Chapter Twelve
It was Monday morning, and as Poppy wasn’t needed at Patisserie Madeleine until after lunch she decided to linger a little longer in bed, checking her social media and uploading a few of the photographs from the previous day. However, she was careful to ensure that none of them featured Fabien because she wasn’t ready to deal with the inevitable barrage of questions she would get from Holly, Rachel and Jamie when they saw she had spent the day with a gorgeous French guy.
The images reminded her of what a wonderful experience she’d had, soaking up the vibrant atmosphere in the city that was famous for being the most romantic in the world, and she suddenly felt inspired to make a start on her long-postponed novel. Before she could talk herself out of it – again – she reached for her laptop, opened a brand-new document and stared at the blank screen.
She had no idea where to start. She typed a few words, deleted them, then typed a paragraph and deleted that, too. When she had deleted a whole page of writing, she shut down her laptop in irritation, annoyed with herself for thinking it would be easy.
After a few moments of brooding, she spotted the pink polka dot notebook Holly had given her for her birthday that she had hoped to use as a journal while she was in Paris, and she had an idea. She scrabbled around in her satchel for a pen, cracked open the pristine notebook and began to write whatever came into her head, and to her surprise and delight, the words flowed freely. Thirty minutes later, her fingers ached, and she had a crick in her neck. She knew that what she’d written wasn’t exactly how she wanted the first few pages of her romantic comedy to be, but she had made a start and that was what mattered.
She climbed out of bed, stretched her cramped muscles, then enjoyed a long leisurely shower, before wrapping her hair in a towel. She took her time preparing her morning dose of caffeine, her thoughts lingering on Suzie who she knew would be preparing for her meeting with the police that day, hoping to get the answers she had waited so long for. She experienced a tumble of nerves on her friend’s behalf and was relieved that Suzie would have Christos by her side for support.
She had just taken a sip of her coffee when her phone buzzed, and she smiled when she saw it was Camille, probably wanting to hear all the intimate details about her time with Fabien the previous day. She settled onto the sofa and prepared for a session of gossiping.
‘Hey, Camille, how—’
‘Ah, Poppy, tu ne croiras jamais ce qui m’est arrivé…’
Camille continued a long stream of rapid French without stopping for breath for at least a full minute, until Poppy was able to finally interrupt her and tell her she had no idea whatsoever what she had just said to her.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ said Camille, inhaling a breath and switching to English. ‘You’ll never believe what’s just happened! I can barely believe it myself. I thought it was a mistake at first, but when I rang Pierre, he said it was true, then he congratulated me, and asked me what I planned to show, before he told me that I should think about—’
‘Camille! Please, tell me what happened!’
‘My name has been drawn out of the hat, Poppy! I’m one of the five lucky designers who’ll get to show their designs at the end of Pierre’s catwalk show tomorrow night! It’s such short notice, but I know exactly which one of my designs I want to showcase. It needs a lot of work though before I’ll be happy to send it down the runway on a professional model! Oh my God, I am so nervous, but excited, too. Pierre says there’ll be several of his friends in the audience, some of whom are fellow designers on the look-out for up-and-coming designers to mentor.’
‘Oh, Camille, I’m so happy for you. Can I help in any way?’
‘Actually, yes, if you don’t mind. I’ve called Olivier and he’s agreed to let me take two days leave from the patisserie, so would you be able to put in a few extra hours so that Alain isn’t left to handle the shop alone?’
‘That’s no problem at all, I—’
‘And as I’m one of the designers involved in the show now, it means there’s a spare ticket.’ Camille paused, and Poppy could picture perfectly the expression of mischief on her friend’s face. ‘Do you want to invite someone… special?’
Poppy laughed. ‘Fabien and I had a wonderful time sightseeing in Paris, and I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there’s nothing more to report. I’ll keep you posted, though, and thank you, I’d love to invite him to the show.’
‘Great. Okay, now I must bury myself in my sewing box. à bient?t, Poppy.’
‘à bient?t, Camille.’
Poppy had only just placed her phone on the coffee table, her heart soaring with delight at Camille’s wonderful news, when there was a knock on her door, followed by a loud volley of yapping. She grinned; she couldn’t wait to hear about Hélène’s trip to the sumo wrestling match the previous day.
‘Bonjour, Poppy!’
Hélène leaned forward to place the usual kisses on Poppy’s cheeks, before scooping Gigi into her arms and depositing a kiss on her little pink nose for good measure. That morning, Gigi proudly modelled a smart green jacket with fleece lining and a patch pocket in the shape of a sunflower, from which a bag of treats protruded. Her leather collar sparkling with emerald-coloured gemstones and Poppy suspected it probably cost more than her whole outfit put together.
Of course, Gigi’s attire was a reflection of her owner’s immaculate sartorial style, and that day’s ensemble was no exception; smart black palazzo trousers were paired with an impeccably cut jacket with gold-fringed epaulettes and white-framed sunglasses perched on the top of her head, even though it was early November, and they were indoors. Hélène’s makeup was equally flawless, and she exuded an energy Poppy could only dream of possessing.
‘Bonjour, Hélène,’ said Poppy, determined to continue their conversation in French for as long as she could after her embarrassing fail with Camille a few minutes ago. However, her language skills had improved over the week she’d been there, and a great deal of what she’d learned at school had come back to her, although her vocabulary was still limited, but she was working on that. ‘Come in, I’ve just made coffee.’
To her amusement, she saw Hélène hesitate, clearly fearing her skills in the beverage-making department only extended to tea. She pointed to the cafetière she’d prepared and smiled when she saw relief flood her landlady’s eyes. She poured her a cup, topped up her own, and pointed to the sofa.
‘Merci, Poppy,’ said Hélène, taking a tentative sip while glancing at Poppy over the rim. ‘How was your tour with Fabien yesterday?’
‘It was excellent,’ she said airily, in the hope of deflecting a more searching enquiry. ‘I couldn’t have arranged a more perfect tour myself. We explored the Marche des Enfants Rouges, then made a wish at Point Zero in front of Notre-Dame Cathedral, followed by a short stroll along the banks of the Seine, before rounding off the trip with a little retail therapy. Look!’ She grabbed the hat Fabien had bought for her at Galeries Lafayette and modelled it for Hélène. ‘What do you think? Isn’t it beautiful?’
Hélène smiled. ‘C’est très chic.’
‘Oh, and thank you so much for the gorgeous coat and beret you left for me. It was exactly the right outfit for the occasion, and I felt very Parisian when I was wearing them. I was going to drop them off at your apartment later on.’
‘Not necessary. They’re my gift to you, Poppy.’
‘Merci, that is so kind of you. So, enough about me, how was your day out yesterday?’
‘We had such fun. I’ve wanted to go to a sumo wrestling tournament for years. Laurent and I had planned a trip of a lifetime to Japan, taking in the sights of Tokyo, Kyoto and Osaka, but sadly he passed away just two months before we were due to leave and…. well, I couldn’t bear to go without him. However, his loss has taught me that time respects no boundaries. We must utilise every precious moment we are given to do the things we’ve always dreamed of doing, and that’s what yesterday was all about… and that’s why I’m here now.’
‘Oh, I…’
‘I understand from Olivier that you have this morning off from your duties at the patisserie.’
‘Yes, that’s true…’
‘Do you have something planned?’
‘No, but I thought I’d spend an hour or so mooching around Librairie Juliette. There’s this cookery book I want to—’
‘The bookshop will still be there tomorrow,’ said Hélène, flicking her hand in the air dismissively before fixing Poppy with her dark eyes. ‘I don’t want you to be sitting here, all alone, staring at the walls when you could be continuing your education on what Paris has to offer the curious.’
‘Oh no, I’m not lonely. In fact, I’ve made a start on my novel, and I—’
‘So, Odette and I would like to invite you to faire de l’escrime avec nous.’
As they were still conversing in French, Poppy scoured her brain for the translation of l’escrime, but she couldn’t find it in her admittedly sparse lexicon. She wondered what zany activity it could be, and her stomach churned in trepidation, especially as the two friends had already done pyrography classes, drone-racing and sumo-wresting. What could possibly be on the agenda that day? Skydiving? Lion taming? Learning the trapeze?
‘I’m sorry, Hélène, I have no idea what l’escrime is.’
‘I think the English translation is “doing fencing”.’
‘Doing fencing?’
Poppy had visions of trudging out to the French countryside and spending her morning off sawing planks of wood and hammering them into the ground before dousing them in weather-resistant paint. She glanced at the French doors to see that a light sprinkle of rain decorated the windowpanes, and whilst she was all for expanding her horizons in as many directions as possible, she had no interest whatsoever in experiencing what it was like to spend a morning doing physical labour in the fields of France.
‘I’m sorry, Hélène, I don’t… have the right kind of clothes for that kind of activity.’
‘Oh, that’s not a problem. You will be supplied with the correct protective equipment by the instructor, Jean-Luc. Odette and I only started our lessons last month, and we already know most of the terminology used during a bout, some of which I am delighted to say is French, like En garde! Pret! Allez! Riposte!’
As Hélène continued to explain her most recent hobby in French, the cogs in Poppy’s brain started to turn and enlightenment began to dawn.
‘Oh, you mean fencing?’
Hélène wrinkled her nose. ‘Yes, that’s what I said.’
‘I thought you meant… never mind.’
‘So you’ll come?’
‘Yes, I’d love to. Thank you.’
‘De rein. I’ll meet you downstairs in the foyer in thirty minutes.’
Hélène pushed herself up from the sofa and headed out of the door, leaving a cloud of expensive perfume in her wake. Poppy dashed to her tiny closet, wondering what was suitable attire for a fencing class. In France, there seemed to be a correct way to dress for every occasion and all Parisians appeared to have been born with the innate knowledge of what that was.
Fortunately, her lack of choice meant she didn’t have to spend long pondering. She grabbed a pair of black jeans, a bright blue V-necked sweater, and her trusty leather boots, and she was ready to go. She pulled on the coat and beret Hélène had generously gifted her – her silver cloche hat was too precious to risk damaging – snatched up her satchel and, ignoring the ripple of anxiety agitating at her chest, she skipped down the stairs to the foyer where Hélène and Odette were gossiping while they waited for her to arrive.
‘Ah, Poppy, this is my friend, Odette,’ said Hélène, who wore a striking orange coat with ostrich feathers around the cuffs and hemline. ‘Odette, this is Poppy. She’s here to help Olivier and Alain at Patisserie Madeleine.’
‘Bonjour, Poppy, it’s good to meet you at last. Hélène has told me so much about you that I feel I know you already. How was your date with Fabien yesterday? Will you be seeing him again?’
Poppy sighed inwardly. She wasn’t sure she would ever get used to the directness of the people she had met since arriving in Paris, but in a way, it was refreshing; no beating about the bush or skirting the issues. Saying what you’re thinking, or asking those burning questions straight away, probably saved a lot of time and avoided any misunderstandings. She decided to take a leaf out of their book.
‘I had a wonderful time, thank you, and yes, I will be seeing Fabien again. He’s promised to let me use his kitchen at the bistro this evening so I can experiment with combining my favourite cakes and desserts from back home in Devon with the patisserie that’s sold at Patisserie Madeleine.’
She smiled at the approval in Odette’s face, which she suspected was probably more for her continued friendship with Fabien than her intention to merge the cuisines of England and France. Like her friend, Odette was petite, slender, and wore her dark brown hair in a fashionable bob, with one side tucked neatly behind her ear to display a pretty ruby and diamond earring. She, too, was a fan of immaculately cut clothing, and for their morning of fencing had chosen to wear a vivid purple boucle jacket with gold buttons, and a pair of cream cigarette trousers. However, what caught Poppy’s eye were her nails; long, pointed, and featuring tiny images of what looked like a volcano.
‘I love your manicure, Odette.’
‘Thank you, Poppy,’ said Odette, glancing down at her nails to remind herself of the design. ‘I chose Mt Fuji in honour of our trip to the sumo wrestling tournament yesterday.’
‘D’accord, shall we go?’ said Hélène, ushering them out of the door. ‘We don’t want to be late for the delightful Jean-Luc, do we?’
Poppy followed the two women to the end of Rue Saint-André where they turned right and headed down another pedestrianised street, this one lined with a kaleidoscope of shops selling various items such as children’s clothing, footwear, skincare, jewellery and gourmet groceries, along with several coffee shops and crêperies. She struggled to keep up with the friends’ torrent of animated chatter, catching only the occasional snippet that informed her how excited they were about their forthcoming class and how Jean-Luc was the most attractive man they had met so far on their odyssey of unusual hobbies.
She grinned; they led such interesting and fulfilling lives, and she made a note to do the same when she got back to Blossomwood Bay. She was guilty of spending the last year either battling the misery that Drew had left in his wake, or immersed in chocolate-related recipes, and then working as many hours as she could at the Boathouse Bistro. Perhaps if she added a few quirky hobbies to her weekly itinerary, she would be as content and upbeat as Hélène and Odette were – although she drew the line at sumo wrestling and drone racing.
A few minutes later, they arrived at a beautiful building that was so architecturally magnificent that in any other city it would have been a theatre, or a prestigious art gallery, or a museum housing precious artifacts, but in Paris it was the local community hall. Inside was equally as impressive, its vestibule featuring a high vaulted ceiling and a chandelier worthy of Versailles. Cleared of its furniture for the upcoming class, the main hall looked like it would be more at home hosting a medieval banquet.
A smattering of people was already there, helping each other to sort out their protective attire, the murmur of soft voices rotating around the cavernous room. Hélène and Odette were welcomed by a man who was matinée-idol handsome, and Poppy had to stifle a giggle when Jean-Luc turned his back and she saw the two women exchange suggestive glances. She briefly wondered if the attractive instructors were the reason they attended so many different classes.
She was handed a custom-made jacket, neck bib, gloves, and a steel mesh fencing mask, and suddenly what she was about to do started to feel very real. This wasn’t just a fun morning experiencing a new activity; fencing was a dangerous sport, one where participants could be injured if they didn’t pay attention and take it seriously. Even though she loved and had participated in all kinds of sports, fencing had never been on her – or indeed her brothers’ – radar, and now that she was here, she was keen to try something outside her comfort zone, even though the protective gear made her feel like she was playing the role of the tin man in The Wizard of Oz.
When the class started, she stood on the side-lines to watch the more experienced fencers in the group demonstrate the sport by engaging in several highly competitive bouts, each three minutes long, scoring points for every strike to the torso, arms and head with their foil, their success recorded via the use of a conductive body wire that detected every valid hit. Then, Jean-Luc stepped forward to run through the safety rules – speaking slowly and clearly so she could understand everything he said – and explain the layout of the piste they would compete on, as well as the centre lines and the en garde lines from where each fencer starts their round.
‘The very first thing a fencer must do is salute their opponent and the referee before the bout begins. Also, they must not leave the delineated strip before the bout is completed. The object of the game is to strike your opponent whilst avoiding being hit yourself, and the winner is the first fencer to achieve fifteen points. Now, let me demonstrate the en garde position and how we advance and retreat.’
Jean-Luc proceeded to run through the various moves, then suggested the class pair off to practice their stances, choosing Poppy as his partner as she was the only one in attendance that day who was new to the sport. This one-on-one tutorial caused Hélène and Odette to wiggle their eyebrows at her from behind Jean-Luc’s back, their antics causing her to trip over one of her feet and perform a particularly abrupt lunge forward.
‘Oh my God!’ Poppy gasped, heat flooding her cheeks as she removed the tip of her foil from a delicate point below his waist. ‘I’m so sorry, Jean-Luc. Are you okay?’
Poppy was horrified when she saw that Hélène and Odette had witnessed the whole embarrassing episode and were giggling behind their hands like a pair of naughty schoolgirls. Fortunately, Jean-Luc took the incident in his stride and the rest of the session proceeded without a hitch. Poppy enjoyed it so much that she added fencing to the list of sports she wanted to learn more about when she got back home.
She couldn’t wait to tell Jamie about it, and maybe invite him to join her.