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‘It was a fake post to make George think I’m living my best life instead of at home on the sofa drinking Shloer.’
‘Hmph. And did he think it?’ Margot asked. ‘Is there any hope of a reconciliation?’
‘He hasn’t seen it. He’s been offline for fifteen hours. I don’t think there’s any hope, no. He keeps calling and trying to explain himself, but it just doesn’t make sense. I haven’t actually seen him since the… since our…’ I broke off. I couldn’t say the word.
There was an audible tut and I imagined Margot’s frown. Moving her hand from hip to head and ruffling her pixie curls in annoyance.
‘I haven’t seen him either,’ Margot said.
‘Has he not been in to pay? He said he’d settle up. The wine can go back but there was so much food… and the cake, oh the cake. Margot, I’m so sorry; you spent weeks making it for us.’
‘You should not be worrying about these things. George has created this situation. He can apologise and explain to me about payment.Non, it is something else that I’m calling about. I have an idea for you, but it might be too soon.’
‘Go on?’ I was intrigued.
‘A friend of mine from Paris, Genevieve Blanchet, is in need of some help for the winter season, and I thought of you,’ she said. ‘It would be doing what you do with me, working in the kitchen with the chef and as a hostess serving drinks and food in the evening.’
‘In Paris?’ I asked, perking up.
‘Non, at her chalet in Verbier. The ski resort. Do you know it?’
‘Erm… no,’ I gave an involuntary shudder, ‘I’m not really a ski-resort-type person, to be honest, Margot. In fact, I’d say I’m the total opposite. I’ve never been up a mountain, have zero sense of balance and I hate the cold. Although my French is pretty good, I suppose.’
More tutting from Margot.
‘You don’t need to be a ski-person to work in a chalet,’ Margot said kindly, ‘but you might like a change of scene for a while and this could be interesting?’
‘Oh no, please don’t send me away, Margot. I’ll pull myself together, honestly, I’ll be back at the bistro in no time…’
‘Arrêt.I am not sending you away. There is no rush to come back to work. You can take as much time as you need, but I think maybe you need more than just time. A new space. New teachers. Genevieve’s twin brother has an impressive wine cellar and apparently their new chef Xavier is exceptional. Paris-trained with five years at Le Cinq.’
‘Is that good?’ I asked.
Margot sighed. ‘Oui, it is much better than good. I’d go myself if I didn’t have a business to run. Working with Xavier would teach you a more modern type of French cuisine and you can bring those talents back to the bistro in the spring.’
‘I don’t know, Margot; it doesn’t really sound like my sort of thing.’
‘Six months working with one of the best chefs in Paris? It is like free entry to the Cordon Bleu cookery school without any of the entrance exams. If you study hard with him and learn his tricks, you can come back as my head chef.’
‘Really?’ I said, feeling a tiny bit brighter. Learning from a pair of old French pros did sound cool, but the thought of living with them for six months didn’t exactly thrill me.
‘It is an amazing opportunity, but up to you of course; there is no pressure. If you prefer to stay, then your job is here whenever you’re ready to come back.’
My heart nearly stopped. I wasn’t ready to go back to the bistro – not yet, anyway. How could I ever look at it as my home-from-home again? It was always my treat to myself when I wanted to get away from the world. Now it would forever be a reminder of rejection. Margot was right. I’d be living with my parents indefinitely unless I made a plan, but I was too muddled to think straight. George had shattered my sense of self, and everything was a mess. I had nowhere to go. Another couple had moved into my happy little flat and every spare penny I had was tied up in Orchard Close. I was in life limbo without many options. A snail without a shell. A single, skint, nomadic slug.
‘Can I think about it?’ I asked, to buy myself some time.
‘Non,’ Margot said, ‘I am sorry, these jobs go very quickly. Genevieve messaged this morning to ask if I knew of anyone, so I think it is synchronicity. The new moon at work. If you take time to think about it, someone else will take it.’
‘OK, but I need more information,’ I said, googling Verbier while Margot stayed patient. ‘How much will I be paid? What are the hours? Where will I stay?’
My screen immediately filled with images of chocolate box, wooden chalets, thickly iced with snow. Big, blue skies full of sunshine and smiling faces in brightly coloured ski outfits. Maybe a few months in the mountains was exactly what I needed. A chance to hide away for a while from real life and making decisions – and duplicitous men.
‘These are small details,’ Margot said, dismissively. ‘Genevieve will confirm everything. You will stay in the chalet. Your food and wine and ski pass are paid for. Of course there is work to do, but you will have a wonderful time.’
‘But I’ve never been skiing before? I’m happiest either lying in the sun or wrapped in a blanket and sitting on a radiator – what if I don’t like it?’
‘What if? What if? What if? What if youdo like it?’
