Chapter 39
‘S o,’ Claude says, walking around the shop, as if inspecting it for signs of dust or things out of place, ‘you have decided to take on one of the biggest baking families around here,’ he says scornfully, ‘with your pathetic little bakery van.’
‘I know it was you who left the baguette, Claude.’ My heart is thundering. ‘You might have scared others off, but it won’t work with me. The villagers like having a boulangerie back.’
‘They might tell you that, but they won’t change from my bread. They might like to try what’s on offer, but it won’t be better than they’re used to.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘In fact, it’s probably quite a let-down,’ he says, in a loaded way.
I pull myself up tall. ‘Our bread is far superior to yours. People are letting you know that. They are buying our bread. It is made with quality ingredients, not cheap ones to give the biggest profit. This is proper artisan bread. There is a place for the boulangerie in the village and for the van in villages where the boulangeries have gone. They like having the van arriving rather than queuing at a soulless vending machine.’
‘For now. But,’ he shrugs, ‘who will take it on when you have to leave? No one wants to.’
For a moment I’m not so sure-footed.
He walks through the shop and I feel as if he’s infecting its gloriously warm welcoming ambience with his insidious, poisonous air.
He is by the end of the old wooden counter now, by the old-fashioned till.
He leans on the return of the counter. ‘I’m here to tell you there isn’t room for both of us and you will be leaving.
I’m not sure if you play by different rules back home, but here in France, if you steal something from someone, you have to pay them back.
You are stealing my customers. And so you will have to pay. ’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
He presses down on the till button and the drawer pings open. ‘Why don’t we start with today’s takings? Looks like it’s been a good day!’
‘No, you can’t. I need that money!’
He holds his leather satchel open, looks at me and starts to fill it with coins and notes. ‘It’s money you took from me.’
‘I didn’t take your money!’
‘You took custom that belonged to me. If I took all your baguettes, that would be stealing, wouldn’t it? I would owe you money. It is only right.’
I look for some way out of this, wishing Madame B will reappear.
I try to slam the till drawer shut, hoping to catch his fingers. But he grabs it and empties it.
‘ Merci .’
‘It is a shame. We could have done good business together. I could have taught you a lot,’ he says, leaning in. I can smell yesterday’s garlic and wine on today’s cigarette breath, making me want to gag. I can’t move.
‘I will go to the gendarmes ,’ I tell him.
‘Yes. You could, but I wouldn’t bother. I am a local businessman, and we go back a long way – they’ll never believe your word over mine.
And if you were to take your chances and find out, I could always tell your new love interest that you and I shared a passionate kiss.
That you wanted me, were begging me to become your lover. ’
‘That’s not true.’
‘We kissed, did we not?’
I feel frozen to the spot. He’s blackmailing me. He’d tell Laurent the one thing that will hurt him most: that another member of his family has taken what they want without a care for others. I’m furious with myself.
Suddenly the door opens and the bell rings. Claude turns to see Laurent standing there.
‘Claude,’ he states, rather than asks.
‘Laurent! Bonjour ,’ he says, turning away from the counter and me. I let myself breathe.
‘Were you just leaving?’
‘Yes. Thank you. Merci … Julie?’
‘Juliet,’ I say, through gritted teeth.
He looks at me, then at Laurent. ‘Lovely to see two people so happy in each other’s company,’ he says with a sickly smile. ‘I hope nothing comes in the path of such a blossoming friendship.’ He smirks and Laurent narrows his eyes as my mouth goes dry.
‘Well, thanks for popping in, Claude,’ I say, my fight reignited. ‘I’m sure we’ll work things out.’ I’m not sure if I’m referring to him and me, or Laurent and me. ‘Plenty of room for us all here, I’m sure. See you at the market.’ I skirt around him and hold the door open, the bell tinkling.
He leaves, slowly, still smirking. His snake eyes mirror how they looked on that regrettable day.
I was desperate to find myself but, instead, I found someone I didn’t like – in him, and in me.
I want him out of the bakery, because it’s here I’ve finally found my happy place.
Being here, with Madame B, in the early-morning glow of the lights and the hum of the ovens.
In the smell of the bread as it starts to bake.
The arrival of our first customers. The coffee and the greeting ritual, the chatter from the women, meeting and buying their bread, gathering around the table.
I’ve found my purpose. I look at Laurent.
But I know Claude is right. I can’t get close to this man.
I can’t – not after what I’ve done, with the one man he hates, whose grandfather nearly destroyed his family for good.
I can’t ever let him know that I nearly made the same dreadful mistake, almost choosing the wrong man.
But I can still enjoy his company, share his love of producing flour at the mill, and the bread we make with it.
A mutual pride and passion, which includes the friendship I’ve made with Madame B.
Like leaving the dough to prove overnight, good things take time and judgement. They take savoir faire .
And Claude may have taken today’s money – which I needed in my bank account to show the mayor I was in profit – but I’m not done yet. I’ll do everything to stop that man running me out of town.
Madame B comes back into the shop with Bibi on a lead.
‘I’ll take all the baguettes we’ve got left, and then as many as you can bake while I’m out. I’m going to get to as many villages as I can, visit farms and hamlets, see if they’d like bread brought to them. It could be a regular thing.’
She nods and gets to work.
‘Do you need a hand?’ asks Laurent. ‘You look like you’re on a mission.’
I smile. ‘That would be very kind. And, yes, I am.’
With twice as many pairs of hands, we sell twice as much bread.
We arrive in small hamlets with a toot of the horn, dropping down Dolly’s hatch and selling to the queue that quickly forms when they hear we’ve arrived.
Then we move on to the next village, where people are getting to know us and ignoring the vending machine.
We even return to the bakery and load up again, making afternoon visits to other villages, pulling up in the squares, selling to people who are keen to know the story of the mill coming back to life and quick to grab their purses to buy from us.
We hear people say they hope we’ll be back soon as we drive away.
Laurent and I work around each other in the small, intimate space of Dolly, with jokes and laughter, smiling at the customers who are sharing their appreciation for the bread, talking with each other and catching up on news.
Getting daily bread is so much more than coming home with a baguette from the vending machine.
‘Are you sure the tabac isn’t missing you?’ I ask Laurent, on his third day out with me.
He laughs. ‘Have you seen how many customers I don’t have?’
The following morning, the village women are in to buy baguettes as we load the bakery van.
By the time we return to the boulangerie , the netting in the front window has been pulled to the side – there are no more secrets.
Those three women are enjoying their coffee and a catch-up as their husbands do the same on the other side of the glass outside.
Laurent and I soon get in a routine with Dolly.
As we pull up in the next hamlet, Laurent engages the handbrake and I open the side hatch, straightening the bunting that catches and flutters on the breeze.
By the time I’ve done that, he’s in the van, ready to serve customers, and we work comfortably, side by side, feeling the excitement of the sales, and each other’s presence.
Our bodies are close enough that can smell his cologne, and I smile at the frequency with which we catch each other’s eye.
We share satisfaction at the sight of the sidelined vending machines, full of unsold bread.
The only cloud on the horizon is Claude, who sometimes pulls up at the vending machines, next to the bakery van. He’s not happy, not happy at all.
I have just days left to show the mayor I’m making a profit before I can start to believe that I may be here for good.