The kitchen in La Maison du Paradis was hot. Tomas propped the doors open, hoping for cooler air to waft in, but the air that blew through the fans was heavy and muggy. The guests, weary from their morning excursion, felt lethargic as Tomas and Daniel began class. But as Daniel shook his bell, they were jolted to attention.
‘Unfortunately, we have very high temperatures to deal with,’ Daniel said and mopped his brow, ‘but this afternoon, you only have two hours of work, and then you can relax by the pool and cool down. If you finish before, you can leave earlier.’
Fran, perched on a stool, fanned her face. At least it wouldn’t take long to knock up her soup. She felt smug as she looked at the ingredients placed before the guests. Some of their purchases would take ages to prepare, but her bag of broad beans would be a piece of cake. Boil a few beans in a bit of stock with onions, season and liquidise and hey presto – Bob’s your uncle! Job done. She’d be out by the pool faster than it took to peel a sprout.
Fran noted that Daniel had begun his usual pre-class lecture, and many guests were yawning.
‘In a professional kitchen, when I started, we worked eighteen-hour shifts in furnace-like conditions,’ Daniel said. He searched the weary faces to drive home his point. ‘To learn at the table of some of the finest chefs in the world is considered part of a young person’s training. Heat can be a job hazard; you must ignore it.’
Fran looked quizzical and wondered why Daniel referred to a young person. There wasn’t a soul under sixty on the course except for Sally.
‘So, a little heat, a couple of hours, is nothing,’ Daniel continued. ‘A chef’s life is tough. If you want to succeed, you will learn to endure difficult conditions, knowing that in time, with practice and discipline, you will become the creator of culinary dreams beyond your wildest imagination.’
‘Good grief,’ Fran whispered as Daniel turned to Tomas to discuss ingredients, ‘I hadn’t realised that we must all aspire to be Gordon Ramsey.’
‘I’ve only come on the course to cook a decent meal for my partner,’ Ahmed replied.
‘We just want to host lovely dinner parties,’ Jeanette and Pearl joined in.
‘Chef has never stood for ten hours cooking fish and chips beside a boiling-hot fat fryer.’ Fran laughed. ‘But as me and Sid want to open an upmarket restaurant, I’d better pay attention.’ She blotted her forehead and turned to Caroline. ‘What about you, Caro?’ Fran asked, ‘What do you hope to gain from the course?’
At the end of the table, Caroline shrank back.
She hadn’t expected to be included in the conversation and had no intention of discussing her personal life. In truth, she’d come on the course to get away from Stanley while their finances were being worked out. If she learned something new, it would be a bonus and inspire her in whatever work she needed to do next to make ends meet in her soon-to-be-single life.
But Caroline was saved when Daniel shook his bell. ‘Let’s get to work!’ he said.
With Tomas, he split the group between the two kitchens. He told the guests to ask for advice to ensure their dishes exceeded their expectations. After all, he grinned, everyone would taste them at dinner that night.
Tomas suggested that Sally serve her spicy Chauvigny sausages with chicory and a brioche salad and advised her on a dressing by whisking together mustard, vinegar, and oil, seasoned to taste. She sliced the sausages and sautéed them until they were as golden as Tomas’ tan. Tearing the brioche into bite-sized pieces, she pan-fried it in the cooking juice, adding capers, lemon juice and parsley.
‘This is delicious,’ Sally said to Tomas as she munched on a bite of brioche, ‘I’ve never thought of serving a salad this way.
‘We can finish by caramelising the chicory before serving.’
‘Yippee!’ Sally smiled. ‘Am I done?’
‘Mais oui, to the pool you go.’ Tomas grinned as he packed Sally’s salad into a fridge.
Ahmed was delighted with his goat’s cheese soufflé and the trick Tomas taught him about preparing in advance and reheating later. At the same time, Bridgette kept busy prepping her Mediterranean vegetables.
Daniel guided Caroline through the rudiments of the perfect crème brûlée. He showed her how to ensure that the mixture didn’t curdle and was impressed that she’d chosen thick yellow cream and the freshest farm eggs, explaining that baked in the oven, in ramekins partially immersed in a water bath, gave a better, creamier texture.
Beside an oak dresser stacked with cookery books, the expats poured over recipes for their mussels and shrimps. At the same time, Jeannette and Pearl used Daniel’s steriliser and, with his help, learned how to poach pears in a rich red wine sauce.
* * *
In one corner of the kitchen, Daniel ambled over to Fran and asked what she was making.
‘Broad bean soup,’ Fran proudly replied. ‘Fresh and tasty and served chilled.’
‘Excellent. Perfect for such a hot day,’ Daniel agreed. ‘But you seem to be behind,’ he commented as he watched Fran busily rinse her beans.
‘Oh, I’m not worried. I’ll soon be on a sunbed.’ Fran popped the beans out of their shells and into a colander. ‘And I can’t wait for a refreshing swim.’
Daniel frowned and picked up a single bean.
‘But I fear you won’t finish in time for dinner,’ he said.
‘There’s plenty of time. I’ve only got to rinse the beans, boil them in stock, season and liquidise, add a splodge of cream and the job is as good as done.’
‘There are at least five kilos of beans.’
‘Yep, it’s going to be tasty.’
‘You must first blanche the beans in boiling water.’
Fran looked puzzled. She would be boiling the little buggers, so why bother with blanching?
Daniel rubbed the bean pod between his fingers. After a few moments, he cracked it open to reveal a sizeable, flattish bean. He held it up and stared at Fran. ‘Broad beans have a tough and bitter casing,’ he said, ‘it is the bright green inner bean that is edible.’
‘Eh?’ Fran frowned, her gaze falling between Daniel’s single bean and the mountain of beans in her colander.
‘You must double pod each bean by hand to remove the tough skin. Only then will you be able to make your soup.’
‘But I’ll be here all afternoon!’ Fran exclaimed.
‘Dinner isn’t until nine. You have time.’ Daniel shrugged. ‘Don’t forget to add onions and garlic,’ he added, and, with no offer of help or further assistance, Daniel wandered away.
As Elvis left the building, Fran gritted her teeth and picked up a knife. She attacked the beans. She was the only one left in the kitchen, and had a long afternoon ahead.
‘Oh Sid, what have I done?’ Fran sighed and stared in dismay at the clock. ‘There’s goes my swim and sunbathe!’
* * *
In the garden, the tabby cat strolled lazily along the lavender-lined path leading to the pool. Self-confident and aware of her feline beauty, the tabby searched for a place to lie down. Her ears, which had weathered many battles, swivelled to catch human sound.
‘Here, puss, puss,’ Daniel called, reaching out as the cat approached him.
The tabby stopped, and her yellow eyes, like lasers, flashed a warning to Daniel.
‘Who’s a pretty pussy?’ Daniel persevered, noting her upright tail like a probe, deciding which way to go.
Sally sat beside Daniel at a canopied table and watched the chef encourage the cat.
‘Are you fond of cats?’ she asked.
‘I love them,’ Daniel replied.
He’d read somewhere that women melted when they saw a man being kind to animals. But this old tabby was tricky, and Daniel had his work cut out.
‘Puss, puss, puss.’ Daniel rubbed his fingers in an endearing movement, expecting the cat to give in and curl its ageing body around them.
Hiss! Claws splayed, the cat lashed out and almost sliced Daniel’s skin.
‘You little wretch!’ Daniel snatched his hand back and, glaring at the creature, wondered again what pot roast pussy would taste like.
Sally laughed and scooped the cat onto her lap. ‘I don’t think she likes you,’ she said, and as she stroked the tabby’s sagging tummy, it purred. ‘They say that cats have a sixth sense.’
‘Or no sense at all,’ Daniel muttered, glaring at the smug animal nestling on Sally’s naked knees. ‘Shall we carry on with the interview?’
* * *
On the other side of the pool, Angelique had set up a bar. Shaded by a vast umbrella, cold drinks chilled on ice. ‘Everyone, please, help yourselves,’ she called out. ‘No more work today.’
Ahmed lay on a lilo in the pool, eyes closed, fingers trailing in the water, as he lazily floated about on his back. At the same time, Jeanette and Pearl tossed a ball to each other. The expats were sipping wine and playing cards in a shady corner while Bridgette and Caroline sat under a canopy.
In a wispy white cover-up, Caroline was slathering her skin with factor fifty. Turning to Bridgette, she asked, ‘What are you reading?’
Bridgette, in her poppy-print swimsuit, held an unopened book on her lap.
‘A mystery, it’s supposed to be a page-turning thriller,’ she replied, ‘but I don’t seem to be able to get into the story.’
‘Perhaps it’s too hot to read?’
‘Perhaps it is,’ Bridgette sighed. She felt lethargic and was tempted to go inside and put her feet up, but there was no air in her room. It was cooler out here.
In the sky, the sun was still high. A golden fire against a brilliant blue.
Staring at the pool, Bridgette saw the sun’s rays reflected like a mirror, the surface rippling around Ahmed’s Lilo. She noted Jeanette and Pearl looking relaxed as they sat on the side, their toes splashing gently.
‘Are you enjoying your holiday?’ Bridgette asked.
‘It’s been interesting,’ Caroline replied, ‘what about you?’
‘I think it’s doing me good. I needed some space and thought I wanted to be on my own while I was here.’ Bridgette removed her sunglasses. ‘But talking to Fran has proved helpful. That woman has a heart of gold.’
‘Yes, everyone seems to like Fran,’ Caroline said through gritted teeth and wondered why she found it so difficult to bond with the woman.
‘What do you think of Waltho’s way of running things?’ Bridgette continued.
‘I think the set-up is perfect.’
‘It’s a magical place, isn’t it?’
‘Like stepping into another world.’
‘This is the first cookery course he’s held.’ Bridgette rubbed her eyes.
‘Oh? I didn’t know that.’
‘Yes, we are the newbies on whom the rest of the summer depends.’
‘Because of Sally’s articles?’
‘That and our own personal recommendations. Once word of mouth gets out, things tend to take off.’ Bridgette shrugged. ‘My landscaped gardens are open to the public, and I’ve never had to advertise. Visitors soon spread the word.’
‘I wonder why he doesn’t run art classes,’ Caroline commented, ‘Angelique says art is Waltho’s passion, and this is the perfect place for artists to be inspired.’
‘It’s a question to be asked.’
‘Angelique is an asset too and so helpful in ensuring that everything runs smoothly.’
‘Yes, she’s very efficient,’ Bridgette agreed as she stared over to the other side of the pool, where she could see Daniel and Sally deep in discussion. ‘I’d say that Chef has a roving eye for Sally, wouldn’t you?’
Caroline followed Bridgette’s gaze and saw that the pair were laughing and giggling, and Daniel had his arm snaked around the back of Sally’s chair. ‘I thought she was supposed to be working?’
‘If that’s work, good luck to her.’ Bridgette smiled. ‘I wonder where Fran has got to?’ Bridgette sat up and peered over her sunglasses. Fran was nowhere to be seen. ‘I heard her say that she couldn’t wait to have a swim and cool off.’
‘Probably gone for a lie-down, no wonder it’s so quiet,’ Caroline murmured and closed her eyes. She was sleepy and hoped Bridgette wouldn’t send out a search party. It was so peaceful and relaxing in the shade without Fran’s excitable voice playing on a constant loop.
Suddenly, Bridgette shouted across the pool, ‘I SAY! DANIEL!’
Caroline almost vaulted out of her seat as Bridgette’s voice cut through the afternoon’s peace. It caused Ahmed to unexpectedly fall off his lilo and into the water, showering Jeanette and Pearl.
The expats, eyes wide, spun around from their card game as Ahmed surfaced, coughing and spluttering.
‘Have you seen Fran?’ Bridgette yelled.
Daniel smirked. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, ‘she’s in the kitchen.’
‘What on earth is she still doing in there?’
‘Making bean soup.’ Daniel shrugged.
‘But she can’t possibly take so long, and she wanted a swim so badly.’
‘Then she should have chosen a dish that doesn’t require individual peeling of hundreds of broad beans.’
Daniel was smiling.
‘We can’t possibly leave her to do all that work alone,’ Bridgette said, pushing her feet into her shoes and grabbing her hat. She glared at Daniel as the expats pushed back their chairs, and Jeanette and Pearl hauled Ahmed from the pool.
Leading the charge for the kitchen, Bridgette marched away.
‘Did I do something wrong? If Fran wants to have a professional kitchen, she must learn…’ Daniel turned to Sally and held up his hands.
But Sally was on her feet and thrust the cat on Daniels’s lap before he had time to finish.
‘Ow!’ Daniel cried out as claws as sharp as a scalpel scraped across his naked knees.
‘I’m going to help.’ Sally picked up her notebook. ‘We’ll finish this another time.’
‘But what about the interview?’ he called after Sally’s retreating back.
In frustration, Daniel held the tabby by the scruff of her neck and was tempted to hurl her into the pool. But suddenly, he realised he wasn’t alone.
Caroline was staring at him.
Very gently, Daniel placed the tabby on the ground. ‘Who’s a pretty pussy?’ he said.
Gritting his teeth, Daniel watched the animal wander away. Then, thrusting his arms into his shirt and dabbing at his sorely scratched skin, Daniel realised he’d better help with the beans, too. The wrath of the class so early in the course was not what Daniel had planned.