‘No, I’m apologising for me. I should have left him a long time ago. I’ve come to thank you. I knew when he said you were … chasing him, it was all him. It always is. He was doing it again. But you being here, staying and confronting him, has made me realize, I need to stand up to him. I shouldn’t stay a moment longer. I’m leaving him. Finally. I have run the shop for him, filled the vending machines when he is too lazy or busy elsewhere to do it. And, above all, I have believed his lies and ignored his affairs.’
‘Really, it wasn’t an affair!’
‘But others were.’
I shake my head. ‘So he does this a lot?’
She nods. ‘And I always ignore. The most I can do is give out stale croissants! And even then, the majority of people wouldhave complained and I’d’ve exchanged them. I knew when you didn’t say anything that you would be an easy target for him.’
I cough, my mouth dry with embarrassment.
‘He says other women want him and I am lucky. He relishes telling me how attractive other women find him.’ She looks around the shop. ‘I expect he thought you wouldn’t still be here by now.’
‘Well, I …’ I take a deep breath, enraged. ‘I may have been foolish then, but I have since discovered what matters, and I mean to make sure he knows I’m not going anywhere.’
‘I am pleased,’ says Vivianne. ‘He needs some good competition.’
‘But where will you go?’ I ask.
‘To my sister. She will be happy to see me. She has been telling me to leave him for a long time.’ She gives the tiniest hint of a smile, and seems to straighten a little. There is a glint of light in her eyes. ‘It is a new beginning.’
‘Stay strong,’ I tell her.
‘Bonne chance,’ she says, as she turns to leave. ‘By the way, I reset his alarm clock before I left. He will struggle to do everything and get to market tomorrow morning.’
She gives a small, satisfied smile.
And I have just been given the information I need to beat Claude at his own game.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’ She turns back to me, looking lighter than when she arrived, and passes me a paper bag. ‘Fresh croissants. I’m sorry again about the other one.’
‘Merci. And good luck,’ I say.
Chapter 36
‘You sold out!’ says Madame B, as I present her with the empty basket when I return to theboulangeriethe next day at lunchtime. She proffers a glass of water.
I’m hot and exhausted, but on top of the world. I hand over my bag, weighed down with euro coins. ‘Vivianne was right. There were no baguettes in the vending machine this morning. The locals weren’t happy, but I gave samples to everyone waiting. The women were hesitant at first, but when I explained that the mill andboulangerieare working again and using traditional ingredients, one lady at the front tried a piece and the rest followed. I’d sold out by the time Claude was pulling up in his van.’
Madame B giggles. ‘I bet he wasn’t happy when he turned up and you’d managed to tempt his customers away.’
‘I didn’t stick around to find out!’ I say, although I can only imagine the expression on Claude’s face when he went to restock the vending machine and didn’t find the queue that would usually be waiting there …
The following morning, I take the same route, having worked out which way Claude does his round. I drive to the next town from yesterday’s, managing to beat him there. Again, a small queue is waiting for the vending machine to be filled. I offer the samples and, with no sign of Claude, they buy their bread from me.
On the third morning, I’m smiling as I pull up in another villagewith a vending machine, skipping the two I’ve visited over the past couple of days, and offer samples. I sell out in no time, handing round the cards I’ve written to let people know where we are, but promising I’ll be back next week at their local market. I wish I could find a way of making more regular visits. My last customer takes the final two baguettes, and as she hands me her money, I hear beeping behind me. It’s Claude, trying to move his van into the market square.
I give the woman some change and a business card, then quickly bid her good day. The coins land in her hand safely, and I disappear into the market throng. But as I do, the card flutters from my customer’s full hands and catches on the wind, which whips it up, then lets it fall. I put my head down and carry on into the growing crowds of the market. I snatch a glance back and see Claude pick up the card and read it. I hurry to my car and get on the road home, my heart thumping.
At lunchtime, I’m with Laurent, at thetabac. Madame B has made extra loaves for me to fill for people wanting sandwiches, walkers mostly. Clearly word has got around and there’s an appetite for them, along with the mini Victoria sponges and chocolate and beetroot brownies I’ve made. The soft, gooey chocolate squares, with extra richness from the beetroot, are sprinkled with icing sugar and seem to be going down a treat with my three taste-testers at the bar, already armed with their baguettes to take home for lunch.
‘You’ll need extra help at theboulangerieat this rate,’ says Laurent.
‘Maybe I will,’ I reply.
‘And you’ll be able to prove your income to get your visa!’
With the deadline looming, in under two weeks, I may be able to do it.
