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‘Oh, you’re Scottish,’ she said. He looked thoroughly French to her.
‘And I left the kilt at home today,’ he teased, a warm friendly smile breaking through, making him look a lot more approachable and less film-starry.
It was impossible not to smile back at him. ‘Sorry, I assumed you were French. You must be Sebastian’s friend, the manager.’ Despite his formal three-piece suit, now that he was smiling at her, Alex didn’t look particularly managerial. With that impish smile and readiness to laugh, he looked more like an overgrown naughty schoolboy.
‘That would be me. Yes. And don’t tell my mother you thought I’d be French. She’d be outraged. It’s bad enough I’m working over here, rather than in a good, fine city like Edinburgh, which is only five minutes down the road from her.’
‘Ah, she’s on the same page as my mother. I’m Nina. Sebastian’s new … right-hand-woman.’
‘Ah, the little sister,’ he said, his eyes dancing with sudden amusement. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘None of it good, I’m sure,’ said Nina, her mouth twisting with a rueful smile.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Alex with a quick reassuring grin and she was warmed by the flash of concern in his eyes. ‘I take everything he says with a pinch of salt.’
‘That hasn’t made me feel any better.’
Alex’s smile slipped. ‘Hey, he’s grumpy with everyone at the moment. I’ve known him for a while, I count myself as one of his best friends and he’s being a complete pain in the arse. But it’s always stressful getting a new venture up and running. Although—’ his eyes lit up with mischief ‘—if the awkward bugger isn’t careful he’ll find himself down into the wine cellar with the rats.’ Nina bit back a laugh. She liked Alex’s cheery down to earth delivery, he reminded her of her brothers.
‘It would be stupid to ask if the awkward bugger is in.’
Alex laughed. ‘He’s in and exceptionally grumpy. You might want danger money to enter. He got it into his head that he had to wash his hair this morning and insisted that I help him at silly o’clock. Trying to keep him upright in the bathroom over the sink was like helping Bambi on ice. Then the stupid bugger decides he wants a shower. I think we must have used an entire industrial roll of clingfilm.’
Nina smiled at Alex’s comical face pulling.
‘Sounds like quite a performance.’
‘Put it this way, he’s been resting ever since. I popped in to check he was still alive.’ Alex’s face sobered and he lowered his voice, glancing over his shoulder as if Sebastian might appear at any moment. ‘Between you and me, I think—’
A walkie talkie at his hip crackled into life.
‘Alex, we have a problem.’
‘That’s going to my epitaph.’ With a quick frown, he snatched it up. ‘Be there in five. Right, well, I must be away. I have a hotel to run. Nice meeting you, Nina. I’m sure I’ll see you again.’ He turned and yelled, ‘I’m off Bas, I’ll check in on the invalid tomorrow but Florrie Nightingale’s turned up to relieve me.’
With a cheery wave, he walked past her to the door.
Sebastian was hauling himself to his feet as she walked in. ‘You’re late.’
‘Sorry, I got …’
‘Save it, we need to get a move on.’ Sebastian’s dry words made it clear he wasn’t impressed.
She plastered her pleasantest smile on her face, the one where her grin stretched into her cheeks and made them ache just a little. She was not going to let him get to her. She was going to be sweetness and light. Learn all she could from him and suck it up.
‘Would you mind bringing my laptop and paperwork?’ He gestured with the crutches, indicating he couldn’t manage both.
Before she could say anything, he was off like a racehorse at the starter gate. Once out of the lift, he made surprisingly brisk progress, swinging on his crutches, planting them quickly and ploughing through the lobby like a man on a mission before taking the ramp out of the hotel onto the pavement.
The concierge had a cab waiting for them and opened the back door for Nina and she was about to slide in when Sebastian tutted loudly.
‘You’ll have to go in the front seat.’ He hopped awkwardly in a circle so that he got in bottom first.
‘Oh, sorry. Yes, of course. Let me help.’ She hurriedly dumped his laptop bag on the front seat so that she could take his crutches from him.
Sebastian slid back onto the seat so that both his legs were propped up lengthways.
The taxi driver turned around and let loose a torrent of French with urgent gesticulations.
‘Yeah, yeah. I’ll put the seat belt on,’ said Sebastian, twisting around to try and pull the buckle around him.
After a couple of attempts, it was clear that he was at too much of an awkward angle to pull it out and round him.
The taxi driver folded his arms. They weren’t going anywhere until that belt was secured.
As Sebastian let out a loud exasperated huff, Nina dumped the crutches on the floor next to him and leaned in to try and help. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy and there was nothing for it but to plant a knee on the seat between his legs, which would have been fine if she hadn’t then overbalanced slightly, her hand grabbing his crotch to steady herself.
‘Oh, sorry,’ she squeaked. Avoiding looking at him, trying to be practical and matter of fact, she reached around his shoulders to grab the belt behind him, which was an even bigger mistake as it meant she came nose to chest. His hands closed around her forearms to steady her and, startled, she looked up into his face, which was the biggest mistake of all. There were tiny russet flecks in the dark brown eyes which were now studying her warily. Her breath felt unexpectedly tight in her chest. She could see the nearly opaque S-shaped scar on the top of his cheekbone and the impossibly thick eyelashes. Her pulse thundered in her ears and then for some bizarre reason she blurted out, ‘You smell a lot better.’
He raised one of those ridiculously elegant, for a man, eyebrows and stared at her.
She swallowed and shrugged, unable to look away. ‘I meant…’ Her voice trailed into silence. For a few seconds she met his steady gaze, her heart bumping uncomfortably.
It was impossible to read anything in his expression, the dark eyes watchful and unblinking, although she noted his jaw was tense and he still looked a little pale, with that tightness around his mouth. Mind you, that had been there for a long time. He always looked serious when she was around, probably terrified she might get the wrong idea again.
Ducking her head at the memory, which still had the power to make her blush, she gave the seatbelt another tug and managed to pull it round him but still not quite close enough to slide the buckle into place.
‘Thanks. I can take it from here.’ Sebastian’s caustic voice cut through her thoughts as he took the buckle out of her hands. Her brief quick blink was the only sign she gave of the current of awareness that went sizzling through her, setting her nerve endings dancing with sudden glee. She snatched her hands away horrified that the barely-there impersonal touch could still have such an impact.
Chapter 8 (#ulink_178e8787-a101-564c-b6a6-2f72e0a98595)
Working for Sebastian, Nina decided, was not going to be much fun. With his growls and snarling bad humour he was the original bear with a sore head. No wonder Marcel was keeping a low profile, taking advantage of the inaccessibility of the shopfront. The taxi had brought them round to the back door of the kitchen, which had no steps, and Sebastian had no desire, it seemed, to venture any further and attempt the small flight of steps up into the corridor to the shop.
‘Not there Nina,’ corrected Sebastian, as she moved one of the benches. ‘Over here, I want a “U” shape. And then you can put all the scales out.’
She pressed her lips together firmly, keeping her back turned as she lifted the corner of the heavy table and manoeuvred it with a series of horrible screeches into place.
‘Christ, do you have to do that?’
She did it again just to bug him. The table was bloody heavy. What did he expect? She hadn’t signed up for full scale furniture removal. Eventually, she’d arranged everything to his satisfaction.
‘Right, I’d like you to prepare a work station for each of the participants. We’ve got four now. One extra booking I could have done without.’
Nina looked down at her feet, thinking of Marguerite.
‘We’ll set up with all the utensils they’re going to need. First up tomorrow is choux pastry, so we’ll need…’ He reeled off a quick-fire list. He had her racing around the kitchen grabbing whisks, saucepans, measuring jugs, sieves, bowls and wooden spoons, while he perched on a stool, his blue cast propped on the rung of another stool, and peered at his phone, making regular exclamations, muttering to himself and scowling at her.
Feeling rather proud of herself that she’d managed to remember everything he’d said and laid it all out neatly, she stepped back to survey the kitchen.
Sebastian stood up and hobbled over to one of the set ups. ‘Don’t forget you need one for us, or rather you. I’ll be directing you for the basic things and then I’ll demonstrate when it comes to solid technique.’
That bit Nina didn’t mind, she was hoping to learn a lot from him.
They were almost done when he tapped one of the flat glass weighing scales and frowned. ‘You did check the batteries in all of them.
‘Uh…’ Nina’s eyes widened in panic. ‘Erm…’
‘Oh, for crying out loud, surely you checked they all worked.’
Nina flapped her hands. ‘Well … I – I…’
Sebastian had already flipped over one of the set of scales and pulled out the little lithium circular battery from the back. ‘Go see if Marcel knows where we can get these quickly.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t…’
‘Think, Nina? How were you expecting everyone to measure their ingredients out? And where are the eggs? I can’t find them anywhere. And did you check the stocks in the pantry?’
Her mouth dropped open in a horrified ‘O’. She’d completely forgotten both. She’d been so overloaded with butter and cream yesterday when she went to the shops for supplies, she didn’t dare risk carrying eggs too. Plus, she couldn’t find them in the supermarket and the French word ‘oeufs’ had completely slipped her mind. And then when she’d got back, she’d loaded everything in the fridge and completely forgotten to check the pantry.
‘I – I…’ Why was it, when he was around, she was reduced to an inarticulate wreck? ‘Where is the pantry? I’ll look now.’
He didn’t quite roll his eyes but he might as well have. ‘It’s at the top of the steps halfway along the corridor. Bloody stupid place to have it, which is why this building needs completely remodelling. And once you’ve done that, find out from Marcel if there’s anywhere nearby to get the batteries. Go buy some eggs and get back here pronto.’ Sebastian’s mouth tightened and with it came the familiar expression of dissatisfaction.
Nina came face to face with Marcel, whose mouth appeared to have permanently pursed like a prune – funnily enough, much like Sebastian’s – lurking in the corridor beyond the door at the top of the steps.
‘I need to take a look at the pantry.’
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ said Marcel. ‘It’s empty.’
‘Empty?’
‘Yes. The previous owner sold everything.’
‘Everything?’ She was starting to sound like a gormless parrot.
‘To a woman who was opening a patisserie school in Lille. She came with her campervan. Took everything.’
With a heart sinking faster than a lead balloon, she crossed to the pantry doors and flipped on the light switch. Shelves dusted with flour lay bare and forlorn, outlines of what was once there imprinted into the floury surfaces. Turning, she opened the double-doored fridge. Empty shelves mocked her.
‘Shit!’ She’d hoped that the basics would be there as Sebastian had assumed. Sebastian was going to have a cow. The shopping list was going to be huge and she didn’t have a clue how she was going to carry it all. She could hardly ask him for any help and Marcel, even if he’d been the least bit willing, needed to be at the shop. And there was no one to ask for help. Nibbling at her lip, Nina suddenly wished that her helpful family wasn’t quite so far away.
Her shoulders drooped and she closed the doors slowly.
‘Perhaps this might be of some use.’ Marcel pulled one of those old lady, brightly-coloured shopping trolleys from out of the corner of the pantry.
Nina took a minute to take a few deep even breaths, chasing away the threatening tears, before going back into the kitchen.
‘I’m popping out to get some eggs and batteries,’ she said, keeping her voice bright and cheerful.
‘Can’t Marcel go?’ asked Sebastian, looking up from his laptop.
‘He needs to be in the patisserie.’
‘Why? Don’t tell me there’s actually a customer in there? I’m surprised the place hasn’t closed down already.’
‘Erm … yes, there are a couple,’ she lied.
‘Well hurry up, I didn’t intend to be here this long.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Good job I brought my laptop, I can work on the important stuff.’ He was already pulling out his phone and tapping the screen. ‘Yeah, Mike. Have the lights been delivered yet? The sparkies booked for tomorrow?’
He’d tuned her out, which was as well as it meant she didn’t have to tell him the full extent of the bare shelves. It would be yet another black mark against her which was so unfair. He had no idea what a state the kitchen had been in and how hard she’d worked to get it ship-shape. He was a bastard. A complete and utter unfeeling git with absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever.
Did she really need to do this? Was it worth it? It was supposed to be a means to an end, but now she wasn’t so sure. Especially not after his scathing observation that it took years to become a pastry chef. She wasn’t completely naïve, she knew that, but she’d hoped being here would at least help her make a start. Suddenly Nina wasn’t so sure that coming to Paris had been such a good idea after all.
*
Thank goodness for Doris, as Nina had named the granny trolley Marcel had given her, officially her best friend, saviour and heroine, despite one slightly wonky wheel. Given that the pantry was Mother Hubbard bare, she’d decided to double up on Sebastian’s quantities on his list. She felt rather pleased with this efficiency, even if it did mean that poor Doris was positively creaking under the weight of what felt like several tons of flour, caster sugar, icing sugar, butter and eggs. (Thankfully, in a rare moment of solidarity, Marcel had sorted out the batteries for her.)
Bugger Sebastian. He had his laptop and his phone, he could carry on working in the kitchen, so she allowed herself to enjoy the sunshine and being away from the stress of the kitchen as she ambled down the street heading back towards the patisserie, taking her time staring in the windows of the nearby shops, a pet shop, a haberdasher with a striking display of three beautiful cable knitted jumpers, a bicycle shop and a florist.
The colourful display of flowers made her stop in her tracks and smile. Pink and yellow roses had been arranged in pretty posies, there were little silver pots of grape hyacinths decorated with lilac bows and a bucket packed with her favourite alstroemeria in pale pink, deep red and purple. A few steps past the florist and she stopped and turned back. A couple of bunches of flowers would brighten up the kitchen and the patisserie no end but there was no way she could handle them and the trolley. The little silver pots, however, she could manage and they would look cute on the tables and they would please her if no one else. Limited as he was to the kitchen, Sebastian would never know. With six bought and just about balanced in the top of the trolley, Nina set off again.
It was when the wonky wheel decided to veer one way, as she was hauling the trolley the other, that she realised she’d overloaded herself a pot of flowers too far. Wrestling with it pushed her slightly off balance and, with horrible inevitability, one of the silver pots started to take a nose-dive out of the trolley, darn it, when she was at the junction literally across the road from the patisserie. As she made a lunge forward grabbing it with cricket-fielding accuracy that would have ensured a shout of triumph from any one of her brothers, she let go of the trolley, which started to tip forward, unbalanced by the extra weight at the front.
‘Whoa!’ A girl appeared from nowhere and snatched the trolley’s handle as it was about to land and with a triumphant flourish pulled it upright, with a big grin. ‘Blimey, what have you got in here? Half a quarry?’ she asked in a very loud Brummy accent.
‘With rocks and everything, yes,’ said Nina, with a laugh, struggling to get hold of the flowers. ‘You’re English.’
‘Just a tad. Although I thought this beret made me blend in.’ She patted the bright red hat perched on her dark curls.
Nina eyed her sturdy frame and the belted trench coat before looking down at her footwear.
‘I think the Crocs might have given the game away,’ she said gravely, pinching her lips together.
The other girl burst into laughter. ‘They are so thoroughly English, aren’t they? No self-respecting French woman would wear anything this practical.’
Nina thought they might be Australian or American but from what she’d seen so far of French women, she was inclined to agree. She couldn’t imagine either Marguerite or Valerie de what’s-her-name being seen dead in the plastic rubbery shoes.
‘I stubbed my toe, think I might have broken the bugger. These are the only things I can wear. I was hoping that rocking the Audrey Hepburn look up top might stop people looking down below.’
Nina struggled to keep her face straight.
‘I’m not rocking the Audrey Hepburn look either, am I?’
Nina shook her head very slowly as if they might lessen the offence. ‘Sorry. No. But thanks for your help. You’ve no idea what a disaster that could have been. I’ve got three dozen eggs in there.’
Together, they pulled matching horrified eek faces. ‘Can you imagine?’
‘Uh! Scrambled eggs.’ The other girl shook her head with the dark curls bouncing up and down like enthusiastic puppies, as they grinned at each other.
