OK. I promise.’
‘OK.’ She looked at him dubiously. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’
As he gestured for her to go inside she hovered by the open door, pointing for him to go first instead, trying to be polite, but he stood firm, hand out toencourage her to go in. She hesitated and then they were suddenly both going through the door together, bashing into each other so their shoulders hit and they concertinaed in like an accordion.
Philippe laughed. She could feel the deep rumble where their bodies touched.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Rachel muttered.
‘It was my fault. Not like a gentleman.’ He laughed again and she noticed how his eyes crinkled up at the corners. And how his hair, neatly combed to one side, had flopped a little out of place. When he smiled his teeth were perfect and his long aquiline nose with its bump on the bridge seemed suddenly to give him an air of distinction. She hadn’t thought of him as good-looking—not in the conventional way like Marcel or Ben—but now, as he smiled in the doorway she realised he was handsome. Like a nineteen forties movie star.
And she also realised that she’d been staring.
‘OK, then. Good. Lovely.
Au revoir
.’
‘
Au revoir
, Rachel. It was nice to see you again.’
‘Yes. You too. Yes. I have to go now. I’m going to be late. If I don’t get a move on.’ She was mumbling on as he watched.
‘Of course.’ He stood to the side to let her pass.
About to hurry up the stairs, she paused with her hand on the banister, wondering if she’d been rude. No man had ever been quite so gentlemanly with her before. Certainly not Ben and his four a.m. visits and no sleeping over.
‘Did you—?’ She turned back. ‘Did you enjoy your Religieuse?’
‘Very much.’ Philippe smiled, straightening his tie.
‘Good.’ She nodded, waited to see if he was going to say anything else and when he didn’t she turned and flew up the stairs, two at a time, without looking back.
Walking into the workshop, she found she was the last one to arrive. With poor Tony gone it was down to seven of them. Everyone was waiting, standing straight like toy soldiers behind their work stations.
‘Today is bread day,’ shouted Chef as he marched in the room.
Rachel had known it was coming. Lacey had told Marcel in confidence that bread was Chef’s pièce de résistance. It was all he cared about.
‘If I could—’ he stood at the front, hands on hips, nose in the air ‘—I would bake nothing.
Nothing
but bread. It is the essence of our existence. The food of generations. It is life. Bread.
Le pain
. Jesus—even Jesus—saw the promise of the loaf of bread.’
Rachel wanted to say that she thought the Feeding of the Five Thousand had another angle more important than the loaf but now certainly wasn’t the time. She glanced at Marcel, who rolled his eyes, which caught her off guard and made her burst out in a little laugh.
‘You find bread funny? Rachel, tell us what you find so funny about bread.’
‘Nothing. I don’t find it funny at all.’
Chef walked over and towered over her. ‘No. Rachel is the expert, it seems. Today
Rachel
,’ he sneered, slamming his hand down on the counter, ‘will be teaching us how to make the bread that she finds so funny.’
Chapter Eight
‘No, really. I couldn’t p-possibly,’ Rachel stammered at the idea of having to demonstrate to everyone.
‘Bake,’ he ordered.
‘Oh, really.’ Lacey sighed under her breath as she strutted over to Rachel’s counter.
‘We will all watch, Rachel.’
Rachel felt her hands shaking. Chef was standing so close in front of her she could feel his breath on her face. Everyone gathered round and stared in uncomfortable silence.
Gathering all her ingredients and a large mixing bowl, she took a deep breath and tried to calm the nerves that were shooting through her, but when she poured out some flour into her scales half of it tipped out into a heap on the counter.
‘I’ll get it,’
‘OK.’ She looked at him dubiously. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’
As he gestured for her to go inside she hovered by the open door, pointing for him to go first instead, trying to be polite, but he stood firm, hand out toencourage her to go in. She hesitated and then they were suddenly both going through the door together, bashing into each other so their shoulders hit and they concertinaed in like an accordion.
Philippe laughed. She could feel the deep rumble where their bodies touched.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Rachel muttered.
‘It was my fault. Not like a gentleman.’ He laughed again and she noticed how his eyes crinkled up at the corners. And how his hair, neatly combed to one side, had flopped a little out of place. When he smiled his teeth were perfect and his long aquiline nose with its bump on the bridge seemed suddenly to give him an air of distinction. She hadn’t thought of him as good-looking—not in the conventional way like Marcel or Ben—but now, as he smiled in the doorway she realised he was handsome. Like a nineteen forties movie star.
And she also realised that she’d been staring.
‘OK, then. Good. Lovely.
Au revoir
.’
‘
Au revoir
, Rachel. It was nice to see you again.’
‘Yes. You too. Yes. I have to go now. I’m going to be late. If I don’t get a move on.’ She was mumbling on as he watched.
‘Of course.’ He stood to the side to let her pass.
About to hurry up the stairs, she paused with her hand on the banister, wondering if she’d been rude. No man had ever been quite so gentlemanly with her before. Certainly not Ben and his four a.m. visits and no sleeping over.
‘Did you—?’ She turned back. ‘Did you enjoy your Religieuse?’
‘Very much.’ Philippe smiled, straightening his tie.
‘Good.’ She nodded, waited to see if he was going to say anything else and when he didn’t she turned and flew up the stairs, two at a time, without looking back.
Walking into the workshop, she found she was the last one to arrive. With poor Tony gone it was down to seven of them. Everyone was waiting, standing straight like toy soldiers behind their work stations.
‘Today is bread day,’ shouted Chef as he marched in the room.
Rachel had known it was coming. Lacey had told Marcel in confidence that bread was Chef’s pièce de résistance. It was all he cared about.
‘If I could—’ he stood at the front, hands on hips, nose in the air ‘—I would bake nothing.
Nothing
but bread. It is the essence of our existence. The food of generations. It is life. Bread.
Le pain
. Jesus—even Jesus—saw the promise of the loaf of bread.’
Rachel wanted to say that she thought the Feeding of the Five Thousand had another angle more important than the loaf but now certainly wasn’t the time. She glanced at Marcel, who rolled his eyes, which caught her off guard and made her burst out in a little laugh.
‘You find bread funny? Rachel, tell us what you find so funny about bread.’
‘Nothing. I don’t find it funny at all.’
Chef walked over and towered over her. ‘No. Rachel is the expert, it seems. Today
Rachel
,’ he sneered, slamming his hand down on the counter, ‘will be teaching us how to make the bread that she finds so funny.’
Chapter Eight
‘No, really. I couldn’t p-possibly,’ Rachel stammered at the idea of having to demonstrate to everyone.
‘Bake,’ he ordered.
‘Oh, really.’ Lacey sighed under her breath as she strutted over to Rachel’s counter.
‘We will all watch, Rachel.’
Rachel felt her hands shaking. Chef was standing so close in front of her she could feel his breath on her face. Everyone gathered round and stared in uncomfortable silence.
Gathering all her ingredients and a large mixing bowl, she took a deep breath and tried to calm the nerves that were shooting through her, but when she poured out some flour into her scales half of it tipped out into a heap on the counter.
‘I’ll get it,’
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