Biarritz Passion: A French Summer Novel

by Laurette Long

  ‘Alright my dear?’

  She felt a tap on her shoulder and was just in time to spot Yvonne sailing past. The salon was a scene of frenzied activity. Caroline glimpsed a couple of well-known faces, a TV news reader, an actress from a famous soap. Outside the draped windows long-nosed cars arrived, deposited their owners, and slid away again. In the chair next to Caroline a plump, bejewelled lady, her head covered in strips of aluminium foil, spoke non-stop into her cell phone in Russian.

  Marcel picked up the dryer and gave her hair a blast, rubbing his fingers through the thick strands as he worked. As it began to dry, Caroline glimpsed the sun-kissed lion. Her natural colour had been lifted to a clear honey, shot through by streaks of gold. Clipping up her hair once again Marcel started the styling, snapping his fingers for his assistant to hand him different-sized brushes. This time Caroline kept her eyes open. Little by little a natural fall of springy bouncing hair began to appear, thick and shimmering at the back, framing her face in soft layers which fell to her shoulders. A streaky half-fringe fell negligently across one eye, throwing into relief the dark lashes and brows, the even darker slanting eyes below.

  ‘Voilà! La lionne!’

  He stepped back with a satisfied flourish.

  ‘So Caroline, what do you think?’

  ‘My dear, it’s, well, I know the man is a genius, but really, Marcel, this time you have excelled yourself!’

  Yvette was standing behind the chair nodding her head in admiration.

  Marcel gave a modest shrug.

  ‘I must admit, the subject has a certain number of natural attributes. See the length of the neck, like a flower, a swan, now we see it much better with this style, see, at the back, and she has a beautiful growth of the hair, the way it is planted on the head, thick yet silky, and those eyes, a gazelle!’

  Caroline was trying not to smile too widely. She was a lion, a swan, a gazelle. A flower. Wow. She was certainly An Other, that was for sure.

  ‘There’s Rollins! Come on my dear we must fly!’

  Caroline stammered her thanks, promised Marcel ‘she’d be back’ and left the salon in a flurry of kisses and waves. Noticing Rollin’s impassive face give way to a look of frank appreciation as she stepped into the car, she felt the smile stretch into a huge grin of delight.

  ‘Yvette, thank you so very, very much. I am indeed… transformed into another me yet the same!’

  Both women laughed.

  ‘Marcel has done a wonderful job. But he is right you know, even he cannot work miracles without the basic material!’

  Yvette reached out and touched Caroline’s hair.

  ‘Ah it’s so lovely and thick. I’d give anything for your pretty hair. And the fringe, how it brings out that dark sparkle of your eyes, a real Andalusian! Those come from your father, a Scot with gipsy eyes. I was at the wedding, you know, of your parents. What a beautiful couple. Your father was wearing the tartan. And your mother—’ She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard about the accident. You poor darling.’

  She gave Caroline’s hand a squeeze.

  ‘They would both be so proud of you, Caroline. And Margaret will be delighted when she sees you. Ah, here we are. Thank you Rollins.’

  Birdie was sitting stiff-backed in a chair, a large gin and tonic at her side as Caroline and Yvette entered the cocktail lounge. She glanced at them, then her gaze travelled past them towards the door.

  ‘Birdie, sorry to keep you waiting.’

  Caroline, who had been feeling a bit wobbly since Yvette had talked of her parents, burst into laughter at Birdie’s double take. Her mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ of surprise.

  She was still speechless as they went through into the restaurant, Yvette in the middle, clutching the pair of them and giving a graphic account of Marcel’s prowess with the scissors.

  ‘Now, lunch is my treat,’ said Yvette as they were seated. ‘I haven’t had such fun in ages. And we haven’t even started on the clothes.’

  Yvette and Caroline chose sole au vin blanc with tiny new potatoes. Birdie, with a sigh of contentment, went for the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.

  ‘I remember when we used to come here with Margaret,’ said Birdie nostalgically, sipping her wine. ‘We were both attached to the London office at the time. The receptions we had to attend! I vowed at the time I’d never touch a slice of smoked salmon for the rest of my life. And strawberries and champagne. There always seemed to be fresh strawberries, even in December.’

  Yvette laughed and nodded her head in agreement.

  ‘Times have changed. When Jacques was posted to Washington, our laundry bill alone would have kept a family of four. Such extravagance! People are much more conscious of money these days.’

  She smiled at Caroline’s raised eyebrow.

  ‘Oh I know. Here we are having lunch at the Savoy. But seriously this is quite a rare occasion for me. When Jacques and I eat out we go to a little place in Soho where the prices are reasonable and the cooking is excellent without being elaborate. In fact, I’ve reserved a table for us tonight,’ she added. ‘Jacques is seeing someone on business this afternoon so rather than arrange a meal at the house I thought it would be nice if we all went out for dinner.’

  ‘Yvette that’s lovely my dear but count me out, I would really prefer to get back to Margaret,’ said Birdie. ‘But Caro must stay. This is her day.’

  They chose strawberries for dessert in spite of Birdie’s protestations.

  ‘For old time’s sake,’ she said, raising her spoon to attack.

  Caroline wondered if she’d be able to face an afternoon’s shopping after everything she’d eaten and drunk.

  ‘A nice strong espresso, that’s the answer,’ said Yvette, divining her thoughts. ‘Tell me Birdie, has Margaret tried any supplements? Chondoitrin, glucosamine?’

  As the two women began discussing Margaret’s various treatments, Caroline let her eyes wander round the dining room. It was her first time at the Savoy. Her gaze fell on a couple sitting several tables away and she stiffened in surprise, only just managing to bite back the exclamation that rose to her lips. Picking up her handbag she pretended to hunt for something, casting surreptitious glances across the room. Although partially screened by a table of ladies all wearing extravagant hats, her sister, with her beautiful profile, hair upswept in an elegant chignon, was unmistakeable. She was leaning forward, resting her chin on one hand, her face tilted slightly upwards. Opposite, his glass raised, Edward Rayburn was gazing into her eyes with a serious expression.

  Caroline snatched a glance at Yvette and Birdie. They were still deep in conversation and hadn’t noticed her agitation. She was on tenterhooks while Yvette paid the bill and they gathered their things ready to leave. An inexplicable sense of anxiety gnawed at her as she ushered Yvette and Birdie out of the restaurant, hoping neither would turn round and spot her sister and Edward.

  The rest of the afternoon passed in a whirl of shopping. Caroline was carried away by the excitement and the novelty of the occasion, but the scene at the Savoy kept intruding, the image of her sister gazing up at Edward, and the strange expression on his face. She couldn’t put her finger on what exactly was bothering her.After all, she kept reminding herself, they were friends, why shouldn’t they have lunch together? Julian was probably tied up somewhere; maybe they were meeting him later. But the look on Annabel’s face nagged at her. And as for Edward, she could only come up with the word ‘serious’ to describe his expression, his whole manner even. But serious how, exactly? Fortunately she was distracted by the chatter of the other two women asking her opinion about this and that and urging her to try what seemed like hundreds of outfits. They had started with the big department stores.

  ‘For casual clothes,’ said Yvette, ‘it’s not worth paying designer prices. Ah, here’s their selection of beachwear. Let’s see, this, and this one, perhaps this, no the colour’s not you at all...’

  She swept along the racks of clothing, a wom
an on a mission, piling articles into the arms of Caroline and Birdie, rejecting others with a shake of the head or a frown. An hour later it was done, changing rooms, inspection by Yvette and Birdie, and finally exit from the store clutching a selection of bags.

  ‘I still think those jeans are a bit tight,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Nonsense my dear!’ The exclamation came in chorus.

  ‘Now, Marie-Claire’s favourite boutique. For something a little special. Mind you the things you’ve bought look ravishing. That pretty little sundress in blue gingham! So retro! And the tops. The white halter neck will be perfect with a tan. But it’s nice to have something a little more chic, just in case you get invited, well, who knows where?’

  She gave a little wink at Caroline and dived into a small shop set back from the pavement. Inside comfortable chairs sat on a thick grey carpet. Caroline and Birdie sank down gratefully.

  A tall redhead in a cool linen dress came through a door at the back.

  ‘Madame Delorme! How nice to see you!’

  ‘Belinda my dear. How are you? You’ve changed your hair. That colour suits you to perfection!’

  Yvette made the introductions and explained what they were looking for.

  ‘Not too too dressy. Something with a little chic.’

  Belinda nodded, her eyes on Caroline.

  ‘We have a couple of things just arrived from our Italian supplier. I think they may be exactly what you have in mind.’

  She led Caroline towards the back of the shop.

  ‘Ah, bliss,’ said Yvette, sinking into the chair Caroline had vacated, thrusting off her shoes and wiggling her toes. ‘Now Birdie what do you really think?’

  Birdie thought that Caroline looked just lovely, and that Yvette had done a marvellous job and that Margaret would be thrilled to bits. Yvette smiled and admitted with some satisfaction that she had ‘the eye’. A good hairdo, well-chosen clothes. These could help to transform anyone. But Caroline’s natural assets, her face and figure, made the job so much easier. Yvette marvelled at how plain the girl had managed to appear, quite a work of art in itself. Only a close observer, someone with ‘the eye’ would have seen past the air of mingled severity and reticence, would have noticed the beautiful dark eyes under their sweep of lashes, the delicate bone structure, the sensuous curve of the pale lips. Now with a little touch of make-up...

  ‘What do you think?’

  Framed in the doorway, Caroline wore a pale aquamarine dress. The deceptive simplicity of the cut did not deceive Yvette’s trained eye. A slight gathering under the bust accentuated the natural curves; below, the fluid lines of the material clung to her figure in just the right places, without the slightest hint of vulgarity, flaring out into a skater skirt.

  ‘It’s lovely isn’t it?’

  Belinda exchanged a satisfied smile with Yvette.

  ‘Perfect. Now all she needs are the right shoes.’

  Wedge heels with delicate straps, thought Yvette. They would find them later on.

  ‘Let me see the other?’

  Caroline tried on a couple more things, before Belinda brought out a sheath dress in dark navy lace over a peach silk underslip.

  ‘What about this? It’s by a young designer, he trained in the Alexander McQueen atelier. I think it’s right for Caroline. Elegant, sophisticated but... a woman.’

  Yvette nodded, her eyes gleaming.

  Even in her bare feet, Caroline looked stunning, thought Yvette, watching her step out of the changing room and walk towards them.

  ‘Oh my dear!’ Birdie began to dab at her eyes. ‘If only your mother...’

  Yvette and Belinda exchanged nods of satisfaction.

  They finished up in the shoe shops, where between them they tried on two dozen pairs of shoes and ended up with more boxes than they could carry. Birdie had been persuaded into buying some low-heeled sandals which as she said would be perfect for Vicarage tea parties.

  ‘A lot of standing about, but one must make an effort.’

  ‘Quite right Birdie,’ said Yvette. ‘Now, quick, here’s an empty taxi, we’ve just got time to get you to the station for your train, then Caroline and I will whisk off home to prepare for our evening on the town.’

  They dropped an excited Birdie at the station, clutching her bags, while Yvette insisted that she come up to town more often, that a day’s shopping was an excellent remedy for all ills.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ said Caroline, giving Birdie a big hug. ‘Tell Auntie Mags I’ll be down to see you both before I leave for Biarritz.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ called Birdie over her shoulder, hurrying off into the crowd.

  Caroline climbed back inside the taxi.

  ‘My dear what a wonderful day,’ said Yvette, linking arms. ‘Now as soon as we get back, a nice bath. You’ll feel much better after a hot soak. I do hope this person that Jacques has invited is entertaining. Some of his business associates are such hard work.’

  ‘Mmmm,’ said Caroline, her eyes closing as the taxi bore them off towards Belgravia.

  CHAPTER TEN. SATURDAY 12 JUNE

  Yvette was right, thought Caroline as she lay in the steaming water. She flexed her toes, feeling the tiredness ooze out of her bones. What an amazing day. She closed her eyes and smiled. During that period of, what was it, seven hours or so, it was as though she had turned into a different person.

  It was not just the new clothes and hair do, it was something more fundamental. As though a page had been turned and a new chapter begun. She felt a revival of self-confidence, an interest in life, that she hadn’t felt in ages. In recent months she had put off visiting big cities with their crowds of unfamiliar people, the bewildering level of noise, the rush. On her rare visits to London she had gone straight to the National Gallery, or headed for a quiet walk by the water’s edge in St James Park. Now it was as if she had been injected with some of Yvette’s vitality, her enthusiastic interest in the minutiae of life. She felt capable of striding into a classy hotel, throwing down her shopping bags, sliding onto a bar stool and ordering a cocktail. All on her own. Suddenly life was full of exhilarating possibilities. Merci Yvette.

  Except for one niggle. Edward Rayburn sitting at a table and gazing at her sister. She tried to push the memory to the back of her mind, telling herself it was none of her business. Maybe Julian was in Frankfurt. And if Edward happened to be in London, why shouldn’t he take his best friend’s fiancée out to lunch? She would not give it another thought. Time to get going. Stepping out of the bath she rubbed herself briskly with the fluffy towel, warm from the radiator, then reached to examine the bottle of lotions and scents that filled the shelves of Yvette’s guest bathroom. She unscrewed one or two tops, sniffing appreciatively. One in particular she liked. She splashed the cool liquid along her arms and neck, revelling in its sweet crisp scent, like white lilac. She finished off with clouds of scented talcum powder, using a ridiculously thirties-style swansdown puff in a crystal bowl that covered the bathroom in a mist of fine particles and got up her nose. Fabulous. She padded through to the green and white guest room to dress. The final one she’d bought, Yvette had insisted, with a nudge.

  ‘Jacques will be so distracted when he sees you he won’t notice I’m wearing something new!’

  At the foot of the stairs Caroline paused, took a deep breath, threw back her shoulders. All that money I spent on ballet lessons. She smiled and pushed the half-open door of the drawing room.

  ‘Come in, chérie, come in! Oh, my word you look lovely!’

  Yvette turned to her husband.

  ‘Doesn’t she Jacques?’

  ‘A goddess!’ said Jacques, taking Caroline’s hand in both of his and raising it to his lips with a smile.

  ‘And this is Jacques’ friend, Edward.’

  Caroline, turning to meet the Delorme’s guest, stopped in astonishment.

  ‘It must be Fate.’

  The voice was teasing, the blue eyes gleamed with a mixture
of irony and frank admiration. Edward Rayburn placed one hand dramatically on his heart and rolled his eyes.

  ‘Twice in as many weeks! Allow me to say Miss MacDonald you look absolutely stunning.’

  He leaned forward and gave her a kiss on both cheeks, French style.

  Caroline, who had blushed to the roots of her hair, felt her knees turn to water. Yvette and Jacques were observing the scene in surprise. Edward, turning towards his hosts, began to explain.

  ‘Caroline and I already know each other. We met at her Aunt’s. My parents live practically next door.’

  ‘What an extraordinary coincidence! Jacques, isn’t that too amazing?’

  Yvette couldn’t hide her delight at this strange twist of destiny, the cherry on the cake in terms of her day’s organisation.

  ‘Indeed,’ chimed in Jacques. ‘I was convinced that Edward, in spite of his name, was well and truly French! In fact we haven’t exchanged a word in English all afternoon. I feel as though I am meeting a new person.’

  ‘It’s not the first time I’ve been called a split personality,’ said Edward, with a laugh. ‘But I have to admit I feel more at home in France than in the UK now, after all these years.’

  ‘Edward was telling me he works in Toulouse, Caroline,’ said Yvette ‘but maybe you know that already? ‘

  Caroline made an effort to pull herself together.

  ‘Yes, yes, he told us all when we met at Willowdale. Annabel was there, with Julian. ’

  She risked a look at Edward. A mistake. Her heart rate accelerated.

  ‘Ah yes, your little sister, it’s so strange to think she is old enough to have a fiancé. Julian, did you say his name was?’

  ‘That’s right, in fact he’s...’ Caroline hesitated.

  Edward opened his mouth to say something but Yvette gave a little shriek.

  ‘Jacques! We are forgetting our manners! Our guests have nothing to drink! Caroline, what would you like? A glass of champagne?’