Chapter Twenty Nine
‘Salut, Poppy.’
The sound of Fabien’s sensual French accent caused her heart to flutter. Hélène was right; Poppy had fallen in love with him. But for now she wanted their conversation to be light and breezy, a discussion between two friends who had stumbled onto the same path, enjoyed each other’s company for a short time, and were now going their separate ways.
‘Salut, Fabien.’
‘Where are you?’
For a brief second, Poppy was at a loss as to what to say and where to start. So much had happened since she’d received Holly’s call while waiting for her train in the Gare du Nord that she felt as though her life had tipped on its axis.
‘I’m having coffee at the Boathouse Bistro. Why?’
‘Because I’m in Sidmouth. At a place called The Driftwood Café?’
‘You’re… what?’
‘Sidmouth. Or is it Sidmouth?’
‘It’s… Never mind. What are you doing here?’
‘Can we talk, Poppy? Please?’
‘I…’ She cast a glance at the door leading into the bistro’s kitchen and couldn’t help smiling when she saw four faces pressed against the circular glass window. She looked at her watch, surprised to see that it was after two o’clock. ‘Of course. Wait there. Grab a coffee and I’ll see you in twenty minutes.’
She dropped her phone in her satchel and hooked the handles over her shoulder. She couldn’t believe that Fabien had travelled all the way from Paris to talk to her, and even if it was just to say goodbye face-to-face, her increased heartbeat revealed just how excited she was about the prospect of seeing him again. She strode across the empty bistro and into the kitchen, laughing when her friends scattered like a posse of spooked gazelles.
‘I saw you watching through the window, guys.’
‘Is everything okay?’ asked Holly, her face creased with concern. ‘What did Fabien want?’
‘He wants me to meet him.’
Holly’s jaw loosened. ‘You’re going back to Paris already?’
‘No, he’s in Devon.’
‘Really?’ said Rachel, her eyes sparkling. ‘Can we meet him?’
‘I think Poppy needs to go by herself,’ said Kath, rolling her eyes at Rachel.
‘Yes, of course, sorry. Later then?’
‘Maybe.’
Poppy gave everyone a quick hug, jumped into her Mini and headed for Sidmouth, her thoughts a cauldron of confusion. She realised now that she shouldn’t have left Paris without saying goodbye to the people who had made her stay there so amazing – life-changing, even – although if she was honest, even if Holly hadn’t called with the news about Dexter when she did, she probably wouldn’t have postponed her return to Devon to meet Fabien for the coffee he’d suggested.
She was disappointed by her actions.
Running away was what the old Poppy would have done, and she was determined not to go back to the days when she preferred to hide inside the protective bubble her family and friends had created as a buffer from all life’s traumas. However, it was a learning curve, and she couldn’t be expected to get everything right straight away, which was why she was on her way to meet Fabien. She would apologise and hear what he had to say, even though she might not like what that was. Facing challenges was part of being the protagonist in the story of her life instead of a casual bystander.
After a relatively traffic-free journey, Poppy drew to a stop outside one of the seafront cafés and scoured the street for any sign of Fabien. She experienced a surge of relief that ballooned into joy when she saw him sitting on a bench, clutching a takeaway coffee as he waited for her to arrive. She wound down her window and waved, and was thrilled to see his handsome face light up with delight when he saw her.
With obvious disgust, he dropped his coffee cup in the bin next to him and rushed forward to greet her, beaming as he leaned through her driver’s window to place the customary kisses on her cheeks, much to the irritation of the Renault Clio driver behind her who wanted her parking spot.
‘Jump in!’
Before Fabien had chance to fasten his seatbelt she sped away, smiling as his cologne filled the Mini with the spicy fragrance she loved. She noticed that he didn’t have any luggage with him, which she thought was strange, and she hoped that didn’t mean he intended to head straight back to Paris, or Nice, after their “talk”. She really wanted him to stay for a few days so she could introduce him to the beauty of the English Riviera – even though it was November.
‘Thanks for coming to meet me,’ said Fabien in French.
‘De rein. Shall we go back to my parents’ house? I promise to make you a real coffee.’
‘That would be perfect, but do you mind if we talk first?’
‘Of course.’
Poppy’s stomach gave a nip of trepidation at Fabien’s solemn tone, and instead of turning into the driveway of her parents’ house, she parked in the street outside, behind the bright green gardening services vehicle she had almost crashed into earlier that morning. She unfastened her seatbelt and turned in her seat to face Fabien, forcing a smile on her face as her heart pounded out a symphony of anxiety.
As the silence extended, she realised that Fabien was struggling to know where to start. To her surprise, she saw that his hands were trembling, and his gaze was fixed on the Flower Fairies van as though hoping someone would leap out of the back and offer suggestions on how to start such a conversation. Poppy took pity on him, and decided this was the perfect time to prove to herself that she had changed by taking the initiative and explaining why she had left Paris in such a hurry.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t answer your text yesterday, Fabien. I—’
‘No, no, it’s me who should be apologising, Poppy.’ Finally, Fabien looked up and met her gaze, his expression serious. ‘I want you to know that Léa and I are not together. Pascal told me what she said to you and Camille, and it’s as far from the truth as it is possible to get. When I told you our relationship was over, I meant it. We are not getting engaged, despite her assertion that she was my “soon-to-be-fiancée”, and her insinuation that I had left the bistro that morning to purchase an engagement ring was completely false. I was actually dealing with the paperwork needed to surrender the lease on the bistro and trying to negotiate a reduced exit fee.
‘When I eventually returned and Pascal told me what Léa had said to you all, I was horrified. I called her immediately and asked her to come back to the bistro where I had a gentle, but frank conversation with her. She didn’t believe me at first. She insisted I would feel differently when we got back to Nice where she had apparently secured me a prestigious chef’s position, but despite her attempts to persuade me otherwise, I told her I no longer had feelings for her.
‘Fortunately, Camille and étienne turned up a few minutes later, which helped to defuse the situation. Léa suggested we had a drink together, for old time’s sake, and while all I really wanted to do was rush over to meet you at Jules Verne so I could explain to you what was going on, I didn’t want to upset Léa any more than I already had, so, against my better judgement, I agreed. It turned out to be a fortuitous decision.’
‘What do you mean?’
Fabien paused to inhale a deep breath, his eyes darkening, a muscle working in his jaw as he fought to keep his emotions under control so he could continue with his story.
‘After consuming several glasses of Cognac in quick succession, Léa… tried again to persuade me to “come to my senses”, so I was forced to be a little firmer in my refusal to reconcile, reminding her that we hadn’t been on the same page about a lot of things, and while I knew opposites did sometimes attract, in our case it wasn’t to be. To my astonishment, she exploded, hurling a stream of abuse at not only me, but also Camille and étienne, whom she accused of somehow turning me against her. When I asked her to leave, she finally realised I meant it, and she came clean.’
‘Came clean? What… Oh…’
‘Léa confessed to being behind the unwanted deliveries and the derogatory reviews as part of her attempt to get me to return to Nice. Her scheme had worked, I was heading home, but I had absolutely no intention of getting back together with her, no matter what prestigious job she had scored for me there. Léa has always been hot-tempered, but, to her credit, when she calmed down, she apologised, and offered to reimburse me for everything I’ve lost. Well, her parents would, but the gesture was genuine. I turned her down, of course, told her how disappointed I was about what she’d done and that it would take me a while to forgive her, then we hugged and said goodbye. She flew back to Nice on her father’s jet that night.’
Poppy’s cheeks coloured as she recalled peering through the bistro’s window and seeing Léa thread her arms around Fabien’s neck. She realised that if she had stayed for a few seconds longer she would probably have seen their embrace for what it was – a final farewell.
‘I’m sorry, Fabien.’
Fabien lips twitched upwards, and dimples appeared in his cheeks.
‘You won’t be surprised to hear that Camille couldn’t wait to tell me that the two of you had already worked out that Léa was the person responsible for the catalogue of disasters that seemed to rain down on my bistro dream from the moment I threw open its doors. She said something about “digging with magnifying glasses”, and while I have no idea what she was talking about, I want you to know how grateful I am that you believed in me, Poppy, that you had unwavering faith in my talent as a chef even when I didn’t. Did she call you, by the way?’
‘Yes, but I haven’t had chance to speak to her yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘A few things have happened since I left Paris.’
Poppy told him about Dexter, about how shocked everyone was to hear of his untimely passing – and the distressing way it had happened – and how worried her friends were about what the new owner would do with Blossomwood Manor and its grounds, as well as the inevitable delay to the insurance payments they had all waited so long to receive.
‘I’m so sorry, Poppy. That’s very upsetting news.’
‘Of course, my thoughts are with Dexter’s loved ones. I can’t imagine how they must be feeling.’ Poppy paused, relieved to see that Fabien’s hands had stopped shaking. ‘However, it also means that my dream of opening an English Garden Café will be on hold for a while longer.’
Fabien stared at her, holding her gaze.
‘Not necessarily.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come on.’
To Poppy’s astonishment, Fabien leapt from the passenger seat and headed down the driveway of her parents’ house as though he’d been there many times before. She scrambled to catch up with him, confusion swirling as she followed him through the wooden gate that led round to the rear of the house. When she stepped onto the terrace overlooking the garden, her hand flew to her mouth and she gasped, barely able to believe what her eyes were telling her.
In the middle of the lawn was a large white canvas gazebo, its eaves flapping in the breeze, beneath which was a pretty wrought-iron bistro table and two chairs, the table dressed in a white linen tablecloth and set with china crockery, a bouquet of flowers, and shiny silver cutlery. All around the gazebo were a profusion of ceramic pots, terracotta urns, painted wooden crates, and sturdy hand-painted vases filled with a riot of summer blooms.
‘What…?’
Poppy took a tentative step forward, then stopped when she saw her mum’s prize-winning magnolia tree – currently minus its leaves – festooned with pastel-coloured bunting and fairy lights. It was only when she saw a small, beautifully illustrated placard with the name Flower Fairies scrawled across the front that she realised what had happened, but not why.
‘Do you like it?’
‘I love it, but—’
‘Is it how you envisage your English Garden Café might look?’
‘Yes, it is. Oh my God!’
Tears sprang to her eyes as she realised what Fabien was saying. Her mum’s garden had been the original inspiration for her dream to one day open a café decorated with the same summer flowers that were sourced, planted and cared for so diligently by her mum, and Fabien had tried to bring that dream to life for her.
‘When I asked you to come to Nice with me to open a French Riviera Café, I didn’t mean that I wanted you to forgo your dreams. I wanted to help you to pursue them; your café can be anywhere as long as we are together. I’m here to offer you my services in any way you wish, along with the deposit to secure your ideal venue, because the owner of my former Parisian bistro has agreed to release me from the lease without penalty.’
‘Really?’
‘Your dream is alive, Poppy, and I want to share it with you.’ Fabien took a step forward and drew her gently into his arms, his voice heavy with emotion. ‘I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life creating the most mouthwatering patisserie in the whole of Devon, a blend of everything that’s magnifique in both our cuisines. What do you say?’
Poppy’s heart soared at the adoration she saw in Fabien’s eyes.
‘I say yes, yes, yes! But… can I ask you one thing?’
‘Bien sur.’
‘Did you organise all this yourself?’
‘Ah, no, I did have a little help.’
‘What do you mean?’
Fabien waved his hand in the air, and when Poppy looked over her shoulder, she gasped in astonishment as Jamie and Alicia emerged from inside the house, grinning widely, before hugging her tightly and welcoming her home. However, it was when the next person stepped through the French doors onto the terrace that tears started to trickle down her cheeks.
‘Oh my God, Olivier! What are you doing here?’
‘I wished to assist with the surprise, of course.’ Olivier beamed, enveloping her in a such a strong bear hug that she almost squeaked. ‘And also, I’m here to apologise for my totally inexcusable behaviour when I banished you and Camille from Patisserie Madeleine, and to thank you again and again and again for your talent at recognising culinary genius when you see it.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Olivier was awarded the runner-up trophy in the patisserie competition,’ said a familiar voice. ‘You must now address him as Professeur Patisserie.’
‘Camille! Oh my God! Camille!’
Poppy rushed forward and flung her arms around her friend, her tears now flowing freely. When she released her, she saw étienne lingering behind Camille, a smidgeon of anxiety in his eyes as he braced himself for a similarly effusive greeting, which he accepted with stoicism and gallantry.
‘Hélène and Odette asked me to extend their apologies for not being here,’ said Jamie, sending an amused smile at his old friend who was investigating the dainty china cups and saucers as though he had never seen crockery before. ‘But they had a class they simply couldn’t get out of.’
Poppy laughed, sliding her arms around Fabien’s waist.
‘What was it this time? Karate? Snake-charming?’
‘Life drawing.’
‘Well, I completely understand why they wouldn’t want to miss that.’
‘Ah, but what you don’t know, Poppy,’ said Olivier, rolling his eyes at the antics of his mother and her best friend. ‘Is that they are not the artists, but the models! She sends her love, though, and asked me to impress upon you to live life with the same abandon as she does. Just be careful not to break any bones, though, eh?’
As dusk started to tickle the treetops, Jamie ushered everyone into the kitchen of their parents’ house where he and Olivier began to rustle up a celebratory dinner, and étienne opened several bottles of wine to whet the appetite.
Poppy had no idea what the future held, and while she was determined to walk her own path, she realised that didn’t mean she had to walk it alone. Collaboration, communication and mutual consideration were the key to a successful partnership, and she intended to make sure that she remembered those things as she sauntered down life’s rocky highway, whipping up lemon soufflés, slicing apples for tartes Tatin, baking Devonshire cream scones, and creating croquembouches in the shape of the Eiffel Tower, or perhaps the Shard.
Life wasn’t perfect. Nothing was. And anyway, perfect meant different things to different people. But if you could fill it with moments of joy, acts of kindness and people you loved, who loved you in return without reservation, then happiness would almost certainly follow. Wasn’t that worth striving for?
And for the difficult days, there was always cake.
The End