‘That’s right. I knew you’d remember. You loved it when you were a little girl, trotting up to the altar with your plaited loaf.’
Juliet did remember. It had been her favourite of the church’s festivals, beating even Christmas for her, which had always been fraught due to her mother’s pernickety, critical attitude towards presents. It was almost impossible to get her something she liked, and she would never hide her disappointment thatyouthoughtshewas the kind of person who would like…that. Even if you pushed the boat out and found something special, she would complain that she had no use for it, and that you shouldn’t have wasted your money. If you got nothing at all, she went into a monumental sulk about not being loved, and if you got a pretty or amusing token gift, then she would be deeply offended at your lack of care. One year Juliet knew for a fact that she had hit the jackpot with a particular pair of earrings she knew Lilith had admired, were a reasonable price and she had to take a special trip to buy. True, her mother couldn’t find anything to complain about, but she had never once worn the earrings, and after her death, Juliet hadfound them stuffed down the back of a drawer. She knew that the issue, whatever the hell it was, was to do with her mother and not with her, but the memory was still painful. Lammas, on the other hand, she remembered with joy.
‘Yes! Every year Aunt Sylvia would patiently help me shape the dough, and every year we said we would practise for next time, but we always forgot. I used to love putting it in the church with all the other loaves – there were some amazing shapes. My little plait was very simple in comparison.’
‘But nonetheless welcome.’ Father Benedict smiled warmly at her. ‘I do hope that, now you’re back, you’re going to bring a loaf to the church on the first Sunday in August? It’s only a month away. Maybe try something a little more ambitious this time?’
‘Oh, gosh, I don’t know about that. I mean, I haven’t made bread for years – probably not since the last time I did it with Sylvia.’
‘Well then, this is your golden opportunity. Sylvia always brings something down, but I had very much hoped it might be you again. I’m sure Sylvia would be as willing as ever to guide you, but I know that she does have a lot on at the moment. She might be glad of a year off. I’m sure you could make a wonderful loaf, dear Juliet.’
Juliet couldn’t help but smile at the vicar’s gentle but very persistent manner. And he was right. Sylvia was so busy and had been looking tired and pale. Maybe it would be fun to join in with this aspect of community life again. It had always been ‘her’ thing and brought back no memories of her mother, who had been completely uninterested, much to Juliet’s relief.
‘All right, Father Benedict, I’ll give it a try. But I can’t guarantee it will be edible.’
‘Process not product, my dear, process not product. I have a feeling it will be nourishing for you no matter how it tastes.There is more to our daily bread than flour, yeast and water, you know.’
The vicar patted her hand and stood to go. Juliet sat for a while longer, feeling calmer and even enthusiastic about making her Lammas loaf. The idea crept into her head that she could enlist Léo’s help, but she huffed loudly at the thought. She didn’t need him; she could do this on her own. It would be the best loaf in the village.
TWELVE
Léo put down his pen in satisfaction. Despite the ruckus at the breakfast table and the conflicting emotions he still felt over Juliet, he had managed to do a good morning’s work. It had been partly administrative, processing the details of the next group of guests coming for a cookery weekend, and partly creative, pulling some ideas together for different breads he wanted to try. He was even contemplating starting up some bread masterclasses – one-off days rather than whole weekends – but he wanted to talk to Sylvia about it before he started doing any solid planning. Working with Sylvia, let alone starting up this school together, had been a steep learning curve for him. They had met several years ago through a mutual friend, and he had instantly liked and admired her, so when he was looking to leave France, it had seemed like fate had come knocking when he learnt that she was embarking on this venture and hoping for a partner. Much of the initial planning had been done while he still lived in Paris, working out his contract at the restaurant, and in the early stages the bulk of it had concerned which ovens to install, which pans to buy, whether they would need two fridges or three, and these things were easily decided. But when they started creating recipes and actually cooking together, Léohad needed to check himself more than once. He was used to being completely in charge of a frantically busy kitchen, issuing orders and having them obeyed immediately and without question. Now he found himself making suggestions rather than giving commands, and sometimes being corrected or challenged by Sylvia. She did it with the utmost grace and respect, and he had hidden his occasional annoyance – he hoped – but sometimes he missed the simplicity of having complete autonomy, if not the daily problems that he had also faced. Sharing issues that came up had been one of the best things about working with a partner, even if he had had to be persuaded into it, at first. One day, early on, he was wrangling with a supplier and Sylvia had found him, head in hands, groaning.
‘Léo, what on earth’s the matter?’
‘Please, do not worry, I can sort it out.’
‘I know you can,’ she had replied patiently. ‘But we are partners in the difficulties as much as in anything else.’
Yes, working with Sylvia had taught him a great deal.
He stood up and switched the kettle on to make coffee, allowing his mind to wander back to the previous day. Although Juliet was still hiding behind a façade of brisk professionalism, which he admired in its own right, he had seen the occasional flicker of a different woman, one who wanted to have fun, who was willing to listen and to laugh. Someone softer. It intrigued him, and he wanted to peel away the layers and find out who was there when the steel doors were allowed to open. Something about the way she fought with herself – one minute opening up, the next with that hard shell snapped shut again – made him think that she was wrestling with it herself, that she knew she was more than a tough city girl but wasn’t yet ready, or confident enough, to shed that particular skin. Shrugging, he picked up his coffee cup and turned to go and sit down again, when the door opened and in came Juliet, carrying bulging bags. She stoppedwhen she saw him, then nodded a greeting and pushed the door shut behind her, making straight for the stairs.
‘Hi there,’ said Léo. ‘Can I get you a coffee? I’ve just made one for myself.’
She paused with her foot on the bottom stair and turned her head slightly towards him, not meeting his eye.
‘No, thanks, I’ve got to get on with some work.’
She resumed her ascent.
‘So have I, but a coffee in your hand never hinders that, does it?’
This time when she stopped, she turned around to him completely, shifting the heavy bags across her reddening fingers and meeting his eyes full on. He recoiled at their flintiness.
‘It’s fine, thank you, I’ll make something upstairs. I have to get on now.’
He didn’t ask her again, just watched as she stamped purposefully up the steps and heard the door open and then shut with a decisive ‘click’. Any glimmer of friendliness had clearly been extinguished, and Léo felt irritated as he sat down and picked up his pen, then tossed it down and drank some coffee.Stop worrying yourself over whether this girl is some poor, vulnerable soul in need of fun and love. It seems more obvious that she is just a spoiled madam, a complete pain. Don’t waste your time on her, Léo, you don’t need that kind of complication.
The talking-to he gave himself helped, and soon Léo was absorbed once more in his recipe creation, shutting out the sounds of Juliet moving around upstairs, no doubt making herself substandard instant coffee. His stomach told him it was nearing lunchtime when he put down his pen and switched on his tablet to check his personal emails. He deleted the usual influx of rubbish – advertisements, newsletters he didn’t realisehe’d signed up for, exhortations to upgrade various things – and was about to log out when he saw an email from a friend of his, Mathias, titled ‘I think you should see this.’ Intrigued, he clicked on it and read:
Dear Léo,
I hope things are going well for you in England and you have found some peace. I don’t know how much you look at the gossip news – probably not at all – but I did think you may want to see some of the things that Veronique is doing and saying. I don’t want to disturb your equilibrium, dear friend, but you may wish to defend yourself.
Your friend,
Mathias
