Biarritz Passion: A French Summer Novel (16 page)

Ho ho, thought Caroline. Do we detect a
soupçon
of the old green-eyed monster here? Hadn’t Edward said that Claudette had had a crush on Julian when she was young?

Since the weekend at Willowdale, Caroline had felt much more at ease with her future brother-in
-law. At the back of her mind, though, a voice cautioned her to steer clear of the subject of Julian’s move to Frankfurt, and the state of his relationship with Annabel. Similarly she felt a curious reluctance to mention Edward’s name. It was three weeks since they had met at the Delorme’s, and since that time her feelings had veered between erotic shivers every time she thought of the holiday followed by sick apprehension. She was unusually distracted, unable to concentrate on her work, mind wandering.

Walking
into the office on the Monday morning after her London trip, she caused a minor sensation. In a spirit of ‘sod you’ she’d thrown the Air Hostess uniform into a bag for the charity shop and worn one of her new skirts, a tight-fitting top and high heels. As she marched in on a cloud of Chanel even George had mumbled something about ‘looking different, suits you’ before lapsing back into his usual taciturnity. Jen
had been lavish with compliments, Sheryl stunned into respectful silence. Hah! And twice, walking down the road to the cafe where she ate lunch, Caroline had been whistled at by workmen on a nearby building site, and found herself preening instead of dismissing their reaction as a piece of typical macho chauvinism.

The
erotic thrills kicked in again as they passed a sign saying ‘Biarritz Centre’. Things were coming to a head, that’s what it felt like. Whatever had been set in motion between her and Edward was now gathering speed. The holiday loomed, full of ambivalence. Two weeks in a foreign country, everything different, the sights, the smells, the language. Two weeks by the sea, a villa with scarlet geraniums, long afternoons on the beach, turning golden in the sun. Evening strolls along the seafront. Aperitifs on a café terrace, blue eyes gazing into hers.

‘Not long now,’ said Julian cutting into her reverie. ‘Claudette is preparing one of her delicious dinners especially for your arrival. Hope you’re feeling hungry.’

Caroline’s stomach rumbled in answer.

‘Oh look!’

The exclamation b
urst from her lips as they crested a hill and saw the town spread out before them, and the immense ocean beyond, shimmering emerald in the evening sun.

‘It’s beautiful!’

Julian smiled and patted her knee.

‘
Ze sun, just for you.’

They pulled up in front of a large double gate where flowers and leaves intertwined in an intricate pattern of black metalwork. The house was set back from the road, near the top of a hill.

‘Hang on,’ said Julian, climbing out of the car to push back the gates. Caroline could see a gravel driveway disappearing among waxy-leaved shrubs and umbrella pines. Beyond the treetops she glimpsed a grey slate roof and a gable window. Then someone was jogging towards them, waving and shouting out a greeting.

‘Jean-Paul, let me introduce Caroline.’

Julian took the arm of a lean wiry young man in a tracksuit, his face split by a dazzling smile.

‘
Enchanté,
delighted to meet you Caroline.’

He pronounced her name in the French manner, Car-o-leen, lingering over the last syllable.
He bent over the car door giving her a kiss on both cheeks.

‘Stay in the car
, I’ll close the gates Julian.’

Julian
got back into the driver’s seat and proceeded along the twisting driveway. Behind them Caroline heard the gates clang shut. They rolled to a stop beneath the shady branches of a linden tree, alongside a couple of other cars, both with French number plates. Julian was getting things out of the boot as Jean-Paul re-appeared.

‘Let me give you a hand with those. Welcome to the Villa Julia
, Caroline.’

He indicated
the name above the door, picked out in decorative tiles. Above it was the word ‘Etcheverria’.

Seeing Caroline’s look
, he explained.

‘My great
-grandmother was Julia. But the family name, for maybe about—’ he gave an innocent shrug ‘—ten centuries? Is Etcheverria. That means ‘new house’ in Basque. This house is quite modern. My great grandfather built it in 1899. He was a ‘
nouveau riche’
, a railway millionaire.’

His English was fluent and idiomatic but his accent unmistakeably French
. And charming. Aunt Margaret would have approved. She followed him round the side of the villa and stopped short with a gasp.

The south facade of the house rose three stories high dominating a paved terrace where
pots of geraniums caught the full blaze of the late afternoon sun. Steps led down towards a swimming pool, shaped like a Moorish arch and set with dark blue ceramic tiles which wavered under the surface. Sun loungers and plants were scattered on the surrounding tiles. Beyond the pool stretched a beautifully-kept lawn encircled with trees and bushes. At the bottom of the garden was the
‘parc’
, a wilder area where flowers bloomed and an ancient cedar spread its graceful branches down to the uncut grass. Beyond, more trees, glimpses of rooftops, and then, a sparkling green-blue expanse, the sea.

‘Do you like it?’ Jean-Paul’s voice was warm with pride. ‘Great
-grandfather had good taste, no? It was the
belle époque,
the end of the 19th century. Biarritz was full of English people then. The rich, the aristocracy. Your queen, Victoria, used to come here, look, the hotel where she stayed is below the cliff,
Le Grand Palais
. You can just make it out.’

Caroline nodded, rooted to the spot, taking in the view.

Jean-Paul grinned at the expression on her face.

‘
Merveilleux, non
?’

He led them down the steps towards the pool. Over the back of a sun-lounger, a tanned arm rose into the air like a snake. Fingers wiggled. An attractive long-legged girl in
shorts rose to meet them. Caroline immediately recognised Claudette from the photos that Edward had shown her.

‘Ah I was having
a so beautiful siesta. You should all come and join me.
Bonjour
Caroline, it is so nice to meet you at last.’

Claudette leaned forward to kiss her on both cheeks.

‘See, you have brought the good weather!’

Claudette’s English was not as good as her brother’s. She articulated each word separately paying attention to her pronunciation.

‘Claudette, I’ve heard a lot about you. Yes, Julian has been telling me you’ve had a terrible week.’

‘It has been awful. Really awful.’ She pronounced the word ‘ow-ful’. ‘But
, as you can see, the sun is here! Now I am sure you would like something to refresh you after your trip?’

Claudette turned to her brother.

‘I will take Caroline to her room and you and Julian can make us a magnificent cocktail and we can all watch the sunset!’

She gave Jean-Paul a little pat on the arm and led Caroline back towards the house.

‘I’ll bring your things,’ said Julian. Turning away, Caroline heard him ask:

‘Others not back yet?’

‘Not yet. But don’t worry, you know Edward, he will be back in time for dinner. Now I go and start the aperitif, you join me in a minute, Julian?’

He headed for a door leading off the hall while the others started up a wide wooden staircase with a curving iron balustrade.

‘Your room is at the third floor,’ said Claudette over her shoulder ‘I hope you don’t mind the stairs?’

‘Not at all. The exercise will do me good.’

‘Voila!’

Julian put the cases down on a
wide landing with creaky floorboards.

‘Right, better go and give JP a hand.’

He clattered off downstairs while Claudette opened a door and stood back to let Caroline pass. Polished parquet, the colour of honey, stretched to a window looking out over the shady garden at the rear of the house. The walls were panelled in white, and gauzy curtains fluttered in the breeze.

‘It’s lovely,’ breathed Caroline. She walked across to the bed and ran her fingers over the cream coloured spread. ‘
This is most unusual, what beautiful quilting.’

‘
Thank you Caroline. It is called a
boutis.
Our great-grandmother,
ouf
, that is hard to pronounce, made this. She comes from Provence and these are the traditional
‘couettes’,
how do you say? Ah yes, thank you, quilts. Embroidered quilts. She’s making a lot of different patterns, but I think this one is nice.’

‘It’s beautiful. I do a lot of needlework myself but this must have taken ages. All the flowers, the leaves, and look at those fruit, it’s a work of art.’

‘I’m so happy you like it.’ Claudette was smiling from ear to ear. ‘Some people think they are old-fashioned, but we in the family have known them always, it’s part of the memories of Julia.’

‘It goes perfectly with the bed,’ said Caroline, admiring the gleaming brass bed head, ‘and everything else,’ she added, turning to look at the rest of the room, each item of furniture lovingly chosen and obviously in the family for years.
A picture caught her eye. A Matisse print, she recognised the style but hadn’t seen the painting before.

‘Le rêve,’
said Claudette. ‘The Dream. She looks like she is dreaming of paradise, no?’

A woman face down, her head resting on her folded arms.

‘It’s beautiful. So simple and yet so evocative.’

‘We like the same things. That’s nice. Now the
bathroom, in here. A bit small but a pretty view.’

Claudette opened a door leading to a room off the bedroom, with a sloping roof and a sky light looking directly into the branches of a pine tree. ‘You will probably see the squirrels in the morning. They are quite
, what’s the word? Cheeking? Maybe you would like a shower before you come down?’

Hot and sticky after the day’s travelling Caroline smiled gratefully.

‘I’d love one. Are you sure I won’t be holding things up?’

‘
Bien sûr que non
! The others are certain to be late, if I know your sister!’

‘Ah.’

Claudette was smiling enigmatically.

‘Oh dear.
Annabel and her notion of time. I see things haven’t changed, just because she’s a guest.’ Caroline pulled a face.

‘Oh you know it’s not important, we are all on holidays, no timetables. You have a nice shower Caroline, I just leave your things over here.’

‘That’s lovely, thanks Claudette, I’ll be down in ten minutes.’

‘No hurry,’

Claudette gave a languid wave.

‘And by the way, my friends call me Claudie. I think we become good friends, no?’

She blew a kiss at Caroline as she closed the door.

Left on her own, Caroline slipped off her clothes, grubby and creased after the journey. She opened her case and laid out her things on the bed. Did they change for dinner? Or was it all shorts and jeans? She finally decided on something in-between, a mid-length skirt in pale green and white silk chiffon, close to the hips but with a swirl at the hem. It would look good with the white halter-neck top. She shook out the skirt carefully, saying a silent prayer of thanks to Yvette, who had advised her to buy non-crease fabrics, ‘especially these jersey fabrics, they look so natural my dear it’s wonderful what the designers come up with nowadays.’

Under the shower she raised her face to the cool water. Impressions so far...the villa was breathtaking, much more sumptuous than it appeared in the photos.
And there was something about the feel of the place she loved instantly—good vibrations. If the weather was finally set fair it would be heaven just to sit around the pool and gaze at the view for the entire two weeks. Julian had been sweet on the ride, chatting away in a relaxed manner, all signs of his previous reserve melted away into an easy camaraderie. As for the twins, she had taken an immediately liking to both of them. They were laid back but welcoming at the same time and she had felt no awkwardness on her arrival, the ‘outsider’ so to speak. Especially Claudette, or Claudie. The two of them had formed an instant bond.

As if drawn by a magnet, her thoughts slid towards Edward and Annabel, the two absentees. So they had gone to Bayonne for the day. Just the two of them. The idea bothered her, even as she told herself not to be silly
and old-fashioned. They were all on holiday, why on earth shouldn’t they go off together? And as Julian had said, Edward knew the area like the back of his hand. It made sense for him to take Annabel while Julian picked up Caroline. From what she’d gathered so far it was all very casual and easy going here. No timetables, no rules, no frills and
froufrous
. Jean-Paul went off to do his sport, Claudie liked to spend her time inventing new recipes. They got together when they felt like it and did their own thing when they didn’t. Wonderful. Banish that judgemental attitude she told herself sternly, otherwise she would ruin the holiday for everyone. Miss MacDonald was
en vacances
.

And, she
admonished herself as she went back into the bedroom, this was the perfect opportunity to do some bridge-building with her sister. There had been times when Annabel had behaved so badly that Caroline had never wanted to see her again. ‘That’s it, finished,’ she’d vowed, furious at seeing how callously her sister had hurt someone, Margaret, Birdie, herself. Then, when she’d had time to calm down, she’d find herself missing the closeness they had once shared, the long intimate talks when they were younger, when Annabel would fling herself onto Caroline’s bed and pour out her woes to her big sister. Maybe here, in the relaxed ambience of the Villa Julia, they could talk things over, smooth out the knots, get back some of that earlier intimacy.

Her thoughts returned, as they had done constantly over the last couple of weeks,
to Edward.

Th
at first meeting. Half asleep in the chair, alone, relaxed, defences down. He had walked out of the wood and into her sanctuary. She could still remember how it had felt as he stood over her, there had been a sort of glow about him. The tree had enclosed them both in its green shade and for a few seconds everything had stopped, the movement of the air, the birdsong, like being suspended in the eye of a hurricane. When she managed to get to her feet her first instinct had been to step back, to escape. Yet something kept her there. And the moment he touched her...the memory still brought shivers. She had been so mixed up that weekend, so vulnerable. Whatever had gone on between her and Edward was complicated by what was going on between her and Annabel, her feeling of being used and manipulated.

And then there was the evening in London. Once again that fatal
attraction, that
magnetism, and once again the image of her sister intruding on the rush of emotion. She couldn’t quite rid herself of a reticence, mistrust even, which affected her response to him. It was as though something was going on in the background, another drama being played out behind the scenes. Nothing she could see and hear, just something in the air.

And in any case
, the thought had struck her several times, what did she actually know about him beyond a few basic facts? She’d only met him twice. He had appeared to be attracted to her, but what did that mean? For all she knew he had a string of mistresses in Toulouse. Maybe even an ex-wife. Maybe even a not-so-ex-wife, God forbid. And even if there was something else, some deeper current pulling them towards each other, was that what she really wanted?

It had only been a year since
the break up with Liam. A year in which she had learnt some painful lessons. Attraction, desire, love. All emotions that could strip you raw, leave you exposed, change you, make you doubt yourself. At least, that had been her experience. Did she really want to step back into that terrible dance once again?

Recently, the thought had crept in
to her mind that she might one day meet someone else. Someone mature, gentle, with whom she might find some measure of happiness. An older man perhaps. ‘Looking for mature man, good sense of humour, for outings together’. Those were the ads she lingered over when she read the Sunday papers. An easy, uncomplicated, affectionate relationship. Companionship. Strolling hand in hand through the countryside. Visits to the theatre. Watching old movies on TV.

Now there was an image. She and Edward sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea watching ‘Gone with the Wind’. ‘Pass the digestive biscuits would you darling?’ ‘Of course dear. Do you fancy another cuppa?’ Edward Rayburn, handsome, confident, successful. Athlete, extrovert, charmer of women. Why on earth would a man like that want to sit on a sofa and drink tea with someone like her?

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Caroline MacDonald, she told herself,
switch off your brain. Stop analysing. Stop fussing. You are on holiday. Stop hunching your shoulders. Think prima ballerina. Actually, you look quite nice. You look different. You are An Other. Go and have that drink.

Emerging on to the terrace a second time was like stepping into an Impressionist painting. She slipped on her sunglasses and gazed at the red orb on its
path towards the horizon. The darkening sea was flushed with pink, the pines silhouetted against the tender blue of the evening sky.

‘Caro! Come and join us!’

She moved across to the group sitting at the end of the terrace, chairs turned to face the setting sun. Julian, Jean-Paul and Claudie. Jean-Paul was holding out a glass. Its sides were beaded with moisture, and oranges and raspberries floated among the bubbles.

‘
Merci beaucoup
Jean-Paul. It looks…
merveilleux
!’

‘Aha!
’ A gleam of appreciation lit up the smile in his eyes.

‘Here’s to Jean-Paul,
le roi des cocktails
!’ Julian raised his glass in an appreciative salute. ‘Our hosts, the King of Cocktails and his beautiful twin Claudette, the Queen of, erm, the erm, Vegetables!’

Claudette groaned as they all laughed.

‘Julian. You know how to compliment a woman. Now I begin to understand your fiancée, why she is so often grumbling.’

Julian protested hotly
.

‘Not at all!
I was thinking of Nigella, Domestic Goddess. Now there’s a woman for you.’

‘Nigella?’ asked Jean-Paul.

‘Ah Nigella Lawson, yes, we have her programme in France now,’ said Claudette. ‘OK Julian, I forgive you. She is a very sexy lady. Jean-Paul, why you don’t watch her programme? Maybe you learn to cook at the same time.’

‘That reminds me,’ said Caroline ‘you must tell me about the arrangements
, who does the cooking cleaning and so on. How much to put in the food kitty. Is there anything you would like me to do for this evening?’

She was already putting down her glass. Julian patted her head, grinning.

‘Ah Caroline, Caroline. Ignore her,’ he told the others. ‘She’s always like this, jumping up to do all the work. If she had her way we would spend our time lying on the terrace while she waited on us hand and foot.’

‘I like that idea,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘No but seriously Caroline, we are in France here, we French believe in the Republic. Liberty Equality Fraternity. We are all equal.
I am talking about the men of course. Claudette, I am warning you. If you throw that cushion at my head I shall be obliged to drop you in the pool.’

Claudie
contented herself with a curl of the lip.

‘No really, it’s very cool
here. Very, how do you say it, chilled out. We have our routine. Madame Martin our housekeeper has been with our family for twenty, maybe a hundred years?’

Caroline smiled.

‘Maybe since the villa was built, in 1899?’

‘Ah!’ The gleam of admiration was back in Jean-Paul’s eyes.

‘Good, Caroline, good. You are getting the rules fast, maybe thinking to beat me at my game? I warn you I am very competitive. So, Madame Martin, that venerable lady, is The Chief. She arrives in the morning to do some cleaning, tell everybody her opinions on the government, tell Claudie she is too thin, tell me I am too untidy, I must pick up the towels in the bathroom. While she is giving her orders she makes a cold lunch, usually a salad, and gives us a list of shopping to do for the next day. In the evening, we decide to cook together if we feel like it, or go out to eat if not.’

‘And luckily for us,’ said Julian ‘Claudette did feel like cooking tonight. A special meal for our latest arrival, and when I say special, Caroline, believe me, I am not exaggerating.’

‘I did smell something delicious as I came down. That’s so nice of you Claudette. Claudie. But you must let me help.’

‘Tomorrow,’ said Claudette, rising gracefully from her chair. ‘But tonight, all is ready. I just go to take a quick shower and change. Caroline you look so pretty. A French girl must not be beaten.’

She winked and disappeared indoors. Caroline lay back against the cushions savouring a feeling of relaxed wellbeing. She trailed her fingers across the smooth stone of the terrace, eyes half-closed.

‘Oh my God!’

Suddenly she sprang upright, almost spilling her drink.

The others half rose in alarm then began to laugh.

‘Ah, I see you have met Figaro.’

‘I thought it was a snake!’

Goosebumps had risen on her arms at the contact with the unexpected slithery presence that had brushed against her hand.

‘Figaro is no snake. A little pig, perhaps, a small bear.’

The creature in question, a black and white cat, must have weighed a good 12 pounds. He strolled innocently to a place on the terrace where the sun had warmed the flagstones and flung himself down, a picture of exhaustion.

‘Figaro you devil. See what you have done to Caroline? She nearly had a heart attack.’

Figaro emitted a loud purr and slitted his green eyes against the sun.

‘He looks just like Zorro,’ said Caroline, laughing.

‘Well he’s got the mask of Zorro,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘But the stomach of Sergeant Garcia.’

Figaro rolled on to his back and obligingly gave them a view of his vast white paunch.

‘I think he is trying to tell us something,’ said Julian. ‘Probably related to food. And, talking about food, where on earth have Annabel and Edward got to?’

‘Ah,’ said Jean-Paul with a wink at Caroline ‘Maybe my wicked handsome cousin has run away with your girlfriend
, Julian. Think of the scandal! But there are many beautiful girls in Biarritz to console you, not to mention Caroline, here of course.’

Caroline struck a pose with her drink. She was
quickly getting the hang of Jean-Paul. She liked him. Teasing was his default mode.

‘This is heaven,’ she sighed, settling back against the cushions once more. ‘And so is this drink, Jean-Paul.
Félicitations
!’

‘A hint!’ Jean-Paul sprang to his feet reaching for her glass.

‘Oh no I didn’t mean it like that! Now I’m embarrassed. No really I won’t have another, thanks. You know I was up early this morning, I don’t want to fall asleep before we have dinner.’

‘You don’t like my drink.’

‘Resign yourself Caroline, resign yourself,’ said Julian.

Caroline resigned herself.

‘Just a small one. Thanks.’

‘And a large one for me please,’ said Julian. He turned to Caroline. ‘Don’t you think
—’

He broke off suddenly and listened. Figaro had rolled over and turned his head in the direction of the drive. They heard the sound of a car engine, the distant clang of the gate.

‘Here they are!’

Caroline averted her eyes from the look of relief and delight that
spread across Julian’s face. She felt her stomach begin its pancake flips as she got up and followed the others round the side of the house.