Biarritz Passion: A French Summer Novel

by Laurette Long

  ‘OK?’ He was staring at her, eyes a smoky blue.

  She gave a breathless laugh.

  ‘Jet lag, Ryanair, and all this!’ she waved a hand extravagantly at the surroundings. ‘Maybe I’d better lay off the wine.’

  ‘Nonsense. You’re on holiday.’ He grinned and raised his glass.

  ‘To your arrival!’

  The image flashed into her mind, the Savoy, Edward gazing at her sister. Her smile faltered. Edward narrowed his eyes, noticing the change. He was just about to say something when Jean-Paul broke in:

  ‘Last one in the water clears the table!’

  Then, with an ear-splitting cowboy yodel, he pushed back his chair, ripped off his T shirt and charged towards the pool, ignoring the cries of protest from the others.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN. SUNDAY 4 JULY

  ‘What is it about me and animals? Is it my scent? Is that it, Figaro? You like the way I smell? Or is this a cunning attempt to make me get up and open a tin of cat food?’

  Figaro’s green eyes gazed at Caroline with adoration as she scratched between his ears. His purr became a deafening rumble, and he started to knead the quilt with dedication.

  ‘Hey now Figgy stop that, you’ll pull the stitching.’

  Caroline sat up with a groan and lifted the cat on to the sheet where he promptly cocked up one leg and began a vigorous washing of his nether regions.

  ‘Ugh’.

  She sank back against the pillows. Her head resounded with a thousand hammers, her face felt puffed up like an air balloon. I am never going to drink again, she told herself. That Ilouregy. Iroulegy. And I am not, definitely not, becoming a member of the women’s team for water fights. Or any team.

  There had been a vigorous, drenching battle in the pool as she, Annabel and Claudie had taken on the men’s team. And lost. She had got so much water up her nose her insides were probably chlorine white. Her lovely hair style had turned into a Medusa head. They had all been soaked, yelling and squirting water pistols. It must have been at least one in the morning before they’d straggled up to bed. She had a hazy memory of kicking off her wet swimsuit in the bathroom before she hit the bed like a stone.

  What time was it? She squinted at the clock on the bedside table. Eight o’clock.

  ‘Oh Figaro you absolute pest,’ she told him. ‘It’s Sunday morning. I could have slept for at least another two hours.’

  Figaro paused in mid-lick and threw her a look of disdain.

  From her third-floor room Caroline couldn’t hear a sound. The house was silent, everyone except her presumably still slumbering blissfully. Her mouth was dry. The thought of a long cold glass of orange juice followed by a strong black coffee was too much.

  Pushing herself out of bed she made her way to the bathroom, suppressing a shriek at her reflection. One side of her face was creased like an old apple where it been scrunched against the pillow. On the same side as the creases, her hair was standing up like a tsunami. The other half of her face looked relatively normal, except for the puffy eyes and the mascara streaks framed by straggling ropes of flat hair stuck to her head. Marcel would have a fit. She splashed a lot of cold water about, tried to flatten the tsunami by dint of tugging and pulling, gave up and decided nothing would work except a long hot shower. But that was after the enormous frosted glass of tangy orange juice, with six ice cubes. She almost cried at the thought of that orange juice.

  Pulling on a dressing gown she crept down past closed doors until she reached the foot of the stairs. Silence. A clock ticked. She tiptoed towards the kitchen.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Ah!’

  Edward was sitting at the kitchen table eating half a baguette covered in butter and apricot jam. He paused in mid-chew, a look of shock on his face.

  Caroline clutched her dressing gown tighter and swivelled sideways to hide the withered-apple-with-tsunami side. She heard a choking sound which could have been a smothered laugh or alternatively a piece of baguette going down the wrong way. She risked a look. Edward had tears in his eyes. Was she that bad?

  ‘Sorry Caro, didn’t hear you.’

  He pushed his plate to one side and headed for the stove.

  ‘Coffee?’

  Were his shoulders heaving or was that her imagination?

  Mustering her dignity she decided to go for the ‘everything’s normal’ approach.

  ‘Coffee would be great. Is it OK if I help myself to orange juice?’

  Her eyes were riveted on a large carton which was standing on the table next to the half-eaten baguette. No glass. He’d been swigging it straight from the carton which was just what she wanted to do.

  ‘Sure. Help yourself. Glasses in the cupboard over there. You’ll find your way around after a couple of days.’

  Caroline drained the first glass, poured another. Never mind the ice cubes. It was divine just on its own. And a heavenly smell of coffee was beginning to fill the kitchen.

  ‘Coucou? Quelqu’un est debout?’

  The kitchen door swung open and a small lady marched in. She was wearing a matching skirt and jacket, high heels, and a hat. A shopping basket hung over one arm.

  ‘Ah, Madame Martin, entrez, entrez.’

  But Madame Martin had stopped short, her face wearing the same expression of shock as Edward’s had done.

  ‘Oh excuse me, let me introduce you.’

  Edward was speaking in French. He gave Madame Martin a kiss on both cheeks, took her by the arm and led her gently across the kitchen.

  ‘This is Caroline, from England. Annabel’s sister. You met Annabel the other day.’

  ‘Bonjour madame,’ Caroline managed to stammer a greeting and hold out her hand. ‘Excusez mon...mon...’ how did she say appearance? State of wreckage?

  ‘The swimming pool, dans la piscine, last night—’ she broke off and cast a look of appeal at Edward whose shoulders were shaking again. A snort escaped from his nose and he dropped into the chair, laughing like an idiot.

  Madame Martin turned her attention in his direction, with a laser look that said clearly ‘don’t play games with me young man I have known you since you were in nappies and you are not too old for a slap.’

  ‘Désolé, désolé, asseyez-vous Madame Martin, I can explain everything,’ said Edward, getting up to fetch the coffee pot and three cups.

  Five minutes later the story of the epic water-fight, terminating in a resounding win for the men’s team, naturellement, had been recounted in minute detail. Madame Martin allowed herself a chuckle and several ‘C’est pas vrai!’s and ‘Non! Non, non!’s and finally turned to Caroline with a look of sympathy and a burst of rapid French which Caroline took to mean that she was firmly on the side of the women’s team and didn’t know how they all managed to put up with Edward and Jean-Paul who had been naughty boys ever since they could walk.

  As soon as she could reasonably excuse herself Caroline headed for the door, saying she was going to take a shower and then she would be back to ‘help Madame Martin in the kitchen’ a remark which won her another approving look. Edward said he was off to join Jean-Paul who was already at the beach with the other Sunday morning surfers.

  Thirty minutes later Caroline was back in the kitchen. She’d showered, washed her hair, chased Figaro off the bed and practised her French in muttered phrases as she got ready.

  ‘What can I do to help, Madame Martin? Shall I sweep the terrace?’ What was the verb for ‘sweep’, wasn’t it balayer? ‘Would you like me to wash the lettuce Madame Martin? Turn a few humble radishes into Japanese water-lilies?’

  She was determined to redeem her earlier impression and come out of this with some Brownie points. Hadn’t Jean-Paul said that Madame Martin was the real chief of Villa Julia? By the time Claudie wandered into the kitchen just before ten o’clock, Caroline and Madame Martin were firm friends.

  ***

  ‘Just smell that air!’

  Claudie and Caroline were making their way down to the Côte des Basques to watch th
e surfers. Claudie had said she had the hangover from Hell and needed a walk. Madame Martin had said they were both under her feet, and that ‘Mademoiselle Caroline’ was on holiday and shouldn’t be washing lettuces.

  It was a brilliant day. Yesterday’s green ocean had turned to cobalt, under a cloudless sky. Gulls screamed and dived and as they drew near the beach the sound of pounding surf met their ears.

  Claudie was telling Caroline that the Côte des Basques had some of the finest surfing beaches in Europe and that fans from all over the world came to try the Atlantic breakers.

  ‘Look, there’s Jean-Paul! And Edward.’

  There was a group of four surfers not far from the shore, waist deep in the water, wearing red and black wetsuits and holding their blue surfboards in front of them. Further out huge rollers broke. They looked like a snow-capped mountain range, dazzling against the sky advancing to crush the puny figures in their rubber suits.

  Caroline drew in her breath.

  ‘They’re not going to actually dive into that, are they?’

  ‘That?’ said Claudie. ‘Pouf! that is nothing Wait till we get a big storm.’

  ‘Do you do any surfing?’ asked Caroline, noticing that there were several women with boards standing on the beach or out paddling in the water.

  Claudie rolled her eyes.

  ‘Me?’ she flexed her slender arm, showing the ghost of a muscle. ‘Do I look like a sporty girl? The swimming pool is fine for me. With a sun lounger and a barman.’

  They sat down on a rock.

  Edward, Jean-Paul and their friends had swum out now into the deep water and were lying on the boards, waiting for the right wave.

  ‘Oh, I think I see Dominique,’ said Claudie, sitting up straight and squinting into the dazzle. Something in her tone made Caroline’s ears prick up.

  ‘Dominique?’

  Claudie sat back with a pleased smile.

  ‘Dominique and I, how do you say it in English? It’s a long time we are with us.’

  ‘You go back a long way?’

  ‘Yes, a long long way. He is my summer lover. We usually meet when I am here on holiday. Sometimes he’s between girls, sometimes not.’

  She switched to rapid French.

  ‘As a matter of fact he was my first. I was fifteen.’

  She grinned at the memory.

  ‘It was on the beach. One evening, back there in the dunes. He was older than me, with a lot of experience. I’d been flirting with him for ages, teasing him. Finally he cracked. So it was a good introduction for me. What do you say in English? About moving earth?’

  ‘The earth moved. Wow. Some initiation, Claudie. It didn’t last?’

  ‘Oh no, he is in Biarritz, I am in Paris, I have my other boyfriends. My winter lover, a big cuddly bear. A nice middle-aged businessman. He rubs my back, takes me out for expensive meals so I can see what the big chefs are up to. Then Bernard, he is an intellectual. He says he is trying to sharpen my brain but I know his mind is on other things. Also, he has a beard. I’m not sure about the beard. Yannick, my fun lover, he’s my favourite, really really hot. But unfortunately married. I always think one man cannot give a complex woman everything she needs, don’t you?’

  ‘Uh huh, well, I hadn’t really thought about it like that.’

  ‘And in any case, Dominique—’ she waved a hand in the direction of the sea, ‘he is a born womaniser, I think one day he could make a nice husband but for the moment he is busy with his harem. About twelve of them. He is, how do you say it in English? A hot rabbit?’

  Caroline laughed.

  ‘I haven’t heard that one before but I think I get your meaning.’

  Well, she was certainly seeing life in a new way. The French way, maybe. She scrunched up her eyes and tried to get a look at the hot rabbit, but he was too far out. They had been switching back and forth between English and French, sometimes a mixture of both. Caroline found bits of her French were coming back. Claudie was keen to practise her English ‘for my ow-ful exams’ she told Caroline.

  Oral English exams were part of her hotel catering course, and, she confessed to Caroline, she always got marked down on ‘Pronunciation.’

  ‘My examiners say I have a too strong accent, me I say, the customers like it. Look at Raymond Blanc, I tell them. But they are strict old-fashioned examiners, from the last century. And they are not even English, they are just part of the French system, so they are always trying to prove they are superior.’

  ‘I agree with you. I love Raymond Blanc. And your English is very good.’

  ‘Now you are being nice. I should speak more English with Edward, but I am lazy. How do you find my cousin, Caroline?’

  ‘How...do you mean how did we meet?’

  ‘No, I mean, what do you think about him? He’s a sexy guy, no?’

  ‘Well, yes, he is. Pretty sexy.’

  Claudie’s straightforward approach was causing Caroline to do a lot of rapid re-adjusting. Sex in the dunes. Winter lovers, summer lovers, hot rabbits. It was a different world out there. Out here. She couldn’t help thinking her friend Jill would feel right at home.

  ‘I think he likes you Caro. I saw how he was looking, last night.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘You have a boyfriend at home?’

  ‘No.’ Caroline shook her head vehemently.

  ‘So that’s perfect. If my cousin likes you and you like him, you can have a little adventure. It is good for Edward. You know, Edward, he has the girls falling all over him. He is an ulk, and he knows it.’

  ‘An ulk?’

  ‘Yes, an ansome ulk.’

  ‘Hunk. A handsome hunk. Sorry, Claudie, I’m correcting you.’

  ‘No, it’s good, you have to correct me for my English exam. Hhhhh-unk. Oh why are those ‘h’ sounds so difficult?’

  ‘So, er you were saying?’

  This was her chance to find out more about Edward.

  ‘Has he, has he ever been married?’

  ‘Married! He has no time to marry. The girls are round him like flies, but he thinks only of his work. Oh, he’s had two, three girlfriends, maybe ten, but nothing serious. He made sure they always stayed in their flat and he stayed in his. No, work is number one for him. He’s very important you know, in his firm. Oh look they have got the big one!’

  Claudie pointed. The group of four were spread our along the crest of what seemed like the wall of a gigantic glacier, a glacier moving at tremendous speed towards the shore. They swooped and glided along its side, silhouetted against the green, then disappeared as the wave broke and crashed on the shore with such force that they could feel it even this far up the beach.

  ‘So tell me about your love life, Caroline.’

  ‘Well, not much to tell really. The usual story, met a man, fell in love, four years later we broke up.’

  ‘Oh I am sorry about that. And how are you feeling now?’

  No one had asked her that question. She was curiously touched.

  ‘I’m...sad. Maybe not sad, just empty.’

  She met Claudie’s eyes, blinking back tears.

  ‘Les hommes sont des salauds.’

  Claudie leaned towards her impulsively and gave her a hug. Caroline sniffed and laughed. Men are bastards. That was one way of looking at it.

  ‘Was it recent, your break up?’

  ‘A year ago.On our summer holiday in fact.’

  Claudie gave a ‘pouf’ of contempt.

  ‘So he waits for the holiday and then he breaks your heart.’

  ‘Well, it was more complicated than that. Another story.’

  ‘I understand. You don’t want to talk about it. It spoils your nice holiday here. You are right. Forget it. Forget it and find yourself a nice sexy Frenchman. If you don’t want Edward, I have some good friends here, some bon copains. Nothing complicated, no bastards, just a nice holiday romance. It makes you feel so good, so relaxed, you purr like a cat, your skin it starts to, how do you say, radiate? You look all plumpy and ha
ppy, like a baby. You forget the work, the problems. I will introduce you tonight, at the Feria. Or maybe you like a romance with Jean-Paul? He is a bit young but I think he is good in bed.’

  Claudie started to giggle at Caroline’s expression.

  ‘Sorry, my friends are always saying ‘Claudie, you are not discreet. You meet a man you ask him is he gay, is he straight, does he have a romance, would he like a romance.’ But you know I am like that. Straight to the goal. You—’

  She was interrupted by a shout.

  The surfers were coming up the beach, glistening like seals.

  ‘Claudie!’

  One of them grabbed Claudie in a bear-hug, soaking her T-shirt and kissing her hard several times.

  Caroline supposed that this was the famous Dominique. He was dark and muscular, wet hair gleaming like jet, white teeth flashing in a grin.

  ‘You’ve soaked me you animal!’ Claudie was thumping him, a smile on her face.

  Introductions were made, Dominique, and another friend called Antoine.

  ‘You seemed to be having a good time,’ Caroline felt a bit shy, looking at Edward in his wet suit. His hair had gone curly. Rivulets of seawater ran through the stubble on his chin, down his neck. His blue eyes picked up the reflection of the sea and the sky. Neptune she thought, a sea god. Stop shaking, legs.

  ‘A good morning, wasn’t it JP?’

  They all agreed it had been a very good morning. They all agreed that a good morning should be celebrated with an aperitif at the small café at the back of the beach. It had a thatched roof and tables scattered in the sand.

  As Claudie and Caroline ordered, the men stripped off their suits and stepped under the beach shower, yelling at the cold water.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Edward, towelling off as he came to sit at their table.

  ‘So you two have been sitting on the beach admiring our daring and skill, is that it?’

  ‘No,’ said Claudie, ‘we have been making a list of everything that is wrong with men. We have got to number 2000.’