Standing up, they began to bundle back into their coats, hats, scarves, and gloves. As the cold air hit Mina’s face when they stepped onto the platform, it sobered her for a moment and she turned to Amelie.
‘It wasn’t funny, really. He was right. Life should be more than just fun. Like he said, fun is not for keeps. I keep thinking of my parents. Look where being fun got them.’
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Amelie laid a hand on her cheek. ‘I’m sorry. They were very wrapped up in themselves.’
‘Yes, but they egged each other on. Perhaps if one of them had been more sensible, then it might have put the brakes on things. They might still be around.’
‘We’ll never know,’ said Amelie. ‘And you can’t change things. All you can do is live the best life you can.’
‘Mm,’ said Mina pensively, once again touching that metaphorical jagged tooth in her mind.
Lapsing into their own thoughts, neither spoke as they took a shortcut across the fields from the station to the chalet, their snowshoes crunch-crunching on the compacted snow. Mina wondered if Amelie still would have been friends with her parents all these years on, whether they would have changed as they got older, whether they might have tamed their ways.
When they arrived back at the chalet, it was almost time to serve thezigercakewhich she’d helped to make earlier that morning. It was completely different to any cake she’d baked before, and as always her tastebuds were salivating in anticipation. Good job she’d been out for a long walk today. Walking in the snow, even with the snowshoes clipped to hiking boots, was jolly hard work, but hopefully had burned a few calories – as at this rate, with all the cake she was consuming she’d be the size of an elephant.
The lounge that evening was much quieter as quite a few people had headed back to the cities for their working week. It meant there were vacant seats in front of the fire, which crackled and hissed in the vast grate. Mina tucked herself into a seat nearest the fire, curling her feet, toasty in heavy wool socks, around her, absently munching her slice of cake as she scribbled some notes in her notebook. After a few quick searches among some of her favourite recipe sites, she was now considering how she might tweak the hazelnut meringue recipe to create her very ownkirscher torte.
‘Problem?’ asked Luke, taking possession of the chair next to her and breaking into her thoughts as she sat there frowning and sucking her pen.
‘No,’ she laughed, making a quick note on the page. ‘Not at all. In fact I think I’ve just cracked it. It’s going to need a fruit concentrate, otherwise the meringue will collapse.’
‘And in English?’
‘Sorry, I was thinking out loud. Working out a new recipe. It’s what I do…’ She gave a self-deprecating snort. ‘Or what I’d like to do. Do you know it’s actually in my job description? Recipe Development. Huh, chance would be a fine thing. That place doesn’t want any new ideas. They just want the same-old same-old.’ And then she slapped her hand over her mouth, horrified at what had spilled out. ‘I’m sorry. I hate people who moan about their jobs. My motto is, do something about it. And…’ Inside she was appalled at herself.
‘I don’t think you were moaning, more expressing frustration. But I do agree. I know that feeling, that’s why I left my last post. No challenge. I hate seeing people stay in jobs that are gradually destroying their souls. I think you always need to keep moving, keep challenging yourself. And why stay somewhere if you’re not enjoying it? There’s more to life than work.’
‘Yes, although I guess some people need the security. My adopted dad, Derek, has worked for the same company for forty-five years in the same office and I don’t think he’s ever thought about changing. In fact, I’m not really sure what he does. Work is that bit of the day between nine and five for him. But then again, I’ve never heard him complain once.’
Whereas if she was completely honest with herself, she’d had more and more doubts about her work in the last year. The mince pie debacle – quite frankly that slightly orange-flavoured pastry had been an absolute triumph, as was the touch of orange zest in the mincemeat – had been only one of several frustrations. The chicken and chorizo risotto, which had been much feted since it had become a top seller, had, in fact, been a very watered-down and bland affair compared to the recipe she’d initially come up with. She sat up straighter as the thought settled in hard and fast. It was time to move on. With crystal clarity, she knew what shedidn’twant to do. She didn’t want to work at Freshfoods anymore. Which was fine and dandy. But what did she want to do?
‘What?’ asked Luke.
‘I’m going to look for a new job.’ She blurted the words out, surprising herself as much, she thought, as she had him.
He blinked at her. ‘And you’ve just decided that now.’
‘Yes,’ she said with decided emphasis, the conviction in her gut growing stronger with each passing second. ‘Cooking with Amelie in just two days has given me more pleasure than I’ve had at work in the last three months. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. You know when you get on a treadmill and just keep walking. I got myself stuck in a rut. I need to do something different.’
‘Any idea what?’
She lifted her hands palms upward. ‘Now that is the fifty-million dollar question. I haven’t a clue.’ She thought of the self-help book lying abandoned upstairs – she was going to have to give the blasted thing some serious attention.
There were only four for dinner, or rather five once Mina had persuaded Amelie to join her, Luke, Claudia, and Frank. Everyone else had left to catch their trains to go back to the cities. For a fondue, it was the perfect number, as they were able to crowd around one of the smaller round tables near the glowing fire in the dining room, with the fondue pot in the middle.
‘What do you call this?’ asked Mina, keen to learn as always, pointing to the ceramic pan on top of the little burner.
‘It’s acaquelon,’ explained Amelie. ‘Do start.’ She gestured to the two large bowls filled with cubes of bread. ‘In the old days, this was a way of using up stale bread and making the cheese go a little further. These days it’s quite a rich dish, as I use Gruyère and Vacherin Fribourgeois, which is a lovely semi-soft cheese and quite difficult to find, as it’s still traditionally made by hand.’
Mina took one of the long forks and stabbed one of the cubes of bread, watching as Frank went first. With an expert twist of his wrist he managed to bring the bread to his mouth without dripping a drop. She wasn’t sure she’d be that successful, but as her mouth watered, greed nudged table manners into second place and she dipped her bread into the rich yellow sauce. Unfortunately she didn’t quite have Frank’s knack, and the moment she took the bread out of the pot and started to bring it to her mouth, it fell off spattering the tablecloth. So near, so far. Everyone around the table paused.
‘When I was a student, if you dropped the bread, you had to kiss the nearest person to you,’ said Claudia with a sudden smile and flashing a quick knowing look at her husband.
‘When I was a student, I remember certain women who might have be known to drop their bread for that very reason,’ replied Frank, his eyes warming as they rested on Claudia.
She shrugged, a mischievous smile lighting her eyes. ‘It worked.’
Mina smiled and said glibly, reaching for a fresh piece of bread, ‘Poor Luke, I think this might be your unlucky night.’ Although there was a sudden warmth inside her at the thought of kissing Luke again.
