‘That doesn’t mean it can’t be done.’ He walks towards me.
I shield my eyes against the sun with a hand, looking up at him. ‘What made you change your mind?’
He steps forward. ‘You. And the writing on the walls.’ He comes to sit on the fallen tree beside me. ‘As I said, whatever went on here, they were my grandparents.’
‘Yes.’ I blush. ‘And I’m sure you didn’t need me to lecture you about honouring their legacy.’
‘No. But it was nice to find someone else who feels as I do, that doesn’t want the past to be forgotten. Even if it wasn’t all good. It’s part of the journey to the here and now.’ He takes a moment. ‘I should have come back earlier. I left it too late. I could have helped my grandfather before he died. I could have taken this place on.’ His voice is low and rasping, full of regret. ‘I made a mistake in not returning sooner, one that I’m not sure I’ll ever get over. I was full of guilt. I’d already let him down once, and I did it again. I was foolish to think that one day I might be able to buy this place to make amends. I was trying to put right the mistake I made by not being here when he died. He raised me when others who cared about me couldn’t.’ He takes a breath. ‘I owed him everything.’
‘What happened to your parents?’
He looks out across the lake. ‘I never knew my father. And my mother died in a car accident when I was eight so I lived here with my grandparents.’
I hesitate, wondering if I’m being too intrusive, but gently ask, ‘And your grandmother?’
He turns the euro in his hand between his fingers. ‘She left for quite some time. Left me and my grandfather. She came backeventually, and my grandfather forgave her for leaving, but I never could. I couldn’t be that big.’
‘And now?’
‘Now, I try to put it behind me. But it still upsets me that she left my grandfather for another man. And left me. But more than that, my biggest regret was not returning here when my grandfather needed me before he died.’
His long dark hair falls away from his face as he turns to me. ‘But I think you may be right. Being here, doing this, it may be the way to lay the ghosts to rest.’
‘So? You’re going to help me?’ A smile is creeping onto my lips.
He lets out a long sigh. ‘Here in France, we do things with a little more subtlety,’ he says. ‘Let the answer come to you.’ A smile is pulling at the corners of his mouth, too. ‘But, yes, I’ll help you. Maybe I needed to be reminded of what I was doing here and why it was important. It’s not just about the building, it’s about the flour, and the taste, which is unique to this place, to this village. The bread now is nondescript. It could be from anywhere. I wanted to keep the mill as a building. When I heard you had bought it, I thought you would rip the heart out of it. I wanted to hold onto it, preserve it. But what good is the building if it’s not producing flour?’
‘But where do we start? I’m just a home cook. A cake-maker. Who clearly makes dreadful bread.’
‘The bread wasn’t dreadful.’
I raise a questioning eyebrow. ‘Dégueulasse!That’s what they called it.’
‘Disgusting?Non.’ He shakes his head, then tilts it from side to side. ‘Bland, maybe.’
He laughs, deep and rich. A nice laugh.
‘But seriously,’ he says, ‘this is about honour. Getting the mill back up and running and theboulangeriein the heart of the town. This is about saying, “We’re still here.” We might be asmall village, but we should not be forgotten or overtaken by a bakery from a neighbouring town whose owner sees what he wants and takes it, in business and in life.’ I see his nostrils flare, presumably directed at Claude, which is something we have in common – although I’m not sure why he hates him, other than that he owns the baguette-vending machines. But there is clearly no love lost between them. ‘We should not be invisible. We should be seen, because our village is worth it. My grandfather’s work here is worth it. It is time we remember to celebrate what and who we are.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’ I smile. ‘So, where do we start?’
He hands me the euro. ‘With a euro to seal the deal. Remember, you never know when you might need it.’
As he places it in the palm of my hand, I get a shiver of excitement about everything that is to come. Maybe this will work out after all.
Chapter 24
Bang, bang, bang …
The banging is going right through my head. I push back the cotton sheet on my bed and climb down the wooden steps and head into the kitchen. It’s early Monday morning. The only other sound is the dawn chorus in full voice. The banging noise I can hear is coming from the cellar.
I lean into the sideboard with effort and push it away from the trapdoor, open it, and take the steps. The cellar door to the outside is open, letting in the early-morning light.
‘Bonjour, Juliet!’ Laurent says, smiling, though we are hesitant on how to greet each other. For a country that has such set ways and etiquette for greetings, we’re lost for a moment.
‘Oh, um,bonjour, Laurent.’ He raises a hand, evidently uncertain, as do I. We know we aren’t enemies – we want the same things: the mill to work, theboulangerieto open, the village to thrive – but we aren’t friends either. Friendship is based on trust, and I’m not sure either of us is there yet.
I need him to help me get the mill working, to bake bread, to get my visa. I know for a fact that Laurent wants the mill, and I’m just a spoke in his wheel. But we need each other, friends or not.
