Chapter Thirty-Eight
Wednesday 18th December
Olivier – Le Magicien Restaurant, Paris
Olivier hadn’t really slept the night before, so it wasn’t hard to get to the restaurant first thing. The streetlights were still glowing in the darkness of the winter morning and the traffic was sparse, delivery vans bringing the fresh picks of the day, and night workers finishing their shifts.
He went around the back where he knew the door would be unlocked, ready for the kitchen staff to begin arriving over the next hour. The kitchen was cool and gleaming from the scrub-down the night before. All he could smell was coffee and he followed the scent to the small office at the back.
His papa was standing up, flicking through an order book, taking up all the space in the tiny room. Olivier waited for him to become aware of his presence and when he didn’t, moved inside and stood opposite.
‘Ah-ha! You’re back.’ Auguste looked up and clapped his hands. ‘About time. Ready to get started?’
Olivier was but not the way his papa was hoping. ‘I need to have a conversation with you but—’
‘We can talk while we work, yes?’
‘No. I want a conversation with you as my papa, not as my boss.’
Auguste laughed, standing still and putting his hands on his hips. They were pretty much the same height, but his papa was stockier, and he looked as wide as the desk when he did that. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
Olivier thought about Ashleigh, about how she was always brave enough to say what she felt. Even when it led to arguments like she’d had with her nan. Olivier hated arguing but sometimes it was the only way to get things to change. Avoiding conflict didn’t help anyone in the long run. Look at his maman. She was divorced from Auguste and had still spent the last fifteen years pandering to him because of Olivier’s fear of conflict. He wasn’t going to do that anymore.
‘I don’t want to take the promotion. I’m not sure I want to work as a chef anymore at all. At least not in this kind of kitchen.’
A scowl instantly appeared on Auguste’s well-weathered brow. His face was strong and full of laughter lines that exaggerated all his expressions. ‘You mean the kitchen of a successful, renowned Michelin-starred restaurant?’
‘Yes. It’s intense. I don’t enjoy it. There are other food-related career paths. Ones that won’t take up all my time and leave me bored.’
‘Bored?’ His papa’s voice boomed across the small room. ‘You are joking me, Olivier. You have to be joking me. Stop this nonsense at once.’
And just like that, all the good intentions Olivier had entertained of keeping calm and keeping rational, went up like brandy in a flambé. ‘Papa, I asked you to talk to me as my father, not as my boss. If your son comes to you and tells you he’s unsatisfied in his work, is that really the way you want to respond?’
‘Yes. Of course it is. You are on track for a fantastic career and you suddenly want to throw it all away? You’ve spent two weeks in England with your maman and had a nervous breakdown.’ Auguste shook his head, eyes wide, like he barely recognised his son.
‘No, I spent two weeks in England with my maman and realised I need to make a change. Don’t you care?’
‘Of course I care.’ Auguste gave an irritated sigh. ‘But it’s your perception that needs the change, not your job. Olivier, you are so lucky. Some people would give their right arm for the opportunities you’ve been given.’ He made a chopping motion at his arm, his voice rising again.
‘All the more reason for me to move aside.’ He had known this wasn’t going to be easy but knowing it beforehand and facing it in real life were very different things. He’d started now though and he had to see this through. He knew what he wanted, so hewasgoing to make it happen. ‘I’m not coming back to work tonight.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I’m not working tonight. Or for the rest of the nights leading up to Christmas. I’m going back to England to have the Christmas I wanted.’ Olivier licked his lips as his brain caught up with the claims his mouth was making. ‘And I’m going to start making plans to move over there.’
‘Well, now I know you must be joking with me. What is there for you inEngland?’ Auguste was incredulous. Like Olivier was suggesting he moved to the middle of the Sahara dessert.
‘Other than Maman?’
‘Well of course, your maman is there, but you are a grown man – you don’t need to live close to your maman do you?’
‘But I’dliketo. I miss her. I feel I’ve missed out on time with her.’
‘You can visit.’
‘Can I?How hard have you made it for me these last few years? I don’t want to have to fight for every inch of my freedom. I’m nearly thirty for God’s sake.’
‘So you are running away, like your maman did.’ Auguste’s eyes narrowed, looking for a new angle. This was the dangerous moment. Most people found themselves bowing to his papa’s whims without even noticing they were doing it – but when people stood up to him and argued, then a whole other range of tactics were employed. Olivier supposed he should congratulate himself for making it to this level, but he couldn’t relinquish any of his ground. Auguste would try any way he could to undermine him or make him doubt himself.
