June 27th
‘You didn’t go?’ Jackie slammed her cup down in its saucer.
Rachel shook her head. ‘It was really busy here.’ She pointed around the tiny bakery, at the loaves racked up along the shelf behind her and the trays of summer fruit tarts, mint chocolate eclairs, strawberry cream horns and her newly invented cumquat and maraschino cherry truffles, as if to show all the work that had kept her in Nettleton.
‘And you only think to tell me about it now. When it’s too late?’
‘I knew you’d make me go.’
‘Too bloody right. Christ Almighty. You fool.’
‘She’s quite right, you know,’ her gran shouted from out the back where she was rolling out some filo pastry squares. ‘You’re a fool, Rachel Smithson.’
‘Don’t say that.’ Rachel moaned, unnecessarily rearranging a tray of hazelnut praline millefeuille.
‘Oh, give me one of them while you’re there.’ Jackie tapped the glass counter pointing at some chocolate tarts topped with fresh-picked summer berries. ‘I mean, come on. Christ, everyone makes mistakes. Poor bloke. He married the wrong person. What did you want—fresh out the box? Or did you think there’d be someone better here? Hello. Have you seen an eligible male in Nettleton? Ever?’
Rachel, gloomy now, pulled out a tart and plonked it on a plate. ‘Stuff that in your mouth and don’t mention this again.’
Her gran walked forward, wiping her hands on a tea towel and checking her hair in a hand mirror. ‘Yes, you really are a fool. That’s a very good word. Have you learnt nothing? Chances, Rachel, they’re for the taking.’
‘Yes, yes, I’ve got it now, thank you.’
Yanking off her apron, she went outside with the excuse of checking the window display but really she just needed some air.
On the pavement she stood with her hands on her hips and looked up to the powder-blue sky, at the starlings, swooping and diving, and the big candy-floss clouds sliding across each other, then she shut her eyes and counted to ten.
When she opened them again there was a figure walking up the street from the station, jacket slung over his arm, light blue shirt undone at the neck, hair that needed a cut just flicking the edge of his collar.
Rachel watched, her hand shading her eyes from the late morning sunshine as he got closer and closer. She could feel her heart beating in her chest, could hear it in her ears.
He stopped just a foot away. ‘Bonjour,’ he said, raking a hand through his hair.
‘H-hello,’ she stuttered, dropping her hand down to her side.
‘You missed a beautiful view from the Eiffel Tower.’ His expression was unreadable. ‘It looks good in the summer.’
She looked down, toying with the embroidery on the trim of her T-shirt. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’
A wisp of cloud inched its way over the sun, dappling the pavement, while the leaves on the avenue of lime trees made patches of shade dance on the street. Rachel didn’t know quite what to say, how to make up for the fact she had stood him up.
But then he smiled. ‘De rien. I didn’t think you’d be there.’
‘No?’
He shook his head. ‘Nice bakery.’
‘Thanks. Why are you here, then?’ she asked, not quite able to look up at him.
‘Well, I’ve made a lot of changes in my life. I no longer sit in an office. My ex-wife is now happily settled with her partner. I’m pretty sure I know what I want in life. My brother is calmer, happier, although he’s still waiting for his favourite baker to visit. And I thought—’ He looked up and focused on something he clearly wasn’t expecting to see. When he paused she glanced to what had caught his eye and saw the Russian Christmas bauble, where she had hung it by the counter, catching the light through the glass. Then he went on, a little more confidently, ‘I thought that it was time to take a holiday. See a bit more of the world.’
‘And you chose Nettleton?’ She laughed.
There was a crash as a tray of chocolate mint thins fell to the floor and Rachel glanced inside to see her gran pulling herself back from where she’d been practically lying across the counter to get a good look outside. Jackie was pretending to be engrossed in the remains of her summer-berry tart.
She shooed them away and when she looked back Philippe was trying to keep a straight face. ‘I chose Nettleton.’
‘Why?’ she asked, too quickly. ‘I mean, there are lots of nice English villages to visit. What made you choose Nettleton?’
‘Well, there are a couple of reasons.’ He laid his jacket down over the top of his case. ‘First I am starting an MBA in London, which I think is maybe forty minutes from here. So it is a close village for what I am doing. And then—’ He waited for a second, took a moment to look around at the picturesque little street. ‘Then I need to find somewhere to open my restaurant. A little place that will be cosy, not too formal, and I liked the look of this place when I look it up on the Internet.’
Rachel nodded. ‘And you like it now you’re here.’
He paused. ‘It smells good.’
She laughed. ‘It does smell good, you’re right.’
Philippe took a step forward. ‘There is another reason as well, why I have come here.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘It is mainly because someone that was right for me was here and I came to find her.’
‘You did?’
‘I did.’
It was silent for a second. Philippe rolled the cuffs up on his shirt as the dappled light played on his face. Rachel looked down at the apron she still had clutched in her hand, her name and the flowers embroidered across the top, and then she glanced into the bakery at Jackie who couldn’t hide the fact her eyes had popped out of their sockets. And her gran, who was pretending to wipe down the countertop. Then she looked back up to Philippe, his head angled in question, waiting, his eyes disguising a worry that maybe she might send him away back to Paris. His mouth was almost smiling though; he knew that she wouldn’t.
‘Would you like to come inside for a coffee and a squashed croissant?’ she asked.
‘I can think of nothing I’d like more.’