Chapter Twenty Five
Poppy followed Camille across Rue Saint-André to Bistro Fabien, both of them coming to an abrupt standstill when they saw the window blinds were still down and the Fermé sign still hadn’t been turned to Bienvenu to invite customers inside despite it being almost midday.
‘Do you think Fabien has decided to close the bistro now instead of waiting until the end of the week?’ said Poppy, a nip of surprise invading her chest. ‘Oh, God, you don’t think there’s been another delivery, do you?’
‘There’s only one way to find out.’
Fortunately, when Camille tried the handle, the door opened. As Poppy stepped over the threshold, she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in disbelief. Instead of the two long wooden tables waiting to welcome diners for lunch, there were cardboard boxes and sheets of bubble wrap everywhere, and in the midst of it all were Pascal and Michel, their faces creased with anguish.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Camille.
Pascal paused in his task of wrapping one of the bistro’s brandy glasses in a protective layer of paper and shot a surreptitious glance over his shoulder towards the kitchen before lowering his voice.
‘Bistro Fabien is closed… for good.’
‘What? Now? Today?’
‘Fabien’s heading back to Nice tonight.’
Poppy’s jaw dropped. ‘Tonight, but why so soon?’
‘Because…’
As if on cue, the door to the kitchen opened and an extremely glamorous woman emerged; tall, slender, with long rippling waves of glossy brown hair and flawless makeup that enhanced her huge chestnut-coloured eyes. She wore a beaded saffron blouse with puffed sleeves, a pair of white jeans that showed off her curves to perfection, and towering heels that gave her the stature and deportment that told the onlooker she was in the modelling industry. She could easily have posed for a bevy of paparazzi without having to check her appearance in the mirror.
‘Everyone, this is Léa, Fabien’s…’
Pascal paused, struggling to come up with the correct word to describe their relationship, so Léa graciously came to his rescue.
‘Soon-to-be fiancée.’ She beamed, displaying a set of neon-white teeth as she stretched out her hand to greet first Camille, then Poppy. Her voice was deep and sensual, with an appealingly rhythmic cadence, and she seemed completely oblivious to the fact that Pascal’s jaw had dropped in surprise at her response. Sensibly, he decided to keep his own counsel. ‘I’m sorry I can’t stay to help you with the packing, guys, but Fabien has gone shopping, and he’s asked me to meet him for lunch at one of the most romantic restaurants in the whole of Paris. It’s the perfect venue for a newly engaged couple to celebrate their adoration for each other, don’t you think?’
Léa’s eyes sparkled as she beamed at her awestruck audience as though she had just stepped onto a stage to accept an award. Poppy could barely believe what was happening; she tried to smile, but she knew it was more of a grimace.
‘May I say how relieved I am that Fabien was able to engage such a loyal staff in the short time he was here in Le Marais, conducting his little experiment—’
‘Oh no, we’re not staff,’ said Camille, bristling at the dismissive and patronising tone Léa had used. ‘In fact, Poppy here is—’
Poppy grabbed Camille’s hand and gave it a tight warning squeeze before her friend said anything further. She had thought Fabien’s relationship with Léa was over, but clearly that was not the case, and while she felt sick at the thought that history was repeating itself, she was determined not to crumple into a hot mess of misery in front of her new friends, even though all three of them were staring at her with sympathy.
‘à bient?t, mes chéries!’
Léa exited the bistro, leaving a cloud of Miss Dior in her wake, and as soon as the door swung shut everyone exhaled the breath they’d been holding at the same time. Pascal and Michel abandoned their packing duties and headed into the kitchen to make coffee, returning a few minutes later with a tray of drinks and a plate of Olivier’s madeleines. Poppy dropped into a chair and accepted a cup of espresso in the hope it might clear her head of the fuzziness that had descended.
‘What just happened?’ said Camille, clearly as confused as Poppy was. ‘Why is Léa here?’
‘Apparently, she was waiting on the steps of Fabien’s apartment when he got home last night,’ said Pascal, taking a seat next to Poppy. ‘It was well after midnight, and she told Fabain she had dropped everything when she heard about the “sad demise” of his new bistro venture, to dash up here so she could be with him in his “time of need”. She also told him that she’s spoken to a film producer friend who owns a restaurant on Promenade des Anglais and has secured him a head chef’s position there.’
‘And he took it?’ said Camille, aghast. ‘Without discussing it with… anyone?’
‘What choice does he have? He has start-up loans to pay off for the bistro and no income. He’d be a fool to turn something like that down. You heard him say that he’d wash dishes if he had to! This way it’ll be like he never left.’
‘But he hated being the chef de cuisine for the kind of restaurant that caters to the super-rich. It’s why he left Nice to come to Paris,’ Camille pressed, clearly trying to come to terms with the decision Fabien had made. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Obviously Léa’s reappearance has something to do with it, too,’ said Pascal, flashing an apologetic glance at Poppy, the discomfort written boldly across his face as he rushed on. ‘While Fabien was initially upset at the way their relationship ended, he was way too busy setting up the bistro to wallow in regrets. On the other hand, Léa did regret the ultimatum she gave him, and after a couple of weeks she started calling him, asking him how the restaurant was doing and making sure he knew that if he went back to Nice, she would be waiting for him. Fabien always told me he wasn’t interested… well, not until he realised that he couldn’t stay here, even if he wanted to.’
‘So he really is out “shopping” for an engagement ring?’ said Camille, horrified.
‘All he said to me was that he had a few things to sort out. I assumed he meant about the earlier-than-expected closure of the bistro, but clearly I was wrong.’
Poppy’s heart cracked, but before she could say anything, the bistro’s door swung open, and all eyes turned to see étienne standing on the doorstep, his dark blonde hair dishevelled from the wind as he scanned the room, a broad smile appearing on his lips when he spotted Camille. She rushed forward to welcome him with cheek kisses, guided him to the seat she has just vacated, poured him a coffee, then grabbed another chair so she could sit next to him.
‘Why is the bistro closed? What’s going on?’
In as few words as possible, Camille told him about Fabien and Léa’s surprise reconciliation and their imminent return to Nice, then stopped abruptly, her eyes almost popping out of their sockets. ‘Oh my God, no!’
‘What?’ said étienne, helping himself to a madeleine.
‘No, it can’t be…’
‘Camille?’
‘But maybe… yes, it makes perfect sense.’
‘What does?!’
Suddenly étienne’s eyes widened with realisation, and a few seconds later Poppy’s did, too. She gasped, ambushed by a surge of light-headedness as the implications exploded in her head.
‘Pascal, where does Léa live?’ asked Camille. ‘I mean where exactly.’
‘In a villa on the outskirts of Cannes. Her father bought it for her when she landed her first role in a daytime soap. Why?’
Camille sent a triumphant look at étienne and then at Poppy.
‘Because Poppy and I have been wearing our deerstalkers.’
‘What’s a deerstalker?’ asked Michel, clearly bewildered by everything that was going on.
‘It’s a hat that… Never mind. Poppy and I have been doing some digging into the mystery behind the negative reviews the bistro had been getting, as well as the unwanted food deliveries and the flower orders, and we have made certain discoveries.’
She told Pascal and Michel about Bart’s research, and étienne told them about his conversation with Vivienne, filling them in on the details he had missed out when he’d spoken to Camille on the telephone earlier that morning when they were at the bookshop.
‘Vivienne said the conversation stuck in her mind because the woman spoke as though she was reading the news and she thought she had been professionally trained to do so, but as she didn’t recognise the name she gave, she didn’t think anything more of it.’
‘So you think Léa is behind all this?’ said Pascal, his face filled with incredulity. ‘But why would she do that?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ said Camille, her cheeks pink with indignation. ‘If Fabien’s Paris adventure failed, she knew he would have no alternative but to head back to Nice. Once he was there, it would be easier for her to persuade him to resume their relationship, especially if she’d been instrumental in securing him a lucrative position at an upmarket restaurant similar to the one he’d left only six months before.’
Silence rolled around the bistro as everyone contemplated Camille’s theory.
‘We have to tell Fabien,’ said étienne, reaching for his phone.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ said Pascal, shaking his head.
‘Why not?’
‘What good would it do? I know Fabien better than any of you, and I think it’s best if we keep your suspicions – and they are just suspicions – to ourselves. We have no evidence whatsoever that Léa has anything to do with any of this. If we start throwing around accusations that Fabien’s soon-to-be fiancée is responsible for something that has nothing to do with her, then we risk our friendship with Fabien.’
‘But—’
‘No buts. If you find evidence that categorically links Léa to the reviews or the order of the flowers, then fine, but until you do, we maintain our counsel and we come together to support Fabien as he wraps up his long-held dream and heads back home to Nice… this evening. I know Léa’s sudden arrival has caused one of our party a great deal of heartache, but that’s no reason to blame her for everything that went wrong with the bistro.’
Poppy stared at Pascal, who she saw had the grace to avert his eyes. It was true that Pascal knew Fabien better than any of them; Michel, Camille and étienne had only met him when he came to Paris in May, and she had known him for less than three weeks, although she did feel as though she had known him for much longer. Suddenly, she felt as though the walls were closing in on her and she couldn’t bear to remain there any longer. She pushed back her chair and got to her feet, her thoughts reeling after what she had just heard Pascal say.
‘Sorry, I need some air.’
She collected her satchel and hurried from the bistro, the bulbous clouds she’d seen that morning now directly overhead and threatening to dump their contents on the unsuspecting people of Paris at any minute. She knew Camille would be hot on her heels, so she sprinted to her apartment building, wrenched open the door and scuttled inside as quickly as she could, her breath coming in spurts.
She had only made it as far as the first floor when she heard the insistent buzz of the doorbell, but, with a spasm of guilt, she ignored it and prayed that Hélène was out with Odette at one of her many classes. Once inside her studio, she collapsed onto her unmade bed, her head in her hands as she tried to make sense of everything that had happened since she woke up that morning.
First, the upsetting run-in with Olivier and his suggestion she return to Devon sooner rather than later. Then there was the mistaken belief that Stéphane was the person responsible for the untimely closure of Bistro Fabien and the fact that they’d narrowly avoiding an embarrassing showdown in front of the customers of the bookshop, and finally, the most devastating of all, hearing the news that Fabien and Léa were back together and, if Léa was to be believed, were about to get engaged.
What next?
As she sat there staring at the rooftops, waiting for her heartrate to return to normal, she realised she had no reason to remain in Paris. She was no longer needed at Patisserie Madeleine, and despite opening her heart to Fabien the previous night, he had decided to go back to his old life in Nice. She couldn’t blame him for that. Even though he had asked her to join him there to launch a Riviera Garden Café together, she wasn’t sure she would have taken him up on that proposal anyway.
However, she didn’t regret one minute of her time in France.
She had learned a great deal about herself, and about how she wanted her future to look. She had found the courage to finally discard the shield of despondency she had insisted on hiding behind and step into the light with her head held high. Not only had her patisserie skills improved, so had her fluency in French and her fashion sense. She had also made a start on her debut novel, added several coveted tomes to her cookery book collection, been in the audience of a real-life Parisian catwalk show, and taken part in a fencing class.
She had changed, and while things hadn’t worked out how she had hoped, she had still gained a great deal in the short time she was there.She could return to Devon with her confidence restored, determined to stand up for what she wanted and to start planning a new life, a new business, and maybe even a new home of her own once her English Garden Café idea was off the ground.
But there was one thing she couldn’t ignore.
After what she had been through with Drew – his lies, his cheating, his deception – she wasn’t comfortable about keeping what she and Camille had discovered a secret. Over the last three weeks, she had formed a connection with Fabien, and despite what Pascal had said, she owed him the courtesy of honesty. While she had no intention of naming Léa as a potential perpetrator, she felt it was only right that she presented him with the information that Bart and étienne had found. It was then up to him to decide what to do with it.
She couldn’t remain silent. If Martha or Jess had told her what type of person Drew was when she saw them having afternoon tea at the Pump Room Restaurant in Bath, she could have been spared a whole year of heartache and misery. She had no idea what Fabien’s reaction would be, but she had to tell him what she knew.
This was the person she wanted to be moving forward. A leader in her own life. A person who made decisions and followed them through, no matter what the consequences.