Chapter 8
Working for Sebastian, Nina decided, was not going to be much fun. With his growls and snarling bad humour he was the original bear with a sore head. No wonder Marcel was keeping a low profile, taking advantage of the inaccessibility of the shopfront. The taxi had brought them round to the back door of the kitchen, which had no steps, and Sebastian had no desire, it seemed, to venture any further and attempt the small flight of steps up into the corridor to the shop.
‘Not there Nina,’ corrected Sebastian, as she moved one of the benches. ‘Over here, I want a “U” shape. And then you can put all the scales out.’
She pressed her lips together firmly, keeping her back turned as she lifted the corner of the heavy table and manoeuvred it with a series of horrible screeches into place.
‘Christ, do you have to do that?’
She did it again just to bug him. The table was bloody heavy. What did he expect? She hadn’t signed up for full scale furniture removal. Eventually, she’d arranged everything to his satisfaction.
‘Right, I’d like you to prepare a work station for each of the participants. We’ve got four now. One extra booking I could have done without.’
Nina looked down at her feet, thinking of Marguerite.
‘We’ll set up with all the utensils they’re going to need. First up tomorrow is choux pastry, so we’ll need…’ He reeled off a quick-fire list. He had her racing around the kitchen grabbing whisks, saucepans, measuring jugs, sieves, bowls and wooden spoons, while he perched on a stool, his blue cast propped on the rung of another stool, and peered at his phone, making regular exclamations, muttering to himself and scowling at her.
Feeling rather proud of herself that she’d managed to remember everything he’d said and laid it all out neatly, she stepped back to survey the kitchen.
Sebastian stood up and hobbled over to one of the set ups. ‘Don’t forget you need one for us, or rather you. I’ll be directing you for the basic things and then I’ll demonstrate when it comes to solid technique.’
That bit Nina didn’t mind, she was hoping to learn a lot from him.
They were almost done when he tapped one of the flat glass weighing scales and frowned. ‘You did check the batteries in all of them.
‘Uh…’ Nina’s eyes widened in panic. ‘Erm…’
‘Oh, for crying out loud, surely you checked they all worked.’
Nina flapped her hands. ‘Well … I – I…’
Sebastian had already flipped over one of the set of scales and pulled out the little lithium circular battery from the back. ‘Go see if Marcel knows where we can get these quickly.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t…’
‘Think, Nina? How were you expecting everyone to measure their ingredients out? And where are the eggs? I can’t find them anywhere. And did you check the stocks in the pantry?’
Her mouth dropped open in a horrified ‘O’. She’d completely forgotten both. She’d been so overloaded with butter and cream yesterday when she went to the shops for supplies, she didn’t dare risk carrying eggs too. Plus, she couldn’t find them in the supermarket and the French word ‘oeufs’ had completely slipped her mind. And then when she’d got back, she’d loaded everything in the fridge and completely forgotten to check the pantry.
‘I – I…’ Why was it, when he was around, she was reduced to an inarticulate wreck? ‘Where is the pantry? I’ll look now.’
He didn’t quite roll his eyes but he might as well have. ‘It’s at the top of the steps halfway along the corridor. Bloody stupid place to have it, which is why this building needs completely remodelling. And once you’ve done that, find out from Marcel if there’s anywhere nearby to get the batteries. Go buy some eggs and get back here pronto.’ Sebastian’s mouth tightened and with it came the familiar expression of dissatisfaction.
Nina came face to face with Marcel, whose mouth appeared to have permanently pursed like a prune – funnily enough, much like Sebastian’s – lurking in the corridor beyond the door at the top of the steps.
‘I need to take a look at the pantry.’
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ said Marcel. ‘It’s empty.’
‘Empty?’
‘Yes. The previous owner sold everything.’
‘Everything?’ She was starting to sound like a gormless parrot.
‘To a woman who was opening a patisserie school in Lille. She came with her campervan. Took everything.’
With a heart sinking faster than a lead balloon, she crossed to the pantry doors and flipped on the light switch. Shelves dusted with flour lay bare and forlorn, outlines of what was once there imprinted into the floury surfaces. Turning, she opened the double-doored fridge. Empty shelves mocked her.
‘Shit!’ She’d hoped that the basics would be there as Sebastian had assumed. Sebastian was going to have a cow. The shopping list was going to be huge and she didn’t have a clue how she was going to carry it all. She could hardly ask him for any help and Marcel, even if he’d been the least bit willing, needed to be at the shop. And there was no one to ask for help. Nibbling at her lip, Nina suddenly wished that her helpful family wasn’t quite so far away.
Her shoulders drooped and she closed the doors slowly.
‘Perhaps this might be of some use.’ Marcel pulled one of those old lady, brightly-coloured shopping trolleys from out of the corner of the pantry.
Nina took a minute to take a few deep even breaths, chasing away the threatening tears, before going back into the kitchen.
‘I’m popping out to get some eggs and batteries,’ she said, keeping her voice bright and cheerful.
‘Can’t Marcel go?’ asked Sebastian, looking up from his laptop.
‘He needs to be in the patisserie.’
‘Why? Don’t tell me there’s actually a customer in there? I’m surprised the place hasn’t closed down already.’
‘Erm … yes, there are a couple,’ she lied.
‘Well hurry up, I didn’t intend to be here this long.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Good job I brought my laptop, I can work on the important stuff.’ He was already pulling out his phone and tapping the screen. ‘Yeah, Mike. Have the lights been delivered yet? The sparkies booked for tomorrow?’
He’d tuned her out, which was as well as it meant she didn’t have to tell him the full extent of the bare shelves. It would be yet another black mark against her which was so unfair. He had no idea what a state the kitchen had been in and how hard she’d worked to get it ship-shape. He was a bastard. A complete and utter unfeeling git with absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever.
Did she really need to do this? Was it worth it? It was supposed
