The Little Paris Patisserie

‘Mmm, these are good.’

She ignored him as she made a quick pot of tea. There was something soothing about making it properly and it was a definite delaying tactic.

She brought the pot and, bowing to Nick’s bigger frame, a mug as well as one of her favourite vintage cup and saucers, over to the small round dining table to the left of the kitchen area. The open plan living area was perfect for one and she deliberately kept the number of seats around the table to a minimum. This was her bolthole and she’d made sure it was her space. She’d used pastel colours on the walls and bought pretty, delicate floral fabric to make curtains and cushions to stamp her feminine identity on the place. Being surrounded by four boys all her life had definitely influenced her décor choices. Growing up at the farmhouse, most things had been practical and robust. Colour had not been a significant feature. Jonathon and Dan’s idea of interior design had been to paint their bedroom walls in alternate black and white stripes to emulate their beloved Newcastle United.

‘Here you go.’ She pushed the mug of tea towards her brother.

‘So what’s brought all this on?’ asked Nick, his face softening in sympathy.

‘It’s been coming on for a while. I feel a bit stuck. Like I’m going nowhere and I’m never going to do anything.’

‘What do you want to do?’

Nina toyed with the edge of her saucer. It was a stupid idea. After all, she’d been there once and messed it up.

Of all her brothers, she was closest to Nick. Perhaps because they were both in the same boat.

‘Don’t you sometimes want to get away from here? Be on your own.’

Nick’s mouth twisted. ‘Very occasionally, I wonder if I’ve missed out. It’s not exactly easy to meet people round here. But I love farming and it’s not like I can up sticks and take the farm with me. And then I stand at the top of the fell and look down the valley, follow the curve of the drystone walls that have been there for centuries and I feel like I belong. It’s continuity.’

Nina looked up at him and gave him a gentle smile. He’d always been her hero, not that she’d dream of saying that to him. His head was plenty big enough already. For all his childish banter and teasing, he was a good soul who knew his place in the world.

She sighed, not wanting to sound ungrateful. ‘At least you’re useful. You have a proper purpose and a proper job.’

‘What do you want to do?’

Pulling a face, she traced the edge of the saucer again. ‘Get away for a while. Be me. Find out who me really is.’

Nick frowned looking confused.

‘Just now, I didn’t use the ‘F’ word because I knew you’d disapprove.’

Now he looked even more confused.

‘I feel like I’m treading water. I want … I want to cook properly. Not just make cakes and things.’

‘You want to be a chef? But you tried that before.’ He pointed to her. ‘You know, the raw meat thing. The, er, having a meltdown, panic attack thing. Didn’t you throw up as well?’

‘Thanks for reminding me, but what I didn’t realise then was that there are other specialisms that wouldn’t involve handling raw meat. I could be a pastry chef. Sukie, who’s off to New York is, was, absolutely amazing. She’s inspired me. You should see the things she makes. I … I…’ Nina stopped. She’d been trying a few things out at home, with varying degrees of success. It had been difficult at work to spend much time observing her former colleague, when she was supposed to be waiting tables, although Sukie had always been willing to let her hang around. She needed to be trained. Go on a patisserie course.

Ever since Sebastian’s call in the car, her mind had kept circling back to his announcement that he was running a pastry course. He needed legs. She had seven weeks free, well, almost. And surely Mum and Cath could find someone else to make cakes for a few weeks.

This was the most serendipitous thing that had ever, ever, ever happened to her. She’d be mad not to pursue it. Surely it was meant to be, even if Sebastian was involved. This was the perfect opportunity for her to show everyone how passionate she was about patisserie. Prove to everyone that she’d finally found her ‘thing’.

‘Would you talk to him for me?’

‘Talk to who?’ asked Nick, puzzled.

‘Sebastian.’

Chapter 3

As she stepped off the train at the Gare du Nord, finding it rather wonderful and amazing that she was now in another country and that she’d whizzed underneath the channel, she was tempted to pinch herself. Just two hours ago she’d been at St Pancras and now she was in Paris. Gay Paris. On her own. Away from the family. It felt as if she’d shaken off a very heavy feather duvet that was in danger of suffocating her. Even as she’d climbed into the car with Dad to go to the station, Mum had slipped a handful of Euro notes into her hand and muttered, ‘For a taxi when you get there. So you don’t have to worry about the Metro with all your bags.’

And then her dad had done exactly the same thing when he dropped her at the station. Bless them both. She wasn’t ungrateful, but really! She was perfectly capable of getting the Metro on her own.

Despite listening to a French language app throughout her Eurostar trip, Nina was slightly disappointed to realise that she still couldn’t understand a single sentence of the thousand-words-per-second, rapid delivery of the man at the information desk. Unfortunately, he was determined not to speak any English and the only word they could agree on was taxi. So much for her first independent foray! At least Mum and Dad would be pleased.

The taxi brought her into a wide boulevard, lined with trees shading small cafes and their bistro tables and chairs. On either side of the street were buildings of five or six storeys running the full length of the road, where all of the windows had those cute wrought iron balconies and there were imposing looking wooden front doors interspersed at regular intervals.

Despite the old stone walls and the heavy wooden trim, the door to the building opened with an electronic buzz and she found herself in a stark entrance hall with a narrow, tiled staircase curling upwards. Sebastian had taken up residence in a hotel as there was no lift here at his apartment block. With a sigh, Nina looked upwards at the broad staircase. How on earth was she going to lug a big suitcase as well as the heavy tote bag and her handbag up to the top floor? This is independence. Remember — what you wanted. Even so she glanced around, almost hopeful that someone might materialise to help. But unlike in the movies, no handsome knight appeared offering to carry her cases for her. With a dispirited groan, she put her messenger bag across her chest, hefted her tote bag higher on her shoulder and picked up the suitcase and got on with it.

As per Sebastian’s texted instructions, Nina rang the doorbell on flat 44b and almost before she’d taken her finger from the bell, the door opened, making her jump.

A slender woman looked out. Her dead straight blonde hair was arranged in a sleek ponytail framing her face accentuating high cheekbones and a firm chin. She might have written the book on classy chic and haughty sang-froid, as defined by her indifferent expression, glossy pointy shoes, the wide-legged cream trousers and a high-necked silk blouse in pale blue, all of which made Nina feel doubly hot and sticky.

‘Bonjour, je suis Nina. Je suis ici pour les clés de Sebastian.’ The words burbled out in desperation and from the quickly concealed smile on the face of the elegant woman, she’d not made a terribly good fist of it.

‘Bonjour, Nina. I heard you coming all the way up the stairs.’ Nina felt her disapproval. ‘I’m Valerie du…’ She didn’t quite catch her surname, as Valerie sounded as if she’d swallowed every syllable. ‘Here are the keys.’ She held them out at arm’s length with a rather regal, keep-the-peasants-at-a-distance touch. ‘When you see Sebastian, please give him my very best wishes.’ Her flawless English and very sexy accent highlighted Nina’s sense of being under-dressed and travel-soiled. ‘I shall miss him, he’s such excellent company.’ Valerie added with a knowing, naughty look.

Nina swallowed. ‘I will. Erm, thank you.’ Valerie looked at least fifteen years older than Sebastian. Without any more ado, Valerie shut the door.

‘Welcome to Paris,’ muttered Nina under her breath. ‘I hope you had a good journey. If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask, as you’re in a strange apartment, in a foreign city and you don’t know a soul around here.’

As she battled her way through the door, dragging her suitcases, her phone pinged.

I’m assuming you’ve made it. I need you to bring some of my stuff over to the hotel from my apartment. Ring me and I’ll talk you through what I need. If you come over here, we can have a meeting about what will be required from you. I suggest about 3 p.m. Sebastian.

She wilted slightly at the strictly business text. Couldn’t he give her a break? She’d been in the city for less than an hour and had no idea where the hotel was in relation to here. At the moment, her priority was locating a kettle and coffee and ransacking a cupboard to find something to eat. He could at least have given her chance to settle in?

Sebastian was just being bloody pedantic, Nina decided as she hauled down a wheelie suitcase from the top of the cupboard in the hallway. Surely it would be easier to transport everything in this instead of the leather holdall he’d asked for. The wheelie case, which looked like an oversized silver beetle with latched sides, would be much easier to pull along rather than having to carry the other bag.

After a brief conversation, in which he’d given her the address of his hotel, she’d scribbled down the list of what he wanted. First up, his laptop and papers, which she gathered up from the table in the lounge. Then she moved to the bedroom. Five shirts, as requested, folded and packed, the toiletry bag filled from the bathroom and dressing table, including the Tom Ford aftershave he’d specifically asked for – and no, she didn’t do that girly thing of sniffing it, even though she did wonder what it smelled like. Next, underwear. Hesitantly she opened his top drawer. Yup, underwear drawer. Somehow she might have guessed he’d be a jersey boxer man. And Calvin Klein rather than M&S. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen plenty of men’s underwear in her time but … this felt too personal. Thinking about Sebastian in this. No, she was not going there. He was just a bloke. Nick’s friend. A silly boy once. She’d known him forever. Telling herself to get on with it and quit being so stupid, she grabbed a handful, and as she did, she nudged a cardboard box. Shit. That was different ball game. Wincing at the double entendre, she looked at the box. Condoms. A pack of twelve. Featherlite. Open.

Don’t look inside. Don’t.

With a bump she sat down on the bed.

Four missing. Sebastian. Had sex. Has sex. Is having sex.

And it was absolutely, definitely, no way of interest to her. Nothing to do with her. She was not going to look at the use by date on them. And there was no earthly reason for her heart to have that silly, stupid, ridiculous pinching feeling.

Sebastian was a good-looking guy. No state secret. Of course he had women. The last time she’d seen him, he’d had a girlfriend. And the time before that. Different ones. He had girlfriends. She knew that. This was hardly a surprise and meant nothing to her.

Oh heck. So what was she supposed to do with them? Ignore them? Pretend she hadn’t seen them? But then he knew they were here. Would know that she’d see them. Or maybe he had forgotten. If she packed them, it would show that she was completely blasé about them being there. Show that she was grown up and worldly about such things. Although if he needed them, quite how he was going to manoeuvre with a broken leg would be interesting. And where had that thought come from? Hurriedly she stuffed them in. That was the responsible thing to do, wasn’t it?

Unfortunately, there was a hold up on the Metro which made her late and then, when she emerged onto the street, it had started to drizzle. Of course it bloody well had, so her perfect bob which was supposed to represent her new, more grown up image, had gone slightly curly, her pointy high heels, showing Parisienne sophistication, were killing her and the horribly expensive sheer tights were splashed with dirty water. It also turned out that the five-minute walk to the hotel was technically correct, providing you were a certain Mr Usain Bolt.

By the time she staggered to the top of the flight of steps of the hotel, tottering in her heels with all the élan of Tony Curtis in Some Like it Hot, it was nearer five o’clock. The concierge opened the door for her and she managed to raise a very small smile, which was quickly wiped from her face when her wet shoes slipped on one of the tiles. Saving herself before she fell, she sacrificed the wheelie case which promptly popped open exploding clothes in a rainbow of colour and fabric. And of course, the damn box of condoms had to go skittering across the floor before it came to rest beside the highly polished chestnut shoes of a tall, dark Gregory Fitoussi lookalike.

Sod’s law, he had to bend down, pick them up and hand them to her as she blushed like a sunburned tomato.

‘Merci,’ she stuttered trying to give him an insouciant smile, taking them calmly from him as if this sort of thing happened to her all the time and it really was nothing and she wasn’t the least bit fazed by it or dying slowly inside.

With a charming smile, he nodded, said something in rapid indistinguishable French and walked away, stepping around a pair of boxers.

Aware that she’d become a bit of a spectacle in the busy lobby, not that anyone was rushing forward to help, she hurriedly snatched the scattered clothes and rammed them back into the case any old how, closed it and, smoothing her hair, she crossed to the front desk. Sebastian had told her to ask for him at the front desk so that they could give her a key for his room.

Goodness only knows what everyone thought she was doing with a suitcase of condoms and men’s clothing. The receptionist gave her a decidedly glacial look. Everyone probably thought she was a call girl, which was almost correct as for the next few weeks she was going to be Sebastian’s beck-and-call girl.

Chapter 4

Sebastian was on the ninth floor and his room, rather practically, was right next door to the lift. She knocked loudly with several firm raps before inserting the key card into the slot. Three attempts later the little light finally turned green and she pushed open the door, her heart thumping so hard that she could almost feel her ribs rattling. Which was ridiculous.

‘Nina?’ His voice called from beyond another door in the short gloomy corridor.

‘Yes, its me.’ Her voice sounded thin and reedy. She took a deep breath. It was ten years ago. They were both older and wiser.

‘You’re late.’

Sighing, Nina nibbled at her lip and pushed open the internal door.

She didn’t see him at first and took a minute to stare around at the rather grand surroundings. It was cowardly, she knew, but her legs had gone all wobbly, not unlike one of the newborn calves on the farm. A wave of homesickness grabbed at her and a longing to turn the clock back to a time when Sebastian was her brother’s best friend.

‘Yes, it’s a suite,’ Sebastian’s dry voice came from the sofa in front of her, where his head poked above the back.

This wasn’t at all how she’d imagined their first conversation would go, but then she’d had trouble imagining how it would go at all.

‘It certainly is,’ she said, taking refuge in the grandeur of the room rather than meeting Sebastian’s narrow-eyed gaze.

It was palatial, double the size of her little flat at home, with two sofas opposite each other, a series of French windows opening onto three balconies and a monster TV screen. Antique-y looking furniture lined the walls on either side with two double doors opening onto what she guessed were bedrooms. ‘All this just for you.’

‘I have handy friends,’ said Sebastian, his voice scratchy and cross. ‘And it was the closest to the lift.’ She finally looked down at where he lay on the sofa, propped up against the arm with a pile of pillows, the offensively, bright blue cast clashing horribly with the pale lemon of the silk damask cushions.

‘You loo…’ She stopped herself in time. Telling him he looked terrible probably wasn’t going to go down well. Inside, some less than charitable little minx shouted, Yay! Sebastian Finlay looks horrible. Skanky. Yukky. Totally unfancyable. His skin had a grey pallor and his hair was greasy and yes, yuk, slicked to his scalp. Purple shadows underscored his eyes and his chin was dotted with several days of stubble. The white T-shirt he wore looked grimy and he was in his pants. Sebastian in his pants. Her mouth twitched. She wanted to do one of those victory dances footballers do when they run around the pitch with their shirts over their heads.

‘Thanks,’ he said, dryly second guessing the rest of her sentence. ‘Excuse me if I don’t get up.’

‘Looks … uncomfortable,’ she said suddenly realising that she wasn’t behaving normally at all and trying not to look at the top of the cast where it met his pants. What was wrong with her, for goodness’ sake.

His mouth thinned but he didn’t acknowledge her comment. ‘I, erm … your stuff. I brought it. Where do you want me to put your case?’

Sebastian closed his eyes as if summoning up some patience and then glanced down at his leg.

‘Sorry, you need me to unpack it for you,’ said Nina

‘It would help,’ he said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. ‘Did you bring my laptop? Phone charger? Can I have those first?’

Nina brought the case over to the second sofa and opened it up.

‘Jeez, Nina.’ Sebastian scowled. ‘Why did you stuff everything in there? Those shirts were freshly ironed. They look like they’ve been used to wipe the floor.’

He had a point, and they sort of had but before she could apologise or explain, he carried on, ‘If you’re going to throw a temper tantrum every time I ask you to do something you don’t want to do, this isn’t going to work. I need someone to help me, not a spoilt prima donna who throws her toys out of the pram when things don’t go her way. I knew this was a mistake.’ He threw his arm over his face.

Nina whirled round, feeling her nose flaring. Possibly her most unattractive trait, but it only ever happened when she was really cross. And now she was really, really cross.

‘I appreciate you don’t have a particularly high opinion of me, Mr She’s-the-last-person-I’d-want-to-help but I’m not that petty. I didn’t do it on purpose. The stupid case just popped open by itself.’

‘One, you weren’t supposed to hear that comment and I’m sorry, it wasn’t terribly tactful. And two, yes that case does that,’ he bit out, ‘which is why I specifically told you to bring the holdall.’

‘So because I wasn’t supposed to hear that comment, it makes it alright?’ said Nina through pinched lips. ‘And two, I’m not sure you were that specific.’

‘How much more specific do you need than, make sure you bring the leather holdall on top of the wardrobe? The one with—’ His face tightened and his eyes narrowed. ‘Nina. This is never going to work. You might as well pack your bags and go back home.’

For a minute she stood, clenching her hands into fists feeling wrong-footed and foolish. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This was supposed to be her showing everyone that she could stand on her own two feet.

‘Look, I’m sorry. It’s my first day here. I was rushing. I can take your shirts back and wash them. It’s not the end of the world.’

‘No, it’s not,’ he agreed with a wince. ‘It’s inconvenient. It means I have to get housekeeping to do them for me and I’m already pushing it on the favours front with my mate Alex, who’s the general manager here.’

‘He must be a really good friend. This looks expensive.’

‘Like I said, he’s doing me a favour. He keeps an eye on me, otherwise I’d still be in hospital, so I don’t like to take advantage. He’s a busy guy, with this place to run. I told him the cavalry was on its way, which is why I was keen for you to get here.’ He looked pointedly at his watch.

‘I’m sorry. Have you been on your own all day?’ Now she felt bad. ‘When was the last time you had anything to eat or drink?’

‘Last night,’ he said curtly. ‘But it’s fine, it’s a hassle to pee.’

Ah, so that explained his surliness. That, Nina, could cope with. She knew what hangry men were like.

‘Information I could do without,’ said Nina crisply. ‘However, you probably need to eat something to keep up your strength.’

She picked up the room service menu. ‘What do you fancy?’

‘Surprise me. I don’t really care. I’m bored with hotel food.’ His listless sigh made her stop and study him more carefully. He didn’t look great at all.

She sat down on the sofa opposite with the menu in her hand and even at that distance there was a distinct whiff of unwashed male. A part of her could have revelled in seeing Sebastian at such a disadvantage for once in her life, but the good part overruled all the petty, stored-up grudge-y stuff.

‘You need to eat,’ she said, softening her voice. ‘I know you probably don’t feel like it and I’m hardly medically trained, but I do think it will help. How about an onion soup? That’s quite light.’

‘I don’t need a nursemaid,’ he snapped, the listless droop vanishing in seconds. ‘I need some practical help. I’m not that hungry but you can order some food although it would be more helpful if you could unpack my stuff for me.’

‘Wow, these look great,’ said Nina studying the mood boards propped up on two flip chart stands, relieved to find an impersonal opening topic. She’d unpacked Sebastian’s clothing as quickly as she could, hanging up the crumpled shirts and hoping the creases might drop a little.

She looked closer at the various designs for restaurant interiors.

‘The first two are coming along.’ Sebastian scowled. ‘Although, we still haven’t quite got it right for the bistro I’m putting into the patisserie site.’

‘It all looks very chic and trendy.’ Not quite her cup of tea but judging from the success of his restaurants in England, Sebastian knew what he was doing.

‘That’s the plan.’

Nina nodded and was relieved to hear the knock at the door announcing room service.

Taking the tray from the waiter, she awkwardly realised she needed to tip him when he loitered for a second. Dumping the tray on the coffee table she got out her bag and fished out a couple of euros handing them to him. When she turned around Sebastian was wriggling like a worm on a hook, trying to reach the tray but unfortunately he had slid too far down the cushions to get enough purchase to push himself up again.

‘Here, let me,’ she said unable to bear watching him struggling any longer.

‘I told you, I don’t need any help,’ he said, swiping at the sheen of sweat on his forehead.

She ignored him and went around the sofa and hooked her arms underneath his and around his chest to help him sit upright again. As soon as she touched him, her heart bounced uncomfortably in her chest as a flood of memories collided in her head, leaving her with a familiar sense of inevitability. It seemed as if Sebastian still had the physical power to affect her. She gritted her teeth. In future she’d be sure to keep her distance.

Despite his protestations that he wasn’t hungry, the soup disappeared pretty quickly. No sooner had he put the soup bowl aside, he picked up his laptop and the papers she’d brought.

‘Right. We might as well get started. Do you have pen and paper?’ he barked.

‘No, I arrived today. You said the job would be two days a week. The course doesn’t start until Wednesday. I thought you just wanted me to bring stuff over today.’