Limp and dispirited, she climbed the stairs. She couldn’t decide who she was angrier with, herself for falling for Luc’s oh-so-smooth lines – he was good, she’d give him that – or at him for being so careless in his treatment of her. It stung more than it should.
ChapterNineteen
‘Just look at that cheese,’ said Fliss with a heartfelt groan of delight, immediately flitting over to the busy market stall. Solange exchanged a pleased glance with Hattie.
Hattie nodded with a bland smile, wondering where she’d acquired her newly found acting skills. Fliss, oblivious to her mood, had jumped at her suggestion to go out this morning after her first coffee, although Hattie wasn’t sure even a vat of coffee would have quelled her simmering fury with Luc bloody Brémont. Sleeping on it had just fanned her indignation. How dare he treat her like that?
‘She likes cheese,non?’ asked Solange, who had insisted on joining them.
‘She likes everything. Just watch – she’ll want to try everything too,’ said Hattie, familiar with Fliss’s passion for food. She’d once been to a farm shop in Scotland with her and it had been over an hour before she could winkle her out again.
‘And why not?’ asked Solange, her face lighting up. ‘It is good for your food education.’ Her mouth lifted in a half-smile. ‘You should always try everything once.’
Hmm thought Hattie sourly. Did that include kissing a French playboy?
‘Hattie, Hattie. You’ve got to try this Brie de Meaux, it’s delicious.’ Fliss held out a piece of pale cream cheese with a white rind, oozing over a small cracker. ‘You know that would make an amazing starter. A round of baked brie on each table with rustic French bread. Have you heard back from your cousin?’
‘Not yet, and I think that would be a bit messy, perhaps,’ said Hattie, pointing to a dab of cheese on Fliss’s chin. ‘You wouldn’t want it all over the bridesmaids’ dresses.’
‘Spoilsport.’
‘Sorry.’ She had to stop being negative this morning and save her bad mood for someone who deserved it.
‘Do you know I saw a wedding cake made out of rounds of cheese at one wedding I went to? Do you think your cousin might like that idea?’
‘No!’ said Hattie, lightening her quick vehemence with a laugh. ‘Gabby is not exactly making up her mind about things at the moment. We don’t want to give her more choices.’
‘Ah, good point.’ Fliss had already whirled away and was busy examining the abundant fruit and vegetable stall, stacked high with baskets and boxes, spilling over with several different types of lettuce leaves, vibrant tomatoes piled high next to bundles of asparagus. It must have taken the stallholders hours to set up, as everything was displayed to advantage.
‘Asparagus with a drizzle of hollandaise would be a nice starter for everyone. Very simple to do and it would look lovely and colourful. Or I could do a tomato salad with chicory with fine slices of jambon.’
For the next twenty minutes, Fliss moved from stall to stall, taking lots of pictures and writing notes on her phone.
‘I just want to cook,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much for inviting me, Hattie.’ She clasped both of Hattie’s hands in hers. ‘It’s so inspiring.’
‘I need a coffee,’ said Hattie half an hour later. She’d noticed that Solange was starting to flag and it was hardly any wonder – Fliss had been bouncing recipe ideas off them non-stop.
‘There’s a good place, just across the road. It’s run by a friend of Yvette’s.’
‘How is she?’ asked Hattie. ‘Is she speaking to you now?’
Solange lifted her shoulders in a half-shrug. ‘She stayed with Bernard last night. I’ve told her she’s not welcome until she apologises.’
Hattie was coming to realise there was a lot more strength to Solange than her faded appearance had first suggested.
The small café was buzzing with people, all of whom had baskets or bags bulging with fruit and vegetables, fresh from the market. People were chatting from table to table, greeting each other as they arrived or left. Everyone seemed to know everyone else and Solange was greeted with several cries.
‘Bonjour, Solange,’ called the large lady from behind the counter at the front.
‘Bonjour, Marie. How are you?’
A quick conversation erupted between the two and once again Hattie marvelled at how fast French people spoke. Solange’s hands were gesticulating almost as quickly as her words tumbled out.
Fliss was already studying the cakes on display.
‘What are those?’ she asked, pointing to a plate of pale pink rectangular biscuits, coated with sugar glaze. ‘They look interesting.’
‘Roses de Reims,’ said Marie. ‘They are a local speciality and perfect with coffee. Would you like to try some?’
