“True enough,” said Chef Larry, taking the knife from Pam and demonstrating the correct way to core an apple. “You want to caress the apple,” he said in a velvety tone, “coax it to give up its core, like so. And then we will cook it ever so gently, bathing it in butter and sugar and a touch of vanilla, allowing the true essence of the apple to be revealed in the most delicious way.”

Pam’s chin dropped, and she seemed to loose her footing, almost swooning until Ted grabbed her by the waist. “That sounds wonderful,” she said with a sigh.

“It’s just an apple tart,” snapped Ted.

“Not just an apple tart,” said Chef Larry. “Believe me, your palate will be amazed!”

It was well after one o’clock when the tarts finished baking and were turned out to cool. The aroma was heavenly, and the tarts themselves were beautiful, topped with glistening caramelized globes of apple.

“Tomorrow we will eat!” declared Chef Larry, dismissing the rather disappointed students.

“What now?” asked Lucy as they all made their way down the stairs.

“I vote for lunch at a café,” suggested Rachel. “There’s one across the street.”

Lucy followed her pointing finger and noticed a man lurking in a doorway opposite the patisserie. He was wearing a leather jacket, and she thought he looked a lot like the guy with the unibrow who had attacked Chef Larry in the market, but she couldn’t be sure, because of the distance.

“There’s always a café across the street,” cracked Sue, pulling a Zagat guide out of her purse. “The question is whether it’s any good.”

“We’re in Paris. They’re all good,” said Ted.

“That’s not necessarily true,” said Sue. “There’s quite a lot of second-rate tourist food around. We shouldn’t go anywhere that has menus printed in English, German, and Chinese.”

“We don’t need to be too picky,” said Bob. “I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse.”

“That could probably be arranged,” said Sid with a wry grin.

“Let’s try Les Deux Magots. I read about it in a travel magazine,” suggested Pam. “It’s famous.”

“Nobody goes there anymore,” said Sue, brushing off Pam’s suggestion.

Pam’s face reddened at the put-down. “It was just an idea. . . .”

“The Flore will be crowded,” said Sid, who was reading over Sue’s shoulder.

Lucy didn’t like the way things were trending. As a mother of four, she’d refereed plenty of squabbles, and that wasn’t the way she wanted to spend her vacation. She tapped Bill on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, “I’m too tired for this. Let’s go.”

He nodded in agreement. “I think Lucy and I will head over to the Left Bank,” he said. “I read that Hemingway used to shoot pigeons for his dinner in the Luxembourg Park.”