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Back The Lollipop Shoes
Chapters (96)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Book
  3. The Lollipop Shoes
  4. Dedication
  5. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  6. PART ONE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. PART TWO
  13. 1
  14. 2
  15. 3
  16. 4
  17. 5
  18. 6
  19. 7
  20. 8
  21. PART THREE
  22. 1
  23. 2
  24. 3
  25. 4
  26. 5
  27. 6
  28. PART FOUR
  29. 1
  30. 2
  31. 3
  32. 4
  33. 5
  34. 6
  35. 7
  36. 8
  37. 9
  38. PART FIVE
  39. 1
  40. 2
  41. 3
  42. 4
  43. 5
  44. 6
  45. 7
  46. 8
  47. 9
  48. 10
  49. 11
  50. 12
  51. PART SIX
  52. 1
  53. 2
  54. 3
  55. 4
  56. 5
  57. 6
  58. 7
  59. 8
  60. 9
  61. 10
  62. 11
  63. 12
  64. PART SEVEN
  65. 1
  66. 2
  67. 3
  68. 4
  69. 5
  70. 6
  71. 7
  72. 8
  73. 9
  74. PART EIGHT
  75. 1
  76. 2
  77. 3
  78. 4
  79. 5
  80. 6
  81. 7
  82. 8
  83. 9
  84. 10
  85. 11
  86. 12
  87. 13
  88. 14
  89. 15
  90. 16
  91. 17
  92. 18
  93. 19
  94. Epilogue
  95. About the Author
  96. Also by Joanne Harris

The gunpowder scent of chocolate arose from the little dish of mendiants, smelling of summer and lost time. He had tasted of chocolate when I first kissed him; and the scent of damp grass had come from the ground where we had lain side-by-side; and his touch had been unexpectedly soft, and his hair like summer marigolds in the dying light—

Zozie was still holding out the dish of mendiants. It’s made of blue Murano glass, with a little gold flower on the side. It’s only a bauble, and yet I’m fond of it. Roux gave it to me in Lansquenet, and I have carried it with me ever since, in my luggage, in my pockets, like a touchstone.

I looked up and saw Zozie looking at me. Her eyes were a distant, fairytale blue, like something you might see in dreams.

‘You won’t tell anyone?’ I said.

‘Of course not.’ She picked up a chocolate between delicate fingers and held it out for me to take. Rich, dark chocolate, rum-soaked raisins, vanilla, rose and cinnamon . . .

‘Try one, Vianne,’ she said with a smile. ‘I happen to know they’re your favourites.’

4

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Monday, 3rd December

A GOOD DAY’S work, if I say so myself. So much of my work here is a juggling act; a series of balls and blades and flaming torches to be kept in the air for as long as it takes—

It took some time to be sure of Roux. He’s sharp enough to cut, that one, and needs careful handling, and it was all I could do to make him stay. But I managed to hold him on Saturday night, and with the help of a few encouraging words, I’ve managed to keep him in check so far.

It wasn’t easy, I have to say. His first impulse was to head straight back to where he’d come from, never to be seen again. I didn’t need to look at his colours to know; I could see it in his face as he marched down the Butte with his hair in his eyes and his hands stuck fiercely into his pockets. Thierry was following him too, and I was forced to clear the way with a little cantrip to make him slip, and in the seconds that he was delayed, caught up with Roux and took his arm.

‘Roux,’ I told him. ‘You can’t just leave. There are things you don’t know about all of this.’

He shook off my arm without slowing down. ‘What makes you think I want to know?’

‘Because you’re in love with her,’ I said.

Roux just shrugged and kept on walking.

‘And because she’s having second thoughts, but she doesn’t know how to tell Thierry.’