Chapter Twenty
Instead of rushing over to the bistro to spend the next half an hour with Fabien as she had previously intended, Poppy sent him a friendly “good morning” text and spent the rest of her time composing a carefully worded message to Suzie, telling her how shocked she was at what the police had told her and Christos, expressing her heartfelt sympathy, asking how she was feeling, and concluding with an offer of support in any way she could.
After pressing the send button, she sat back and exhaled a long ragged sigh. There was so much going on at the moment that she felt as though her brain was about to explode. She wished she could spend a few moments alone in her studio coming to terms with Suzie’s alarming news, as well as trying to work out what was going on at Bistro Fabien and coming up with a foolproof way of ensuring the success of Camille’s plan to showcase Olivier’s patisserie without his consent, or knowledge.
However, her exploration of all the thorny issues that were swirling through her head would have to wait because she was expected for her shift at Patisserie Madeleine in ten minutes’ time, and the last thing she wanted was to be late on this most important of days. So, she tucked her anxieties away into the recesses of her mind for later dissection, pinned a smile on her face and headed down Rue Saint-André.
‘Salut, Poppy!’
Camille rushed forward to greet Poppy the minute she stepped through the door. For that auspicious day, her friend had chosen to wear a more subdued outfit – for Camille, anyway – of flared scarlet jeans and a black, fluted-sleeve blouse made from transparent chiffon. She looked just as fabulous as she always did, but Poppy could tell from the way her lips puckered at the corners that she was nervous.
‘Hi, Camille, is everything…’ Poppy glanced towards the door leading to the kitchen to check that Olivier was safely out of earshot, her stomach tight as she thought about all the things that could go wrong. ‘Is everything okay?’
Camille nodded. ‘Olivier is in there with Alain, hopefully making the best patisserie of his life. When I arrived this morning, I overheard them chatting about the competition, and I’ve never heard Olivier so downbeat. Obviously, he’s more upset than he’s letting on that he feels he’s not able to take part this year, but Alain did a great job of assuring him that next year would be his year.’
‘You know, it’s not too late to—’
‘I’m doing this, Poppy.’
‘Okay. Okay. So, have you decided which pastries you’re going to submit?’
‘Of course. I’ve actually been working on that for a while,’ said Camille, tying the strings of her Patisserie Madeleine apron around her waist before pulling an artist’s sketch pad from her orange canvas tote bag. ‘I’ve created a geometric design of three different types of pastries which I’ll arrange on this silver tray here.’
Camille removed a large silver salver framed with a zig-zag of crystals – which looked like it had been borrowed from the kitchen at Versailles – from a drawer behind the counter. After checking the coast was clear, she flicked open her sketch pad and showed Poppy what she had planned for Olivier’s competition entry.
‘Wow, Camille, that’s…’
All Poppy could do was gape. She already knew Camille was a talented fashion designer, but she was clearly a very accomplished artist, too. The drawing on the page in front of her was beautiful, a piece of artwork in its own right, showcasing the colourful patisserie – rectangular slices of opera cake, interposed with circular Paris-Brest, and punctuated with tiny, two-tiered religieuse topped with vibrant pink icing – all arranged in an innovative geometric pattern to create something that was not only eye-catching but totally unique.
Poppy experienced an uptick of optimism, and her anxiety subsided a little. If the finished product looked anything like the drawing, then Camille’s vicarious submission would be a guaranteed winner.
‘Do you like it?’
‘I love it! You are a woman of many talents, Camille.’
‘Thanks, Poppy.’ Camille grinned. ‘Oh, and you can add private detective to that list, too.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I had dinner with étienne last night, and I told him about our sleuthing. He was intrigued, and he’s promised to go back through his order book to see if he can uncover any more information about the bouquet he was asked to deliver to the bistro and let me know what he finds. Did you speak to Fabien?’
Poppy groaned inwardly. She didn’t regret her suggestion that she and Camille take on the role of amateur detective, but she still couldn’t help fearing that their interference might cause more harm than good. However, when she thought of what had happened when Suzie’s friend Nathan had started making enquiries into the jewellery shop robbery – and the successful result he had achieved – her opinion of their involvement changed.
‘No, not yet, but I’ve sent an email to my brother Bart with links to as many of the negative reviews as I could find, and he’s going to see what he can do. Like you, he enjoys a bit of a puzzle.’
‘Great, we’ll get to the bottom of this, Poppy, I know we will.’
Poppy smiled, wishing she could be as confident in the outcome as Camille. However, they needed to put their concern for Fabien and Pascal and the future of the bistro to one side for the moment and concentrate their attention on the task in hand.
‘So, what’s the plan for this morning?’
‘If it’s okay with you, after Olivier and Alain have brought the patisserie into the shop, can you serve as many of the customers as possible yourself so I can get to work selecting the most aesthetically perfect pastries for the design, plus a few spares for luck? I’ll then head over to H?tel Le Royal, assemble the final design on the silver presentation tray, fill out the paperwork, then dash back here as quickly as I can.’
‘What will I say if Alain asks where you are?’
‘Tell him I had to collect something from the post office.’
‘Ok… ay.’
Poppy cringed. She loathed deception in all its forms, and what Camille had asked her to do went against all her instincts that honesty was always the best policy, no matter what the situation, and yet she knew her friend was doing it with the best of intentions. She just wished Camille had at least taken Alain into her confidence and obtained his blessing. She wondered if she should tell Alain herself, given that Camille had only extracted her promise not to tell Olivier. But she knew that Alain would not be able to keep something as serious as this from his brother. There was also a high risk that Alain would put a stop to what Camille had clearly spent a great deal of time and effort planning, which would be a shame.
Ultimately, Poppy had to reluctantly accept that she agreed with Camille; Olivier was the best patissier in Paris, and he should have the opportunity to enter the competition that would recognise that fact, and while the presentation wouldn’t be his, the patisserie would speak for itself.
A few minutes before Patisserie Madeleine opened its doors to those in search of breakfast, Alain and Olivier filed into the store with trays and trays of glorious patisserie, just as they did at the beginning of every day. They placed them, almost reverently, in their allocated places in either the window or the glass cabinet, like precious jewels to be coveted and drooled over.
In addition to the pastries Camille would be using in the competition entry, there were croissants, éclairs, pain au chocolat, raspberry mille-feuille, multicoloured macarons, tartes aux pomme, tartes au citron, and of course, madeleines. Each one was a perfect replica of the next, as though they’d been created from a mould, but Poppy knew that every single pastry had been crafted to perfection by Olivier’s expert hand only.
‘Bonjour, Poppy. ?a va?’
She assured Olivier that she was fine, embarrassed that her voice sounded like she’d swallowed a frog and her smile was as false as a clown’s. She tried to be relaxed and nonchalant, but her anxiety caused her to stumble over her French words more than usual, although Olivier showed no surprise at that.
‘Bon.’
As soon as the brothers disappeared back into the kitchen, their voices raised as they discussed that evening’s Paris Saint-Germain football match, which Alain had managed to snag a ticket for, Camille sprang into action, scrutinising the selection of patisserie on offer for those that would best fit her design, while Poppy concentrated on her part of the bargain – serving the customers.
When Camille had finished laying out each one of her selections on a confectioner’s board – in the same design that would ultimately be presented to the judges on the silver salver – Poppy had to admit that it was stunning. Outlandish perhaps, but a veritable feast for the eyes, like a modernist painting that focused on shape, line and colour, except every part of it was edible.
‘Okay, it’s ready. Wish me luck.’
The tremor in her friend’s voice told Poppy that despite Camille’s outward confidence and determination, underneath she was just as terrified as Poppy was about what she had decided to do. There was a distinct possibility of her plan backfiring, that when Olivier discovered what she had done he would be furious, may even fire her, but she couldn’t think about that now.
‘Bon chance.’
Poppy hugged Camille before helping her to carry her packages to the waiting taxi that would take her to the luxury boutique hotel overlooking the River Seine where the judging was taking place in less than an hour’s time. She stood on the kerb outside Patisserie Madeleine, waving until her friend was out of sight, then spent the next two hours dashing backwards and forwards behind the counter, fulfilling a constant stream orders, one after the other, until finally there was a lull, and she was able to perch on one of the wooden stools to enjoy the coffee that Alain had brought her.
‘Where has Camille disappeared off to?’
‘She had to pick something up from the post office,’ Poppy mumbled, hiding her face behind her coffee cup. When she glanced at Alain over the rim, she saw he was watching her carefully.
‘Poppy? Is there…?’
To her huge relief, the door into the patisserie sprang open and three small girls tumbled inside wearing matching pastel-coloured dresses with daisies embroidered around the neckline and hem, their dark blonde hair teased into neat pigtails tied with ribbons. They were in high spirits, chattering away to each other in high-pitched French, and were followed by a tall, elegant woman who looked like she’d just stepped from a runway showcasing the best of that year’s Autumn/Winter styles.
‘Tonton! Tonton! Tonton!’
The girls threw themselves at Alain and he bent down to scoop them into his arms, depositing kisses on their soft cheeks, his eyes filled with heartwarming adoration for his three young nieces. They were each carrying a collection of boxes, cards, paintings and balloons with butterfly stickers attached, and after he’d set them all back down onto the floor, he performed the introductions.
‘Everyone, this is Poppy Phillipson. She’s a friend from England.’
Poppy saw their girls’ eyes widen with delight and was treated to the same enthusiastic welcome as Alain had experienced before their mother stepped forward to calm them down.
‘Poppy, this is Céline, Olivier’s wife, and this is Ana?s, Lili, and Théa.’
‘It’s good to meet you, Poppy. I owe you a debt of gratitude for coming to my husband’s rescue at such short notice.’ Céline smiled at Poppy, revealing perfect teeth and a warm expression of friendship in her hazel-coloured eyes. ‘The girls and I thought we’d pop into the shop to cheer Olivier up. He probably hasn’t mentioned it, but there’s an annual patisserie competition that he’s entered religiously for the last ten years, and because of his accident on the ski slopes, today is the first time he’s had to bow out. We know he’s upset about it, so we’ve come to shower him with our love and appreciation for being an award-winning husband and father instead. Much more important, don’t you think?’
Poppy smiled. ‘I do.’
‘I take it Olivier’s in the kitchen, Alain?’
‘He is.’
Céline herded the girls – who were already munching on éclairs that Alain had given them – towards the kitchen, and as the door swung open, squeals of “Papa, Papa, Papa” erupted, followed by a loud roar of delight from Olivier.
Fortunately, before Alain could resume his questioning on the whereabouts of the missing Camille, a swathe of pre-lunch customers arrived at the shop, followed ten minutes later by Camille herself, who removed her bobble hat and trench coat with leopard-print trim, quickly re-secured her apron, and without so much as a glance in Poppy or Alain’s direction, resumed her role of Patisserie Madeleine’s head sales assistant.
To Poppy’s annoyance, that day the patisserie was so busy that it was almost time to close the shop before she had the chance to ask Camille how her expedition to H?tel Le Royal had unfolded. She fired a long string of questions at her, unable to keep her curiosity to herself for a single minute longer.
‘I think everything went okay. No one was surprised that it was me who was dropping off Olivier’s entry. All I had to do was place the design on the designated table in one of the conference rooms, fill in and sign a couple of forms, hand them to the organiser, and leave.’
‘Did you see any of the other entries?’
‘No, it was very carefully set up so that wouldn’t happen.’
Poppy noticed that Camille was fiddling with her necklace – a rope of pompoms in rainbow colours that looked like it had been made by one of Olivier’s children – her fingers trembling slightly as she spoke.
‘Where is Olivier, by the way?’
‘He’s gone out for an early dinner with his family,’ she said, relieved when she saw Camille’s features finally relax. ‘And Alain’s heading to the PSG football match. Come on, let’s finish clearing up here and I’ll treat you to a glass of Champagne at the bistro.’
‘Thanks, Poppy, but I have something else planned.’
‘You do?’
‘I’m meeting étienne.’
‘Are you two an item, then?’
‘I think so.’ Camille’s whole demeanour changed, and a wide smile stretched her lips. ‘Who would have thought that behind that shield of shyness, there’s a ferociously passionate soul? You should hear him talk about dahlias, daisies and delphiniums! What about you and Fabien? Are you an item, too?’
‘No, no, we’re just friends.’
She could tell that Camille didn’t believe her.
‘Did you kiss him when he walked you home after the tomato soup night?’
‘Actually, I—’
‘And what about last night after the theatre?’
‘Camille—’
‘Oh my God, you did! Oh, I’m so happy for you, Poppy. Fabien is fun, talented, not to mention super-sexy, and I can tell he likes you, too. Maybe he even loves you. Do you love him?’
‘Camille, I’ve known him for two weeks!’
‘Haven’t you heard of love at first sight?’
‘Of course I have, but—’
‘Do your fingertips tingle when you see him?’
Poppy rolled her eyes at Camille. She couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable when she was asked these intimate questions as though it was just normal conversation, and she knew it would take her a while longer to get used to her French friends’ directness when it came to discussing affairs of the heart.
‘I don’t think that’s…’
‘Love is what makes the world go round, Poppy.’ Camille laughed. ‘And Paris is the city of love! Here you can be who you want to be; you can wear what you want to wear, eat what you want to eat, and love who you want to love, with enthusiasm, exuberance, and, most important of all, with passion!’
Poppy smiled. Camille was right. Love and romance did seem to float in the air in Paris. In every nook and cranny, there was something to see that made the heart sing; world-famous artwork, stunningly beautiful sculptures, architectural magnificence, Michelin-starred food and award-winning wine, original theatre shows, iconic opera, quirky bookshops, and of course, there was the friendliness, openness, and welcoming ambiance created by the city’s inhabitants.
Maybe she should take a leaf out of Camille’s book and throw caution to the wind whilst she was there, “be who she wanted to be” instead of always worrying about what other people would think about her or whether her brothers would approve of her choices. She loved her family, but being the perfect daughter and sister was exhausting. She knew she had made a mistake, a dreadful mistake, but she refused to carry that burden around with her for the rest of her life.
It was time to move on, time to be who she really was, who she had been before Drew’s deceit had robbed her of her confidence. She was in Paris, and if she was going to enjoy everything the city had to offer, she needed to experience the tingling fingertips, the burning flames of desire and the fervent, exhilarating passion that Camille had talked about. And in order to do that, she had to be honest with herself, and honest with those around her.
Fabien had told her about Léa; it was her turn to tell him about Drew.