Biarritz Passion: A French Summer Novel

by Laurette Long

‘Heavens I’m so sorry! Have you been waiting for ages? Annabel said your plane arrived at five past six. Thank God I checked, otherwise you’d have been stuck here for another two hours!’

  ‘Don’t worry Julian, It’s lovely to see you.’

  She gave him a big hug, surprised to feel how relieved she was to see him and not her sister. Or anyone else for that matter.

  Julian picked up her case and began to thread his way toward the exit. Caroline followed shouting bits of information as they went.

  ‘...we only got in twenty minutes ago, and what with waiting for luggage and passport control I’ve hardly been here for more than a few minutes, anyway I’m really pleased to see you, I was just beginning to think I might try out my rusty French on a taxi driver, make my own way to the villa. Ouch!’

  She winced as someone pushed a trolley wheel into her ankle.

  ‘Have you ever seen such crowds?’

  ‘It’s a mega holiday weekend. The roads to the airport are choked. What with that and Annabel’s grasp of the 24-hour clock, I thought I’d never make it.’

  ‘Did you come on your own?’ she asked, as they reached the car park. Then, remembering, ‘Of course, you’ve only room for two.’

  They reached the BMW and Julian opened the door for her before stowing her case into the boot.

  ‘That’s right. The big disadvantage of having a sports car. I was hoping your case wasn’t too big, we had a struggle getting all of Annabel’s stuff in, I can tell you. No, today there’s some sort of fiesta in Bayonne that she wanted to go to. She twisted Edward’s arm, poor chap. Not that I’d have let her drive to the airport on her own in any case. Can you imagine your sister in a fast car on the wrong side of the road? What do you think, shall we put the top down?’

  ‘Great.’

  The sky was definitely brightening in the west, the sun breaking through the clouds and warming the air. Julian pulled out of the car park and followed the signs for Biarritz. Although the airport was quite close to the town, the roads, as Julian had said, were jammed with slow-moving traffic. Caroline gazed around her with interest as they inched along. The countryside was green and hilly, she could make out mountains in the distance, probably the Pyrenees if she remembered the map of the area she’d brought up on her computer. Dotted on the slopes were half-timbered houses in the Basque style, painted red and white or green and white. Stands of pines were everywhere. The road wound and switchbacked as they approached the outskirts of Biarritz where the traffic grew denser still.

  ‘Not too cold for you?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  In fact she was almost too warm in her jacket as they sat in the queue of traffic. She leaned back in the expensive leather seat, enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of being chauffeured around by a handsome man in an expensive sports car. Inexplicably the traffic jam eased and Julian put his foot down. The powerful car gave a growl and surged forward. Caroline’s hair whipped round her face for all of three minutes before Julian had to brake again.

  He glanced over at her.

  ‘By the way, didn’t think to mention it at the airport in all the rush, but you’re looking awfully chic Caroline. Did you do something to your hair?’

  Caroline burst out laughing.

  ‘Yes, an unexpected blow-dry.’ She rummaged in her bag for a tortoiseshell clip and pulled the strands out of her face. ‘It’s very nice of you to notice Julian. So, how are things? Are you all settled in? Is the villa as nice as it looks in the photos?’

  ‘Fine, yes and yes, in answer to your questions. The weather’s been lousy though. Annabel seems to think it’s a heavenly plot directed specially against her in person, she hasn’t stopped grumbling since we arrived.’

  ‘I gathered as much when we spoke on the phone. But look over there, not a cloud in sight. They said on the plane the forecast for the weekend was good.’

  ‘Not a moment too soon if you believe the locals. All wringing their hands and talking about a ruinous summer. The shop keepers welcome you with open arms, the restaurants have had to clear the terraces because the wind was blowing the furniture over– dreadful. We’ve spent most of the time indoors. Still the villa is well kitted out, Scrabble in French and English, packs of cards, TV, DVD player, music. We’ve managed to keep ourselves entertained.’

  ‘And how are you getting on with the twins?’

  Julian cast a brief look heavenwards.

  ‘Wait till you meet Jean-Paul. I hope you’ve brought some trainers with you. He’s a total keep-fit fanatic, been trying to drag us all down to the beach every morning, to do ‘le footing’ with him. Wind blowing, rain pouring, waves crashing.’ Julian laughed. ‘What an optimist. He just throws his arms in the air and says it’s ‘merveilleux’, that’s his favourite word, by the way, everything is marvellous. The rotten weather? ‘C’est la vie!’ That’s his other favourite expression. It’s like that Sinatra song, ‘That’s Life.’ Jean-Paul’s philosophy seems to be ‘you just gotta pick yourself up and get back in the race’. He’s a tonic, when he isn’t driving you mad. Claudette...’ he gave a whistle, ‘she’s changed since I last saw her. Very attractive. Sweet, charming, the occasional pout and sultry look. Terrific figure.’

  Caroline raised her eyebrows a fraction. Julian sounded very enthusiastic. He chattered on, oblivious to her reaction.

  ‘Yes, a real head-turner. Don’t know how she does it, she’s going into the hotel business, you know, and the meals she does for us, oh boy, you wouldn’t believe it. She whips up these amazing creations, slinking round the kitchen in short shorts and high heels, nibbling at olives, I tell you...Annabel’s been nagging, says I’m putting on weight, got to eat lettuce leaves but I say we’re on holiday, sod the lettuce leaves.’

  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 burst 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.

  CHAPTER TWELVE. SATURDAY 3 JULY

  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.