‘I’ll ask Claudie to teach you,’ said Edward. ‘She knows every dance going.’
Claudie and Dominique had followed Antoine and Annabel out into the throng and could now be seen doing some strange ballet known only to them which seemed to consist of a lot of sensuous wriggling up and down on the spot mixed in with some spectacular Argentine tango moves and bursts of jive.
‘That was amazing! Antoine is a brilliant dancer!’
Annabel flung herself down and took a long drink of Julian’s beer.
‘Steady on darling.’
She raised her eyes heavenwards.
‘Come on Edward, your turn!’
She was on her feet again, clicking her fingers in time to the music, holding out her hand with an imperious gesture.
‘Really darling!’ said Julian ‘you mustn’t get too tired!’
Annabel didn’t deign to reply, simply tossed her blond mane and seized Edward’s arm. With a look which said ‘what can I do?’ he allowed himself to be dragged into the mass of gyrating bodies.
‘We must not be beaten! Caroline?’
Caroline hadn’t the heart to refuse Jean-Paul, even though her feet were aching in her new sandals and she could feel a blister coming on one heel.
The band was playing a rumba.
‘I haven’t the faintest idea how to do a rumba!’ she protested as he led her into the thick of the dancers. She tried to remember the moves she’d seen on ‘Strictly Come Dancing’. Rumba, the dance of love. Oh wow. But she need hardly have worried. There was so little room that the two of them could only stand still and sway in time with their neighbours. Allowing herself to relax and succumb to the rhythm Caroline threw back her head and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the night sky stretched out above the treetops, soft and immense and studded with stars.
They stayed on the square for a couple more numbers before making their way back to the table. Edward and Antoine were talking to a group at the bar. Dominique and Claudie were nowhere to be seen. Maybe trying out some ‘Fifty Shades of Grey routines’? thought Caroline, remembering their Argentine tango. Annabel and Julian were sitting in frosty silence, chairs apart. Annabel’s face wore a look of elaborate boredom.
‘Uh oh,’ said Jean-Paul as they drew near.
‘JP! Just in time!’
Annabel leaped to her feet and seized him by the wrist before he could sit down.
‘Surely you aren’t too tired to dance with me!’
She threw a black look in Julian’s direction.
‘Come on, let’s leave the older generation to nurse their bedtime drinks!’
Caroline taken aback watched her sister storm into the crowd. Jean-Paul threw out his hands and gave an expressive shrug.
‘C’est la vie! Women, mon ami.’ He patted Julian on the shoulder. ‘You know they are from Venus? Claudie keeps telling me. We are from somewhere else, apparently, maybe a very small stupid planet? In any case we shall never understand their higher intelligence.’
Caroline’s heart warmed towards him.
Julian gave a little smile of thanks which faded as Jean-Paul followed the blond mane into the thick of the dancing.
‘Damn damn damn.’
He turned to Caroline.
‘Sorry. It’s all got a bit too much tonight.’
He looked so fraught that Caroline impulsively put her hand over his and gave it a squeeze.
‘What’s the latest?’
‘Oh it’s...’ he shrugged. ‘Just another argument. The same old story. We’ve had row after row these last two weeks. I didn’t want to say anything earlier, spoil your holiday. But I’m at my wits end Caroline. I don’t know what to do for the best.’
Caroline shook her head in dismay. She hadn’t realised things had deteriorated so badly.
‘Is it the Frankfurt business?’
‘That’s part of it. The thing is, this new deal with the Germans is essential for the firm. I won’t hide it, we were struggling when they came along. What can I do? I’m the CEO, I simply have to go out there. She just doesn’t seem to understand that. But if she came with me, she’d have every luxury she could imagine, no work, no stress, as much money as she wants, a car to take her to the shops, trips back to London. She could rest, take it easy—’ he broke off and took a deep breath. ‘Every time I mention it she becomes evasive, irritated, sometimes it’s as if—’ he shook his head, ‘as if she hated me.’
‘Oh Julian I’m so sorry.’
Privately, Caroline was beginning to have serious misgivings about the future of the relationship. She had picked up on her sister’s irritability with Julian. The others had noticed it too. And long experience warned her that if Annabel did not embrace an idea wholeheartedly from the beginning, it was almost impossible to get her to change her mind. Was she having second thoughts about the engagement? If that was the case, Caroline decided, she absolutely had to speak to Annabel, get her to stop playing around and give Julian a straight answer. Even if the answer wasn’t one he wanted to hear. She couldn’t carry on in the role of fiancée simply to make use of Julian as a rich and attractive escort. It was too shameful. Caroline wouldn’t let her. They could all see how miserable and unhappy he was. If only Margaret was here. Caroline sighed. She had to take Annabel on one side as soon as possible, play the gendarme. She hated the idea. She wanted a happy ending for them, wedding bells and babies. But some things were just not meant to be.
She hadn’t the heart to say any of this to Julian, who was slumped in his seat as though the cares of the world were on his shoulders.
‘Cheer up Jules. It might just be a passing cloud. You know how temperamental Annabel can be. Maybe after the holiday, you know, when you’re back at home, things will be different. And don’t forget, you’ve both been working hard, well especially you, Julian. You’re stressed, Annabel’s stressed, she probably just doesn’t want to think about anything except enjoying herself right now. Look how she was last night! Life and soul of the party!’
‘Oh Caro, you’re such a sweetheart. The thing is...’
He looked like a despondent little boy. She gave his hand another squeeze, put on a reassuring smile.
‘The path of true love and all that. I’ll talk to her. Promise.’
The music had stopped. Hot and dishevelled, the dancers were returning to their tables. Caroline offered up silent thanks. She felt really bad for Julian. Part of her wanted to simply come out and tell him to forget all about Annabel, her sister simply wasn’t worth it. She was shallow, she was self-centred, she was calculating. Caroline had been the victim of all her sister’s bad traits. Of course there were other sides to her as well, she could be loving, generous, attentive. When she felt like it. That was the trouble. Predicting how Annabel was going to feel was like watching a weathervane in a turbulent wind. In any case, Caroline told herself, Julian would not take the slightest notice. He was just too hooked.
Jean-Paul fell into an exaggerated totter as he neared the table moaning about ‘les anglaises’ and where did they get all that energy it must be something in the tea. Annabel paused on the edge of the square, pretending to watch the musicians.
‘Miss MacDonald. May I have the very great pleasure?’
Edward was holding out his hand, bending over in a mock bow.
Glad to escape, she let Edward lead her away from the table, where Annabel had finally sat down and was now talking too fast and too loudly to Jean-Paul.
They made their way towards the small stage. The band were consulting over their next number. Caroline was keenly aware of Edward’s fingers, warm and strong, gripping hers. The musicians picked up their instruments, the lead singer, a voluptuous girl in a short red dress, cradled the mike, and in a warm and sexy voice murmured a couple of words in Spanish. The crowd roared.
‘Si si si!’
The chant died down as the guitar started up, playing a soft and sultry tango.
‘Bésame, bésame mucho...’
The s
inger tossed her long black hair from her face, closed her eyes and swayed her hips. Caroline found herself pulled towards Edward and caught up in the erotic rhythm of the song. Any reticence vanished as the steps came back to her, and she found her body responding perfectly to the commands of her partner.
‘Slow slow quick quick, slow slow quick quick...’ she remembered her Aunt issuing commands as she and Birdie guided the sisters round the living room at Willowdale. Waltzes, foxtrots, the quickstep. And fortunately, the tango.
‘A girl simply has to know all the ballroom dances. It’s a social obligation, and what’s more, it’s jolly good fun!’
‘Besame mucho, que tengo miedo a perderte después!’
As the singer threw back her head and poured her heart into the words Edward pulled Caroline hard against him. The instant their bodies touched, a thousand fireworks exploded. She gasped as her body caught fire.
‘Do you understand Spanish?’ he murmured into her ear, his breath coming hot and rapid on her neck.
‘No, I, the title, I just know the title. ‘Besame mucho.’
‘Kiss me. Kiss me a lot.’
She scarcely heard his words, his lips were brushing her shoulder, he spun her round in a dizzying turn then bent her low to the ground as the song finished.
‘Besame mucho, que tengo miedo a perderte después. Kiss me a lot, I’m so afraid of losing you afterwards.’
The dancers were clapping and whistling and calling for more. Caroline’s hair was almost touching the ground, Edward’s face was close to hers as he leaned over her, supporting her in the cradle of his arms. Then, as if she weighed no more than a feather, he swung her upright, as with an equally abrupt change in mood, the band struck up a familiar series of notes followed by a staccato rhythm. The crowd howled with delight. Through her dizziness, Caroline recognised the Basque folk tune she had heard during the procession. Before she had time to gather her wits or steady her racing heart she found herself in a circle of dancers. Edward was on one side of her, a merry-faced youth with a mop of black curls on the other. As if an invisible puppeteer had suddenly pulled the strings everyone simultaneously clasped hands and raised their arms into the air. Then, in response to another theme from the musicians, the dancers moved to the left, springing from one foot to the other, and giving a series of kicks. Caroline stumbled, lost at first, but between Edward and the merry youth shouting out instructions and pulling her along, she gradually got the hang of it. The tempo speeded up, the circle whirled round and round and she found herself dancing and leaping as wildly as the rest. Faster it went, then faster, nearing the finale. Then it stopped with the same abruptness it had started. The exhausted dancers reeled about, laughing hysterically and clutching each other for support.
‘I think I’m going to die!’
Caroline was gasping for breath, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her sides were aching, her head was spinning and she hadn’t laughed as much in ages. She staggered against Edward, who produced a large, very English handkerchief like a rabbit out of a hat.
‘Here.’
He was grinning at her, the indulgent, adoring sort of grin of a parent collecting a child from a spin on the roundabouts. For one minute Caroline thought he was going to offer to blow her nose for her.
‘Why...why aren’t you out of breath?’
He must have had lots of practice. Probably the dance was something they all learnt in kindergarten. He lounged at ease, breathing a little faster than normal but otherwise unaffected.
Caroline, fanning her burning cheeks, gulped down deep breaths of air.
‘Not fair.’
Edward looked down at her flushed face and tousled hair.
‘You know who you remind me of? Claudie at the fair when she was thirteen. When she thought Jules was the most handsome man on earth. We’d taken her and group of her friends and the entire gaggle didn’t stop screaming and laughing and guzzling candyfloss all night. We got the Legion of Honour for that.’
‘Thirteen!’
She still hadn’t got her breath back sufficiently to argue with him. She felt more like a hundred and thirteen. She bent forward and put her head between her legs.
‘It can’t be that bad!’
Now he was sounding worried.
She straightened up and started to laugh.
‘The last time I moved that fast was when I was in the relay race, at school. And we lost all the same. But it wasn’t my fault. We had a bad start, nearly dropped the baton.’
She turned to face him.
‘That was great, really Edward, I can’t remember when I laughed as much, my ribs are killing me. The sight of all those people leaping up and down, it was hysterical, they were going so fast it was a blur! I kid you not, there were moments when I actually took off, both feet left the ground. I’ve always wanted to fly. Now I have.’
She was talking rapidly, on a high. The atmosphere, the balmy weather, the crowd of excited people all laughing and dancing together, grabbing hands with strangers. She lifted her head and sniffed the air. Somewhere someone was grilling spicy sausages. She felt hungry, happy, as though she was floating on a cloud.
Edward seemed to read her thoughts.
‘You’d like a merguez. No, don’t deny it. I saw you sniff.’
‘I didn’t! I don’t!’
‘Or a beignet. Or a waffle. Your’re drooling.’
‘Oh!’ she gave him a little push. He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his heart. He was staring at her with a half smile, and that same intent look, the hunter’s look, that she had first seen in Margaret’s garden.
‘Caroline.’
Something in the tone of his voice sent chills along her skin. She dimly heard the band begin a soft romantic tune, felt Edward’s heartbeat pick up under her hand, had the sensation of swooning, falling, down down down, like a shooting star. If he hadn’t reached out to hold her she would have dropped. Then she was in his arms, enfolded in a warm private world. They moved slowly, circling beneath the plane trees which flung leaf patterns over them like a magic net. She was a prisoner. Her blood tingled, inflamed by the fever coming from that hard body pressing its length against hers. She closed her eyes and danced, seeing nothing, letting herself be guided like a blind woman, Edward’s arms encircling her, protecting her, the infection in her blood mounting as his throbbing flesh pressed against hers. Just the touch of the hairs on his arm, feather-light against her bare skin, was enough to send electric pulses racing through her veins.
She gradually became aware that they had stopped. The music was still playing. Opening her eyes she saw that the other dancers continued to revolve around them like figures in a dream. Her eyes sought his face, but it was in shadow, there was only the gleam of his teeth, white against the dark skin.
Without a word he led her from the dance floor, beyond the tables, towards the trees. She realised they were going away from the square and into the shadows of the adjoining streets.
They stopped beside a low wall which enclosed a public garden. She could make out the vague shapes of benches dotted here and there among the bushes. Edward leaned back against a tree and drew her close. It was uncannily dark and quiet after the bright lights and music. A breeze rustled the leaves overhead. She started to shake.
‘You’re cold.’
His voice came out of the shadows and he held her more tightly against him.
‘No, not cold.’
Was that her voice?
‘Do you want to go back?’
His voice sounded different too, low, charged.
Her stomach churned. The teasing ambivalence of their former relations had vanished, replaced by something urgent, dangerous, a force she was incapable of resisting. A barrier had broken.
‘No.’
She felt his muscles tense, felt the pulse of his body beating against hers, felt her heart thudding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. He reached out, tilted her head upwards. His eyes were searching for hers in the dark. H
is fingers caressed her face, lightly, delicately and she shivered more violently. He traced the contours of her cheekbones, moved down to her lips, then her neck, subtle delicate movements setting her skin on fire.
In the half light she sensed rather than saw his face move closer and responding to some irresistible instinct she pressed herself even harder against him, throwing her head back in anticipation of his kiss. The violence of it made her moan. The shock of his lips, his teeth, against hers was almost painful. He swung her round so that she was leaning against the tree, she felt the rough bark graze her bare shoulders. One of his hands was twisted in her hair, she was unable to move her head. For a brief second terror raced through her, she had an impulse to struggle, to escape from that violent embrace. Then the feeling vanished and she yielded herself fully, submitting her face, her body to the power of that dark force which wrapped them together, to those arms which crushed her, that weight which pushed her harder and harder against the tree. She wanted to blend into him, merge, become one. This was what she had been waiting for.
Her heart was pounding, her blood aflame. Another moan came from her throat, a sound of mingled pleasure and supplication. He surrendered her mouth, dropped his lips to her neck, her bare shoulder, butterfly kisses everywhere, sending shiver after shiver through her. She gasped as his teeth suddenly bit into the skin, arched her back. One hand slid under her T-shirt, leaving trails of goose bumps as he moved higher. He found her nipple under the thin silk of her bra, began to rub, slowly at first, then faster so that she wanted to scream. She grabbed his polo shirt, tugging it up so that their bare flesh came together, causing them both to gasp. He muttered something low, rough. She was wet, her underwear soaked through, her one desire for him to tear off her clothes, to meet her, join her, carry her away. They were both panting as though they were in a race. His hand left her breast, found the waistband of her jeans, ripped at the button and the zip. She raised her hips to help him as he pushed them down, then her hands were on him, unbuttoning unzipping, both possessed by one single thought. Now.
Suddenly he froze. Somewhere, a long way away, through the wild singing of blood in her ears, she became aware of raised voices and her eyes flew open. A group of revellers was coming down the street, singing and shouting. He let go of her, pulled her jeans up swiftly, adjusting his own jeans with equal speed. Then he fell against her like a stone, his breath coming in rasping bursts, one arm braced against the tree trunk above her head.
Biarritz Passion: A French Summer Novel Page 18