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bothering me. Stone walls and floors, especially in a subterranean room, will hold a frosty temperature for a long time.
    “The room above this is the same,” Guy continued, oblivious to my discomfort. “It is the atrium, where we serve breakfast and tea.”
    “And what do you use this room for?” I asked.
    “This is where we consume the fruits of our labor. It’s the dining room for our kitchen over there.” He pointed at the room beyond the multipaned window. “When we have spent all morning cooking our meal, we sit down together here, and drink wine and eat up all we have made. Chef Bertrand always makes a complete meal, including dessert.”
    “I look forward to it,” I said, moving around the table and climbing the step to peer through the window into the darkened kitchen.
    Guy patted his jacket pockets and frowned. “I don’t have the keys to open the kitchen,” he said. “Emil must have them.”
    “Do you mean Chef Bertrand?” I said, cupping my hands on the glass to see inside.
    “Oui. He is always forgetting his keys and taking mine.”
    I looked back at him. “Have you worked for him for a long time?”
    “Unfortunately, yes,” he replied with a wry smile.
    “He’s a demanding boss, I gather.”
    Guy’s eyes flew up to the ceiling. “The worst.”
    “But there must be some benefits or you wouldn’t stay, would you?”
    “He is a tyrant in the kitchen, but also a genius,” he said. “Not everyone gets a chance to work for a chef who has a Michelin star. I am very lucky, so he tells me. And he promises to make me a partner someday. I am hoping to take over his restaurant in Avignon when he opens one in Paris. But you cannot tell anyone that. It’s still a secret.”
    “I won’t say a word.”
    “Till then, I work for him at the restaurant and also here as his sous-chef when he teaches in the cooking school.”
    “Is Monsieur Bertrand the only chef to teach at the cooking school?”
    “Oh, no,” Guy said, shaking his head. “He is one of many. Daniel Aubertin, the head chef here at the hotel, invites all the maîtres de cuisiniers, master chefs, in Provence to teach, even the ones he doesn’t like. It is a matter of honor to make sure the school has only the top chefs in the region.”
    “Even the ones he doesn’t like?” I said, teasing. “That’s certainly dedication.”
    “It is indeed,” Guy said, his smile back in place.
    The light in the sconces wavered and then went out, plunging us into total darkness. Disoriented, I turned so my back was to the window and stood absolutely still, trying to remember the layout of the room. “A temporary malfunction, I believe you said.”
    “Ah, madame. It’s just a momentary gap. Wait. I’m sure they will come back on.”
    We stood in the inky darkness waiting for the sconces to flicker to life again, but it soon became apparent that there was a problem with the electricity.
    “This never happens, I promise you,” Guy said. “I will see if I can find a flashlight in the kitchen.”
    I heard him shuffle his shoes across the stone toward the archway through which we’d entered. Then I heard a thump and a muffled curse as he stumbled on the step. His footsteps faded as he made his way down the hall toward the hotel kitchen, until I could hear nothing at all.
    Without the lights, the room seemed even colder. I waited, running my hands up and down my arms from shoulder to elbow, trying to counter the icy air. There was no sound of footsteps returning. The colder I grew, the less patient I became. I inched one foot forward, conscious of the narrow step I’d climbed to look through the window. My toe found the drop and I eased my foot down to the floor, twisting my shoe back and forth on the uneven footing till I felt secure. I patted the air with my hands, groping for the end of the table. I swung my other foot down and started to move forward, but my heel was wedged in the gap between two stones and I went flying sideways. One