The Confectioner's Tale by Laura Madeleine Read Free Book Online Page A

wits about you.’
    Luc nodded, stepped back into the cold.
    ‘You heard Mam’selle Clermont, let’s get this unloaded. Marc, Yves, crates in the hallway until they can be unpacked. You,’ he jerked his chin at Gui, ‘help uncle over there.’
    Everything happened at once. Ropes whipped past Gui’s face as he scrambled down to the stones. A sack sailed over his head to land in Luc’s arms. He fought through the activity towards the old man with the handcart. Amongst the bustle, he hadn’t moved an inch.
    ‘ Bonsoir! ’ Gui said breathlessly.
    There was no response. Waiting for an answer, he blew on his hands and stamped his feet in what he hoped was a friendly way. The old man ignored him and puffed harder on his cigarette.
    ‘What are you doing, lad?’ bellowed Yves from the other side of a crate. ‘Stop doing a jig and move the wretched goods!’
    Gui began to untie the load. His numb fingers slipped and half of it tumbled to the pavement. He bit back a curse; the wooden boxes were stamped ‘Fragile’. Stacking a few in his arms, he headed for the doorway. Unloading was well underway, piles of goods growing mountainous in the hall.
    ‘What shall I do with these?’ he shouted, hoping someone would hear.
    ‘What are they?’ Luc was red-faced under an enormous sack.
    ‘They say “Fragile” on the side.’
    ‘Mam’selle?’ Luc asked.
    The girl was turning up the lamps so that the small space resembled a fire-lit cave.
    ‘Is there an old man with a handcart?’ she asked, without looking around.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘He will be from Goebel then; they make our moulds. The boxes need to be stored at the back of the kitchen, in the cabinet. Follow Marc there, he’ll show you.’
    The younger deliveryman had staggered up the steps, a metal dairy churn in his arms.
    ‘Cream,’ he grunted. ‘Need a hand to set it down.’
    Gui shifted his grip on the boxes. He felt clumsy and slow-witted as Mademoiselle Clermont stepped past him with half a glance; she seemed wholly at home in the chaos.
    He followed Marc down the corridor towards a pair of double doors. Hoisting the churn in his arms, the other boy kicked them open. Noise blasted Gui. For a long moment, he stood, stunned by what he saw.
    It was another world, one of brightness and steam. Huge electric globes hung overhead, suspended on gold wires, illuminating every corner of the room. The light they gave bounced from the shining wall tiles, from the patterned wooden floor, from the row upon row of hanging copper pots. He had never been anywhere so clean. Men in pristine white uniforms lined a dozen marble-topped counters, some in tight groups, others working alone.
    A cloud of white swirled high into the air on his left, as a chef measured out sugar as fine as powder. It drifted towards Gui and he breathed in deeply, tasting it in his lungs.
    There were a thousand noises: spoons clattering, liquid being poured in glugs, a deep, unctuous bubbling from the stove. Heat blasted him in a roar as someone opened an oven. It carried the glorious smell of fresh baking.
    Gui’s mouth was watering as he tripped forward, trying to look at everything at once. Mahogany shelves lined the counters, stacked with glass bottles and jars, like something from a fairy tale. There were whole, plump roses steeping in honey; purple-stained sugar, thick with lavender, tiny jars of crimson threads, cherries and peaches suspended in syrup as if they had fallen there from the trees.
    The luxurious scents wrapped around him. Butter , his nose relayed, cream, nuts, brandy, chocolate …
    He was so preoccupied that he collided with one of the busy chefs. The man’s angry shove brought him to his senses. He blinked up. Marc was waiting for him at the side of the room. Impatiently, he jerked his chin towards a door with a heavy bolt, and Gui hurried over to elbow it across. A waft of cool air billowed out.
    ‘They’re a highly strung lot, the chefs.’ The other boy dropped the churn with