The Confectioner's Tale (27 page)

‘Get a train to Paris,’ I tell him, ‘wait for the library to open. Search the papers for Mademoiselle Clermont’s wedding announcement. Then hopefully I’ll be able to say conclusively what happened to her, whether Grandpa Jim was right or not.’

‘What if you don’t find anything?’

I don’t answer. There are too many ‘what ifs’ to consider, too many fears, and any one of them could send me scurrying home.

The rest of the journey passes without event. The night is clear and still, which bodes well for a smooth crossing in the morning. Finally, signs begin to read ‘Dover’ in the motorbike’s feeble headlight. The cold is the only thing keeping me awake. If Alex is as tired as me, he doesn’t let on. By the time we arrive at the ferry port it is nearly one in the morning, the place deserted.

‘Do you think it’s open?’ I hiss into the silence.

Huge freight trucks loom like monoliths across the tarmac. Behind them is a low, square building, yellow light illuminating an entrance sign.

‘Come on,’ Alex says.

There’s a seedy feeling to arriving somewhere this late and I’m immensely glad that Alex is with me. Inside, the terminal is sickly bright and empty. One or two people lie across benches, coats over their heads. At the counter we stand uncertainly. Alex spots a plastic buzzer and rings it.

After an eternity, a large man shuffles out of a back room. He is wearing a shirt with ‘Hoverspeed’ emblazoned across it, almost hidden by a hairy brown cardigan.

Grimly, he tells me the price of a return ticket. It is more expensive than I thought. The cash in the envelope covers it with a little to spare. Without it, I would have been stuck.

‘Boarding is at three,’ he grunts, ‘through the immigration gate.’

There is nothing to do but wait, and eventually I drift into a doze. Dimly, I feel the weight of Alex’s leather jacket settle over me. The terminal grows louder around us, until finally, there is a great rattling clank. Across the way, the cafeteria is raising its grill.

Alex smiles down, pale and tired.

‘They’ve opened boarding,’ he tells me, handing over my rucksack. ‘Will you be OK? I feel like I should come with you.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ I yawn. ‘And you’ve done so much already. I can’t drag you any further.’

‘I would do it, though,’ he tells me, eyes on the linoleum floor. ‘If you asked.’

‘I know. Thanks, Al.’

We pause at the entrance to immigration control, passengers stepping past us.

‘Bon voyage,’ Alex offers with a mock salute.

‘I’ll call you later,’ I promise.

‘You’d better.’

Unexpectedly, he pulls me into a hug. I grip the shoulder of his jacket, feel his breath, warm on my neck. My heart is thudding beneath my shirt, so much so, that I’m sure he can feel it. I lean away an inch, and look up, breathless.

His mouth meets mine. The last call for passengers to board echoes around us and I have to tear myself away. I don’t risk another glance back from the gate, but hand over my ticket and walk out of sight, the pressure of his lips imprinted across mine like a word.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

May 1910

Gui spent the next twenty-four hours in a state of high anxiety. He had not been able to see Jeanne since the disastrous confrontation with Jim. Every time he thought about how his friend had assumed the worst, his stomach contracted with nausea.

He almost tried to send a message to him at La Rotonde, but Jeanne was on his mind, first and foremost. Their entire future seemed poised on a knife-edge.

When they were finally able to steal a moment together, during morning service in a dark corner of the pâtisserie corridor, he held her tightly, as though she would turn to water in his arms. She gripped him back, head buried against his chest.

‘Gui, I’m so sorry.’

He loosened his arms around her, kissed her once, twice.

‘You have nothing to be sorry for,’ he told her.

‘But the way Leonard treated you—’

‘It was nothing. Jim, though, I am worried about what he thinks.’

‘Does it matter so much?’ She reached up to smooth a lock of hair from his forehead. ‘In a few days we will be leaving Paris behind.’

‘I know,’ he sighed, ‘but he was there for me, when I needed a friend. I … don’t have many people who care, Jeanne. I must try to explain to him, somehow. I hate that he thinks badly of me.’

‘You have me to care now.’ She cupped her hands around his face. ‘Five days, Gui.’

‘We should leave tomorrow,’ he whispered impulsively. ‘Or tonight. The longer we wait …’

She shook her head, stepped back.

‘It is complicated,’ she said quietly. ‘The Burnetts are major shareholders in the pâtisserie. Leonard’s father administrates my trust fund. I need to make sure that if I renege on the engagement, it won’t affect my father’s business.’

‘It is your choice, Jeanne, not theirs.’

‘I know, Gui. And I choose a life with you. But I am going to break my father’s heart. I must try to make things right for him, if I can.’

Her face was pale in the gloom, begging him to understand.

He took a deep breath, expelling the hurt that came with her words. ‘Of course,’ he managed to say. ‘I know you care about them.’

She left him with a kiss then. Gui watched her go. He was jumpy. Every time the kitchen door swung open, he expected to see her. He lingered at the far end of the room, just to be near the corridor in case she wanted to speak to him.

In the end, she arrived during the afternoon break. No one noticed that Gui only picked at his food, that his coffee was left untouched. His distraction over the past few weeks had been blamed on a liaison with a demanding Belleville girl, a mistake that he was grateful for. Now, he stared at his shoes, caught between joy and the conviction that the world was against him. When the door squeaked and the men fell silent, he knew instantly who it would be.

‘Is there a du Frère in here?’ said Jeanne. She was acting bored, but there was a high colour to her face. Something was wrong.

‘Over there, Mam’selle,’ one of the chefs gestured with his bread. Luckily, they were accustomed enough to seeing her around. Only Maurice eyed her closely.

‘Josef wants to see you,’ she directed over to Gui, already turning away. ‘He’s in the office.’

‘Now you’re for it, Gui,’ nudged one of the apprentices. ‘Must be serious, if herself came to fetch you.’

‘Careful, lad,’ Maurice muttered, catching his arm.

Gui shook him off, hurrying for the door.

At first the poky office looked deserted, but then he made out Jeanne’s shape, standing in the shadow of the bookcase. The lamps were unlit, but even in the semidarkness he could tell that she was crying.

‘What’s the matter?’ He hurried over to embrace her but she stepped away. In her hand was a sheaf of papers.

‘I was right,’ she whispered. ‘About the engagement. If it is broken off, then my father will lose his share of the pâtisserie. Burnett has lent him money, and my dowry will pay off the debt, Gui. They made me part of the business, and I never even knew.’

Clermont’s words came back to him, the day of the flood.
A daughter is a precious thing.

‘I’m sorry. If it wasn’t for me—’

‘Don’t say that!’ Her voice was fierce. ‘If it wasn’t for you I would be trapped …’ Her voice disappeared into sobs.

‘We promised each other, Jeanne.’ He pulled her close, wiped away her tears with his fingers. ‘I will never go back on that promise.’

‘Neither will I.’

‘Then we need to leave. We must leave right now.’

For a moment he thought she would refuse, but then she was nodding, blotting her face with her sleeve. One arm around her, he reached for the door handle. Too late, he saw the shadows outside.

Monsieur Clermont was standing in the doorway, flanked by Josef and Maurice. His eyes took in Jeanne’s tear-stained face, Gui’s arm about her shoulder.

Before they could speak, Monsieur Clermont’s lip curled in rage. He lashed out, breaking Gui’s hold on Jeanne and sending him staggering backwards.

‘What have you done to my daughter?’ he snarled.

Gui caught himself upon a bookshelf. Temporarily stunned, he looked towards Maurice.

The chef would not meet his eyes.

‘I’m sorry, lad,’ he muttered. ‘I couldn’t let it go on.’

Clermont was white, shaking with fury. ‘If you’ve touched her, du Frère, I swear I will—’

‘Will what?’ The force in Gui’s voice took him by surprise. ‘Send me packing? Call on your oily friend to threaten me?’

Monsieur Clermont raised his arm to strike, but Jeanne was faster.

‘Father, please!’ She lunged in front of Gui. ‘He has done nothing!’

‘Be quiet, Jeanne.’

Her face hardened. ‘We are to be married.’

The slap sent a shock wave through the room, breaking even Josef’s impassive mask. Jeanne fell against the edge of the desk, clasping her cheek. Anger surged in Gui, and he shoved the older man hard, sending him stumbling back, before reaching out a hand to Jeanne.

There was a sickening silence. Clermont was breathing heavily, looking from one of them to the other.

‘This is absurd,’ he said, his voice unsteady. ‘Jeanne, stop this, now.’

She pulled herself up from the desk and took Gui’s hand. Her eyes were cold as she surveyed her father.

‘No,’ she told him clearly. ‘We are engaged.’

‘You are engaged to Leonard Burnett. The banns have been read—’

‘A business deal,’ she interrupted. ‘One that I never had a chance to refuse. Guillaume loves me, Father.’

‘Jeanne,’ Clermont said slowly, and Gui could tell that he was struggling to keep the fury out of his voice, ‘if you break the engagement it will hurt me, my darling.’

‘You should have considered that …’ Her voice faltered. ‘You should have considered
me.
’

‘But this boy is not considering you. All he wants is money. He tried to bribe me, do you know that?’

‘No,’ Gui tried to interrupt, but Josef had come from nowhere to seize his arm.

‘After you fell in the flood,’ Clermont continued remorselessly, ‘he sought to blackmail us, threatened to go to the papers with some sordid tale that would ruin your name, unless I gave him a job.’

‘Stop it!’ Gui struck out. He caught the man across the face with his nails and Jeanne began to cry, but Clermont ploughed on, despite the beads of blood that sprang from his skin.

‘If only I could have known that he would try to use you. When I think about what he might have done …’

Jeanne was sobbing now, torn between her father’s outstretched hand and Gui’s rage.

‘I don’t care,’ she gasped. ‘We’re promised. I’ve given him everything.’

‘Of course you—’ Clermont’s voice ground to a halt. Jeanne hid her face, unable to look up.

The blow caught Gui across the head like a sledgehammer. Josef let go as Clermont’s fist crashed again, sending him tumbling against the wall. Heavy books rained down around him. Someone was shouting, but one of his ears flooded with liquid. Finally, the assault stopped. He looked up, winded. Jeanne’s pale fingers restrained her father’s arm.

‘Get upstairs.’ Clermont threw off her grip. ‘Josef, take her and lock her door. Call the doctor. I want her examined.’

Jeanne struggled as she was pulled into the corridor. With a burst of effort she twisted, reaching for Gui, but then she was gone.

‘Jeanne!’ he managed to rasp. ‘I’ll—’

A fist crunched the air from his stomach, followed by a knee, driving into his groin. He retched powerlessly to the floorboards. He felt Clermont’s hand seize the back of his jacket, drag him bodily through the door. A crowd had gathered; boots scattered hurriedly from their path. Someone spat on him as he slithered by, but he didn’t care, he could only feel pain, and the desperate need to follow Jeanne.

The cold stones of the alleyway bruised his side as he was thrown down the steps. He sucked in air, his face pressed to the muck until he was able to raise his head. Someone sniggered.

‘You two, watch him while I telephone for the gendarmes,’ Clermont commanded. ‘The rest of you, get back to the kitchen before I have you all dismissed.’

After an age, the voices died into a whispered conference. Gui blinked up at the two apprentices who had been left to guard him.

‘Hey,’ he coughed, hauling himself onto an elbow and spitting out bloody foam. ‘Help me up, please.’

One of them came forward, steadied him against the wall.

‘What did you do?’ the other boy whispered, wide-eyed.

Gui fought the urge to retch again. He felt thin and empty. He explored the skin of his head. Blood dripped from his nose and ear but nothing seemed broken.

‘What are you lads doing?’ questioned a familiar voice.

‘Sorry, sir, but Monsieur Clermont asked us to watch, whilst he calls for the gendarmes,’ said one of the boys.

A waft of tobacco reached Gui’s throbbing nose, an unusual blend he remembered from a midnight kitchen, as he lay drowsing between clean sheets.

‘Patrice?’ he croaked. ‘Patrice, please.’

‘It’s “sir” to you,’ the valet said coldly, descending the steps. ‘I’m astounded that this is how you choose to repay Monsieur’s generosity, Gui.’

‘You don’t understand,’ he protested, shuffling to face the man. ‘Clermont is lying.’

Patrice strode over like thunder and grasped Gui’s collar.

‘Listen,’ he whispered rapidly, his face hidden from the others. ‘Mam’selle sent me. She’ll be in the Place de la République at midnight. You must go now. Push me over and run.’

Gui didn’t move, the words scudding across his brain.

‘Do it!’

He pushed at Patrice. The valet fell back dramatically, dragging one of the apprentices down with him.

‘Stop!’ he cried, voice muffled. ‘Stop him!’

Gui lurched onto the boulevard. The pavements were crowded, afternoon workers swarming back to offices and shops from lunchtime errands. Reaching the other side of the road, he saw an omnibus and staggered aboard. The vehicle honked, trundling on its route, just as a gendarmerie motor car shuddered to a halt outside Pâtisserie Clermont.