from their hats, coats and boots.
‘Come on, showtime!’ says Michel, and snaps a picture of us all saying, ‘Ganache,’ instead of ‘Cheese’, except Sébastien, who of course says, ‘ Fromage! ’
Noeletta Pichon has emerged from her office in a stunning black dress with pearls, her hair in its usual chignon, and is welcoming guests as they arrive through the front doors with a blast of cold air.
There’s excitement in the air, a mix of anticipation and end-of-term celebration. The guests all walk around the installations in the foyer and then are invited into the classroom to try samples of our signature boxes and then our single chocolate, each with a number next to it. They write their favourite’s number on a piece of paper and put it into the gold-covered box there.
I watch the door, but Gabriel doesn’t come. It’s nearly time for the announcement of the residency. End-of-term elation at finishing the course and a spritz of Christmas magic is in the air, as more snow falls. It’s as if we’re in a shaken snow globe. I turn away from the doors, finally giving up all hope of Gabriel coming.
‘Oh, there’s my folks,’ says Sébastien, knocking back his glass of fizz and grabbing another. ‘Wish me luck,’ he says to me.
‘Good luck!’ But I’ve no idea why he needs it. A smart couple enter the foyer and Madame Pichon practically falls over herself to be the first to greet them.
There’s a hush over the room as everyone spots the chocolate royalty.
‘Sébastien,’ booms his father.
He kisses his parents’ cheeks.
‘Now, show me your work,’ his father instructs, and Sébastien leads them first to the unicorn, past me, and gives me a little wink, then into the classroom to taste his signature box. I look over the rows of my own signature chocolates and slip a couple of my favourites into my pocket to savour later. Guests follow the family into the classroom where Sébastien directs his parents to his workstation.
His father and mother reach for a chocolate. Shiny, brightly coloured. They sniff, tap, bite and chew. Sébastien seems to be holding his breath. His father’s face breaks into a wide smile and he holds up his hands as if he’s about to clasp his son’s face for joy.
‘I knew you’d make a chocolate like this!’
‘It’s wonderful,’ says his mother.
‘I knew it. The future of our chocolate company is safe if it makes chocolates as good as these!’
I see Sébastien take a very deep breath.
‘I’m glad you like them,’ he says.
‘I do, I do,’ agrees his father.
‘And they are made by the very person you need to take the business forward.’
‘ Oui! ’ his father says excitedly.
‘And this is that person, Michel … from Belgium.’ Sébastien holds out a hand to Michel, who clearly had no idea that Sébastien had switched their boxes just before his parents arrived.
‘Belgium?’ His father looks at Michel, then at the chocolate in his hand and back to Michel. Then he puts the other half of the chocolate he’s holding into his mouth, just to be sure he’s tasted it correctly. He nods slowly. ‘It’s very good.’
‘And Michel is the face of chocolate on social media. He has more than a million followers, all wanting to know where they can buy his signature chocolates.’
‘That’s all very well, but you are my son. It’s you I want to take on the business. Where are your chocolates?’
‘These are mine.’ Sebastain holds out a tray. His mother and father take one and bite. ‘All based on cheese. Chocolate and cheese!’ he says proudly.
‘Hideous!’ his father booms. His mother screws up her face.
‘Well, not hideous, but a work in progress,’ says Sébastien, biting into one and looking rather pleased with himself. His father turns to Michel, and I walk over to Sébastien.
‘That was brave,’ I say quietly.
‘I’m shaking like a leaf. I could do with another drink!’ he says. ‘Any sign of Gabriel?’
I shake my head.
‘Maybe he just needed to get to the States and sign the deal before Jacques managed to spread the word.’ He pats my arm.
‘Young man, it seems my son has a rather unusual way of trying to explain to me that you may be the person for the job I’ve had lined up for him since he was born.’
Michel looks uncomfortable. ‘Well, I’m certainly a fan of your chocolate company,’ he says, ‘and I think there’s lots of scope for working with a social-media influencer.’
‘Well,’ says Sébastian’s father, ‘if my son recommends you, I’d better listen to him. How about we meet to talk more about this straight after Christmas? Strike while the iron is hot.’
‘I’d love that,’ says Michel, bursting with energy again.
‘ Bon! Good!’ says Sébastien’s father, and Michel walks over to his friend. They pull each other into a hug and pat each other soundly on the back.
‘Thanks, mate!’
‘Thank you, mate!’ says Sébastien. ‘I’m now free to go and enjoy as much cheese as I can make and eat.’
‘I’ll be there when you open your cheese-making workshop! I’ll stream it live!’
Sébastien grins. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’
I feel my nose prickle and a warm glow around my neck.
‘Now,’ Jacques’s voice cuts through the hubbub, ‘we have the single chocolate award to announce and, of course, the year’s residency at the chocolate school.’
‘The winner of the award for best single chocolate – we have counted the votes – is number four … Clara!’ says Jacques, practically laughing with surprise. The rest of the students gather round and hug me. Sébastien is smiling and clapping. Madame Pichon is so surprised she can hardly clap.
‘It was the grinding,’ says Fleur, ‘you leaving the grinder on made it extra smooth.’ She hugs me.
‘You win this year’s single-chocolate trophy,’ Jacques says. ‘Please come here. Now, we have a couple of people from the press here, keen to find out everything that goes on at a chocolate school, so please smile over there.’ A flash goes off, taking my picture, and suddenly I’m nervous again.
‘Where’s Gabriel Hartmann?’ calls a photographer.
Jacques glances around uncomfortably.
‘You said you had a story for us,’ says another.
So this is how Jacques plans to expose Gabriel. He’s arranged for the press to be here. No wonder Gabriel has left already. There is nothing I can do.
‘And now for the residency. Our school president, Noeletta Pichon, is here to announce the winner.’
She looks cross, really cross, clearly expecting Gabriel to be there. She’s whispering with Jacques. She takes a moment to run over her notes and then lifts her chin defiantly, determined to carry on as normal, even if the journalists are here for Gabriel.
‘Our winner is someone who has put their heart and soul into their chocolate-making. They are telling a story bravely and boldly. Because that’s what chocolate-making is. It’s about life. It’s about being brave and bold. This year’s winner, with a place here at the chocolate school to develop their brand is …’ We all hold our breath. ‘… Fleur!’ We erupt into cheers and we all know the right person has won the title.
Fleur goes up to the bench to collect her trophy, brushing away her tears. ‘This is for my grandmother, for the women who work hard to grow and harvest the cocoa beans we have come to love in our chocolate. It’s for women who are brave enough to follow what’s in their heart, whatever it might be.’ She smiles at me and I know I’ve made a best friend for life.
I wipe away the tears, and as I do, I see Jacques talking quietly to one of the journalists and wish I could think of a way to stop him revealing Gabriel to the press. And just at that moment, I hear footsteps crossing the marble floor and a figure is standing in the doorway, covered with snow.
‘Gabriel!’
My heart skips, leaps and turns somersaults all at the same time.
Madame Pichon looks relieved, as a whisper goes around the room.
‘Apologies for my lateness,’ he says, brushing snow from his hair. ‘I had some personal business to sort out.’
‘Monsieur Hartmann,’ says a photographer, hurrying up to Gabriel, who walks past him and up to the workstation where the single chocolates are lined up and Fleur is standing with her trophy.
He smiles. ‘First, congratulations to Fleur. So very well deserved. I wish you every success on your chocolate-making journey from here. I cannot wait to see what creations you will come up with next. A very worthy winner.’ He kisses her warmly on both cheeks. Then he turns back to the gathered audience, the students, families and chocolate-making industry, and the room hushes. He clears his throat, looks around and nods a greeting.
‘It’s good to see so many people here this evening, and members of the press, because there is something I need to share with you all. Something very special and close to my heart.’ He takes a deep breath.
‘Some of you may have thought I’d left for good. That maybe I was running away, hiding, like I have been doing here for the past few months. And that’s because I thought I should go, try to keep ahead of someone who wanted to bring down my career for their own personal satisfaction.’ He looks darkly at Jacques, who suddenly looks uncomfortable. ‘But that wouldn’t have been fair because it would have taken away from the chocolatier who taught me to follow my instincts, to trust and how to fall in love with chocolate again. In fact, how to fall in love again. They have reminded me of the chocolate-maker I used to be and the one I want to be again. But not on my own. My new collection is about collaboration and is called Alchemy, because that’s what it’s about, when two flavours you don’t expect to work together meet, combine and come up with something fabulous.
‘A couple of years ago, at the height of Covid, I lost my sense of taste … and it didn’t come back.’ There’s a gasp in the room and I can hear the journalists making frantic notes. ‘I thought my career was over. I struggled on, relying on tried and tested flavours, techniques, but fell out of love with chocolate along the way and with myself. I thought I couldn’t be the person my daughter needed me to be. It took someone special to make me understand what an idiot I was being, and that hiding away here, hoping things would change, wouldn’t work. She made me step out of my comfort zone. And that is why I’m standing in front of you all now. Because I needed to be true to myself. In doing that, I’ve rediscovered my passion for chocolate and for life. She convinced me to combine the flavours of my past that have made me who I am today. And all the time she was brave enough to come here to the chocolate school and turn up day after day, despite the hard ones, to become a chocolatier herself and an excellent one at that. She taught me how to love again. Because, Clara, I have fallen in love with you.’
My mouth drops open and all the bits inside me that have been swirling and shifting around suddenly seem to slot into place, settle and set in a perfect peak.
I hear a little sob and realize it came from me, and then a sniff beside me, and that’s Frédéric wiping his nose on his sleeve – I grab a tea-towel from one of the workstations and hand it to him.
‘Chocolate is where I found a sense of belonging. A world of my own. I had little schooling and worked my way up through the kitchens. I learned to speak through my flavours. Until I lost my sense of taste and lost my love for chocolate. But now I’ve found it again.’
Gabriel clears his throat.
‘Is it true you’re selling to Jacobsen’s?’ shouts one of the journalists.
‘I have indeed agreed a contract with Jacobsen’s to sell Gabriel Hartmann chocolates.’ There is a murmur around the room. Jacques looks suddenly smug again. ‘You seem to have that news before anyone else. But I have just come out of a meeting and have decided to withdraw from that contract.’ There’s another murmur around the room, louder this time. ‘I’m not selling to anyone. And I’m not going anywhere either.’ He’s looking straight at me now. ‘I’m staying exactly where I am, here, at my family farm. The same chocolate-maker who told me what I needed to hear about my parenting skills and helped me regain my sense of taste also made me realize that it’s this place that makes the chocolate so good, the air, the grass, the cows, the milk, and I’m going to relocate my team to my family farm. I shall open it up as a small hotel for people to experience chocolate and see how it’s made.’ Suddenly there’s a burst of applause. ‘On one condition,’ he says, ‘that chocolatier Clara Mackenzie joins me in the venture. Her enthusiasm is infectious, as is her love of this place and chocolate. What do you say, Clara? Alchemy? A team?’ His eyes are sparkling like snowflakes in the lamplight.
I stare at him, then at Jacques, who looks as if he’s been punched and winded. Everyone is watching me and waiting for me to say something. I turn to the door and run out into the night air, taking big gulps as I go.