The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux - Samantha Verant Page 0,29

to the château. How was I going to make a daube de biche when I couldn’t even get œufs cocotte and roasted potatoes right? I wasn’t ready for this.

“Ma chérie, I’m quite tired and won’t be much of a conversationalist. You’ll just be watching me sleep,” she said. “Plus, it is paramount things are handled with the business—the entire village counts on us. And since I’m stuck in this awful hospital bed, it’s you who must take over while I’m incapacitated.”

“Okay, but this is all so surreal. I’m coming to visit you tomorrow.”

“Hors de question” (Out of the question), she said, lifting her chin with defiance. “There’s too much to do for our guests. I’ll be back at the château before you know it.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Clothilde, show her where my kitchen notebooks are. She’s going to need them.”

“But you don’t let anyone touch your notebooks—except for me,” Clothilde said, her fingers fluttering to her neck. “Are you sure?”

“My recipes are a part of Sophie’s heritage,” Grand-mère said before her eyelids fluttered closed.

My heart stopped beating for a moment. In that instant, I thought she’d died. I placed my ear over her mouth and my hand on her heart. “Please, you can’t leave me now,” I whispered.

A soft hand stroked my back. “Ma puce, she just needs her rest,” came Clothilde’s soft voice. “Ne t’inquiète pas.” (Don’t worry.) “Elle ira bien.” (She’ll be fine.)

I wasn’t so sure about that. Save for the guilt pecking at my heart, I wasn’t sure about anything.

10

the grand chef

As we settled in Clothilde’s dented old orange Deux Chevaux, I tried to keep my wits about me and swallow back the worry pounding in my throat for grand-mère’s health. Clothilde straightened her posture and stuck her key in the ignition, and, after a loud roar, the car rumbled to life, jolting us backward. My eyes widened with fear, and not just because of the rickety state of this tin can of death.

Clothilde spluttered out a laugh and gripped the stick shift. “Don’t worry, she’ll get us back to the château in one piece.” She switched the gear into first, then second. “These cars have traveled deserts, crossing over sands. They’ve gone through wars. Safest drive in the world, although not very comfortable. Still, they are collector’s items—if they are in good shape. I love my Jasmine.”

“You named your car?”

“Of course I did. She’s a beauty.”

A spring in the seat pinched my butt as we bounced along the road. It hurt. I’d definitely have a bruise with my pale skin. I grimaced.

“Are you okay, ma puce?”

“I’m fine. I just can’t believe I haven’t been back for so long,” I said, placing my hands under my butt. “What’s been going on at the château?”

“Oh, ma puce, it’s been very busy. A lot has changed since your last visit thirteen years ago.”

“Can you tell me about the restaurant?” I asked.

“You’ll see. And there’s not just one, but two.”

I couldn’t believe the place I’d found online was, in fact, my grandmother’s château. “I wanted to come back, but—”

Clothilde patted my hand. “I know, ma puce. You had your own life to create and you were never far from your grand-mère’s heart. She knows you were busy.”

I bit down on my bottom lip, feeling guiltier than ever. My world was in shambles. I had nothing. I’d worked so hard, and for what? Death was knocking at my grand-mère’s door and I’d been too busy for family, too driven to make a name for myself. Without her, I wouldn’t even have a name. Without her, I wouldn’t have followed my dreams. But what were my dreams now?

“And what’s this about the entire village depending on the château?”

“All our livelihoods depend on it. We all work with or for Grand-mère Odette,” she said. “After your grand-père Pierre passed away just after you were born, Bernard and I sold our farm to her and we’ve been living in the guesthouse right on the property. You may remember visiting us there?”

“Vaguely,” I said, which was a lie. I didn’t remember. I did recall the guilt trip my grand-mère tried pulling on me in New York after my mother had died. Perhaps I was selfish for following my dreams when my grandmother needed me in her life, but I figured she’d be fine without me. And look where I was now. My big plans, my big goals, had backfired.

Clothilde cleared her throat. “At any rate, Bernard still manages the vineyard. And