Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
I awoke the next day with renewed vigour. I went down to the basement after the morning rush and began baking my cupcakes.
‘Merci pour hier,’ Madame Moreau said, poking her head around the door.
‘Oh, it was nothing,’ I said, trying to hide my dilemma.
‘We’ll find a solution to all of this, I promise.
’ I knew I shouldn’t have been making those kinds of promises, but in a strange way, I think she knew I was limited in what I could achieve.
I was sure she must have tried all kinds of initiatives to try and fix things before I arrived, and it obviously hadn’t worked.
Then again, she wasn’t the type of woman to ask for help, and their particular circumstances meant that they had to be extremely secretive.
I would have to do the asking on their behalf and begin that very afternoon.
I stood outside a four-storey building with cream-coloured bricks and tall windows. The number on the door matched the address on the card I held in my hand.
‘Edith, it is good to see you,’ Monsieur Legrand said, welcoming me into his office.
‘I’m sorry to just show up like this,’ I said, ‘I hope I’m not interrupting.’
He waved away my apology and motioned for me to take a seat on the opposite side of his desk. I explained the situation with the bakery and showed him a copy of the bank’s letter. His countenance altered as he read the words on the page.
‘I had no idea,’ he said, after a time, laying the letter on the desk in front of him.
‘Madame Moreau is a very proud woman and honestly, she would probably kill me if she knew I was here, but we need help.’
‘You have done the right thing, Edith. Néanmoins, I understand Madame Moreau’s desire for privacy.’ He stared into the middle distance and bit the inside of his cheek, an endearing habit of the overthinker.
‘I will compose a letter to the bank on your behalf?—’
‘Oh, that would be wonderful, thank you!’
‘And you will sign it? So Madame Moreau will never hear of our conversation?’
‘Absolutely,’ I said, grateful for his tact and willingness to help.
Monsieur Legrand also gave me a template so I could create a business plan to show the bank that we were serious about increasing our turnover and, ultimately, our profits.
He walked me to the door and as I waved goodbye, I spotted Nicole’s mother, Jacqueline, across the street.
She gave me one of her biggest smiles and I rushed over for one of her warm hugs.
‘Es-tu ami avec Monsieur Legrand?’ she asked, after some pleasantries.
‘Oh, well, not ami, exactly,’ I explained. ‘He is a customer – il est client de la boulangerie.’
Her smile did not need any translation, as Monsieur Legrand waved across at us before closing the front door. Needless to say, I had no intention of interfering this time. Well, not right away.
* * *
It was a mild enough night for April, so I simply wore a black shrug over my dress. I knocked on Madame Moreau’s door on my way out and her expression made me blush.
‘Très belle, édith, you are beautiful in that dress! It is good to see you having fun. I’m afraid I didn’t give you such a warm welcome when you arrived, but I was glad to hear Nicole had taken you under her wing,’ she said.
I realised nothing much could happen in Compiègne without Madame Moreau knowing about it.
I remembered that Nicole’s mother had only kind words for her, too.
This gave me a little hope as I strutted down the street to meet Nicole at Nostalgie to watch Johnny and his band play.
It was strange going back to the jazz club – I hadn’t been there since the night I met Hugo and even though it had only been a few weeks, it felt like a lifetime ago.
It was a bittersweet feeling and I found myself half hoping that he would be there, although if he had been, I wasn’t sure if I would hit him or kiss him.
Nicole embraced me warmly as usual and oohed and aahed over my dress.
‘How’s little Max?’ I asked, pulling out a chair for myself.
‘Learning to play the guitar like his papa; it’s quite the noise at 6am.’ She grimaced.
I was practically bursting to tell her all about the goings-on at the bakery, so as soon as I’d ordered some drinks, I spilled the beans about Hugo, Chadwick Holdings and the bakery’s financial problems. I was so tempted to paint the full picture, haunting and all, but I was sworn to secrecy.
‘Conard!’ she seethed.
‘Duck?’ I was confused, but I suppose calling him a duck was as good as any other barnyard animal.
‘No, a duck is canard, not conard!’ Nicole snorted. ‘A bastard!’ she translated.
I couldn’t help laughing, too.
‘I hate those corporate pigs, they don’t care about the little people.’
I almost felt the need to defend Hugo then – it was awkward being so torn. I wanted to hate him, too, but I just couldn’t. Instead I tried to steer the conversation towards what we could do to help save the bakery.
‘We’ll think of something, Edie, don’t worry. We stick together in Compiègne.’ She winked, full of fighting spirit.
* * *
After another night of jazz at the club, Johnny and Nicole walked me home.
I invited them upstairs for a little brainstorming session and stuck on my Django playlist for inspiration.
Just as we settled around the stove with a bottle of red wine and some snacks, a light knock at the door gave me a start.
I was terrified that Monsieur Moreau would make some unplanned appearance and frighten them away.
I walked hesitantly to the door and called out a tentative ‘hello’, but when I turned the knob, there stood Madame Moreau.
I was about to apologise for waking her or making too much noise, but she waved my apologies away. She asked if she might come in for a moment and of course we all welcomed her in.
‘C’est la musique,’ she said, ‘I heard you playing it again and I had to come upstairs to be sure; it is Django, non?’
I remembered her displeasure the last time I played his music, but this time she seemed to be smiling. Johnny, being the expert among us in all things musical, confirmed that it was and this seemed to please her no end.
‘I remember ‘im as impulsive and wild, a bit of a gambler too!’
‘You’ve met Django Reinhardt?’ Johnny said, astounded.
‘Met him? Why, he was my cousin,’ she laughed.
While Nicole and I were surprised, I thought Johnny was about to experience heart failure. His mouth hung open for a very long time, and on seeing little or no response from us, Madame Moreau continued.
‘He was a second cousin of my mother; he used to come and play in our camp sometimes. Everyone admired him, the way he learned to play the guitar again after that terrible fire in his caravan.’
‘He's like, the king of gypsy music! He even invented his own style, after his hand was crippled in a fire. I mean, he’s the reason I wanted to come to France and play guitar!’ Johnny enthused, until a light cough from Nicole made him rephrase his words.
‘Well him and Nicole of course, I came here for you, chérie…’ He smiled meekly.
Madame Moreau leaned against the sideboard and closed her eyes for a moment, lost in the music.
‘He came to visit us here once, before my mother—’ She broke off.
I looked at her and tried to let her know with a slight shake of my head that I hadn’t told them the whole story.
‘They’ve come to help,’ I said, hoping that she would trust them enough to tell them about her real parents. ‘I’ll put on some coffee,’ I added, guessing that this would be a very long night.