The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux - Samantha Verant Page 0,39

Cendrillon and you’re not going to ruin things here.”

“Jane,” said Phillipa with a gasp. “Not appropriate.”

My knees were about to go out from under me. They all knew. I’d thought maybe in Champvert I could escape the drama my life had become for a while. But the truth was you could never escape your past no matter how far you ran. Which was exactly what I was going to do.

I raced out of the kitchen and straight up the servant staircase, heading for my room. Unfortunately, I’d left the door open, and I overheard Jane as I scurried up the steps, her words echoing in the stairwell. “What? Don’t look at me like that. We all read the stories, saw the videos. It’s probably best she stays out of our way. We have a business to run here.”

“Give her a chance,” said Clothilde. “You don’t even know her. And this is a family business. She’s Grand-mère Odette’s pride and joy.”

“I know what I read,” said Jane. “And as far as family goes, I’ve been more like a granddaughter to Odette. Sophie abandoned her, never even came back for a visit.”

“I’m sure there’s more to the story,” said Phillipa. “We haven’t heard her side of it yet.”

“I agree,” came Clothilde’s voice.

“We all just saw what we saw. The way she shook and trembled,” said Jane. “She’s mad as a box of frogs—completely barmy.”

I placed my hand on the wall, trying to find my balance. The panic attack setting in was worse than any of the others. My breath came hard and fast. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move my feet. The last thing I remembered were my knees hitting the concrete, French words and translations swimming in my head.

Je suis tombée dans les pommes.

I fell in the apples.

I fainted.

II

winter

Cooking is the art of adjustment.

—JACQUES PÉPIN

13

the puppet master

A WEEK HAD passed since I tumbled down the staircase. My ankle throbbed and my body was bruised from head to toe, the welts dark and purple and unforgiving like crushed blackberries rotting on the ground after being stepped on. Housekeeping came into my room, but I’d send them away. They couldn’t change the sheets on my bed when I didn’t want to get out of it. I thought of visiting with Grand-mère, but she’d only be disappointed in me because I’d let her down. Just like in New York, I stayed in my room, avoiding everybody but Clothilde, who brought me meals and updated me on my grandmother’s health, and Phillipa, who tried her best to snap me out of my funk. One morning, she brought a red poinsettia into my room.

“It’s almost Christmas. We’re going to get into the spirit of the season,” said Phillipa, setting the plant down. “What are you asking le Père Noël for?”

“A new life,” I said with a grumble. “Nobody wants me here.”

“I do.”

“Why?” I asked.

She tapped the side of her head with her finger twice. “It’s my sixth sense. I have my instincts.”

“Is it telling you to run for the hills? To get away from impending danger?”

“You’re funny when you’re depressed.” She snorted out a laugh and then turned serious. “I’m really sorry for what Jane said. I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

“What is her issue with me?” I asked, thinking Jane had meant every word she’d uttered with her holier-than-thou accent.

“She has issues with everybody. Don’t let her get to you,” said Phillipa. “When we were children, I used to call her JJ.”

“JJ?” I questioned.

“Judgmental Jane,” she said with a cackle. “And she hated it. Did you faint because you overheard her?”

“It’s not like she pushed me. I fell,” I responded. “It was an accident. And what she said was true,” I added, pulling the covers over my head.

“I don’t think so,” said Phillipa. “Your grand-mère told me she taught you everything she knows. And if you can cook like her, you’re one of the best. So, once you’re feeling better, I, for one, can’t wait to see what you can do.”

“I can ruin things,” I mumbled.

Phillipa didn’t catch my pathetic comment. She pulled the duvet off my face. “What?”

“Thank you for the plant,” I said.

“It’s the little things in life that make us happy,” she said with a shrug.

Although Phillipa left my room with a smile, thinking she’d cheered me up, the nightmare I left behind in New York still haunted me. I could hear O’Shea in my sleep, threatening to gut me open like a pig. I could see Eric’s twisted grin when he