‘So, theboulangerie, is that what you’re saying it’ll take, for me to get my visa here? Is it? Because, okay, I’ll do it.’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘You will?’
‘The bakery, theboulangerie, yes, I’ll set it up again, get it going. So you’ll have bread baked in the town.’
He looks at me, a glint in his eye. ‘Without a visa you have no right to stay …’
‘But I’m sure you could help with that, for someone prepared to open theboulangeriehere,’ I say slowly. ‘To give something back to the community.’
He sighs. ‘I feel I may have been too, how do you say, hasty.’ He wavers. ‘As you said yourself, you aren’t a baker. You are just a cook, who makes cakes. English cakes.’
‘British,’ I correct him.
‘You are British. You are not a professional baker of Frenchbread. I may have misjudged things. How can a home cook bring back ourboulangerie?’
‘But I’m willing to give it a go and make it work.’
‘Give it a go? Madame, we are talking about one of the most prestigious professions in our country. We take great pride in our bread-making. You cannot justgive it a go. You know nothing about our ways. You know about tea! We drink coffee, lots of coffee, and wine. And we eat bread. With every meal! When you said you were setting up asalon de thé, I thought you had skills in this area. But I understand now I was wrong.’
I lift my head higher. I’m not going to let him run me out of town with my tail between my legs. I came here to get a taste of a new life. A second chance. I’m not going let him stop me before I’ve begun. I take a deep breath. ‘I promise I will do my very best. I know about baking, and I’m passionate about it. I will be just as dedicated to learning about bread-making.’
At first he says nothing, so I continue. ‘I will work hard to get theboulangerieup and running. I know how important it is to you. And, as you say, how much more will shut down here if you don’t let strangers in? Is this what you want for the town? All that will be left is a bread-vending machine and maybe a coffee machine next to it. Or what about the road that could go through the middle of the town, making sure the town is no more, just a road to somewhere else?’
He gazes at me and I wonder if I’ve gone too far, but I can’t stop now. ‘You said you wanted the bakery open again. I’ll do it! I’ll get it open and running, and then I’ll open mysalon dethé.’
‘I want it open … but an Englishwoman with no experience in baking. We could be a laughing stock!’
‘Do you want yourboulangerieopen,oui ounon?’
‘Mais oui!Yes!’
‘Then I’ll do it. And you’ll sort out my visa. I’ll be as French as I need to be to make this happen,’ I say, frustrated.
‘You will become French?’ he asks, bemused.
‘Whatever it takes. I’ll learn the language, the etiquette, the history. I’ll throw myself into it.’
He nods. ‘That’s good to hear.’
Never underestimate the determination of a pissed-off middle-aged woman, I growl in my head, but he seems to have got the message.
‘You will open theboulangerieand sell daily bread?’
‘I will. If that’s what it takes to get my visa, then yes. And in time I’ll set up mysalon de théat the mill.’
He peers down at the file under his hands.
‘But I need the agreement that I’ll get a visa to stay if I do it.’ And I barely know myself, sounding firm and businesslike. But this is business and it’s about me, taking my chance with both hands and not being treated like I’m as green as I am cabbage-looking. Even if I may have behaved like that. This is not a movie, or a holiday, and I’m certainly not here to find a man. That was never what this new chapter in my life was about. I need to focus on what Idowant.
‘A temporary visa could be arranged, a short-stay one,’ he says, ‘which will give you the right to work. And then, say, once theboulangerieis taking money, a more permanent visa could be arranged for you to reside here.’
We’re talking the same language now. I just needed to take my time. ‘How long will the short-stay visa cover?’
‘You have three months to get theboulangerieup and running. By the beginning of September, you must be making a profit. If you are, you will get your longer visa to stay and work. If not, you will return home to theUK.’
‘That would be agreeable,’ I say. ‘Three months from today.’
Suddenly he beams. ‘Theboulangerie, back in the village! It will stop us disappearing into oblivion. Becoming a ghost village,abandoned and knocked down to make way for some road. A celebration!’
