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expression, the distinct beginnings
of a flush along his cheekbones. It made him look rather vulnerable. In an
adorable kind of way.
       ‘I
want you to serve.’
       ‘I
beg your pardon?’ Clementine folded her arms, watching him. ‘You want her to do
what?’
         ‘I want Rachel in the shop. To serve …
the customers.’ Dominic blew out a harsh breath. ‘I can’t take this. As if my
life was not complicated enough … Bien, I’m going to start unpacking these boxes
and setting up the displays again.’ He pushed through the bead curtain, calling
out over his shoulder, ‘Perhaps one or both of you ladies could join me?’
       Rachel
sneezed violently – that cat again! – then looked at her, only now
noticing her tiny polka dot dress. Her blue eyes widened still further.
       ‘Why
on earth are you … ’
       ‘Don’t
ask!’ Clementine interrupted her, then turned round, hurriedly showing her the
rear view. ‘Honestly though,’ she hissed, ‘don’t spare my feelings. Does my bum
… you know?’
      

CHAPTER FIVE

 
    In Which Clementine Reveals Herself As A Latex Pervert

 
    Despite her romantic yearnings, Clementine was
a practical soul at heart. She had not expected to be mobbed by thousands of choc-starved
customers, all clamouring for Lemon Creams and Strawberry Surprises the moment
Dominic flung open the door at three minutes to noon the next morning.
       Nonetheless,
she found the ‘grand re-opening’ of Ravel’s
Chocolaterie de Londres surprisingly low-key. Few passers-by, it seemed,
had noticed the sign in the window advertising the event. Or if they had
spotted it on their way home yesterday, they had not particularly cared. She
suspected some people had not even noticed that the chocolate shop had closed
in the first place.
       Besides
which, it was another hot, dry day – wonderful weather for ice cream vans
and ice-cold drinks, but not for visiting chocolateries, clearly.
       And
if anyone had been daring enough to poke their nose round the door, they would
soon have scurried away again, driven off by loud music, thanks to Rachel's
bizarre idea of a warm welcome.
       Clementine
thought she was there fairly early, knocking on the back door at a few minutes after
eight o’clock. But Rachel had bustled in soon afterwards, red-eyed and still
sneezing, but determined to be helpful.
       ‘I
wasn’t sure you’d be in today,’ Clementine admitted.
       ‘Yes,
well, it seems to take my mind off … you-know-who … if I work hard,’ Rachel said
a little tremulously, her chin jutting out, ‘so here I am. Single and proud. Oh
god. Quick, find me something to do or I’ll start crying again!’
       Much
to Dominic’s annoyance, Rachel had cheerily insisted on rigging up a line of
bunting with clusters of blue, red and white balloons – the colours of
the French flag. And she seemed to have the Marseillaise playing at full blast
every time someone came through the door – which wasn’t very often,
admittedly.
       Several
people glanced inside and asked Clementine, in bemused tones, if it was a
French public holiday. On learning that it was just a re-opening, they
hurriedly disappeared again, no doubt concerned they would be expected to buy
something. Others took one look at the balloon-festooned shop interior and marched
out again, to the refrain of ‘Aux armes, citoyens!’
       While
Rachel endlessly rearranged the shelves, Clementine busied herself with
learning how the till worked. After an hour, she made her first solo sale and
felt quite proud of herself.
       A new skill!
       Despite
the quiet start, the reopening was not a complete washout: once the trumpeting
Marseillaise had been silenced, customers wandered in and out every few
minutes, occasionally making a purchase. Concentrating on her work, Clementine
barely saw the gorgeous Dominic – who spent most of the afternoon in the
kitchen area, preparing new chocolates – until much later,