He’d thought he’d been pretty damn smart setting up the ‘accidental’ meeting at the Delormes that Saturday. But it was Edward who’d been caught on the back foot. When Caroline had walked through the door he’d hardly recognised her. Correction, he’d recognised her alright. She was still the Caroline of the greenwood tree, but brought out into the sunlight like a cockleshell found on the sand, suddenly transformed when you turned it over and saw the pearly beauty inside.
He had been taken aback, more attracted than ever, but had held his instincts in check. This was someone he wanted, but in a different way from his usual women. This was a farmhouse-in-Tuscany sort of attraction. He’d thought about her constantly until her arrival at the villa. There she was, standing on the steps, the seashell Caroline. The Caroline who’d stepped nervously into the pool that evening, her hair falling in a thick fringe in front of her eyes, who’d lost her shyness and become surprisingly competitive, joining in energetically with Annabel and Claudie’s efforts to give the men’s team a pasting. The Caroline whose hair had got soaked, whose eyes had sparkled with determination, and whose swimsuit had slipped lower and lower as she jumped up and down, the thin material outlining the swell of her breasts, the hardness of her nipples.
And then the Caroline of the feria.
She had opened like a flower that weekend. The way she had fallen in love with everything, the food, the wine, the music. The way she had relaxed in his arms, had looked up at him, lips half-parted, eyes shining, as they moved around the dance floor. And then her ardour as they embraced beneath the tree, it had taken him completely by surprise, inflamed him to the point he’d lost his senses. If they hadn’t been interrupted...he blew out his breath just thinking about it.
He had decided, meeting her again at the Delormes, that if he wanted her, really wanted her, and not just for some passing fling, he would have to tread carefully. She was, he thought, like a half-wild cat, needing to be coaxed, to be won over. The softly softly approach. And once again he’d been caught on the back foot, bowled over by her response to him at the feria. Softly softly flew out of the window, Tarzan swung in with a yell and he had nearly ruined the whole thing.
Of course, if it really did get serious, if it really turned out to be the Tuscan farmhouse, there would be complications. She had a career, job security, a life in another country. And he had a job he loved. More than loved. Of course there was always the Bristol end of things, a transfer would be possible. But could he really leave his beloved France to live in England? Look at what was happening to his best friend. Julian was being torn in half by his commitment to work, the new Frankfurt contract, and his obsession, there was no other word for it, with Annabel. The poor guy was literally being torn apart. Would the same thing happen between him and Caroline?
Whoa there, Rayburn, hold your horses he admonished himself as he left the motorway and followed the signs to Biarritz. All you’ve done so far is kiss her. Though perhaps kiss was not the best description for that erotic mini-explosion in the park.
***
Just before five, Caroline heard the sounds of the villa starting to come to life. Stirrings in bedrooms, low voices in corridors. The sound of the fridge door opening, ice tinkling.
She left her armchair and stepped out on to the terrace.
‘Aie aie aie.’
Jean-Paul was looking at the thermometer, doing his one-handed handshake thing.
‘Thirty-five degrees. Think it’s time for a dip. You joining me Caroline?’
The blue of the pool looked too inviting.
She went upstairs to change and five minutes later was sitting on the steps leading down into the shimmering water.
‘It feels amazingly cold.’
Jean-Paul, floating on his back at the deep end started to laugh.
‘This is an English girl speaking? It’s 27 degrees.’
She inched down another two steps gasping as the water hit her middle, then took the plunge, paddling round quickly in the shallow end.
Jean-Paul swam lazily towards her, a graceful crawl.
‘Beat you to the other end.’
‘Oh thanks Jean-Paul, but I’m too nervous to go out of my depth.’
He looked at her in surprise.
‘But the other night, when we had the water fight?’
‘The girls were in the shallow end.’
‘Ah yes.’
He cocked his head speculatively.
‘You want me to teach you?’
Caroline laughed.
‘Take a number. I can’t tell you how many people have tried. I can sort of manage the strokes. It’s just psychological. If I feel that I can’t touch the bottom, I panic. But don’t worry, I’m very happy just splashing around in the children’s bit.’
‘Ma chérie, you forget that I am a professional. Maybe I can show you something the 2000 others couldn’t.’
He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
‘Grrr. Go on then. But I’m warning you, your pride will be hurt.’
‘Now, take hold of my hands. We’re going to start with the right position. No Caroline, put your head down. You’re going to get your hair wet. Accept the fact.’
***
‘Watch out for sharks.’
Caroline heard the words through the splashing. She’d been practising with Jean-Paul for a good fifteen minutes. He’d been giving her lots of encouragement, but privately she felt she’d made no progress at all. She’d still be in a panic if her head sank below the water.
Shading her eyes she looked up at the figure silhouetted by the pool.
‘Edward mon vieux! How was the drive?’
Jean-Paul splashed some drops at his cousin, who jumped back.
‘Hot sweaty and full of cars. I’m going to get changed and join you. I warn you, I’m feeling very aggressive.’
By the time he returned, the pool had filled up. Claudie was conscientiously swimming lengths ‘for my fatty stomach’ she said. Julian had dived in like a star, provoking shouts and whistles from Jean-Paul.
Edward followed Annabel out of the French doors.
‘Eddie, darling could you just move that chair for me? Thanks.’
Edward positioned a sun-lounger at the far end of the pool. The shadows were lengthening and the tall pines offered a welcome patch of shade. Annabel stretched out and flung her arms above her head. Her tan showed up well against the vivid pink of her bikini. Her very small bikini, thought Caroline. She shook the water out of her eyes. Was her sister putting on weight?
‘Be a darling and do my back would you?’
Without waiting for a reply, Annabel handed a bottle of sun lotion to Edward and rolled over onto her stomach, reaching behind her as she did so to unhook the top of her bikini.
For a moment Edward stood there, holding the bottle, looking down at Annabel’s beautiful back. Finally he raised one hand, his face expressionless, squeezed a little lotion on to his palm and bent down.
‘Mmmm that’s bliss darling. Only not quite so hard. And a bit lower down.’
He was rubbing lotion into her shoulders. Caroline could see his face in profile, see the muscles in his arm lengthen and flex under his skin. He worked his way down to Annabel’s waist. Then after a pause, his hand moved up and over the slender curve of her hips. Jean-Paul was floating on his back, eyes closed, Claudie was leaning against the side of the pool, talking to Julian. No one seemed to be paying any attention to Edward and Annabel. Except her. She couldn’t tear her eyes off those long fingers, circling and pressing.
‘My legs. Don’t forget my legs. They always seem to burn.’
An iron fist squeezed Caroline’s heart. A wave of emotion swept through her, leaving her feeling sick. My God, she thought, I’m jealous.
‘You getting out already?’ Claudie called out to her as she climbed the steps.
‘Yes, think I’ll take a shower, get changed. Is there anything you want me to do in the kitchen?’
Claudie made the shape
of a gun with one hand.
‘Don’t you dare. Everything’s ready.’
Standing under the shower she felt shaken. Seeing Edward again had been a physical shock. He’d stood there, looking down at her, eyes hidden behind his dark glasses. What was he thinking? And then, watching him rub sun lotion on her sister’s back, her reaction had been so violent, she’d felt like getting out of the pool, snatching the bottle and throwing it at Annabel’s head. Oh God, jealousy. She was Caroline MacDonald. She didn’t do jealousy. Anyone would think that Edward belonged to her. Pull yourself together, she muttered aloud, towelling herself dry. What had happened on Sunday night was the result of too much wine, too much excitement. It had been a holiday kiss. Well, more than a kiss. More like being hung head down over a cliff. She had never felt that way with Liam. Never even dreamed she could feel that way. And while a part of her cried out for more, another part said stop. Desire and fear.
She found Jean-Paul and Claudie sitting in the shade of the big cedar, enjoying its fragrance on the warm evening air.
‘I like those shorts Caroline. Very pretty. Like something from Hollywood in the forties.’
‘Yes, they are nice,’ Claudie chimed in. ‘And covered in strawberries. Watch out Caroline. My brother may try to eat you.’
Claudie had showered and put on a sundress with spaghetti straps.
The three of them contemplated the view in silence. The sea was a molten dazzle far below. Ridges of rock broke its surface like the humps of whales. The sky was an odd colour, a mixture of violet and apricot.
‘It’s so different from home. I mean the English countryside, where I grew up. The green hills, the pastures. They’re lovely, but this is so...dramatic. The colours are intense, the light so clear.’
She stopped. Edward had come up behind them, his bare feet silent in the grass.
‘Did you hear that?’ Jean-Paul grinned up at his cousin. ‘Caro has been bitten! She’s got Basque fever. It’s bad, maybe fatal!’
Edward sat down on the grass next to Caroline. He stared out at the sea for a moment, then stretched out, hands clasped behind his head. Caroline examined him beneath lowered lashes. His skin was beginning to turn that shade bordering on black that only certain blondes ever acquire. Very different from Jean-Paul, who was a typical Mediterranean olive.
Jean-Paul wriggled restlessly, unable to keep still for more than a couple of minutes. He sat up, chewed a piece of grass, flung himself down again, rolled over on to his stomach.
Edward lay motionless, skin glistening under a faint sheen of sweat.
Jean-Paul sat up again. Beneath the long blue-black fringe, his eyes moved continually. Ferreting about in the grass he came across a pine cone, picked it up and lobbed it across to land on Edward’s stomach. Edward barely moved, just a tensing of the muscles.
‘Look at him. The perfectEnglish gentleman. The stiff upper lip. Always keep calm, n’est-ce pas cher cousin?’
Edward raised one eyebrow without opening his eyes.
‘Do you remember how we kept trying to do that when we were kids?’ said Claudie. ‘Raise one eyebrow like cousin Edward? We thought it was the height of sophistication.’
It was peaceful here under the cedar, just the four of them, thought Caroline. Everybody relaxed. Enjoying the evening. Making idle remarks. If only it could stay like this.
As if in answer there was a shout from the terrace.
‘Cooee! Is the bar open? It’s half past seven.’
Claudie sat up and winked at Caroline. She called back to Annabel:
‘We’ll be up in a minute. You can get the glasses out. And the ice. And the olives. And the serviettes. You know where they are!’
She stuck her tongue out at Jean-Paul, who was shaking a finger.
‘What?
She jumped to her feet, bent over Edward and tickled his ribs.
‘Claudie! Stop that! I’ve warned you.’
Edward had grabbed hold of her arms.
Claudie was laughing.
‘Where’s the raised eyebrow now? Come on Caro, we’ll see to the dinner while they’re getting the drinks ready. You know, dear cousin, that Caroline and I have slaved for hours over a special ‘Welcome back Edward’ meal.’
‘Really?’
Edward took off his glasses and looked at Caroline.
‘We were up till midnight.’
She tried to keep her tone light.
Claudie was heading for the house. She called over her shoulder:
‘All your favourite things. Tagine. And Caroline bought some pata negra.’
‘No. Really? I might have to marry you.’
Edward’s tone was equally light.
***
Over drinks, the conversation turned to the subject of the villa and its future.
‘You’re surely not going to sell it?’
Caroline’s exclamation was sincere.
‘No, not sell it, we could never sell it, it’s been in the family too long.’ Edward paused. ‘But we might rent it out. The parents are getting on a bit, they have other plans, would like to see the world before they’re too old.’
‘And we younger ones, it’s true,’ said Claudie, ‘we maybe prefer to go away with our friends, head for Thailand, Australia. And when I finish my course, I could be working anywhere. Maybe London.’
‘London’s not far. You could always come over from London,’ said Caroline. ‘It just seems such a shame.’
‘I think it will be Edward who suffers the most,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘He’s more devoted to this place than any of us.’
‘But isn’t your life in Toulouse really?’ Annabel laid her hand on Edward’s arm. ‘I mean this place is fine for summer, but it must be a bit dead out of season;’
‘That’s when I love it best.’
Edward’s voice was chilly. He moved his arm.
‘Yes, he loves the stormy weather, the waves, the cafes all closed.’ Claudie glanced at her cousin. ‘The grey days, the wild days when the sky is black like the coal and the waves are beating three metres high on the cliffs!’
‘How poetic,’ said Annabel, stifling a yawn.
Resting her chin on her clasped hands, Caroline was looking at Edward. She could easily imagine him, striding along the cliff top, hands in pockets, gazing out at the whitecaps of his beloved coast.
‘I think that maybe Caroline agrees with you,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘She has the look of admiration in her eyes. I told you, she has been bitten.’
Caroline flushed.
‘No no, it’s just I was telling Jean-Paul the other day, I used to love to go down to Cornwall in the autumn. They get their share of wind and rain down there too.’
‘Oh my God it’s like a competition! Which place has the worst weather, Cornwall or the Côte Basque.’ Annabel handed her glass to Julian. ‘Could I have a refill darling? Me, give me the sun. Sun sun and more sun. You can keep your rain and your mist and all those little goblins.’
‘Nobody said anything about goblins, darling. Here you are.’
Julian handed the glass to Annabel.
‘This is practically tasteless! What did you put in it? Jean-Paul, pass me the gin would you darling? And don’t look like that Jules.’
‘Maybe it’s time to eat,’ said Claudie diplomatically, getting to her feet.
Ten minutes later, with curtseys and flourishes, Claudie and Caroline brought in the plates of ham and figs. The candles had been lit once again, the cutlery gleamed. A small vase of rustic roses stood in the centre of the table.
‘I say!’ Julian lifted his glass. ‘I think this calls for a toast. To our two delightful chefs.’
They clinked glasses.
Caroline thought it was time she made some sort of overture to her sister.
‘What do you think Annabel?’
‘Nice.’
‘Nice?’ Edward waved his fork at Annabel. ‘Is that all you can say? Nice? Do you realise what we have before us? This is the King of pigs. No—th
e Emperor. The Charlemagne. This pig has had a life of luxury running wild among the oak trees of Estremadura, guzzling on delicious grass and fruit and, above all, tons of acorns untouched by pesticides. This pig has never seen a potato peeling in its entire life.’
He was practically spluttering. They were all laughing, except Annabel, who had never enjoyed being the butt of a joke.
The tagine drew similar cries of ecstasy. Caroline exchanged a pleased look with Claudie. The men had second helpings, mopping up the juice with chunks of crusty baguette.
Dessert was an orange soufflé, served with champagne.
‘I think I can say,’ said Edward, licking the last bit of soufflé from his spoon, ‘that that was one of the most delicious meals I have ever eaten. Also, that I am really truly glad to be back!’
Was it her imagination or did his eyes seem to linger on hers as they raised their glasses in yet another toast? Caroline wasn’t sure. But one thing she was glad about, the easy atmosphere of the first weekend seemed to be returning. Maybe the chance for her and Edward had passed, but she felt that she was among good friends, good people. Perhaps the rest of the holiday would be alright.
‘Nothing like a great meal with friends to make you feel happy to be alive.’
Edward’s words echoed her thoughts uncannily.
They sat on until almost midnight, chatting and laughing. The lights of Biarritz spread out below them. Beyond, in the black expanse of the sea, other lights winked and bobbed as the fishing boats went after their catch.
Annabel gave a yawn and stood up.
‘I’m think I’m going to turn in, if you don’t mind. The heat has worn me out.’
Claudie stood up as well.
‘Maybe you could give us a hand to clear away before you go?’
Annabel paused.
‘Oh Jules will do my bit, won’t you darling. I really am dropping.’
Biarritz Passion: A French Summer Novel Page 21