Hot Basque: A French Summer Novel 2 (12 page)

‘This is Antoine, by the way. If he picks up that chair, you can have a seat. Antoine,
voici
Jill.’

‘Ah you girls, you Engleesh girls.’ Antoine’s face was a picture as he stared down into Jill’s green eyes.

Jill, having made it to the table, had regained her composure. She smiled up at Tarzan, full of sweetness, showing her dimples.

‘Delighted to meet you Antoine,
enchanté
as you say. If you call me English again though I’ll have to punch your bloody nose. Can you translate that Edward?’

Edward gave a roar.

Poor Antoine looked mortified as Caroline explained that Jill was Irish, even though she’d lived in England for most of her life. Well all of her life actually. But she was an O’Toole.

‘Oh, sorry, sorry,
desolé,
Miss Jill.’ Antoine nodded his head vigorously. ‘I understand, Engleesh is an insult. Like when people say to me ‘you French’, I punch their nose, too. Me Basque. ’

‘Me Jill. Oh, I think we’re going to like each other,
vous et moi
,’ said Jill, taking his hand and sitting down in the chair he was holding out for her.

Edward turned to Caroline, murmured in her ear:

‘So, matchmaker, satisfied with the opening scene? Even though we’ve both been cast in the role of perfidious English.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Caroline hissed. ‘Don’t forget I’m a MacDonald!’

‘Right. How often have you been to bonny Scotland? Twice? Anyway, I’m half-Basque. Oh boy, just look at the two of them. Would they notice if we slipped away, do you think?’

Caroline grinned and snuggled up to her man.

The evening was off to a very good start.

The following morning brought the post. A letter had been forwarded from Toulouse, addressed to Caroline. The colour left her cheeks as she saw the envelope.

‘Edward!’

He came rushing into the hall at her cry.

‘What’s the matter, what’s happened sweetheart?

She held out the letter, hands trembling.

‘Ah. You going to open it?’

She shook her head.

‘You want me to open it?’

She nodded.

Edward’s face was calm and confident, but his heart rate accelerated as he pulled back the flap. He knew that it would be an enormous blow to Caroline if she’d failed her exams. Of course she could always re-sit, start again for another year. She’d pull herself together. But it would just be so–

‘You’ve passed! You’ve passed my darling! Come here, come to your man, you are the most brilliant, smart, intelligent, beautiful woman in the whole of England! And France!’

He picked up Caroline and spun her madly round the hall shouting ‘she’s passed!’

Madame Martin came hurrying in from the garden where she was cutting a lettuce. Jill’s head appeared over the banisters in a cloud of red curls. She gave a whoop. Madame Martin, looking stern, was ordering Edward to put down ‘
la
pauvre Mademoiselle Caroline’
before she got dizzy, but her eyes were shining and a smile got the better of the frowns.

‘I can’t believe it,’ said Caroline, when she finally got her breath back. ‘I haven’t been so relieved since I passed my driving test! I, Caroline MacDonald, am now a fully-qualified teacher of English as a Foreign Language!’

She turned to Madame Martin, clasped her hand.

‘I’ll probably faint as soon as I step into a real classroom with real French students.’

‘
Pouf.
You will subjugate them with one look.’

Madame Martin, like Birdie, belonged to the ‘Caroline can do anything she puts her mind to’ school. The smile had turned to a beam.

‘Would you like me to make something special for lunch? Go to the market, get a nice tender piece of fillet?’

‘Thank you Madame Martin, you’re a star. But I think this calls for something
really
special.’ Edward had a gleam in his eye. ‘Maybe ‘special’ like lunch at the
Grand Palais
? How does that sound, Prof?’

Caroline shrieked, stood on tiptoe and gave him a kiss. Madame Martin gave a smile of approval. Jill, who had got as far the bottom of the stairs, gave another whoop.

‘The
Grand Palais
? Is that the pink thingy on the cliff with the fifty-foot gates? Will we get in? Do you have to bribe the chef? How much time have we got? Caro, what are you going to wear?’ She clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Oops, sorry, I just assumed I was coming too, obviously you’ll want to be on your own the two of you!’

Jill was looking very enticing in a pair of shortie pyjamas with a skimpy top. Her hair was a mass of rumpled curls, her jade eyes shone, and she had the kind of bosom, thought Edward, that could have graced the prow of a 19
th
century galleon. Antoine was a lucky boy. And so was he. His beauty had started to pick up a light apricot tan and the striking contrast of her blonde hair and dark Spanish eyes always made his heart give a lurch. Especially when she looked up at him from under the long sweep of her lashes as she was doing right now.

‘Rubbish, of course you’re invited. And Madame Martin as well.’

Madame Martin threw up her hands in horror.

‘
Non non non, merci, mon petit Edouard
. Pierre will be waiting at home for his lunch.’

‘You’re sure? In that case, I’d better give them a ring straight away. Think I’ll be able to wangle us a table. If not, there’s always McDonalds, three double cheeseburgers, come to think of it that would be quite appropriate, MacDonald. No? OK, one o’clock suit you both?’

He watched them rush upstairs like a pair of excited teenagers. Jill was going on about a Berber tent and a chain.

After phoning the restaurant, he strolled out on to the terrace, flung out his arms and gave a huge stretch.

It was another perfect day. He’d been supposed to meet up with Antoine for some surfing at the
Côte des Basques
this morning, but they had both decided against it as Antoine was leaving last night. It had been late, and they’d been pretty hammered. He grinned.

Antoine had been knocked for a six by Jill. Bowled off his feet. He’d offered to take her out for a drive to show her some pretty villages in his
‘pays’
. Jill had said she’d love to see his
‘pays’
, and leaned a bit closer, chin cupped in one hand,
décolleté
slipping off one shoulder in front of Antoine’s mesmerised gaze.

It had been a crazy evening. He and Caroline had become progressively lost for words listening to Jill and Antoine talk non-stop. The pair, undaunted by linguistic difficulties, had quickly invented a sort of dire Esperanto, a mixture of English, French, Basque, Spanish and Gaelic. Whenever one or the other searched for a word, they simply threw in something in their native language with an extra syllable.

Madame Martin’s paella had been a huge success. Antoine had promised Jill he would cook for her at the family restaurant, something even better, something so
especial
and
magnifique
that she would
tomber
on ze floor when she tasted it.

‘M
arvelloso
,’ said Jill, raising her glass. ‘
Sláinte
,
Antoine!’

‘
Plancha
?’ said Antoine, causing Caroline to clutch Edward, sobbing silently. ‘You know
plancha
, Jill?
Gambas à la plancha
, you like these fish?’

Edward managed to get the words out.

‘Not
plancha
, old mate,
sláinte
, that’s just the way it’s pronounced, ‘slancha’ it’s the Gaelic for ‘cheers!’’

‘Ah! Good! Cheers! Splancha!’

So then, inevitably, they had run through all the ways to say ‘cheers’ in different languages.

Santé!

Topa!

Salute!

Prost!

By the time they reached Russia the bottle was empty.

The Basque-Irish bonding deepened when Jill and Antoine discovered they were both from big families.

‘Me,’ said Antoine, tapping his chest, ‘I have four brothers, sisters. You ‘ow many you ‘ave?’

Jill smirked

‘Five. Five brothers.
Cinq
.’

‘
Cinq
? Without you? So you are six, total?’

Jill nodded.

‘Six. I’m the youngest. Mum and Dad were really only waiting for me.’

Antoine threw out his arms.

‘I understand why they wait. Me too, I think I wait for you all my life.’

‘Oh get away with you!’

‘You want me to get away? Why? It is true, Jill, all women are nothing for me now I meet you.’

‘
Tu es un gigolo
, a real gigolo!
Moi aussi
. I’ve been waiting. For the perfect man.
Le perfecto homme
.’

‘Oh God, I can’t listen to any more of this.’ Edward groaned, put his head in his hands. ‘What was that film? With Bill Murray?’

Caroline leaned on Edward’s shoulder.

‘Lost. ‘Lost in Translation’. I think we need music, loud music.’

‘Good idea, my sweet.’

He sprang up and disappeared indoors.

Within minutes the opening bars of ‘Good Golly Miss Molly’ belted out of the open windows. Jill screamed as Antoine swung her into an energetic rock and roll which ended with Antoine throwing her over his shoulder and ‘showing me best new undies, see-through, to the whole of Biarritz’ as she said to Caroline when he put her down.

Hearing David Bowie start with ‘Sorrow’, Caroline covered her face with her hands and moaned.

Edward was strutting in front of her, doing his star turn.

‘
With your long blonde hair and your eyes of blue

The only thing I ever got from you

Was sorrow, sorrrooow!’

‘Jesus, I thought I was tone-deaf!’

Jill’s face wore a look of admiration mingled with horror. Antoine was whistling and clapping.

Edward finished with his usual show off finale leaping on to the grass and sliding to his knees, arms thrown out.

‘He’ll never get the grass stains out of those trousers,’ said Jill, shaking her head solemnly with the conviction of one who has had a glass too many.

Caroline persuaded her beloved they really didn’t need to hear his version of ‘Sweet Caroline’ and wouldn’t it perhaps be better if they turned the volume down a bit for the neighbours and put on something soft and slow?

The four of them had danced under the stars till 2 am.

Yes, it had been a fun evening. Edward looked out to sea, grinning. Thinking back on it, he took out his phone, made a couple more calls, then disconnected, satisfied. There would now be four of them for lunch.

He headed back into the house, and his grandfather’s library where his laptop sat on the ancient cherrywood
desk. It was his favourite room in the house, had been since he was a kid and Grandfather was still alive. The old man used to let him curl up in a chair and read while he wrote his memoirs. Lofty bookcases with glass doors rose to the coffered ceiling. Comfortable chairs stood on the flat-woven Aubusson carpet with its large central medallion and exuberant garlands of flowers. The colours had long since faded to a muted rose and cream, now crossed by bright stripes of sunlight filtering through the venetian blinds. The room had its own special smell, old leather, parchment, and the embers of dead fires. It was a room to feel at ease in.

Just time to check his messages while the womenfolk put on their finery. He loved it when Caroline got dressed up. Or down. Any way at all, really.

He logged on to his e-mail, wondering if there was anything from Julian. They were due to arrive tomorrow afternoon, the three of them. Madame Martin with her usual magic had turned up yesterday morning with her son François and they had produced a cot from the back of the car which François had assembled in the room that would be for baby Joshua. They’d put Julian in the one next door, and the nanny across the landing. They would all be on the first floor, convenient for the kitchen and nocturnal bottle heating. Edward and Caroline were in Edward’s old room, one floor higher.

Edward was going to pick them up at the airport. Jill was going to visit the
pays basque
with Antoine. Caroline would doubtless be locked in the kitchen, making treats for everyone, especially Julian, she had said the other day that she was sure he’d not been eating properly. She’d spent ages fussing in the ‘nursery’, banishing germs with antiseptic spray, hanging mobiles of birds and butterflies over his cot, ‘aren’t they sweet darling?’ She’d also bought a couple of baby sleeping bags ‘just in case,’ plus a plastic boat, a whale and two ducks ‘for his little bath’.

‘Having a whale of a time?’ Edward had asked, but she was so completely in the zone she didn’t even notice his awful pun.

‘And look, I know it’s crazy really, but isn’t it the height of baby-cute?’

Edward gazed mystified at the object she was waving in front of his nose.

‘It’s an all-in-one dress up outfit! With a dinner jacket and a bowtie on the front! Won’t he be a stunner when we take him out?’

She’d been even more excited when Julie rang, telling them to look in the attic, there were probably a couple of things up there that might come in handy. Caroline had plunged into boxes and lifted dust sheets and they had found a high chair, very 1970s retro, which would look fine after a wash and polish.

‘Oh, look at this Edward!’

He’d just been on the point of hauling the chair downstairs and getting out the scrubbing brush when she called out from behind an ancient Chinese screen.

‘Oh wow. A Proustian moment. It’s all coming back.’

Edward was grinning as he lifted the rocking horse into the middle of the floor and brushed the dust from its mane.

‘I used to rock the twins on this. Then Antony. I was the official horse-rocker.’

‘He’ll be much too tiny to ride it, but maybe we could put it in a corner of his room, just for company?’

Edward had laughed and pulled Caroline into a hug.

***

Caroline and Jill were in Jill’s room, a pile of clothes on the unmade bed, Jill still in her pyjamas and Caroline in bra and panties.

‘I‘m not sure how formally people will be dressed, Eddie and I have never been there at lunch time. And we’ll probably be eating outside, so there may be people in beachwear–posh beachwear,’ she said, seeing the look of shock on Jill’s face. ‘Designer caftans costing five thousand euros, that sort of stuff. With small dog and large handbag accessories. It may be June, it may be the seaside, but it’s still Michelin.’