‘Well, that’s good for both of us, then.’ I give a sigh of relief.
‘For ourboulangerie.’ He fixes me with a stare.
‘Oh, I’m not that type of baker … I mean, I bake cakes.’
But he doesn’t hear me. ‘Our village has no bakery. Just a machine,’ he says with disgust. ‘What is a town or a village without a bakery?’ He throws out an arm, tears in his eyes. ‘It is like a village without a soul.’ And I wonder if the tears are about to spill.
‘Erm, well, you could speak to the baker … the one I met from the next village. Claude? Maybe get him to supply to the shop. Then you will have yourboulangerieback,’ I say brightly.
‘Oh, no,’ says the mayor vehemently, pointing his short, fat finger towards the window and the village square. ‘For aboulangerie, the bread must be baked on site, in the bakery’s kitchen.’ He points down and presses his fingertip to the desk. ‘It needs to be baked in the village. The bread sold there must be made there. We need someone who will bake in theboulangerie.’ He eyes me again.
‘I’m afraid that’s not me,’ I say. ‘I’m just a home cook who enjoys baking cakes. I’m not a professional bread-maker. As I say, I’m here to set up a tearoom, for local people and anyone who visits the lake at weekends.’
For a moment he says nothing. Then: ‘And for that you will need a visa, to stay and work here?’ He raises an eyebrow.
‘Yes,’ I say, slowly and carefully. ‘Which is why I am here, visiting you. And praying you approve of my plans so my visa will be granted. As I say, I’ll be hoping to open as soon as all my official paperwork is in order.’
‘Ah, yes, your paperwork.’
I nod. ‘I’ve done my homework. I know what I need.’ I put my large handbag on the desk and reach into it.
He leans on his elbow. ‘You’ll need to provide all your documentation.’
I lift the file from my bag and put it onto the desk. ‘I have it all here.’
He regards the file but doesn’t reach for it. ‘Visas can be very hard to get,’ he says slowly, holding my gaze. ‘You can apply,’ he shrugs, ‘and hopefully receive a year’s right to stay. To remain here longer, your business needs to be making a profit.’
I swallow, but hold my nerve. ‘Yes, I know. I plan to work hard to get themoulinon the map and known for its afternoon teas.’ If I don’t get my visa, I have no idea what I’ll do. I could end up with Pete, sleeping on the sofa. ‘I have all the paperwork right here.’ Not to mention the bottle of expensive whisky I’ve bought him. ‘And I’m hoping I can bring something to the village. A business to attract more visitors. I mean isn’t that what all villages need to keep them going? More people coming to visit, to spend money in the area. And for locals to spend in their own village rather than going elsewhere.’
‘You’re right. We do need people with your skills here,’ he agrees. ‘Otherwise the village will die. Is dying,’ he says quietly. ‘They’ll put a road through it and no one will even notice we were once a community.’
‘Surely not …’
‘It all began with those damn vending machines!’ He bangs his fist on the table.
‘Well, I’ll admit, I did struggle with it at first, but …’ and I remember how kind Claude was, handing me a fresh baguette, welcoming me.
‘Vending machines, pah! And why should one bakery serve four villages with bread?’ He throws up his hands.
‘Well, times change.’ I try to calm things a little. ‘We all have to move on.’
He gazes at me as if I’ve said something ridiculous. ‘Why?’ he says, his hands up again. ‘Why do they have to move on?Everyone wants to move on, these days. What is wrong with how things were?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘But I’m not a baker, not like that.Non, merci. As I say, I’m not here to open a bakery. I’ve bought the old mill to make it into asalon dethé.’
‘But for that you need a visa to stay,’ he repeats, and seems to be thinking hard.
‘Yes, and, as I said, I have all the paperwork for that.’ I gesture at the file.
‘It’s a very good shop, theboulangerie. It served the community well for many years.’
I sigh. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. ‘And where is the baker now?’
‘He left. Very soon after the miller at the old mill died. He just closed up, handed back the keys and left. No reason. There are other mills he could have got flour from, but he just said it was time to go. A few have tried to open it, but they leave as soon as they get here. The shop has been empty for …’ he thinks ‘… it must be nearly five years now. Once upon a time this village provided everything we needed. A bakery, a shop, a bar and bistro, even a school. Soon there will be nothing left. Why can’t we be like other villages with a shop, a pizzeria even? We have nothing!’
‘Well,’ I give a little cough, ‘apart from asalon de thé.’ I give a light laugh.
‘Think about it. Theboulangerie. It could work for us all if you were to take it over,’ he says with a nod, letting me know our meeting is now over.
