I hear his car leave.
‘Another beer?’ I say to Laurent and, without waiting for a response, I hurry inside, down the wooden steps and slam the cellar door. I hurry back up the steps and push the heavy sideboard over the trapdoor, grab a beer from the fridge, an opener and the bottle of red wine, and head back outside to where Laurent is.
‘It’s none of my business, of course, but with Claude, just be careful.’ For a moment Laurent is quiet and I feel uneasy. Then he says, ‘He and his family like to get what they want. As I say, be careful. They mean business.’
‘You clearly have quite a history between you,’ I say, and sip my wine.
‘It was his grandfather, Charles, who became my grandmother’s lover. He seduced her, made her promises of a better life, and she left my grandfather for him.’ He chews his bottom lip. ‘Then when he decided he no longer wanted her in his life, he threw her out. The whole village knew about it. Shewas left with nothing, not even her dignity. But my grandfather wouldn’t see her like that and brought her home.’ He taps the side of his beer bottle with one of his silver rings. ‘Just don’t get too close. That family have a way of getting what they want. Using people and spitting them out. He could make life very difficult. Just be careful.’
My cheeks burn with indignation. It seems that Claude and his family have a habit of ruining everything for everyone. ‘I will.Merci.’
I’m wishing that the earlier atmosphere hadn’t disappeared. I want to go back to where we were, talking about happy times, here at the mill, making me smile.
‘I should go,’ he says, standing. ‘Bonsoir.’ As he leans in and kisses me on both cheeks, I feel I’ve finally made a friend in Laurent. A very attractive one. And it feels good. Whatever happens, he must never know that Claude kissed me. I don’t want to lose our new-found respect for each other. I like our friendship the way it is. Without Claude causing any complications. And that’s how it’s going to stay.
Chapter 28
The following morning, I’m determined to find the recipe for the flour. After my coffee, I let the family and Annie know the adventures of yesterday: the mill flooding, opening the sluice gate by using a euro coin and the wheel starting to turn. I don’t tell them about Claude, the baker/drug-dealer whose product I flushed away and who I let kiss me. And who is now very unhappy about me opening theboulangerie. I finish my messages when Laurent arrives around the corner of the mill, as I’m watching the early-morning mist.
‘Bonjour,’ he says, and leans in to kiss me on each cheek, making me smile.
‘Bonjour,’ I reply. ‘Coffee?’
We start the day gathering our thoughts, our eyes on the trailing weeping willows dipping their branches into the water and the blue flashes of the kingfishers, as we listen to the quack of the ducks and the low hum of bees, moving from one flower to another.
We finish our coffee and start going through the boxes in the cellar. We find an old photograph of the mill from when Laurent was a boy. He is clearly touched by it and tries to dry it out in the warm, bright sunshine. There’s also a tool he remembers his grandfather using, which brings tears to his eyes, and some kitchen equipment, but nothing helps us with the flour recipe.
Before long, Laurent has to get back to thetabac. ‘I’m sorry we haven’t found anything,’ he says.
‘Me too,’ I say.
After he’s gone, I go to the old store room, my living quarters, and decide to clean in here. I have to do something. But I have no idea what we can do about the missing flour recipe. If we don’t find it, I’ll have to admit defeat and tell the mayor that I can’t do it.
I sweep and wash down the walls in my bedroom, at the back of the building behind the kitchen, thinking of what this place must have been like as a busy working mill, sacks of flour packed up and ready to be delivered. And for Laurent as a boy, his place of safety and happiness.
Then I begin to paint the one wall with none of the writing on it. I’m hesitant to paint over any of the drawings on the wall, especially the picture of the heart with ‘bijou’ written within it. I take more photographs of the drawings and work around them. The room is clean and fresh, ready for a new beginning, but I don’t want to erase its entire history. I wonder whether to frame the drawings and the writing. But perhaps I won’t get that far, because if we don’t find the flour recipe, I’ll have to put the place up for sale. At least it will look better than it did when I arrived. It looks loved again.
In bed that night, my mind is whirring. The answer to the flour recipe has to be somewhere. Someone must know. With the window open, letting the smell of paint out and a warm breeze in, I’m listening to the owl in the trees, coming from the direction where we went to collect wood. I think about the pretty glade there and the swimming hole I’m yet to try. There is so much more I want to explore and find out about this place.And Laurent, a voice says in my head. And I think about theboulangerie, waiting to be brought back to life, despite the grumpy neighbour. Who pointed me towards Laurent. She’s always smartly turned out – white hair cropped short and blow-dried into a wavy quiff, red nails, Gucci shoes, her little dogcompleting the look. I turn over and fall asleep to the sound of the owl.
The next morning I let myself into theboulangerie, make coffee and some cake, and try to imagine what this place will look like once it’s open again. When I finally hear Madame B moving around upstairs, I take a deep breath and go up to her apartment. I knock on the door and the dog barks.
‘Arrêt! Bibi!’ I hear her say crossly from behind the door. I may be a grown woman, but every part of me wants to run. I can’t. We’re out of options.
The door opens a fraction. ‘Madame! What do you want now?!”
‘Bonjour, Madame Bertou.’
‘Yes,oui, bonjour,’ she says, decidedly irritated. ‘What are you doing knocking on my door at this time of day, or at any time of day?’
It’s now or never. I’m taking a risk, but I think my instincts are right. ‘What do you know about bakery? The mill, too, for that matter?’ I know there’s something she’s not telling me.
‘You’re talking nonsense. I can’t help you. I haven’t been to the mill in years.’
At her mention of the mill, I know she’s hiding something.
‘Don’t go interfering in things you know nothing about. Now, leave me alone and keep the noise down.Au revoir, Madame.’ She tries to close the door on me.
‘That’s why you don’t want anyone in the bakery, isn’t it? It’s something to do with the mill.’ I don’t know what it is, but I’ve clearly hit a nerve.
