With a curl of his lip towards Claude, he heads for the door.
Claude recovers himself, straightening his shirt. ‘That’s it, run along, Laurent, I have things to discuss …’
Laurent glares at him over his shoulder and, for a moment, I think he may turn and hit Claude. Instead, he gives a small shake of the head, then strides out into the fresh air.
We watch him go, and when I turn back, I see Madame B has brushed away any traces of the flour we’ve made, like a pro. Not a speck left behind.
‘Like I say, Julie …’
‘It’s Juliet,’ I hiss.
‘This place is a fantasy. It will never happen. The villagedoesn’t need any more bread. They have mine. It’s better you give this idea up.’
He looks at me and I feel my skin crawl. How could I have been so stupid as to find this man attractive when I first met him? I pull myself together. I haven’t come this far to be bullied.
‘I will do what I want with my building,’ I say firmly. ‘I don’t need your or anyone else’s permission. Now, I’d like you to leave, please.’
‘You heard her, Monsieur,’ says Madame B, and Bibi joins in with a bark, lunging forward. Claude backs away.
He stares at Madame B and I’m impressed by the respect she commands. Then he turns to me. ‘Of course.’ He looks towards the open door, where Laurent is returning from the wood pile on the bank by the lake, carrying an armful of logs. The canoe finally made its way to shore, as Laurent said it would, and is retied to the marker in the ground there.
‘On your way now, Monsieur,’ says Madame B.
He’s backing towards the door, Bibi escorting him out.
‘Remember to keep me in mind for supplying your bread. I don’t want anything to ruin your plans for thesalon de thé.’ He looks up at the newly painted walls and trips as he backs up the stone steps towards the big front door.
I’m seething.
‘Still here?’ says Laurent.
‘Just leaving,’ he says, but this time he isn’t smirking and steps around Laurent, like a mouse – or in this case a rat. It’s a good job Laurent’s got an armful of logs to hold as Claude hurries out.
Suddenly I want to vent, but I can’t. I can’t tell them how much I’ve come to despise that man and why. It would make them despise me just as much.
‘What was he doing here?’ says Laurent. ‘Was he pushing you to use his bread at thesalon de théagain?’
‘Yes. And I think he was curious about the water wheel. ButI don’t want him to have any idea how close we are to getting the flour right for the bread. He’s the last person I want to know what we’re trying to make happen.’
Madame B gives one of her derisory sniffs and heads for the front door.
‘Bibi,’ she calls. ‘Au revoir, you two. See you tomorrow, early, at theboulangerie,’ she announces as she leaves. And as I watch her go, I barely have time to think about what she’s just said. She’s going to be at theboulangeriein the morning. This is going to happen!
Laurent, however, is still focused on Claude. ‘Well, you’re better off steering well clear of him. Like his grandfather, he takes what he can, when he can, without a thought for anyone. And discards what he doesn’t want any more.’
‘Did you hear what Madame B just said?’ I try to change the subject.
Laurent puts the logs by the fire, stands up straight and dusts his hands. ‘You had plenty of wood already … I nearly hit him.’
‘But you didn’t,’ I reply.
‘I could have.’
‘But you didn’t,’ I repeat.
‘No, I didn’t. He wanted me to. He wanted people to believe the stories about me are true. That I’m here because I have nowhere else to go. That I’m a man with nothing. But the truth is, there is nowhere I’d rather be than here. And I have more than he will ever have, because I have a passion’ – he puts his fist to his chest, and my heart starts to pound – ‘to make this place special again. And,’ he laughs, ‘right now I can’t think of anyone I would rather share that passion with.’
A flame roars up inside me. And all at once I have a purpose, something I’m here to do, something that will make a difference to this community. And Laurent sets in motion the mechanism for the grinding stone to turn.
