The Confectioner's Tale Read Online Free PDF Page B

It couldn’t be the same girl, and yet, he remembered those eyes … Horrified, he ducked his head to his chest, praying that she wouldn’t recognize him.
    ‘Caught him creeping around back there, Mam’selle.’ The large deliveryman shook him like a puppy. ‘Probably waiting till we were all out of the way so he could have a go. Fetch a good price at the market, these goods.’
    ‘I wasn’t!’ Gui protested, straining away from the crushing grip on his neck. ‘I work for the railway, I got lost on the way home. We were in …’ He groped for details of the evening. ‘In a bar, on the hill, and I lost everyone.’
    ‘He likely means up in Pigalle, Mam’selle.’
    ‘I know where he means, Luc.’ The girl’s accent was impeccable. She was still staring at him.
    ‘Let me see his eyes,’ she demanded.
    The grip on his collar tightened as he was pushed forward. He was intensely aware of every muscle in his face as the girl grasped his chin, her gloved fingers brushing his injured lip. Gui met her gaze.
    Everything stopped: his breathing, the throbbing in his head and lip. He caught the girl’s scent, spring flowers and sweat and soap. The light from the doorway clung to the fine down of her cheek. For an instant, her eyes widened. Then time rushed to catch up, and she stepped away abruptly.
    ‘Opium, I wouldn’t doubt,’ she murmured, rubbing her gloved fingers as if they burned. ‘I believe he’s telling the truth. By the look of him he’s fresh from some backwater. Where is it then?’ she asked indifferently, though she avoided his gaze, her cheeks redder than before. ‘Brittany? Limousin?’
    ‘Bordeaux,’ he whispered. The pain had returned when she’d stepped away, leaving him cold.
    She pursed her lips at him for a second.
    ‘Do you know where this is?’ she asked. He shook his head. ‘We are in the Opéra district. Go to the end of the alley, take the first left, then the first right. Follow your nose and you will find the river soon enough.’
    He took a couple of steps, but the ground tilted beneath him, his eyes clouded with black snow. A wall, blessedly solid, slid against his back.
    The mademoiselle sighed. Her breath was a cloud in the air.
    ‘Let him sit there until he can walk.’
    Sick and ashamed, Gui held his head in his hands and fought back the urge to vomit. The business of unloading went on around him, thumps and creaks, the girl’s quiet directions and the crisp hush of pages being turned in a ledger.
    He must have dozed, for when he opened his eyes, the cart was empty. The deliverymen were leaning against the side, talking softly, their hands wrapped around steaming bowls. The darkness of the streets felt less oppressive; Gui sensed early morning, rather than late night. The young woman stepped from the door.
    ‘Would you like some chocolate?’ she asked.
    He stared blankly. She rolled her eyes, motioned to one of the deliverymen, who came forward, thrust a white china bowl at him. It was hot and burned his chilled hands, but he took it. The girl remained on the step, her own bowl clasped between kid gloves.
    ‘You should drink,’ she said, ‘it will help to clear your head.’
    He rotated the bowl. A rich steam rose and he took a sip. Sweetness flooded his tongue, followed by cream, sugar, spices, chocolate finer than anything he had ever tasted, dark and bitter and delicious. Greedily, he raised the bowl again.
    A faint smile lifted the corner of the young woman’s lips.
    Gui remembered to wipe his mouth.
    ‘I …’ He coughed to clear his throat. ‘This is wonderful. Thank you.’
    She shrugged. ‘I am not supposed to serve the best chocolate to tradesmen, but they work hard. I think they deserve it.’
    She nodded at one of the men, who returned the greeting respectfully. The delivery workers were keeping a safe distance. No wonder, thought Gui, eyeing the young woman warily. He put down the bowl, picked it up again, uncertain how to behave. She did not seem