said.
Vivienne was a carbon copy of her sister except she wasn’t pretty. It was hard to say why. Especially in a black and white fast forward. But I made Daniel freeze the picture so that I could get a good look at her. She was tall; in Juliette tall was willowy, in Vivienne it was gawky. She was blonde, but her hair seemed paler than Juliette’s and was dragged back into an unbecoming ponytail. She was pale, but with Vivienne it looked pasty while Juliette was milk and roses.
The two of them were standing behind the counter as Selima took what must have been her lunch break. Vivienne was placing chocolates tenderly into their ranks. Juliette was trying to talk to her but each time she approached, Vivienne turned a bony shoulder and looked away. I could not see if she was speaking. Finally Juliette gave up and retreated to the far end of the cabinet and stared out of the window, biting her lip.
‘I get on fine with my sister,’ I quoted.
‘Doesn’t look like it, does it?’ asked Daniel.
‘No, but we don’t know the source of the quarrel. Could be she’s just grumpy because the chocolate isn’t setting. Cooks tend to be highly strung,’ I said.
‘Don’t I know it!’ said Daniel. ‘I worked in a hotel kitchen in Paris once and the chef used to throw pots. And that’s when he was in a good mood.’
‘And when he was in a bad mood?’
‘Knives, mostly,’ said Daniel. ‘Or choppers. All that army experience was useful. I ducked and took cover really well.’
I had to ask. ‘What were you doing in Paris?’
‘I got out of the army when my wife died,’ he said quietly.
‘I didn’t know what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go. So I went to Paris,’ he said, as though this was self-evident.
‘Ipso facto, as the Prof would say. Come to think of it, that’s how I ended up there, too.’
‘Paris is very good if you don’t know where you want to be,’ he told me. ‘I worked in a cafe which only made onion soup. I’ll make you French onion soup, ketschele. I’m really good at it. It was a nice job. I only quit when people started to move away from me on the metro. The onions had soaked into my skin, I swear. Ah. Vivienne has gone back to the kitchen and here we have—George.’
‘The apprentice?’
‘Just so,’ said Daniel. We stared. George was young, tall, dark, handsome, and really, really aware of it. He had an arm-load of boxes which he put down behind the counter. Juliette laughed at something he said and he gave her a fleeting pat on the cheek. Then we saw George jump at some summons from behind him, and he fled back into the kitchen.
‘Aha,’ said Daniel.
‘I second your “Aha!”,’ I said. ‘What a very decorative young man.’
‘Knows it, too,’ said Daniel.
‘Not my type,’ I said. ‘I have always found that that sort of young man is more interested in his mirror than any living female. They hang about in gyms, I believe,’ I said, never having entered one. If I want to be tortured, I’ll join the wrong political party in some benighted African republic. Actually, mostly just being female will do it in places like that.
‘More customers,’ said Daniel.
Several girls, giggling, bought wicked chocolates. An elderly gentleman with a stick came in and Juliette talked to him for ten minutes, going away to serve other people and coming back to him. He was given tastes of four different chocolates, more than anyone else, before he bought a box of the miscellaneous ones from the pile on the end of the counter. He was a magnificent talker, flourishing with his elegant hands rather than just waving them. I wondered if he was an actor.
‘Someone she knows,’ Daniel guessed.
‘A relative,’ I said.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He didn’t pay for his chocolates,’ I said. ‘Relatives never pay. Neither do old friends. I had an uncle who went broke because his cafe was too successful.’
‘And that happened because …?’
‘All his old
Vivienne was a carbon copy of her sister except she wasn’t pretty. It was hard to say why. Especially in a black and white fast forward. But I made Daniel freeze the picture so that I could get a good look at her. She was tall; in Juliette tall was willowy, in Vivienne it was gawky. She was blonde, but her hair seemed paler than Juliette’s and was dragged back into an unbecoming ponytail. She was pale, but with Vivienne it looked pasty while Juliette was milk and roses.
The two of them were standing behind the counter as Selima took what must have been her lunch break. Vivienne was placing chocolates tenderly into their ranks. Juliette was trying to talk to her but each time she approached, Vivienne turned a bony shoulder and looked away. I could not see if she was speaking. Finally Juliette gave up and retreated to the far end of the cabinet and stared out of the window, biting her lip.
‘I get on fine with my sister,’ I quoted.
‘Doesn’t look like it, does it?’ asked Daniel.
‘No, but we don’t know the source of the quarrel. Could be she’s just grumpy because the chocolate isn’t setting. Cooks tend to be highly strung,’ I said.
‘Don’t I know it!’ said Daniel. ‘I worked in a hotel kitchen in Paris once and the chef used to throw pots. And that’s when he was in a good mood.’
‘And when he was in a bad mood?’
‘Knives, mostly,’ said Daniel. ‘Or choppers. All that army experience was useful. I ducked and took cover really well.’
I had to ask. ‘What were you doing in Paris?’
‘I got out of the army when my wife died,’ he said quietly.
‘I didn’t know what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go. So I went to Paris,’ he said, as though this was self-evident.
‘Ipso facto, as the Prof would say. Come to think of it, that’s how I ended up there, too.’
‘Paris is very good if you don’t know where you want to be,’ he told me. ‘I worked in a cafe which only made onion soup. I’ll make you French onion soup, ketschele. I’m really good at it. It was a nice job. I only quit when people started to move away from me on the metro. The onions had soaked into my skin, I swear. Ah. Vivienne has gone back to the kitchen and here we have—George.’
‘The apprentice?’
‘Just so,’ said Daniel. We stared. George was young, tall, dark, handsome, and really, really aware of it. He had an arm-load of boxes which he put down behind the counter. Juliette laughed at something he said and he gave her a fleeting pat on the cheek. Then we saw George jump at some summons from behind him, and he fled back into the kitchen.
‘Aha,’ said Daniel.
‘I second your “Aha!”,’ I said. ‘What a very decorative young man.’
‘Knows it, too,’ said Daniel.
‘Not my type,’ I said. ‘I have always found that that sort of young man is more interested in his mirror than any living female. They hang about in gyms, I believe,’ I said, never having entered one. If I want to be tortured, I’ll join the wrong political party in some benighted African republic. Actually, mostly just being female will do it in places like that.
‘More customers,’ said Daniel.
Several girls, giggling, bought wicked chocolates. An elderly gentleman with a stick came in and Juliette talked to him for ten minutes, going away to serve other people and coming back to him. He was given tastes of four different chocolates, more than anyone else, before he bought a box of the miscellaneous ones from the pile on the end of the counter. He was a magnificent talker, flourishing with his elegant hands rather than just waving them. I wondered if he was an actor.
‘Someone she knows,’ Daniel guessed.
‘A relative,’ I said.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He didn’t pay for his chocolates,’ I said. ‘Relatives never pay. Neither do old friends. I had an uncle who went broke because his cafe was too successful.’
‘And that happened because …?’
‘All his old
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