Julie Caplin - The Little Paris Patisserie - A heartwarming and feel good cosy romance - perfect for fans of Bake Off!

‘Just the legs that are the problem,’ quipped Maddie with a laugh. And with that the ice was broken, as they all exchanged wry smiles.

‘I’m Maddie Ashcroft, a student on my year abroad in Paris. I thought I’d give it a go…’ She paused with a self-deprecating laugh. ‘I can’t cook to save my life, so it will be quite good if I can go home and impress my family with something incredible. I’m hoping Sebastian is a miracle worker.’ Everyone laughed again and Nina was heartily glad that she’d bumped into Maddie in the street.

With a shrug, she added, ‘And to be honest it seemed as good a way as any other to spend a dull Wednesday morning.’

‘I will concur with that. When you’re as old as I am, the days can be monotonous.’ Marguerite glanced around the room. ‘My name is Marguerite and I can cook—’ she shot a sympathetic smile at Maddie ‘—but I don’t have anyone to cook for. My grandchildren are coming in the summer and I – I…’ Her voice shook and the regal matriarch suddenly looked a touch frail as she blinked hard. ‘I haven’t seen them for some years. I want this visit to be really special.’ Her voice gained strength and the confident hauteur was back. ‘They live in England, so I want to show them how patisserie is in France. Give them a taste of what it is to be French and show them some of the traditional recipes.’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ said Nina, with a warm smile, realising the grand old lady was a lot more fragile and uncertain than she appeared. ‘I’m sure your grandchildren are in for a real treat.’

‘I’m Bill Sykes … and despite the name, I’m a good bloke. Well, at least I like to think I am. No one’s ever told me I’m not.’ He dived in, speaking quickly as if to get it over with. ‘I’ve been a chef in the army for ten years, but…’ He broke off to grin at everyone in the room, having got into his stride. ‘As you can imagine, there isn’t much call for fancy stuff. I’m a frustrated pastry chef and after leaving the army last year, I really wanted to learn a new skill. I’m staying with a friend to help him renovate a house in Paris. These days I’m a builder, electrician and general handyman, so I’m not sure I’m going to have the delicacy of touch.’ He waved large sausage fingers in exaggerated jazz hands.

Nina shook her head. ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine,’ she said, trying not to compare them with Sebastian’s long elegant fingers.

She turned to the couple with a nod inviting them to speak.

‘I’m Peter Ashman and this is Jane, my lovely wife. We’ve recently married and we love cooking, so we’re spending three months in an Airbnb in Paris, so that we can shop Paris markets. And get away from our disapproving families for a while. We heard about the course and fancied having a go.’

Jane nudged him with a naughty twinkle in her eye. ‘And … tell them.’

With a self-deprecating smile he explained, ‘And on one of our first dates, I tried to make profiteroles for Jane but they were a disaster. I made three attempts and they all came out as flat as pancakes. I wrote in the recipe book in capital letters, DO NOT EVER ATTEMPT AGAIN!!!’

Everyone burst out laughing before a dry voice cut in. ‘Choux pastry requires absolute precision. It’s easy when you know how and one of the building blocks of patisserie. By the end of today, I’ll guarantee you’ll be making profiteroles in your sleep.’

Nina whirled round as Sebastian clinked forwards on his crutches to move to the front of the semi-circle, immediately capturing everyone’s attention. Wow, he looked better. A lot better, Nina could scarcely believe the difference. It was more than the way he looked though, even Nina couldn’t deny he carried off the handsome pirate look a bit too well, but there was that charisma, an indefinable something that made everyone look his way and seek his attention.

‘Good morning. I’m Sebastian Finlay and I’m going to be teaching you how to make French patisserie. You’ll have to excuse a certain immobility. I had a run in with a cabin bag and as you can see the cabin bag won.’ He hobbled his way to the stool that Nina had arranged for him, carefully stowing his crutches to one side.

Everyone laughed politely but Nina could see they were all immediately charmed.

‘However, luckily for me, I have my very efficient assistant, Nina, who has kindly, forgive the pun, stepped in for the next few weeks.’

At the unexpected warmth of the smile he sent her way, she blushed. She realised he was playing to the crowd but it was the first time he’d smiled properly at her for a very long time. Studying him through fresh eyes, she realised that yesterday’s weary, worn down and tired looking man had been replaced. Today, in a chest-hugging black T-shirt that enhanced a pair of broad shoulders she’d forgotten about, his slightly olive skin glowed and his eyes were bright, lighting up as he gave his appreciative audience a welcoming smile. He actually looked pretty tasty as long as you didn’t look down. She smirked, those baggy black joggers, at least a size or three too big, didn’t do him any favours.

She quickly re-introduced everyone.

‘Today we will start with choux, which as I said is the basis for so many of the greats, the Paris-Brest, gâteaux Saint-Honoré, éclairs, religieuse and of course profiteroles.’ He shot a quick grin at Peter. ‘I shall be watching you carefully and hopefully we can sort you out.’

‘Hallelujah,’ cheered Peter. ‘I’ll give it my best shot.’

Nina couldn’t help but stare at the light-hearted, charming man that had suddenly materialised. Authoritative and calm, Sebastian gave off an aura that everyone was in safe hands. This was a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

‘Right, well let’s get cracking. Find yourselves a space at one of the benches. You’ll find a recipe sheet next to your utensils. Ingredients are all over here with the scales.’

There was a delicious rustle, a sense of anticipation, as they all took their places at the benches arranged in a U-shape facing the worktable in front of Sebastian. Marguerite and Bill immediately picking up the recipe sheet to read it.

Sebastian turned out to be a far better teacher than Nina expected and she saw vestiges of the kind, patient boy he’d been as a teenager. He was good-humoured and informative with quiet, understated sympathy when anyone struggled. Marguerite took her time to combine the eggs and Nina caught Sebastian laying his crutches to one side to beat the mix to the right consistency, constantly encouraging her throughout and batting away her asides that she was rubbish. Once her piping bag was loaded up she did a more than a fair job of piping even shaped éclairs.

Nina glanced over to the other side. Poor Maddie, still with her tongue protruding, was having a tough time. Her éclairs ranged from fat misshapen lumps to thin, strung out worms with nothing in between. Opposite her, Peter’s were all on the plump side, while Jane’s thin streaks were the polar opposite, which amused Nina. Together, their efforts would have been perfect. It seemed a rather apt analogy for their partnership.

‘Dear God, this one looks like a wayward sea cucumber,’ laughed Maddie. ‘Why is this so much harder than you made it look?’ She’d squeezed so hard that she had undulating waves in her next éclair. ‘I’m rubbish at this,’ she sighed, rolling her eyes.

‘Oh dear,’ sympathised Marguerite, who’d clearly used a piping bag a time or two before. The five éclairs she’d completed so far were arranged with uniform precision.

‘Why do yours look so perfect?’ Maddie laid down her own piping bag and went over to Marguerite’s station. ‘My excuse is I’ve never done anything like this before in my life. Have you? And look how many Bill’s done.’