Biarritz Passion: A French Summer Novel

by Laurette Long

  She emerged from her reverie to find that Edward was observing her intently. Their eyes locked. Caroline stared at that attractive face, already browned by the sun. She noted every detail, the strong, wilful jaw, the surprisingly sensitive mouth, the smoky intensity of his gaze as he studied her with as much fascination as she was studying him. What was he seeing?

  ‘...truly one of the best meals I’ve eaten.’

  She heard Jacque’s voice as if she was in a dream. It crossed her mind that she had drunk too much; her limbs felt heavy and her heart was beating fast. She blinked and made an effort to concentrate.

  ‘When are you due back in Bristol?’ Yvette asked Edward.

  ‘Not until Monday. In fact, I know it’s short notice but I was wondering if you would all be my guests for lunch tomorrow?’

  ‘That would be lovely, wouldn’t it Jacques?’

  ‘It certainly would my dear. But didn’t I hear you say something about a diet?’

  Yvette pulled a face.

  ‘The diet begins Monday, chéri.’

  ‘That’s settled then,’ said Edward. ‘Caroline?’

  ‘Oh but, that is to say, I was going to get the train back tonight. There’s one that leaves just before midnight.’

  Jacques looked at his watch.

  ‘Why don’t you stay over?’

  ‘Oh you must,’ said Yvette. ‘We have all those empty rooms. And after all it isn’t as though you don’t have anything to wear!’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Caroline, looking sheepish at the laughter caused by Yvette’s remark. She took a deep breath, feeling reckless. Why not? She felt a warmth in the pit of her stomach, a feeling of anticipation.

  ‘I, normally, it’s just that, I’m afraid I’m expected for lunch with friends.’

  The words came out as though they had a life of their own. She felt Edward’s eyes on her and wondered if he knew she had just made that up. She also wondered why she’d made it up and why the feeling of anticipation had suddenly turned to panic.

  ‘What a shame!’ cried Yvette, vexed. ‘I’ve so much enjoyed your company. It was just like having Marie-Claire back. I know I’m selfish, but it would have been so nice if you had stayed a little longer.’

  Jacques patted his wife’s hand.

  ‘Caroline can always come down again. If she’d like to that is?’

  ‘I’d love to!’

  Her response was so sincere that Yvette recovered from her momentary disappointment.

  ‘Why not come back for coffee?’ Jacques turned to Edward. ‘Caroline, Rollins will take you to the station.’

  It was half past ten when they left the restaurant, just time for Caroline to have a quick coffee and get her things together. She had left her car in the station car park at the other end.

  At the Delorme’s she went upstairs to change. Standing in front of the mirror, running a brush through her hair, a crowd of thoughts jostled in her mind. Why had she said she was busy tomorrow? Why had she felt so panic-stricken at the idea of meeting Edward again? It had been nothing to do with the Delormes, she felt as relaxed with them both as though they were part of her family. She was suddenly struck by her reflection, the unfamiliarity of that face beneath its fringe of blonde streaked hair, the almost shocking contrast of dark eyes framed by long thick lashes. She had taken off her special dress, folding it reverently into the layers of tissue paper, and slipped into her new jeans. Cinderella on the stroke of midnight. The thought popped into her head from nowhere. She suddenly realised that the terror that had suddenly overtaken her in the restaurant was part of something bigger. She was afraid, really afraid that it would all suddenly change, that she would wake up and see looking back from the mirror, Miss MacDonald, the dowdy spinster from Inland Revenue, thirty years old next birthday, unmarried, unwanted, the butt of office jokes. Afraid too of something else. The fact that whatever button Edward Rayburn had pushed had set in motion a tumult of feelings that she couldn’t control. It was like being in a runaway train gathering speed, plunging her into the unknown, into something too violent. Something she wasn’t ready for.

  Yvette’s head appeared round the door.

  ‘Are you alright my dear?’ She looked at Caroline’s pale face with concern.

  ‘I’m fine, Yvette, honestly, just a bit tired with all the excitement.’

  ‘Of course you are. It’s been a long day. It’s too bad you can’t stay over. Come and have a coffee, that will make you feel better.’

  Yvette gave her arm a squeeze of sympathy as she ushered her downstairs.

  Jacques and Edward were standing by the mantelpiece examining a French carriage clock.

  ‘My father was an antique dealer,’ Jacques was saying. ‘He had a shop in Paris. I was brought up surrounded by dusty antiques. I’m afraid it’s a passion I inherited.’

  Edward held out the clock for Caroline to look at. She watched his long sensitive fingers pointing out the interesting features. Fingers that had encircled her bare foot.

  ‘An expensive hobby,’ said Jacques shaking his head.

  ‘Expensive, but one that gives a lot of pleasure,’ said Edward. He set the clock down carefully, took the cup that Yvette was holding out to him.

  ‘Thanks. Why not live surrounded by the things you like, that bring you pleasure?’

  ‘Just what I keep telling Yvette,’ said Jacques. ‘Unfortunately her clothes allowance uses up most of my income.’

  Yvette turned to Caroline.

  ‘You see what he’s really like?’ she asked. ‘People think I’m making it up. What, adorable Jacques? But he’s so sweet! Take my advice my dear and find yourself a nice rich docile husband. Certainly not a Frenchman, they have too much ‘caractère’ as we say! More coffee?’

  ‘No thanks Yvette.’ Caroline got to her feet. ‘I’d better be going. No, please don’t get up. Stay and finish your coffee, Edward. You know, I can always get a cab.’

  ‘Why on earth would you want to get a cab? Rollins loves driving the Bentley. It’s his car really. He just lets me ride in it from time to time. He’d take you all the way back home if you wanted.’

  ‘Jacques, Yvette, could I possibly be shameless and beg a lift at the same time? I’ve still got a bit of homework to do before turning in.’ Edward was smiling at his hosts.

  ‘Oh you poor thing. This is what comes of being a captain of industry. It’s absolutely no problem, Edward. Rollins will drop Caroline at the station then carry on to your hotel.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Jacques ‘Ecoute, il faut qu’on parle…’

  Switching to French, he took hold of Edward’s arm and led him towards the door.

  ‘Caroline are you sure you’ll be able to manage on the train?’

  Yvette was eyeing the pile of bags waiting in the hall.

  ‘Positive,’ said Caroline, wondering if ten fingers would do the job. Checking that she had her ticket, she followed Yvette outside to the waiting car.

  ‘I really don’t know how to thank you,’ she said as they stood on the pavement while the bags were being stowed into the boot. ‘It’s been an indescribable day for me.’

  ‘That’s all the thanks I need,’ said Yvette, beaming and kissing her on both cheeks. ‘Au revoir ma chérie. I’m sure you’ve not enjoyed yourself half as much as I have! And have a wonderful holiday. Holidays can sometimes be full of surprises. He’s very good-looking.’

  She winked at Caroline.

  ‘Thank you so much Jacques. For everything. ’

  ‘My very great pleasure, my dear. Give my regards to your aunt when you next see her. And tell her she has the most charming niece!’

  As Caroline climbed into the car, Edward was saying his goodbyes.

  ‘A demain! And thank you again for a lovely evening.’

  He climbed into the car and Rollins pulled smoothly away from the kerb. Caroline turned to wave goodbye through the back window, then the car turned a corner and the Delorme’s disappeared from view.
r />   ‘That was such a lovely evening!’

  Caroline’s voice sounded unnaturally bright. Edward smiled, hearing her unconsciously parroting his words. He was leaning back, his face hidden in the shadows.

  ‘Yes it was. Such a pity though. That you can’t stay over I mean.’

  Caroline murmured an excuse, staring at the glass screen separating them from Rollins. The car travelled swiftly through the quiet streets. A silence fell. Caroline, every muscle tensed, opened her bag and started to rummage for her keys. Edward sat in the darkness, immobile.

  Lights looming ahead announced they were nearing the station.

  ‘Here we are,’ she said with relief, as Rollins came to a halt.

  ‘I’ll get your things.’

  Edward was out of the car before Rollins could move or Caroline could protest.

  ‘Thank you, there’s no need to come with me, the car won’t be able to wait, the security precautions...’

  Edward looked at her as she stood laden with bags, then gave a sudden, brilliant smile.

  ‘Goodbye Caroline. It’s been a real pleasure seeing you again. I know we got off on the wrong foot last time. Or should I say that I put my big foot in it? But will you forgive me? If you won’t stay for lunch tomorrow, can I hope you might have lunch with me in three weeks time? In Biarritz?’

  The smile suddenly vanished and before Caroline realised what was happening he had pulled her towards him. He pressed her close, against the hardness of his body, that muscular athlete’s body. She closed her eyes, waiting for his kiss, her lips on fire, her stomach churning. She could feel the warmth of his face as he bent his head, then a light brush on either cheek. When she opened her eyes, Edward’s face was inches from hers. He held her for a moment longer, then let go and strode back to the car. Caroline stood immobile, clutching her bags.

  The tail lights of the Bentley disappeared into the London night.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN. SATURDAY 3 JULY

  “The origins of the Basque people and their language are shrouded in mystery. It is probable that the language is one of the oldest in Europe, unrelated to any other. Various hypotheses have been put forward to explain this. Are the Basques the last remaining peoples descending directly from our European ancestors, Cro-Magnon man? Whatever the case, the Basques have retained a fierce independence and distinct identity over many centuries. Predominantly rural, many families still speak Basque as their everyday means of communication. The inland villages retain their traditions; a walk around a churchyard reveals the same names recurring through the centuries, seemingly unpronounceable, Etxeberria, Intxausti, Oiharzabal, Txertudi. These villages share the same architecture, gabled half-timbered houses with green or red shutters, the red symbolising the blood of an ox. As you wander through these quiet villages, surrounded by rolling green hills dotted with sheep and cows, you may be surprised to hear a sound like rifle shots coming from somewhere near the church or the town hall. Take a walk in that direction and you’ll come across the fronton, the tall wall with its court that is a part of every village no matter how small. Here the local boys learn from an early age the ancient game of pelota.’

  Caroline closed her guidebook and looked out of the window. They had been flying across acres of pine trees, part of the huge forest that extended across the area of France called Les Landes. She remembered that there had been a terrible fire in the area not too long ago, with hectares of forest destroyed by the flames.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen we have started our descent into Biarritz. Could you please fold away your trays and make sure your seat is in the upright position.’

  She handed her glass and empty wine bottle to the harassed flight attendant. The staff were bustling up and down the aisle, throwing rubbish into large bags. As the clouds thinned Caroline could see the coastline, the dark green of the pines giving way to a grey sea flecked with tiny white threads of wave tops and the darker line of the coast. The captain had told them it was cloudy in Biarritz, but an anti-cyclone was moving in across the Atlantic. They would have good weather for their weekend.

  She’d discovered when booking her flight that Biarritz was not the easiest place to fly to. There weren’t many options, basically she had a choice between two low-cost airlines, both flying from Stansted, the airport from hell. There had been heavy traffic for her drive and she had begun to panic that she wouldn’t get there in time. It had all added to her nervousness at the idea that the holiday was finally becoming a reality.

  ‘Cabin crew ten minutes to landing.’

  The captain’s voice came over the loudspeakers again. The knot in Caroline’s stomach pulled tighter. She had scarcely swallowed a bite of her sandwich, two pieces of damp bread with some dubious-looking chicken salad inside, but had quickly finished the small bottle of red wine in an effort to relax. She stared down at the landscape stretched below, the details getting bigger, houses, small villages, the glint of a river, the huge expanse of the Atlantic. Who would be there to pick her up, she wondered, her mind sliding over one possibility, then rejecting it. She’d said she would take a taxi to the villa, but Annabel, making last minute arrangements by phone—‘darling could you bring me a bottle of Jo Malone body lotion, I forgot to pack mine, it’s the Pomegranate Noir, whatever you do, don’t get me the Grapefruit, I’ve tried to get it here but no one seems to have heard of it, the shops are a bit primitive, no Harvey Nicks or anything—’ had brushed aside the suggestion as absurd. Of course someone would be there to meet her, said Annabel, it was only a short drive, oh, and to be sure to bring some wet-weather gear, the weather was miserable, had been simply foul ever since they had arrived.

  Edward had arrived at the villa last Sunday. Annabel and Julian had driven down, arriving on the Monday. The twins had been in residence since mid-June. Caroline would be the last to arrive. Everyone else was installed, had had time to get to know each other.

  The ground rushed up to meet them, there was a bump, then another, a high-pitched whine as the engines went into reverse thrust and they rolled slowly towards the terminal. Caroline scanned the rows of faces at the windows. What if there was no one to meet her? She quelled her panic, telling herself she wasn’t a child, she could find a taxi if necessary, give the address in reasonable French, even though it was years since she’d last spoken the language. She’d had praiseworthy intentions of logging on to the BBC ‘Learn French’ website, but what with one thing and another...

  Around her people were standing up, lifting down bags and coats from the overhead luggage lockers. She slid into the slow-moving queue that had formed in the narrow aisle of the plane. At the top of the steps she paused, looking again towards the terminal building taking a deep breath to quell the flutters in her stomach.

  The passport official handed her back her passport and wished her a good holiday.

  ‘Merci monsieur.’

  There was a longish wait while the luggage was unloaded. Through the windows separating the arrivals area from the main body of the terminal, people were waving and smiling, children jumping up and down as they recognised grandparents and cousins. No sign of Annabel, or anyone else for that matter. Caroline stood on tiptoe, trying to peer over heads as she waited by the luggage carousel.

  Her case appeared and she pulled it off and slid out the extending handle. OK. Time to find out who had come to pick her up. No, she told herself, don’t even imagine it will be him. Even though she had freshened her makeup on the plane, just in case. She passed through the sliding doors and into the terminal building. Crowds of holiday makers jostled each other, trying to clear a path for trolleys piled high with bags. She made her way to the edge of the crowd and put down her case.

  ‘Pardon Mademoiselle!’

  A harassed man in uniform was trying to get past. Caroline picked up her case again, and wheeled it over to a space against the wall. High above the hall the minute hand of a large clock took a jump forward. Nearly half past four. Caroline checked the time on her watch. Had Annabel made a
mistake about the time of arrival? There was an hour’s time difference between the UK and the Continent. Yet she’d repeated it quite clearly ‘Flight FR 714, arriving at Biarritz at sixteen oh five local time’. She had stressed that it was ‘local time’, causing Annabel to snap peevishly ‘Yes, local time dear sister I’m not a total idiot, duh!’ Another wave of people arrived in the lounge, newly disembarked, families with young children and babes in arms, people travelling alone, searching the crowds anxiously for a familiar face or striding purposefully towards the exit with the air of seasoned travellers.

  Her mobile. She had forgotten to switch it on again after disembarking. While she was waiting for the network connection, there was a roar from outside as yet another plane took off; in the terminal loudspeakers relayed an unending stream of messages and announcements. Caroline looked around to see if she could see an information desk, wondering if there might be a message waiting for her.

  ‘Passengers for Flight A 4507 to Lyon are invited to proceed to Gate Number 5.'

  ‘Caroline! There you are.’

  She turned, relief flooding through her. Julian, looking harassed, was pushing his way towards her.