Biarritz Passion: A French Summer Novel

by Laurette Long

  ‘He was at Cambridge with Julian,’ said Annabel.

  Julian nodded.

  ‘Different subjects, but we rowed in the same team.’

  ‘Rowed?’ asked Birdie.

  ‘They were both selected to row against Oxford in the Boat Race.’

  Annabel had a smug little smile on her face.

  ‘Good heavens! How exciting!’

  Julian laughed.

  ‘It would have been more exciting if we’d won, Miss Bird. Afraid Oxford beat us, as usual.’

  ‘Well I think it’s simply marvellous, even if you did come second,’ said Birdie. ‘Just think, Margaret, we probably saw it on television.’

  ‘And do you still row, Julian?’ asked Margaret.

  ‘I’m afraid not. Never seem to get the time these days.’

  ‘Well of course you have such a responsible position. What about your friend Edward? Does he work in the City too?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Annabel. ‘He works in France, doesn’t he darling? He builds aeroplanes. In Toulon.’

  ‘Toulouse darling,’ said Julian. ‘He works for Airbus Industry,’ he explained to Birdie and Margaret. ‘They’re the European success story, big rivals of Boeing. You may remember the famous Concorde, the world’s first supersonic plane? Yes? Well Concorde was built in Toulouse, at what is now the Airbus site.’

  ‘I always wanted to travel on that plane,’ said Margaret. ‘Imagine, leaving London and arriving in New York three and a half hours later! And champagne all the way!’

  ‘We met up with Edward a few weeks ago,’ Annabel continued, ‘he comes over to Bristol from time to time. Such a sweet man! He was so surprised to find out that we were neighbours!’

  ‘Now let me see,’ said Birdie, putting on her spectacles to help her think. ‘How long have the Rayburns lived at The Limes? Mr Fortescue died five years ago. Or was it six? The Rayburns moved in afterwards, such a terrible expense you know getting it all shipshape. Poor old Mr Fortescue just didn’t have the means to keep it all up. We know Antony quite well, don’t we Margaret? That’s the younger son. Now I think of it he did mention something about an older brother, in France. A very nice boy, Antony. He came over to shovel the snow off our drive last winter. I suppose his mother sent him, but still, it was a very thoughtful gesture.’

  ‘Their mother’s French, of course you’ll know that Julian,’ said Margaret. ‘I’m not surprised the other son went off to work in France. He’s probably bi-lingual. The mother speaks excellent English. A charming person. The Vicar introduced us at the Flower Show. It’s a pity she’s lost most of her accent, I always think a French accent is such an asset.’

  Everyone laughed except Caroline, whose stomach was beginning to knot with tension.

  ‘Oh but I mean it,’ continued Margaret. ‘Do you remember Birdie when we were in Lahore we had a most wonderful French ambassador? Distinguished, grey-haired and with the most ravishing accent! The things that man smoothed out! I’m sure it was all to do with his accent.’

  ‘Just like Maurice Chevalier!’ said Birdie, nodding.

  ‘I shall be interested to meet Edward. His brother Antony is very good-looking.’

  ‘Oh!’ Birdie sprang from her chair, struck by a sudden thought. ‘Did you say he was coming for tea?’

  ‘Tomorrow, Birdie dear, don’t get in a flap,’ said Annabel.

  ‘Oh really,’ said Margaret, ‘she’s been baking all week. There’s enough in the larder to feed an army.’

  ‘But Margaret I must do him a Victoria sponge. We always used to serve a Victoria sponge for the cricket teas. I suppose a rowing tea must be the same, only with oars. And remind me to get a fresh cucumber tomorrow, Annabel, at the market. We have some smoked salmon in the fridge but we need some cucumber. And perhaps some more tomatoes.’

  ‘Oh don’t fuss Birdie, he’s probably expecting tea and biscuits.’

  Ignoring the scandalised look on Birdie’s face, Annabel got to her feet.

  ‘I think I’ll go and freshen up. Darling, could you bring up the cases? Oh Caro, talking of the Rayburns, have you told Aunt Mags yet? About the holiday?’

  The blood rushed to Caroline’s face. The knot in her stomach tightened. She locked eyes with her sister. Annabel smiling brightly, spun round to face Margaret.

  ‘Guess what Auntie! Caro’s coming on holiday with us this summer!’

  Margaret looked from one sister to the other in surprise.

  ‘But...that’s wonderful my dears. You haven’t had a family holiday for years.’

  ‘Edward Rayburn has invited us, to their villa in Biarritz! Right next to the sea! It’s going to be heavenly!’

  Margaret’s surprise turned to approval and she nodded vigorously.

  ‘Oh, Biarritz! What a wonderful place! At least it used to be in the old days. Of course I’m not talking about the really old days, when Queen Victoria used to go. And Edward VII. And the Czar of Russia. That was in the 19th century. We used to go on holiday there in the sixties, didn’t we Birdie?’ She shot a look at Annabel. ‘That’s the 1960s, dear. Such a romantic coastline, jagged black rocks rising out of the sea, pounding waves! Very Daphne DuMaurier. Just your cup of tea, Caroline, you’ve always loved the Cornish coast.’

  ‘Actually Aunt Margaret—’

  Caroline was cut off by her aunt.

  ‘I am so pleased, Annabel, that’s an excellent idea. Very thoughtful of you. Well done. Your sister could really do with a holiday. I suppose you’ve noticed how pale she is?’

  ‘Pale? Oh yes.’ Annabel, who had turned slightly pink under her tan, nodded vigorously. ‘And she works so hard. I mean we managed to get off to Greece, which did us a world of good, but poor old Caro, you haven’t had a real holiday since—’

  She broke off.

  Caroline cleared her throat.

  ‘The thing is, Annabel, you really rushed me into it the other day, and actually there’s a problem, rather a big problem—’

  ‘Caroline!’ Annabel’s voice was full of shock and injury. ‘You can’t change your mind now! You promised! And it’s all arranged! That’s why Edward’s coming over, especially to meet you! And to wish Auntie Mags a happy birthday of course. All the plans have been made. And you heard what Auntie said, she thinks it’s a great idea, don’t you? I’m sure you can sort out your problem. Whatever it is. It can’t be important enough to disrupt your holiday plans, now that everything’s been fixed. Now I really must get changed.’

  She headed off towards the house.

  Julian turned to Caroline.

  ‘Your Aunt’s right, you know,’ he said with unexpected warmth. ‘You do look tired Caro. You’ll feel so much better for some sea air. It’s very bracing down there. The old Atlantic breakers and all that. And, personally, I was delighted to hear my future sister-in-law would be joining us. I hope you don’t mind me saying that.’

  He was smiling at her, shyly. Caroline was surprised and touched. She floundered for an excuse.

  ‘You know my dear,’ this time it was Birdie chipping in, ‘you deserve a holiday. You work too hard, then you come down here to see us two old codgers, with never a complaint, you do the gardening, you painted the kitchen at Easter. You simply deserve to go off, lie in the sun and relax.’

  ‘Well I don’t know about the old codgers,’ said Margaret. ‘But Birdie’s right. You go and enjoy yourself. Forget about that dreary office. If I were young I’d come with you. And that old codger over there too. Biarritz! Heaven!’

  Caroline opened her mouth.

  ‘And,’ said Margaret with a meaningful look, ‘remember what we were talking about yesterday? Opportunities? Seizing them?’

  Caroline closed her mouth. Then opened it again. She really had to put her foot down, they were all ganging up on her. She met Margaret’s eye and said weakly:

  ‘Well, I suppose if everything is arranged...’

  ‘So that’s all fixed then? Excellent,’ said Julian, getting up. ‘I’d better get the cases bef
ore my beloved starts to nag.’

  Julian headed for the car. Birdie started for the kitchen ‘to see how the pheasant was getting on’. Caroline, muttering something about helping Birdie, left her aunt alone on the terrace with her book. Once inside the house, she headed straight up to her room and flung herself on the bed, trying to collect her thoughts. She’d been out-manoeuvred. Again. Manipulated like an idiot.

  Two days ago she’d been looking forward to a nice summer break. Well, if she was honest, not exactly looking forward to it. But at least she would have three weeks when she was free to do what she wanted, if she could only figure out what that was. Now two of those weeks of freedom had been whisked from under her nose and turned into a package holiday. Why couldn’t she just say ‘no’?

  A knock on her bedroom door made her sit up hastily.

  ‘It’s only me.’ Annabel’s face, wearing a look of mingled penitence and apprehension appeared round the door. ‘May I come in for a minute?’

  Annabel approached the bed cautiously, sat down and put a tentative arm round her sister’s shoulders.

  ‘Oh Caro, you’re not cross with me are you? I hate it when you’re cross. I know I did rather force your hand, but, come on, a villa in Biarritz? I mean I could understand it if I’d said two weeks in Siberia. Just think, hot sun, the beach, and there’s a marvellous pool in the grounds, I’ve seen the pictures. Not the sort of thing most people would be cross about, is it?’

  Caroline was silent.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ persisted Annabel. ‘Did you really have something else planned? Or is it...’ she briefly contemplated the possibility that her sister may not want to spend two weeks in her company before rejecting such a patently ridiculous idea.

  Caroline stood up and looked down at Annabel.

  ‘Just tell me one thing, truthfully. Why me?’

  ‘Darling! What a defensive question!’

  Caroline stared down at her sister’s upturned face. How beautiful it was. She was silent for a moment, admiring the perfect curve of her cheek, the ever-changing blue of those enormous eyes. Again, another face sprang into her memory, bending over her at bedtime, those same wonderful eyes smiling down at her, a cool hand stroking her cheek as she lay listening to her mother’s voice telling her about Cinderella and her sisters.

  ‘We asked you because we wanted you to come, that’s all.’

  Annabel was smiling at her with such a guileless expression that Caroline felt a pang of guilt. It did sound nice. More than nice, if she was honest. Two weeks in a villa by the sea, two weeks of sun. She longed for some sun. She could always find an excuse to lie by the pool, bury her nose in a book while the others went sightseeing and clubbing. And Margaret had a point. It was an opportunity.

  ‘Who else is going?’

  ‘Oh some lovely people! Edward of course, who you’ll meet tomorrow, he’s so sweet! I know you’re going to love him. And his cousins, twins I think they are, from the French side of the family, Jean something and, his sister, I’ve forgotten her name. So with us three that’ll make six. An ideal number for a holiday!’

  That didn’t sound too bad, thought Caroline, relieved to hear that none of the twittering starlings would be there.

  ‘What about the parents? Don’t they go?’

  ‘Not this year. That’s why Edward suggested it. His mother has had an operation so they’re going on a cruise.’

  Annabel chattered on, relieved that her sister was coming round. As she talked she wandered about the room, picking up this and that, pausing from time to time to peer at her reflection and tuck a strand of hair into place.

  ‘I know you’ll adore it once you’re there. The photos, wait till you see them, it’s just your sort of thing, wild and romantic, huge waves, white sand.’

  She tilted her head to one side and look at her sister appraisingly.

  ‘You know darling, if you’d just let me do your hair...’

  She advanced on Caroline with a look of determination.

  ‘No Annabel!’ Caroline headed for the door. ‘I said I’d help Birdie, and that was ages ago.’

  ‘But aren’t you even going to change?’ Annabel’s voice held a note of disbelief.

  Caroline looked down at her jeans. They were faded, but clean. They had one little hole. And most of the little hole was hidden by her favourite Gap T-shirt, Extra Large. A comfort T-shirt. She turned and eyed her sister purposefully.

  ‘Annabel, I have agreed to go on holiday, I’ve even agreed to like the white sand and the romantic rocks, but I’m not going to let you interfere with everything in my life. I’ll get changed for Margaret’s birthday dinner, this evening. If that’s OK with you?’

  She heard her sister’s sigh of resignation as she left the room.

  CHAPTER SIX. FRIDAY 28 MAY

  Birdie was adamant that she did not want Caroline in her kitchen. She was preparing braised pheasant à la normande for Margaret’s birthday dinner. The cake was in the larder. Everything was organised. She had a list on the fridge door.

  ‘If you’re sure,’ said Caroline. ‘You know how much I love to cook, Birdie. I could have done all this, given you a break.’

  ‘Yes my dear, but everything is under way, and I’d feel so much happier if you got a bit of fresh air. You’re the one who needs a break. Now shoo.’

  Margaret had fallen asleep, book open on her lap. Julian had disappeared, no doubt to rub attar of roses into his fiancée’s feet. Caroline stood on the terrace, took a deep breath of the warm air. Bees were nuzzling at the honeysuckle that wound round the stone pillars of the balustrade. She broke off a sprig and inhaled its sharp scent. Book in hand, she wandered down to the bottom of the garden, where a deckchair sat invitingly in the shade of a horse-chestnut tree. She sank down and kicked off her sandals, feeling the grass cool between her toes. There were patches of wild mint; as she rubbed her feet in it the fragrance rose into the air. Beyond the lawn, Soames had left a swathe of uncut grass. It ran down to the edge of the wood, scattered with poppies and larkspur and tall buttercups. There seemed to be a bird in every tree, competing for who could sing the best aria. Caroline let the book fall on to the grass and closed her eyes.

  She must have dropped off for a few moments. She blinked, disoriented, not sure what had wakened her. There was a movement in the foliage near the edge of the wood, a flash of white. Suddenly a man stepped out of the trees, tall, with an athlete’s powerful body and a long lazy stride. He was wearing an open-necked white shirt, with a cricket pullover slung over his shoulders. As he came out of the shade the sun caught his blond hair. He paused for a second, eyes narrowing against the glare, reaching into his shirt pocket for sunglasses. Caroline saw a flash of blue as he put them on. He ambled through the long grass, loose-limbed and nonchalant, lifting his head to smell the air, taking his time. In one hand he carried a bouquet of flowers.

  She saw him notice her. He stopped abruptly, shading his eyes to make out the figure under the tree. Neither of them moved, looking towards each other across the nodding poppies. Caroline saw the change in his body, the alertness as his muscles tensed. Then he came on, the relaxed stride giving way to something more like a hunter’s prowl, a cat stalking a bird. She shivered as the image came into her mind. The garden had fallen silent. As he stepped into the green dimness under the leaves he paused, took off his sunglasses. Their eyes met.

  For a moment neither of them said anything. Then Caroline jumped to her feet.

  ‘Hello there. Sorry to disturb you, please don’t get up.’

  His voice was a warm baritone. He was staring at her, an unwavering blue gaze that seemed to take in every detail, her dishevelled hair, her bare feet. She gazed back, tongue-tied. A little breeze passed through the branches. The air between them seemed to hum with an invisible current.

  She drew in a short breath, managed to find her voice.

  ‘I’m sorry, just a second...’

  The elastic slid out of her ponytail as she bent to re
ach for her sandals. From behind the fall of her hair her voice came to him, muffled.

  ‘Can I help you? Were you looking for someone?’

  She had managed to fasten one sandal. Where was the other one? Her heart was beating fast and she could feel the heat rushing to her face.

  ‘I’m here to see Miss MacDonald, she very kindly invited me to tea this afternoon.’

  Such a formal way of speaking she thought distractedly, kindly invited me to tea. Then she froze. This must be Edward, Edward Rayburn! But hadn’t Annabel said he was coming tomorrow?

  Her thoughts whirled. Birdie would have a fit, caught on the hop, no cucumber for the smoked salmon, typical Annabel, oh where was that bloody sandal?

  ‘Here, let me help.’

  Placing the bouquet carefully on the chair, he knelt down and took hold of her foot. As his hands touched her bare skin a bolt of electricity shot up the length of her leg and heat spread through her stomach like wildfire. She almost fell, had to hold on to his shoulder for balance while he slid on the offending sandal and tightened the strap. His fingers were very strong and warm, the skin hard in places. A rower’s hands. A rower’s arms, the muscles flexing as he moved. His dark blond hair was cropped short and lay thick to his head. It would be curly if he grew it long. Curling down his neck. She could see the top of his shoulders, the bare brown skin where his shirt gaped open as he leaned forward.

  ‘There. All done.’

  As he let go of her foot she was torn between laughing and crying. Pushing the hair out of her eyes she stammered a thank you. She had to tilt her head to look into his face. He was smiling down at her.

  ‘You must be Caroline. There’s a family resemblance,’ he said seeing her look of surprise.

  ‘You and your sister. The same mouth.’

  He made a circling motion close to her lips.

  ‘I’m Edward Rayburn by the way, the neighbour’s son. Annabel did say I was coming, didn’t she?’

  A slight frown drew his brows together and she hastened to find words of reassurance.