woman stood quiet, propping herself on her cane. She made no outward motions but her eyes were closed. To my left, Buki rocked out, lifting her hands, and shouting, “Thank you, Jesus!” I grinned. Her faith and enthusiasm was viral.
After the worship came a sermon on John 1. Quite decent, as the British would say.
When the service was over, the congregation mingled, and the vicar—or pastor, I wasn’t sure of his title—came to meet me. He appeared genuine and earnest.
“Hello,” he said. “My wife says you’re new here”.
I nodded. “Yes, I’m here to study baking”.
He smiled. “What a place to study—the best. And how wonderful that we’ve just started John. It’s a book full of food images. Food for the body and food for the soul”.
He invited me to come back each week and moved on. I had just turned around to pick up my things and leave when I got the shock of my life.
Philippe!
He looked just as shocked to see me as I was to see him. I could barely concentrate as he moved in my direction. I heard someone call out.
“Lexi!” Céline raced toward me.
Philippe came up behind her. He cleaned up nice in khakis and a fashionable, collarless button-up shirt. His wavy hair was slicked back.
“What are
you
doing here?” I asked in English, not having turned my brain back to French.
“You mean, what’s a baker like me doing in a place like this?”
“You know English pickup lines!” I exclaimed.
“Were you offering it as a pickup?” He grinned.
I blushed. I
hated
that I blushed so easily. He kept talking to allow me, graciously, to avoid answering.
“My wife was from London,” he explained. “I met her while on holiday one year, and I became a, uh, Protestant while living there”. He grew uncomfortable.
“You mean a Christian?” I said, breaking the discomfort. I knew from my studies it was taboo in France to discuss your religious faith with someone at work. We weren’t at work, but we worked together.
“Yes,” he said. “I became a Christian in England. We eventually moved back here, of course, so I could work for my father. But when Céline was born, Andrea wanted her to be equally comfortable with English, so we came to church here, the only English-speaking church in the area. And have come ever since. They were a great support to me a few years ago when Andrea passed away”.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He nodded. “Thanks”.
“Come on”. Céline tugged at Philippe’s hand. “Let’s get our coffee”.
“Coffee?” I asked.
“More like milk and sugar with a splash of brown for her,” Philippe said. We walked upstairs to the coffee room.
After standing in line to get our coffee, we sat at a long table. Céline drifted away to talk with a friend, but another woman came and sat very near to Philippe.
“Who is your friend?” she asked, looking at me rather pointedly.
“Oh, Lexi, this is Gabby. Gabby, Lexi”.
“Lexi. That’s an unusual name”. Gabby sipped her coffee.
Would I never hear the end of that? “It’s a nickname for Alexandra,” I said. Never in my life had my name been questioned so often.
I waited for Philippe to explain that we worked together, and that I was here at the sponsorship of his company. But he said nothing. In fact, he seemed to take pleasure in withholding any further information from Gabby. Perhaps she lived up to her name. I suppressed a smile.
“I’d best get going,” I said. “I’ve got quite a bit to do this afternoon”.
Philippe nodded, looked like he wanted to say something else, and then decided not to. I gathered up my purse and returned the coffee cup to the small service window. Philippe was already talking with another man, but he waved at me as I left.
“See you at work,” he said loudly, unnecessarily so, perhaps.
“Yes, see you then,” I agreed.
Gabby pretended to be intensely involved in her current conversation, but I saw her look at Philippe, then me, appraisingly, out of the corner of
After the worship came a sermon on John 1. Quite decent, as the British would say.
When the service was over, the congregation mingled, and the vicar—or pastor, I wasn’t sure of his title—came to meet me. He appeared genuine and earnest.
“Hello,” he said. “My wife says you’re new here”.
I nodded. “Yes, I’m here to study baking”.
He smiled. “What a place to study—the best. And how wonderful that we’ve just started John. It’s a book full of food images. Food for the body and food for the soul”.
He invited me to come back each week and moved on. I had just turned around to pick up my things and leave when I got the shock of my life.
Philippe!
He looked just as shocked to see me as I was to see him. I could barely concentrate as he moved in my direction. I heard someone call out.
“Lexi!” Céline raced toward me.
Philippe came up behind her. He cleaned up nice in khakis and a fashionable, collarless button-up shirt. His wavy hair was slicked back.
“What are
you
doing here?” I asked in English, not having turned my brain back to French.
“You mean, what’s a baker like me doing in a place like this?”
“You know English pickup lines!” I exclaimed.
“Were you offering it as a pickup?” He grinned.
I blushed. I
hated
that I blushed so easily. He kept talking to allow me, graciously, to avoid answering.
“My wife was from London,” he explained. “I met her while on holiday one year, and I became a, uh, Protestant while living there”. He grew uncomfortable.
“You mean a Christian?” I said, breaking the discomfort. I knew from my studies it was taboo in France to discuss your religious faith with someone at work. We weren’t at work, but we worked together.
“Yes,” he said. “I became a Christian in England. We eventually moved back here, of course, so I could work for my father. But when Céline was born, Andrea wanted her to be equally comfortable with English, so we came to church here, the only English-speaking church in the area. And have come ever since. They were a great support to me a few years ago when Andrea passed away”.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He nodded. “Thanks”.
“Come on”. Céline tugged at Philippe’s hand. “Let’s get our coffee”.
“Coffee?” I asked.
“More like milk and sugar with a splash of brown for her,” Philippe said. We walked upstairs to the coffee room.
After standing in line to get our coffee, we sat at a long table. Céline drifted away to talk with a friend, but another woman came and sat very near to Philippe.
“Who is your friend?” she asked, looking at me rather pointedly.
“Oh, Lexi, this is Gabby. Gabby, Lexi”.
“Lexi. That’s an unusual name”. Gabby sipped her coffee.
Would I never hear the end of that? “It’s a nickname for Alexandra,” I said. Never in my life had my name been questioned so often.
I waited for Philippe to explain that we worked together, and that I was here at the sponsorship of his company. But he said nothing. In fact, he seemed to take pleasure in withholding any further information from Gabby. Perhaps she lived up to her name. I suppressed a smile.
“I’d best get going,” I said. “I’ve got quite a bit to do this afternoon”.
Philippe nodded, looked like he wanted to say something else, and then decided not to. I gathered up my purse and returned the coffee cup to the small service window. Philippe was already talking with another man, but he waved at me as I left.
“See you at work,” he said loudly, unnecessarily so, perhaps.
“Yes, see you then,” I agreed.
Gabby pretended to be intensely involved in her current conversation, but I saw her look at Philippe, then me, appraisingly, out of the corner of
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