The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux - Samantha Verant Page 0,100
like to discuss this troubling time, as many of us don’t, but I’ll never forget the day when all of France was liberated in 1944. There was a grand celebration at Place du Capitole in Toulouse; I was seven years old. When we married, Pierre told me the Germans left the château in near ruin.”
Compared to what my grandparents had gone through, the audit from La Société des Châteaux et Belles Demeures was a walk in the park. The troubles I’d faced in New York were ancient history. I kissed Grand-mère on the cheek. “Thank you for sharing all of this history with me,” I said. “I’ll fight for the château, for our family’s home, for you.”
“I have no doubt you will,” she said. “You are a Valroux de la Tour de Champvert.”
“That I am,” I said, lifting my head up high. “And I’ve never been prouder.”
That afternoon, I wandered the grounds, breathing in everything I’d learned about the château. I was fighting for the past. I was fighting for the future, one I desperately wanted to win. As I made my way down to the river, I realized I was walking in my grand-mère’s footsteps, and a deeper pride set in.
* * *
I was in the process of studying when Phillipa banged on my door and barged into my room. “You have to come with me now,” she said. She grabbed my arm, lifting me off the window seat. My papers scattered on the floor. “We need you downstairs.”
“Is there a problem?”
“You could say that,” she said.
We raced down the stairs and into the salon, where Clothilde, Bernard, Rémi, Lola, Laetitia, Grand-mère, and Agnès waited, all of them facing the doorway and watching my entrance with stoic expressions. I was about to ask what was going on when Jane entered the room carrying a chocolate cake, the glaze shimmering like silk, decorated with candied purple pansies with happy faces and lit with candles.
“Joyeux anniversaire,” they sang.
I didn’t remember the last time anybody, save for Walter and Robert, had wished me a happy birthday, let alone sang. I didn’t even remember it was my birthday. Before I lost it, Lola scurried up to me and pulled at my skirt. “Tatie Sophie,” she said, pointing. “Gâteau.”
“Oui, Lola, un gâteau au chocolat,” I said, wiping my happy tears away with the sleeve of my dress.
“Blow out the candles and make a wish,” said Phillipa.
I closed my eyes and I blew. This time my wish wasn’t to become a three-starred chef, nor was it to impress La Société des Châteaux et Belles Demeures when they came for the audit. I wished for more days like today, to share happy times with my friends and my family. I sliced the cake, handing Lola’s piece to her first. She plopped down on the floor and dug right in, chocolate covering her face in less than thirty seconds. Phillipa popped open a bottle of the château’s sparkling wine and poured glasses for everybody. We sat down on settees or at one of the smaller tables and after a toast, ate the cake.
“Who is responsible for this masterpiece?” I asked. “Clothilde?”
She shook her head no. “I made it,” said Phillipa, her mouth full. “It took me three days.”
Jane handed me a large white box wrapped with a silver silk bow. “This is from me. I thought it was appropriate, considering.” She tilted her head to the side.
I undid the ribbon and lifted the top off the box, throwing it to the floor and pulling out a chef’s coat with embroidered poppies surrounding the cuffs. It was a modern version of my grandmother’s apron. As I traced the flowers with my finger, I couldn’t hold back my ragged breath.
Jane placed a tender hand on my back. “You hate it that much?”
“No, I love it that much,” I said, standing up, and we swappd les bises. “Thank you.”
“Brilliant,” she said, tears glistening in her eyes. “I’ve had similar ones made for Clothilde and Phillipa, too.”
Grand-mère nodded, her chin lifting with approval. “The coat is absolutely beautiful, Jane. I’m sure Sophie will wear it with honor.”
“I will,” I said.
Once we were finished eating, Rémi pulled me to the side. “Do you have a minute? I’d like to speak with you alone,” he said, leading me into the entry. He stood quietly, fidgeting.
“Yes?” I asked.
Rémi rubbed the nape of his neck and then pulled out a jewelry box from his inside coat pocket. “Joyeux anniversaire, Sophie. Open it.”