‘Haveyouever thought about signing up to this Paris Cupid? Perhaps getting to know someone else in a slow, gradual way might be a nice distraction?’
‘Replacing him with a pen pal? Not my style.’ Her words are heavy with sarcasm. Why do they always fight it?
‘It’s not for everyone, I guess.’
‘Haveyouthought about joining?’
I give a loose shrug. ‘Why not? What’s not to love about getting to know a stranger in a slower way? Remember whenyou’d tell each customer of yours that each flower tells a story, to be careful what they bunched together because they all have meanings? You could write about what they mean to you, and how you came to be a florist.’
She folds her arms. ‘Floriography, the language of flowers. It used to fascinate me what each bloom meant and that you could send a message in the most secretive of ways. And then I just lost interest… after my worst break-up to date.’
‘What happened?’ I can’t recall ever seeing her with a significant other.
Coraline gives me a sad smile. ‘I helped him when he needed it and once he was back on his feet, he left – just like that.’ Her lip quivers as if she’s battling to rein in her emotions. ‘It feels like an abandonment each time, like I’ve served my purpose and whatever we had together had no real depth, for them at least. It’s a bit of a pattern in my love life.’
‘Maybe joining Paris Cupid might help change that pattern?’
She takes a moment to contemplate it. ‘Why am I holding on to the past so hard? I need to get back out there and find love, rediscover the hidden language of flowers again.’
I give her an encouraging smile. ‘So you’ll join Paris Cupid?’
The light in her eyes dims. ‘Paris Cupid is closed for new members. Maybe it’s closed for good? That would be just my luck – to get excited about something and have it taken away from me.’
‘Why don’t you email them about your passion for floriography? They might make an exception? After all, that’s a truly romantic topic to be able to share with a potential match. It’s worth a shot.’
‘Oui.It’s worth a shot. I’m not saying I can’t find love myself. But I do like the idea of changing the pattern.’
‘Makes total sense to me.’
‘Oh… I forgot. Guillaume is waiting for you at the pâtisserie,Maison du Croquembouche. He said it was urgent.’
‘Coraline!’ Just when I think we’ve mended bridges, she spends ages chatting to me while Guillaume is tapping his foot waiting impatiently for me. We never meet outside of Ephemera or Montmartre cemetery for business meetings, so this is strange. I hurry along, hoping it’s nothing serious.
The display window of Maison du Croquembouche is full of colourful macarons and mouthwatering gâteaux. In pride of place is a breathtaking croquembouche tower, made up of profiteroles laced together with gossamer-thin strings of spun toffee.
Peering in, I see Guillaume chatting to Désirée. Guillaume’s other great love is canelés and while Maison du Croquembouche is famous for its profiterole towers, it’s also known for making the best syrupy rum-infused caramelised crusted canelés.
‘Ah, Lilou!’ Guillaume calls, and I enter the shop, assailed with the sweet scent of cakes. I search his face for clues for this out-of-the-blue meeting but find his features amiable.
‘Bonjour. Is everything OK?’ Guillaume appears healthy and happy. I relax my shoulders and say, ‘Coraline said it was urgent.’
He frowns. ‘Lilou, don’t you ever answer your phone? Really, you’re impossible to do business with.’
I grin at his usual gruffness. It’s just his way. He likes order in a disorderly world and unfortunately, I’m a shambles in that regard. ‘I didn’t hear it ring.’ I search my handbag and come up empty, remembering too late that I put my phone on chargebefore I took a shower this morning, and there it’s stayed. ‘Désolé, I forgot my phone. But here I am, in the flesh.’
‘Late as usual.’
‘Well, we didn’t have an appointment for a business meeting, and if we did we always meet at Montmartre cemetery, and then I take your deliveries on Fridays, so you’ll have to give me some leeway,non?’
‘Oui, oui. You’re probably right, but still, I haven’t got all day. And I did call you many times, and you didn’t answer…’
I cut him off before he continues highlighting all my foibles, of which there are many according to him. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense. What did you call me for?’
Désirée interrupts, order pad in hand. ‘Bonjour, Lilou. How are you?’
I’ve always liked Désirée. She’s the one person who never sticks her nose in anyone’s business and always has a smile on her face. I put this breeziness down to the fact she’s surrounded by sugary sweet treats. Whowouldn’tbe joyful surrounded by the art of patisserie all day long? It’s the perfect type of workplace where you can eat your feelings if you’re down. And from the range of gâteaux on offer, you wouldn’t be down long. There are rows oféclair au chocolat,tarte au fraiseswith ruby red berries, millefeuille, which means ‘a thousand sheets’ in French, alluding to the delicate layers that make up the pastry, andcrème pâtissière.Pâtisserie is an art form and one that is highly regarded in France.
‘I’m well, thanks, Désirée.’ I get lost for a moment, starting at the delights in the display fridge. ‘What’s good today?’
