Charlie woke early as usual, though on that particular occasion he’d had a restless night’s sleep. But he was very keen to return to Villejacques and the Lucs, whom he now saw as his second family. But not before he had spoken with Fleurette as she had requested he do the previous evening. Having got dressed in normal attire for a change, he finished packing the remaining items into his backpack, then buckled the top flap. Plagued by questions, he then sat on the edge of the bed, and once again thought back to those comments that had been made by Quentin the previous evening. Not only that, there had been the journal that Chef Luc had given him and the familiarity he had felt while flicking through the its pages.
“Could this have been my father’s journal after all?" Charlie pondered. "If that had been the case, how did Chef Luc come about having it in his possession? Then if it had been his father's, that would mean his father would have been a patissier like Chef Luc. Just what was the connection between his father and Chef Luc? Why had his father never said anything to Charlie before? Why had he never spoken of this?” he pondered
His mind overloaded, he looked over to see his now cold coffee sitting on the side table still untouched. Even any thoughts of patisserie were now being suppressed by this new dilemma. He desperately needed answers to those questions.
But first he must see Fleurette to thank her for such an incredible week and for sharing just a little of her vast knowledge with him. “She must have arrived by now,” Charlie thought. So he grabbed his backpack and swung it onto his shoulder, picked up his toolbox, and scanned the room one final time to make sure he had not left anything behind. Plus as usual, Charlie wanted to check that the room had been left neat and tidy. Next, he made sure the buckles were tight and the old journal safely within his backpack as it had now taken on a whole new level of importance for Charlie.
Everything checked, he promptly left the room, closed the door behind him, and made his way towards the office. He made his way across the car park, past Fleurette's small neat car, which meant that she had already arrived, and before long he could be on his way.
By the time he arrived at the office, Fleurette was sitting behind her desk just finishing up a telephone conversation. She gestured for Charlie to enter and take a seat while she ended the conversation she was having. In what seemed like an eternity to Charlie, she finally ended her call and replaced the receiver.
Fleurette looked at Charlie and asked how he was feeling that morning. “I wish I could say I felt good,” he replied, going on to say that Quentin's admission on the previous night had left him a little bewildered and wanting answers. “I’m confused by the similarity of surnames, and I still don’t understand the meaning behind this old journal,” he said, as he pulled it out of the safety of his backpack. She went on to reassure him that she was sure he would get his answers all in good time.
Now settled in Fleurette’s presence, he proceeded to thank her for making him feel so welcome and for taking the time to teach him during his stay. She responded by saying that it had been a pleasure having Charlie there and remarked that she thought he had a natural talent for this work. She had been pleasantly surprised by his thirst for knowledge and had enjoyed the endless questions that Charlie had almost made his mission to ask on a daily basis. She finished by saying he would be welcomed back anytime and that she was always at the end of the phone, if he ever required help or guidance.
Fleurette then reached across her desk to gently touch Charlie’s hand in a reassuring manner, she said, “All will be fine, and I'm sure you will find the answers to your questions in due course!”
She then passed Charlie a copy of her book entitled Not Another Patisserie Book, which was half-biography and half-recipe book and reaffirmed that the natural ability he had demonstrated should never be hidden or stifled. Charlie graciously received the book and offered his warmest thanks; they both stood up as Fleurette made one final request of Charlie, “Promise me now, Charlie, don’t you let anyone or anything stand between you and what I believe is your true calling!” holding his hand firmly as she said it.
Charlie smiled back at her, while he thought to himself, “Wow, what a grip she has,” then responded with, “I will stay true to my chosen path.” With that, he thanked her one final time then placed both the journal and the book she had kindly given him securely into his backpack.
He stood and turned to walk out of the office and only made it as far as the door before a final word from Fleurette was said, “Oh, and don’t forget to let me know what happens with Quentin’s article, Charlie,” and at that, he turned his head back, nodded, and then continued to walk away.
Charlie quickly said his farewells to the staff who were on duty that morning and whom he had briefly got to know during his week there. “I will certainly miss this bunch, so many different personalities,” he thought to himself and had been surprised at how well they blended together to support one another in their different roles. “It had felt like one big family and maybe one day I will get the opportunity to get to know some of them better,” he thought as he made his way out to the car park. Theo, who by now was leant up against his battered car, patiently waited for Charlie, as he would then take him back to the train station.
Charlie had now exited the building and had made his way across the small car park, to be greeted by a grinning Theo, and Charlie watched with amusement as Theo seemed to start chatting before he had even arrived at the car. He explained with great excitement about the movie he’d seen the night before with yet another girlfriend, forgetting to give Charlie the chance to respond to his earlier greeting.
He finally finished his tale, then looked at Charlie before saying, “You ready then?” this time pausing for an answer.
Charlie responded by patting his backpack, holding up his toolbox, and saying “Just waiting on you, Theo,” as he grinned and rolled his eyes a little.
On that note, they both climbed in. Charlie carefully placed both his backpack and toolbox onto the backseat once again. The car rattled and shook alive; a plume of smoke from the rusted exhaust engulfed the car as Theo attempted to start it. Once the car's engine had settled into its rhythm and the plumes of smoke dissolved, Theo asked what time Charlie's train was. “About an hour,” came the reply, followed by a comment of, “Lets hope the morning rush hour traffic has eased then,” at which point the air filled with adolescent giggles.
But as Theo was a local, he knew all the many shortcuts and narrow side streets and what would normally be a thirty minute fight through the morning traffic turned into a twenty minute rally down narrow side streets. It wasn’t long before they were pulling up to the train station entrance, Charlie feeling a little pale faced. Theo pulled his car into the passenger drop off zone, as Charlie turned to Theo held his hand up and promptly said, “Thank you for dropping me back to the station, Theo.” Not allowing his new friend the chance to reply, Charlie continued to say that he greatly appreciated his help during the week while in the kitchen. “Thank you for the brief, but fun night out too, Theo. We must do that again one day soon,” Charlie had continued to say. All of which Charlie had made a note of in his journal so that he would not forget.
Charlie then stepped out of the car as Theo leapt out, too. With a few short strides, he was besides Charlie and excitedly said, “Next time you visit Paris, be sure to let me know as there is somewhere very special I’d like to take you to!” which left Charlie intrigued, which only added to all that was going on in his head already.
“Sure will,” replied Charlie, happy he had got to meet Theo as the two of them had enjoyed their time together.
Theo draped his tall lanky body over Charlie almost using him as a leaning post, hugging him tightly, which let Charlie know he would miss his company. Charlie responded by letting Theo know that he, too, would miss hanging out together, and with that Theo looked down at his watch, said he’d better go or he’d be in strife with Fleurette, which caused further laughter as they parted then parted company. With a quick wave, Charlie turned and made his way into the station building as Theo disappeared out of sight, just the unique sound of his car engine still ringing in the air. Being Paris’s main train station, this was by far the busiest he had encountered so far.
Charlie squeezed his way through the throng of weekend getaway passengers and managed to chance a look at one of several departure boards. He found the platform number for his train, then proceeded to fight his way through the deluge of train passengers as he headed towards the platform to wait for the train. By the time he had walked the short distance and arrived at the correct platform, it was already wall-to-wall with waiting passengers. “Looks like I may have to stand again,” Charlie thought as he weaved his way along the platform looking for a suitable place to stop. He had walked about two-thirds of the way along the platform before he found a spot to stand and wait. With the several train journeys he had now taken, this was the first platform he had seen so full.
The departures board had said the train was running slightly late, so it gave him a little time for his mind to wonder again. His thoughts returned to his parents, whom he had not seen now in almost ten months. He missed his mother’s famous "travelling sandwiches," which weren't just for days spent travelling, but she would often make this tasteful delight just out of the blue, if the moment took her. For Charlie, those occasions never came around often enough, he concluded. Then his thoughts turned to his fathe,r and once again he mulled over what had been discovered so far. In that moment, his mind fantasised about being a Sherlock Holmes type character, trying to deduce the truth from the evidence that had been presented so far. He even went to far as to raise his hand as if smoking a pipe but was quickly reminded where he was, by a rather grumpy sort of coughing noise, followed by a sneer, from a rather portly gentleman whom had been standing next to him, who just happened to be holding a pipe. “Pardon,” said Charlie as he shuffled slightly in the opposite direction. “That gentleman must have thought I was making fun of him,” Charlie thought, as he tried to conceal a giggle which was itching to escape his mouth. “Breath Charlie,” he said to himself, which settled him down, and s his thoughts once again return to his father. He tried not to overthink the current situation and decided to wait until he was back in Villejacques where he would be able to speak with Chef Luc directly. “He must know the truth,” Charlie decided, just as the train arrived at the station and pulled alongside the platform where he had been standing.
The train came to a stuttering halt, doors were flung open as a wave of eager, or perhaps impatient, passengers disembarked. Moments later, Charlie was able to board, but as he'd suspected, he would have to stand. The carriages had been rapidly filled by the waiting passengers by the time he was able to board. He found himself an empty doorway to stand i, and rested his backpack and toolbox at his feet on the floor. He lent back against the wall of the carriage and gazed out of the small window. The train jerked forward, slowly at first as it left the station, then quickly increased in speed, faster and faster until it was tearing through the country side and raced past small villages and towns on its way to the Port of Frausseilles, via the Town of Villejacques.
The journey would only take a few hours before Charlie was back at the shop and able to speak with Chef Luc. “Its going to be late afternoon by the time I arrive back, but Chef Luc should still be working,” he thought. He then started to drift into a light sleep, mesmerised by the ever-changing colours of the landscape that passed by and the motion of the carriage. As quickly as he had drifted off, he stumbled awake again, having to regain his footing and check his backpack and toolbox were still by his side. “Better stay awake,” he now thought to himself as he lightly rubbed his eyes.
Several hours had now passed, and the train had stopped and started on a number of occasions before finally arriving into the Town of Villejacques. Charlie grabbed his backpack, checked that all the buckles where secure, and swung it over his shoulder, picked up his toolbox and was ready to spring into action as soon as he could. Charlie stood by the door, foot twitching as he waited patiently for the train to pull into the station. The train finally ground to a halt, brakes squealing as it came to a stop; the door was then opened by an impatient passenger who was waiting to board.
Charlie hastily jumped down from the carriage exit and quickly made his way towards the station concourse along the platform. Through the building he raced as he headed towards the main exit door, when he found himself face to face with Claire. In his haste, he had almost knocked her off of her feet. “Someone’s in a hurry,” stated Claire as they both regained their composure after what could have been a rather unpleasant incident.
Charlie hadn’t noticed that she was carrying a large white box, the contents of which had been a beautifully decorate birthday cake that she was to deliver to a customer of the restaurant where she worked. “I'm so sorry,” Charlie replied, forgetting for a moment where he was and who he had almost knocked over. He continued by telling Claire a little about his week with Fleurette, the old journal that Chef Luc had given him, and the remark made by Quentin.
In Charlies excitement to explain, all Clarie had heard or focused on was the name Fleurette. “So it was you that won then?” came the response from Claire, now with a rather annoyed tone in her voice, supported by an obvious frown.“I knew someone had beat me to first place, but never for one minute thought it would be you,” she added, and with a flick of her head, she turned and was gone before Charlie even had chance to reply or defend himself.
He stood there by himself for a moment, gathered his thoughts, before he himself then raced off to get back to the little patisserie shop and to the Lucs. Charlie rushed through the little narrow streets of Villejacques, and it was not long before he had turned the corner of Rue de Muniers and was heading towards the shop. He arrived at the shop, but was stopped in his tracks by the locked front door and the closed sign facing out. “Now that was very strange,” he thought as the shop was never closed during the daytime.
Now instead of just his own questions that filled his head, a sense of fear and worry had also taken up residence in his head. Quickly, he made his way around to the rear door of the shop, rummaged through one of the side pockets of his backpack for the shop key, eventually found it, unlocked the door, and entered. The whole place was empty; he touched the side of several ovens and even they were cold, a sure sign that the shop had not been open for at least the day, if not longer.
Charlie rushed upstairs to dump his belongings in the flat. Then, not wanting to waste another minute, he ran back downstairs and out of the rear door to the shop, locking it behind him. All kinds of emotions now ran through his body as he quickly rushed around to the home of the Lucs. He arrived at the front door, almost out of breathe. He knocked quite firmly and waited. He waited and waited. He knocked again, and finally the door was opened, by a very somber looking Madame Luc. Startled by seeing Charlie standing there, she stood in silence and was motionless. Charlie entered then flung his arms around her and asked if everything was okay as he had found the shop to be closed. She Squeezed him tightly, before she softly said, “It’s been a sad few days Charlie, you had better come in.” Now free from his hug, she closed the door, then watched as he disappeared through the door to the living room.
As she entered the room, she told Charlie to make himself comfortable and she would return shortly. He now felt even more concerned, as he had never seen Madam Luc look so saddened. “Just what had happened?” he wondered, as many different scenarios now ran through his head, all at once. Then he had a dreadful thought, “Was Chef Luc okay? Had something happened?” Every muscle in his body now tensed as he feared the worst. “How will I cope?” he thought, if something had happened to his mentor. Thankfully, moments later he heard a familiar voice from behind him and quickly turned to see Chef Luc enter the room. Charlie leapt towards Chef Luc and met him half way across the room then flung his arms around him. The tension now began to ease in his body, then he realised that he still had no idea what had happened.
Before he was able to open his mouth to speak, Charlie heard something else in the background. An even more familiar voice had now entered the room. “Dad," he thought as the voice belonged to his father. Charlie was even more confused, as he released his arms from around Chef then ran over to where his father was, then wrapped his arms around him in a tight grip as he uttered the words, “Dad, er, why, er what?”
Before he was able to say anything further, he heard his father’s voice say “Charlie, my son, it’s so good to see you” which was followed by a hug with a bear like grip from his father.
Several minutes passed before the silence was broken when fear suddenly hit Charlie again as he asked, “Mom, she’s...” but before he could finish a complete question, his father’s voice interjected again and said, “Yes Charlie, your mom is just fine.”
Charlie then wriggled free from his father’s bear-like hug and took a step back, his voice still quivered from the adrenalin that coursed through his body and then asked “So just what has happened then?”
The reply came from Charlie’s father who suggested that they all sit down as Madam Luc walked in carrying a big tray with a pot of hot tea and some of her pastries. They all made themselves comfortable as Madam Luc poured out the tea for everyone then placed a plate full of her petit pastries on the table.
Charlie sat forward in anticipation, too anxious to eat or drink, “I suppose we should start at the beginning, Charlie,” said his father, seconded by a nodding Chef, who then said to Charlies father, “He has your journal!”
Charlie thought to himself, “Well, that’s one piece of the puzzle solved!” as Charlie’s father began to explain the reason he was there in Villejacques. It was due to the passing of a mutual friend of there’s, and someone that his father had not seen in a very long time. Chef Luc had called him by phone two days previous to let him know the sad news and suggested that he visit and to pay his respects at the funeral, which was to be held later that week. After much deliberation, he decided to catch the first flight out the next day and had not long arrived before Charlie turned up.
“So who was the friend that you both knew?” Charlie now questioned, as he felt even more frustrated and confused.
But before waiting for a reply, he posed another question, “Well, the old journal was that yours then? Where you a patissier, too, father?”
But before Charlie could fire off any more questions, his father stopped him by saying, “My dear boy, I will try to answer all your questions as best I can. There is much about my past that I never spoke of as it was something that I wanted to forget and keep in the past where I thought it belonged. So let me start at the beginning,” Charlie's father said, then looked at him with an air of sadness.
He began to explain how he had enjoyed baking when he was a young boy and spent many hours each day in the kitchen with his own grandmother. He would help her make all kinds of cakes and pastries; they would laugh and joke around, often covering each other in flour. She would always let him lick the spoon or dip his finger in the bowl to taste things. She was a natural in the kitchen. When she passed, in honour of her memory, he decided to travel to Paris to join the famous Rochelle Catering School to train as a chef, but it quickly became apparent to the lectures that he had a natural talent for pastry work. So the faculty agreed to let him change courses and to join the specialist class in patisserie. This is where he met Montaine, Chef Luc and the love of his life Gabrielle. "All three of us were in the same class, and at first they would compete to be the best in class, to win the highest of praise. Gabrielle was a natural at patisserie work, too, and it was not long before we all became the closest of friends."
Remembering back to that time, Charlie’s dad slightly faltered in tone, as his own emotions overcame him. This was the first time he had even thought about that time in so many years. He preferred to just block it out because of the pain he felt from the memories he had . He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, hoping no one noticed, he continued again. "We would work together and play together and would often travel far and wide to discover new culinary delights. We would go to check out every new restaurant that had recently opened, only to check out there dessert course, really. We would order separate desserts, sometimes twice, and then try to figure out what ingredients had been used. On occasion, we were politely asked to leave the restaurant as our enthusiastic nature had gotten the better of us. Not sure if our noisy nature had disturbed other customers or the managers where concerned me might take their ideas.
Nevertheless, we were inseparable, and then after we graduated from college, we all found jobs working close by. Chef and I managed to secure apprenticeships working for the respected Chef/Patron Matthieu Brazier. He later became our mentor, but who had now sadly passed, hence the reason for the visit. Gabrielle had found work at a local bakery as her passion and forte lay in breads, cookies, and who soon became known as the Cannelle Queen as she was unsurpassed at creating that French classic.
"Chef and I worked long hours under the tutelage and guidance of Chef Brazier; we were in the pastry kitchen morning, noon, and night always being pushed and tested.
We all shared a small rundown apartment that was close by. It was small, pokey, wall paper peeling off the walls, plumbing that rattled every time you turned on the tap and was freezing during the winter months, but it was home for us. We certainly enjoyed life. It was about that time that we both started to keep a journal of our experiences. In mine I wrote about my training, and more importantly, my ideas which helped to build my own mind map, which I believe you now understand," he said as he raised a slight grin.
"Then one beautiful spring morning, on a rare day off, we decided to visit a small village that was not to far away. In that place was a tiny bakery that specialised in baked cheesecakes, and so it was suggested we pay it a visit. We managed to find this little shop, tucked away down a very narrow cobbled street. If you did not know it was there, you would never have found it. But, fortunately, we were provided with directions. Inside, there was barely any room to move, just a display counter and cash register. In the display was a selection of cheesecakes of differing flavours, pre-cut into small wedges for the customer to choose from. After much deliberation between us about which flavours to choose, we finally agreed, made our purchases, and left. Back sitting in our little car, we ate this delight, which none of us had ever tried before. It was incredible, the smooth creaminess, with a fruity flavour and only a subtle hint of cheese. It was an unusual thing indeed. Was it a dessert or a savoury dish? They debated, but one thing for sure it was a taste sensation.
"Then back at work, I started to experiment with cheesecake, researching the different types that there were and quickly decided that it had to be baked and not the set type that I had also discovered. The phrase, 'If It’s Not Baked, It’s Not Cheesecake, was created, which when mentioned to Chef Brazier, left him roaring with laughter, stating that I should really keep that to myself as it could be seen as controversial amongst his peers. But no, I wasn’t to listen and stuck to my guns, which did cause a few heated arguments from time to time with our mentor. My research continued and I learned all about the main ingredient, cream cheese, and was so surprised to find that it could be made in so many different ways. I spoke with numerous dairies, sampled many different types of cream cheese, until I found the one I felt provided me with the right taste, flavour, and texture. It came from a very small, family owned dairy who still produced things by hand the old fashioned way and methods. Then I need to work on recipes, cooking times, and temperature which almost became a scientific process. By now, my activities had caught the attention of the chef, and he started to offer advice and made several very helpful suggestions."
Pausing his story, Charlie's father pointed at the journal in Charlie’s hand and said, “As you can see from the journal, Charlie, I conducted a lot of research.”
His gaze lingered for a moment on the book that never left his sight. “So if this is your journal, how did Chef Luc end up with it in his possession?” Charlie asked.
He could see that the question had struck a deep emotional cord within his father, for he noticed his eyes water slightly. Composing himself, Charlie’s father continued with his story. "After many weeks and months of fine tuning my recipe I then began to play around with presentation ideas and flavour combinations to see what was possible. I tried to use various shaped molds. Some worked and would turn out, but many had to be scooped out with a spoon. I wanted to push boundaries, which is what Chef Brazier had always tried to instil within his many apprentices. Then late one evening, Chef called Montaine and myself into his office and informed us that we had been entered into a local Salon Culinary competition the following month. That was our chance to showcase what we were doing here at the restaurant with our dessert menus but also to put some of our own creative ideas into our entries. Both Montaine and I left the Chef's office in giddy excitement, and as soon as we had finished our shift, we both raced home to share the news with Gabrielle. Her excitement matched our own when she heard and we all danced around the small lounge room like children playing some game in the schoolyard.
"The next month was spent in planning and trying out our ideas. The planning alone took us both a week as there were so many things that we wanted to try. We helped each other to make our decisions, and eventually, Montaine decided to do passion fruit and banana parfait, while I chose to make a cheesecake with caramelised ppples and apple sorbet. Chef Brazier was pleased with our choices of entry and so every spare minute, when not on duty, was spent practicing and practicing, often till very early in the morning. We were driven by the excitement of our first competition, and the closer competition day was, the more competitive we became. It was the way we were back then, the dearest of friends, yet fiercely competitive. The day of the competition arrived, and we all made our way there. Chef had even closed the restaurant for the day as this was a big annual event. Anyone who was anyone in the industry would be there; it was our time to shine and show off to our peers, for after al,l we were apprentices of Chef Brazier.
"We nervously waited for our category to be called, and after what seemed like an eternity our time came. We were placed in opposite ends of the competition space, so neither could see how the other was faring or even offer a look of support. We were on our own, over-looked by crowds of delegates, our peers, and not forgetting the constant scrutiny of the judges' eyes. We had four hours to prepare and present our desserts for judging. The official started our category and we were off. Four hours flew past, especially when there were so many eyes watching your every move. Chef Brazier had helped us with a timing sheet for each phase, so as long as we stuck to that, we would be fine, but it was going to be close. Being such good friends it concerned us how the other was doing and if they had managed to produce their planned desserts. Not able to catch even a glimpse of each other, we had to remain focused and concentrate on completing our own tasks. The competition ended. We cleaned down ours stations then presented our desserts for the judging panel.
"The waiting was definitely more nerve-racking than the actual preparation. We had to wait by our dessert and then a panel of three judges would come and score our work based on taste, flavour, texture, appearance, and organisational ability. Once we had been seen by the judges, we were free to leave as the results would then be posted soon after. Pleased with my work, I rushed to find Montaine. Seeing his satisfied expression, we gave each other a quick hug and then eagerly told the other how we had done. We both spoke very little while waiting after that. We just found a quiet corner where we both just leant up against a wall. I think the nervous exhaustion had got the better of us, and several more hours would pass before the results came in. We hastily made our way over to the results board as many of other contestants fumbled to find their own results. Thankfully, there were several result boards around, so we managed to get to a board without much delay. We then scanned the results sheet. It was Montaine who spotted our category first. He found his name first and with a grin as wide as his face, announced, 'Third! I was third.' Warmly congratulating my closest friend, my attention went back to the results sheet and eventually I found my name. Reading across, my heart sank slightly as I read 'Sixth place,' next to my name. I was disappointed. I felt that my entry was good enough to place higher. Montaine noticed my posture and attempted to lift my spirits with words of encouragement.
"I decided not to hang around at the show as I didn’t wish to dampen Montaine's exhilaration, so I slipped away to be on my own for a while. To go over the competition, dissect my entry, think about what I could have changed or improved on. I wondered around the city for many hours, immersed in my own thoughts. I couldn’t even tell you if there were many other people passing by or not; all that enveloped me was how to improved my dish. The only other thing I can remember was finding a park bench. Being that it was a mild night, I felt contented to just sit on my own there. I remember thinking I would have to stop myself