Sugar and Spice

Chapter 11: Cinnamon and Orange

For what seemed like the hundredth time that morning, Jennie checked her watch before smiling to herself and tucking her wrist back into the sleeve of her jacket. It was almost eleven on a Sunday morning, and she had that same feeling as when she had taken Lisa and Chitthip cycling...the feeling of being a teenager bunking off from school. At least, she assumed that was the best analogy. Never in her life had she pulled a sickie, from work or from school, unless she actually was too sick to get out of bed.

And yet here she was, perfectly well and getting off the Métro on the other side of the river, instead of piping choux pastry for éclairs or mixing chocolate buttercream for macarons. It felt exciting, slightly illicit, but also kind of worrying and, even though she had been looking forward to it for days and wouldn't have changed it for anything, she still couldn't help feeling a little concerned, a little uneasy, as if something might not be quite right. Even though she did not open the pâtisserie itself on a Sunday, she always worked in the kitchen to prepare for the first part of the week, and she had always done that by herself. It meant that she never had a Sunday off, but it also meant that she knew everything was done that needed to be done - and that it was done to her high standards. But Irene had been improving dramatically in the few weeks that she had been working in the kitchen with Jennie. So much so that Jennie had to admit that her teaching skills couldn't take all of the credit. Irene had a real talent and, with nothing particularly complicated or big to make for the coming week, Jennie had felt confident enough to take most of the day off and leave her to it. Confident...until she stepped off the Métro in the middle of the Marais.

As Jennie felt the sunlight on her face, felt the slight chill in the breeze that signified the change from summer to autumn and heard the faint rustle of the leaves on the trees that lined the street, she felt some of the worry melt away. Irene was more than capable. She would call Jennie if she needed anything and Jennie had forgotten how different the city felt on a Sunday. It was almost as if it relaxed, as if it was feeling a bit lazy at the end of the week even though the majority of shops and cafes were open as normal. Everything went at a more leisurely pace, including the people around her. Some were striding out along the pavement as if they had somewhere to be, but most were wandering, not exactly aimlessly, but more slowly, taking the opportunity to browse and explore. And Jennie decided that, today, she was going to do exactly the same thing. She had come to a little neighbourhood that was one of her favourites, but that she hadn't visited for over a year simply because she hadn't had the time. It also happened to be the home of her all-time favourite boutique, that she also hadn't visited in far too long...but she egged herself on with the thought that it was her first Sunday off for a long time. She deserved to celebrate it, and Jennie always celebrated in style.

After a ten minute walk, she found herself on rue Charlot, a narrow, characterful street, full of tiny shops where the person behind the cash register was most probably the designer and maker of the crafts as well, and La Boutique Extraordinaire, Jennie's destination, was no exception. It sold the most beautiful, exquisite clothes and accessories, purely for women, that would never be found anywhere else and, in keeping with its slightly quirky image, it often held small exhibitions of unusual clothes by other local designers. As Jennie pushed open the door, she paused, smiling to herself. It was just as she remembered. And she knew, from previous experience, that she could spend hours in there just browsing and admiring the craftsmanship, even if there wasn't anything that she really wanted to buy. Today, when she actually had the time to indulge herself, she intended to make the most of it.