Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Saturday morning heralded another visit from Hugo.
He wore a black suit with a black mac flying open behind him like a villain’s cape.
I was serving coffee to two elderly ladies who always stopped by with their teeny tiny dogs for some sweet treats and a gossip.
Like a saloon in the wild west, the shop went deathly quiet when he entered, save for one of the little dogs who barked like a Rottweiler – clearly perturbed by the evictor’s presence.
‘Good morning, Edith,’ he greeted me in that deep tone that made my skin prickle. But I was not going to be won around that easily – I was still smarting from his sharp tongue.
‘Is it?’ I replied.
‘I wondered if I might speak to Madame Moreau,’ he asked.
‘I’m afraid she’s taken to her bed with a headache, but then, being evicted from your home will do that to you.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t put it like that,’ he muttered.
‘Oh, really, well, how would you like me to put it, Mr Chadwick? Tell me, please, because I’d hate to offend your sensitive disposition.’ My temper was rising and I no longer felt in control of what I would say to him.
‘Well, it’s not like we’re putting her out on the street, is it? We are offering her perfectly adequate accommodation elsewhere,’ he said.
‘You’re too kind.’ I grimaced.
‘Look, I came here to inform her that we have moved ahead with our purchase of the vacant premises next door.’
‘What?’ I was completely shocked at this revelation. ‘Are you planning on buying up the whole street?’
‘Not exactly, but we will be knocking through to next door and creating greater floor space for the bedrooms, with a larger reception area downstairs.’ He seemed rather pleased with this summation of building works.
‘How on earth did you get planning for that? This is a listed building,’ I argued, even though I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant.
‘We’re retaining the original exterior, I made that a red line,’ he said. ‘You have to give me some credit for that.’
‘I don’t have to give you anything.’
There was something about him that didn’t ring true. He shifted uncomfortably and fidgeted with his tie.
‘You don’t really agree with this, do you?’ I asked, trying to read his expression. After several moments of silence, during which the old ladies whispered something to each other in French, he erupted again.
‘Look, this is happening whether you like it or not. Now, I know this bakery is your little “project”, but my company is going to make a real success of this building and bring more tourism to the area. So just tell Madame Moreau, will you?’
‘Don’t you mean your father’s company?’
He looked wrong-footed and I felt quite pleased with myself for catching him out.
‘Is that how you usually get what you want, Mr Chadwick, by bullying people and shouting out orders? Because I can tell you right now, I’m not giving in without a fight,’ I threatened.
He paused for a moment before speaking.
‘Don’t you mean “we”?’ he said, with something approaching a grin on his face.
‘Yes, that’s what I said; we.’ I was fuming with him and his know-it-all attitude. But most of all, it was the way he could read me like a book.
‘Very well, Miss Lane. I look forward to our duel, but just to let you know, I usually win,’ he concluded, looking intrigued at the idea of taking me on.
‘Just so you know, I don’t play fair,’ I countered, determined to have the last word.
Hugo bowed theatrically and left the shop with a grin on his face.
‘What the hell did I say that for?’ I said to the ladies who, despite the language barrier, seemed to understand that our quarrel was not strictly business.
* * *
It was true. I read the letter Hugo had left for Madame Moreau and even with my limited French, I could understand that Chadwick Holdings had acquired the adjacent building, with plans to knock through and build a sizeable hotel. I gave the letter to her that evening, after we had closed the shop.
‘Well, it is finished, then.’ She rubbed her eyes and looked away from me.
‘You can’t give up, Madame Moreau, there must be some other way,’ I pleaded, but I could see my supplications were falling on deaf ears.
‘édith, you are a kind girl, but I do not have the money; it is as simple as that.’
‘I’ve heard that “kind girl” routine all my life – people almost always mean “weak” when they say “kind”.
But you know what? I might not look it, but I’ve got guts and I’m not afraid to use them!
These faceless investors think they can just come along and buy their way into a piece of history, without a thought or care for the people they are trampling over, just to make a profit.
And it seems to me as though the bank is in cahoots with them.
I mean, they didn’t even give our proposal a chance! ’ I ranted.
‘Listen to me, I am just an old lady with an old bakery and a lot of debt. You cannot blame them for everything; I must take responsibility also.’
‘But that’s just it; you are taking responsibility and we can turn things around, if they’d just give us more time—’ I broke off.
I could see she was tired and that my ravings were only exhausting her even more, so I decided to head out for a walk in the cool night air to clear my head.
I called my dad and explained the situation.
‘I hate to say it, Edie, but it sounds like a fait accompli,’ was his response.
‘Fait accompli?’ He’d picked a fine time to begin learning French.
‘I’m practising for my trip.’
A moment or two passed before his words sunk in. ‘You’re coming here? That’s brilliant news!’ I said, realising how wonderful it would be to see a familiar face.
‘So it’s OK with you?’ he said. ‘Sure, I couldn’t wait to see the bakery and meet all of the people you’ve told me about.’
‘Of course it’s OK with me! I’ll find a nice hotel nearby,’ I said. I figured he may as well visit sooner rather than later because as things stood, I mightn’t have a reason to stay here much longer myself.’
* * *
I woke up to the sound of chanting and had to prop myself up on my elbows for a moment to try and remember where I was.
I looked at the room, at my now familiar setting, and shook my head, but the chorus of voices was still there.
I stepped onto the cold floor in my bare feet, tiptoed towards the window facing onto the street and drew back the curtains.
When I opened the window, the wall of sound that hit me almost knocked me backwards.
‘Sauvez notre boulangerie! Sauvez notre boulangerie!’ The cacophony of voices rang out in the morning air, catching the bemused glances of passers-by.
A gathering of about forty people stood outside the door to the boulangerie with placards of varying messages in French ranging from, ‘A bas le capitalisme!’ – ‘Down with capitalism’ to ‘Sauvons la baguette locale’ – ‘Save the local baguette’.
Leading the chants were Nicole and Johnny, equipped with tambourines and a large drum, beating out their message like a tattoo.
I never felt so inspired in my life and ran to pull some clothes on.
‘Qu-est ce qui se passe?’ Manu asked what was happening, emerging bleary-eyed from the basement, his eyes adjusting to the bright lights.
Madame Moreau followed behind him, looking at the waiting crowd outside with some confusion.
‘Who are these people, édith? What are they doing here?’ she asked.
‘They’re saving the bakery!’ I cried happily.
I ran outside and into Johnny and Nicole’s open arms.
‘You two are completely nuts, you know that! Where did you find these people?’
‘I told you I was on it,’ said Nicole triumphantly. ‘I put the call out on social media – told everyone that our local traditional bakery was being closed by the bank.’
Johnny butted in, ‘Everyone’s sick of being burned by the banks and if there’s one thing the French are good at, it’s protesting!’
‘Exactly, so the whole thing, it snowballed,’ Nicole continued. ‘We’re expecting a gang of students from the university in the afternoon.’
‘I ... I’m speechless, Nicole. Thank you so much for doing this,’ I said, kissing them both.
I wasn’t sure what kind of effect this little protest would have on our banking friends, but at least it was going to raise awareness of Madame Moreau’s plight. When I came back inside, I saw her looking rather stern.
‘They’ve come to help,’ I said.
But she simply turned around and went back upstairs.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ I asked Manu.
‘You can understand, she is ashamed that everyone will know about our problems,’ he said quietly.
I bit my lip and turned again to see the small crowd chanting loudly and moving in a slow, circular procession. Maybe it was a tad over the top.
‘You stay here and open up, I’ll go and talk to her,’ I said, as I ran up the stairs two at a time.
When I got to her apartment, I noticed that the door was left ajar. I stepped cautiously in and saw Madame Moreau clutching the photograph of herself and Monsieur Moreau, taken outside the shop.
‘It was his ambition that I should take over from him,’ she said gently. ‘He never had any children of his own and he considered me like his own daughter.’
I edged close enough to see the smiles on their faces in the sepia-toned image.
‘I didn’t mean to upset you, Madame Moreau. To be honest, this wasn’t even my idea, but people want to help.’
She looked at me then. ‘I hardly know the people down there. Why are they here but out of pity?’
‘It’s not pity, I promise you. It’s support. I know it’s hard to accept help, especially from people you don’t know, but they’re doing this because they want to stand up for what’s right. Just like Monsieur Moreau stood up for you and your mother that day at the train station.’
I hoped I wasn’t crossing a line with her, but I desperately wanted her to understand how much the place meant to everybody around here.
‘Besides, I think you’ll find you know quite a few of these protesters. Just come to the window and have a look.’
We looked out onto the street below and saw Nicole’s mother, Jacqueline, with Monsieur Legrand, the two old ladies with their dogs yapping, the couple who owned the crêperie, the Algerian man who ran the tabac and many of the boulangerie’s regulars – all of Madame Moreau’s vintage, shouting and clapping and demanding justice.
‘Mon Dieu!’ she cried, clutching her hand to her heart.
‘You see? People care about you and the bakery and they don’t want you to leave. So what do you say – are you going to disappoint your customers?’ I realised this was what I should have said at the start, for it was like a battle cry to her.
‘Les Moreau never disappoint their customers!’ she said, passionately.
I followed her down to the bakery, where she immediately set about handing out complimentary croissants, pains au chocolat and plastic shot glasses of hot chocolate to the crowd.
This raised everyone’s spirits and voices and even Manu took the day off school to keep the momentum going.
It was like a party atmosphere outside the shop, which only served to drive more customers in, which in turn led to greater publicity about the foreclosure.
I was so swept up in the euphoria that I hardly noticed Hugo weaving his way through the crowd.
‘A protest, very original,’ he said under his breath, but close enough for me to feel his breath on my cheek.
‘Play it cool all you like, Chadwick, but I would chalk this up as a victory for the bakery,’ I replied, rather smug.
‘A handful of students with a drum? I’m literally quaking in my boots,’ he said, deadpan.
But just then, I noticed a minibus pulling up at the end of the road, and out popped Geoff, with about twenty other people, who marched up towards us with more placards and whistles. Even Ruby tagged along.
‘I think you may have underestimated us, Mr Chadwick.’ I smiled, noticing the grimace on his face.
‘Look, Edith, I really wish you would reconsider this whole thing. The truth is that you’re only prolonging the agony for Madame Moreau and her grandson, because this deal is going through no matter what.
I don’t want to be the bad guy here, but if it wasn’t our company taking over the property, someone else would.
The bank doesn’t care who they sell to.’
For a moment I saw a glimmer of the man I had first met, but it was too little too late. Battle lines had been drawn and he was on the wrong side.
‘You don’t get it, do you? The reason we’re all standing out here freezing our bits off is because we’re trying to show Madame Moreau how much the bakery means to us.
These kinds of independent artisan bakeries are closing down every day.
And pretty soon, there’ll be no more left.
You, of all people, should be trying to stop this.
Or do you think that looking at these old shopfronts through your camera lens somehow keeps you detached from the reality?
They make nice coffee-table books but to hell with the people who make their livelihoods in these places.
I guess that wouldn’t matter to people like you, though, who’ve had everything handed to them. ’
‘Now wait a minute?—’
I was on a roll and wouldn’t let him interrupt.
‘These people,’ I said, looking back at everyone who had gathered on the Rue de Paris, ‘they value their heritage, and Manu – he is the future of this place. His skills have been handed down through generations…’ I faltered, thinking of how present his ancestor really was.
‘Fine, carry on. I can see you won’t be reasoned with,’ Hugo concluded.
‘Wait,’ I said, before he turned to leave. ‘Take this.’ I placed a cup of hot chocolate in his hand. ‘It might help you remember a time when life was about more than business.’
He took a mouthful, but as always, his expression was unreadable and he turned away, disappearing into the crowd.