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Xavier looked surprised.
‘Well, whatever it was, it worked. I can’t get the taste out of my mind,’ Luca said, with a smile. ‘Bravo, Holly. Looks like we’ve now got two brilliant chefs in the chalet.’
Xavier smiled. ‘She definitely has a talent. I hope this Bouillabaisse tastes as good.’
‘You know it will,’ Luca said, looking at me and tapping his glass for a refill. I poured another two large glasses of Fiano out for them and looked around the table.
‘Is there anything else we can get for you?’ I asked.
‘Non, you can go,’ Genevieve said, dismissing us.
Xavier and I backed out of the room, and he closed the double doors with a flourish. I wasn’t really sure how to behave yet. Were we servants, or kind of cool friends-slash-housemates who did all the cooking and cleaning? Xavier definitely felt more like the latter. Maybe I would too once I got to know them better.
‘I didn’t realise you were experimenting on the terrine,’ Xavier said. ‘Great work.’
‘Thank you. I’m sorry, I thought they were test dishes for us to eat and I always like a bit of spiciness with my food.’
‘No apology needed, you’ll have to show me what you did so I can taste it for myself.’
‘I’m just so relieved my first dinner has gone well. David saved the day with that Fiano. We can finish it off if they don’t drink it all.’
‘I doubt there’ll be any left,’ Xavier said. ‘Unless they eat their mains incredibly fast and we can get them onto dessert. I have built a miniature croquembouche of profiteroles and it is magnificent, even if I do say so myself.’ He opened the big fridge to reveal what looked like a wedding cake. Rachael’s profiteroles were stacked high, each one piped full of Chantilly cream and stuck in position with caramel sauce. Xavier fired up the stove and poured half a bag of brown sugar and a carton of whipping cream into a hot pan. He added a good slug of vanilla extract and gently stirred the ingredients together for hot caramel sauce. He was like a wizard casting a spell, breathing in his brew while adding a pinch of sugar here and a stick of cinnamon there. The smoky concoction immediately smelt good, and he put a blue jug into the oven to warm as I went back upstairs to clear.
‘How was everything?’ I asked, looking at the empty plates.
‘Terrible,’ Luca said with a toothpaste-ad smile.
‘Compliments to the chef or should I saychefs. I’m only sorry we didn’t finish it,’ Genevieve added, pointing at the near-empty cauldron of Bouillabaisse.
‘You’ve done your best,’ I said with a smile, clearing the table and taking everything back to the kitchen. Including the remaining dribble of Fiano.
‘Xavier, I don’t have a dessert wine to go with the profiteroles. I was thinking, well, hoping really, that the chef might recommend a liqueur to go with the dessert instead?’
‘But of course,’ he said, putting his arm around me. ‘Do not worry, we are on the same side. A warm spiced rum is the perfect accompaniment to this mountain of calories. Let me heat some up and we’ll take everything up together.’
I felt my shoulders relax, the tension draining. George would never have pulled me out of the fire like that. He would have forgotten the ingredients for dessert and put it all on me to sort out. I watched Xavier as he poured the warm rum into a small carafe, putting the caramel sauce and spicy liqueur side by side on a tray. The mini croquembouche was a masterpiece, and one I hoped we wouldn’t destroy between us en route to the dining room. Xavier carried the profiteroles up the stairs with poise and balance and I followed closely with the tray and two crystal tumblers for the rum.
‘Ooh la la,’ Genevieve said as we came into the dining room, ‘this is amazing, Xavier. Your talent is wasted on us.’
Xavier beamed and Luca gave a delighted clap, repositioning himself on his chair like a child, in anticipation of his dessert. Xavier placed the tower in the centre of the table and poured the caramel from a height, letting the delicious goo tumble slowly down, pooling at the bottom of the plate. It was all I could do not to grab the top profiterole and shove it in my mouth.
‘Bon Appetit,’ Xavier said, as he gave a little bow. I poured half the spiced rum out and left the carafe on the table. This meal felt too special to just be an ordinary, Thursday-night dinner. Was this how the other half lived? Every night was like Christmas Day. Thank God I wasn’t rich; I’d weigh a hundred stone.
‘Merci, Xavier,’ Luca said as he smashed his spoon into the tower, knocking it down. A thing of absolute beauty, decimated in the blink of an eye.
‘We’ll leave you to it,’ I said, backing out of the dining room once again and pulling the doors behind us. I closed my eyes and breathed an audible sigh of relief.
‘One night down, four months to go,’ Xavier smiled. ‘You did well; they like you.’
‘Do you think?’ I said, relieved. ‘I couldn’t read them at all.’
‘They are both good fun. We were at school together, so I’ve known them for years. Luca and I also played rugby in Paris.’
‘Classmates and teammates – and now you work for him on top?’
Xavier nodded with a chuckle. ‘I was captain of the rugby team as well, and I’m not sure Luca ever really got over it, to be honest. He doesn’t like being told what to do, that’s for sure, but now it’s his turn to call the shots, so equilibrium has been restored.’
‘Shall we eat?’ I asked, eyeing up his Bouillabaisse as we walked back into the kitchen.
