Шоколад / Chocolat

Around the text capered various creatures of fanciful design. A figure in a robe and a tall crown I took to be the Pope. Cutout shapes of bells had been pasted thickly at his feet. All the bells were smiling.

I spent most of the afternoon tempering the new batch of couverture and working on the window display. A thick covering of green tissue-paper for the grass. Paper flowers – daffodils and daisies, Anouk’s contribution – pi

I ca

I was so absorbed in my plans and the layout of my window that I lost track of the time. Anouk made her friends sandwiches in the kitchen, then they disappeared again in the direction of the river. I put on the radio and sang to myself as I worked, carefully placing the chocolates into pyramids. The magic mountain opens to reveal a bewildering, half-glimpsed, array of riches: multicoloured piles of sugar crystals, glace fruits and sweets which glitter like gems. Behind this, and shielded from the light by the concealed shelving, lie the saleable wares. I will have to begin work on the Easter goods almost straight away, anticipating extra custom. It is a good thing there is storage space in the cool basement of the house. I must order gift boxes, ribbons, Cellophane paper and trimmings.

I was so absorbed that I barely heard Armande as she came in through the half-open door.

“Well, hello,” she said in her brusque ma

I manoeuvred carefully out of the window.

“No, of course not,” I told her. “I was expecting you. Besides, I’ve nearly finished, and my back is killing me.”

“Well, if it’s no trouble…”

Her ma

“You’re very chic today,” I observed.

She gave a sharp crack of laughter.

“No-one’s said that to me for a while, I’ll tell you,” she said, poking a finger at one of the stools. “Could I climb up there without breaking a leg, d’you think?”

“I’ll get you a chair from the kitchen,” I suggested, but the old lady stopped me with an imperious gesture.

“Rubbish!” She eyed the stool. “I used to be quite a climber in my youth.” She drew up her long skirts, revealing stout boots and lumpy grey stockings. “Trees, mostly. I used to climb up them and throw twigs onto the heads of passersby. Hah!”

A grunt of satisfaction as she swung herself onto the stool, grabbing hold of the counter-top for support. I caught a sudden, alarming swirl of scarlet from under her black skirt.

Armande perched on the stool, looking absurdly pleased with herself. Carefully she smoothed her skirts back over the shimmer of scarlet petticoat.

“Red silk undies,” she gri

I made it strong and black, and, with her diabetic condition in mind, added as little sugar as I dared. Armande saw my hesitancy and stabbed an accusing finger at her cup.

“No rationing!” she ordered. “Give me the works. Chocolate chips, one of those sugar stirrer things, everything. Don’t you start getting like the others, treating me as if I didn’t have the wit to look after myself. Do I look senile to you?”

I admitted she didn’t.

“Well, then.” She sipped the strong, sweetened mixture with visible satisfaction. “Good. Hmm. Very good. Supposed to give you energy, isn’t it? It’s a, what do you call it, a stimulant?”

I nodded.

“An aphrodisiac too, so I heard,” added Armande roguishly, peeping at me from above the rim of her cup. “Those old men down at the cafe had better watch out. You’re never too old to have a good time!”

She cawed laughter. She sounded shrill and keyed-up, her crabbed hands unsteady. Several times she put her hand to the brim of her hat, as if to adjust it.

I looked at my watch under cover of the counter, but she saw my movement.

“Don’t expect he’ll turn up,” she said shortly. “That grandson of mine. I’m not expecting him, anyway.”

Her every gesture belied her words. The tendons in her throat stood out like an ancient dancer’s.

We talked for a while of trifling matters: the children’s idea of the chocolate festival – Armande squawking with laughter when I told her about Jesus and the white chocolate Pope – and the river-gypsies. It seems that Armande has ordered their food supplies herself, in her name, much to Reynaud’s indignation. Roux offered to pay her in cash, but she prefers to have him fix her leaky roof instead. This will infuriate Georges Clairmont, she revealed with an impish grin.