The Little Paris Patisserie - Julie Caplin Romantic Escapes

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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.

      

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