She gave Julian a peck on the top of his head, then patted it.
The table fell silent.
‘What?’
Claudette collected knives and fork with a clatter.
‘You are making a little toutou from your fiancé,’ she said, glaring at Annabel.
‘Toutou?’ said Annabel.
‘A little doggy. One which trots behind and obeys his mistress.’
Jean-Paul, eyes bright with too much champagne, imitated a small panting animal pawing at Annabel’s dress.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘Julian only does the things he wants to do. Don’t you?’ she said accusingly, when he didn’t answer.
Julian was looking extremely uncomfortable.
‘Please Annabel,’ he said. ‘Don’t start. Not tonight.’
‘Don’t start? I didn’t start it! No really, I’m getting rather fed up with all your insinuations.’
She rounded on Claudette.
‘You’re always making those sly French comments. And if you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t know anything about Julian, or myself. Oh, I know you had a teenage crush on him. But he’s moved on, he’s with me now. So instead of sniping and criticising, just get a life!’
‘Annabel!’ Caroline was aghast. She jumped up and turned to Claudette who was standing like a statue.
‘Oh don’t you start as well Caroline. It’s no good telling you to get a life. Nobody could possibly live up to your standards of prissy perfection. No wonder your precious boyfriend dumped you!’
‘That is enough!’
Everyone jumped as Julian threw back his chair and got to his feet. With a face like thunder he took hold of Annabel’s arm.
‘You are my fiancée and I love you dearly. But you’re young and you’ve got a lot to learn. And the first thing is, how to behave in adult company.’
He turned to the others.
‘Please excuse us.’
To a stunned silence he marched off indoors pushing an open-mouthed Annabel in front of him.
The next one to move was Edward.
‘Claudette, Caroline, I am so sorry you had to put up with this.’
Caroline was struck by the whiteness of his face, and by the strangeness of his words, almost as though he was taking responsibility for Annabel’s behaviour.
‘I’ll see to the clearing up. No, please. Why don’t you all go up to bed? Or Jean-Paul, take them into the garden, give them a glass of cognac’
‘Actually if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll just turn in. I can’t tell you all how sorry...how ashamed I am.’
Caroline turned to go. Claudie stopped her.
‘Caroline, wait. It’s not your fault. I started it, Annabel is right. I was bitchy, and she’d had too much to drink.’
She gave Caroline a big hug.
‘I did ask for it, you know. But you didn’t, so I am still cross. But tomorrow will be another day and we will all feel better.’
‘Thank you Claudie. Goodnight everyone.’
She was dreading another night tossing and turning but as things turned out she was fast asleep by the time the wind began to stir, coming in from the sea in little gusts, a stiffening westerly bringing in its wake a shoal of clouds.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. FRIDAY 9 JULY
It was the wind that woke her the following morning. She lay for a few minutes listening to the rattling of the shutters then got up and went to the window which looked out over the back of the house. The tossing treetops were dark against a troubled sky. The temperature had dropped noticeably. With a shiver she closed the window and headed for the bathroom impelled by a sudden urge to go down to the beach and see the whitecaps.
Ten minutes later in jeans and a thick sweater she crept downstairs through the silent house. There was no sign that anyone else was up and about, only the faint sound of Madame Martin in the kitchen, setting about her chores for the day.
The gale hit her as she came down the hill and rounded the corner. She headed for the seafront, passing one or two brave holiday makers clinging to their coats and leaning into the gusts. The beach itself was empty apart from a solitary figure outlined against the waves. The lifeguard’s platform had been overturned, and lay on its side in the sand.
Caroline paused struck by the contrast between today’s deserted expanse of sand and the scene two days ago, bodies lying end to end like sardines, and the sea black with bobbing heads.
She thrust her hands into her jeans pockets wishing she’d thought to bring a jacket. But it was bracing. The wind challenged her, whipping at her hair and cheeks. Taking a deep breath she jumped down on to the beach and plunged across the sand towards the water’s edge. Just above the waterline she turned and headed in the direction of the lighthouse, walking on the hard sand left by the receding tide. Ahead the bay’s curve was limited by a jutting headland, its sides striped horizontally in brownish grey strata of rock. Its profile was silhouetted darkly against the merging sea and sky like an uneven flight of stairs mounting to the green plumes of bushes growing along its top. At the foot of the cliff was the plage du phare with its striking rock set in the bay, a huge whale-like structure with a hole through the middle through which the sea boiled and churned.
Far off, a couple moved, toy-sized, along the cliff path. Behind the white column of the lighthouse dense grey clouds rolled before the wind, their colour echoed in the water beyond the bay, an undulating expanse of waves the colour of steel, with, far out on the horizon, breaking whitecaps. The sun appearing fitfully through the clouds caught their tops and dusted them with brief silver. Caroline struggled on, deafened by the booming surf, her body angled against the wind. Huddled against a wall at the edge of the beach a solitary family sat gathered round a lilo and a rolled-up beach umbrella, casting hopeful looks at the sky towards the west where patches of blue appeared momentarily in the black thunder clouds.
She drew near the rose-coloured facade of the Grand Palais, its massive dignity contrasting with the new apartment blocks surrounding it. She paused a moment to look at the terrace with its heated pool usually crowded with people. There was not a soul about. The covered pathway which hugged the cliff below it was closed off due to the high seas.
‘Watching for the ghost of the Emperor?’
She whipped round at the words.
Edward was looking down at her. The wind ruffled his hair and tugged at the flaps of his yellow waterproof.
‘Where did you come from?’
The question came out like a challenge. Caroline winced inwardly.
‘I stepped out for a solitary stroll along the beach and lo and behold, I stumble across a beautiful siren.’
A brief smile crossed Edward’s face.
‘Are you OK?’
He was referring to last night. She shrugged.
‘Yes and no. My injured feelings will heal, but I’m still hugely embarrassed about Annabel’s behaviour. You must think we’re a family of boors.’
‘You forget I met your Aunt. She couldn’t be a boor if she practised for ten years. And neither could you. Shall we continue?’
They turned back along the beach towards the Rocher de la Vierge.
‘It’s really magnificent.’
She had to shout to be heard.
‘Yes. Do you want to stop for a minute? Watch the waves?’
He steered her towards a cluster of rocks close to the headland. Here the sea was wilder, battering the sand with a ferocity that took Caroline’s breath away. Imagine falling into that. The red flag forbidding bathing fluttered wildly on its pole. Not a soul was in sight on the sandy bay. A few metres out to sea, waves struck against the massive chimneys of rock. Cascades of foam burst against their tops and sprayed through the holes in their sides. The pair of them sat spellbound, awed by nature’s display of mighty power.
Under the changing sky the water was battleship grey shot through with astonishing bars of turquoise and jade where the sun’s rays struck. There were piecing flash
es of white as a gull swooped or a wave crested.
Caroline, turning to say something about the gulls was struck by the expression on Edward’s face. His eyes, usually so blue, were stormy grey, mirroring the turbulent sea. She shook as the now-familiar rush of attraction burst through her like the waves out in the ocean. What was it about this man that had her hormones leaping to their feet and singing the Hallelujah chorus? She looked the other way. You couldn’t get turned on sitting on a freezing cold beach, your hands stuffed into your pockets, ears tingling, nose red and runny. You just couldn’t. Ha. Tell that to the Hallelujah chorus.
‘Look!’ he was pointing out to sea. Following the direction of his finger she saw a sailing boat, delicate and fragile as a piece of egg shell, race across the sea beyond the bay. It bucked and dipped in the green troughs, a tiny man-made object in the middle of a maelstrom of elemental fury.
‘Wouldn’t you love to be out there with them?’
He turned to her, his face alight.
The Hallelujah chorus stopped in mid song. The blood chilled in her veins and she shuddered. A door swung open in her mind, the memories came flooding back.
‘What’s the matter? Are you alright?’
Edward was alarmed by the sudden pallor of her face. She was staring at the little boat as though mesmerised.
‘Caro?’
The image of Liam sprang into her mind’s eye, an impatient wind-blown Liam, his hair whipped back from his face, shouting incomprehensible instructions at her. Their last holiday, the one where it had all ended, where she had faced the truth.
Everything had gone wrong, right from the start. With each new disaster, she had seen the future crumble. She supposed that somewhere at the back of her mind she had known it would happen. She and Liam were over. Four years were coming to an end. But she had never imagined it would be like this. That final drive home, huddled against the passenger door, miserable and silent. Liam’s fingers white on the wheel, his face tight-lipped. Janet and Oliver in the back trying to make normal conversation.
A gust of wind caught at her scarf. She became aware of Edward, looking at her with concern.
Could she tell him? She had never talked about it with anybody, except Jill. Margaret had probed delicately, then let it drop. Annabel, of course, Annabel had pressed for details, nagging and pleading, but there was no way she was going to confide in Annabel.
But now she had a sudden urge to talk to Edward. She hardly knew him, had fallen into his arms ready to do whatever he wanted, had spent sleepless nights re-living her embarrassment. Yes, she had made a mistake, let herself go, way too far. But now, looking at him, seeing the way that he was looking at her, she felt drawn to him in a way that was not just physical. Instinctively she felt the possibility, the real possibility, of something else between them. What had Yvette said, about true friendship being rarer than love?
As if reading her thoughts, he reached out for her hand. She took a breath.
‘Just a love story with an unhappy ending.’
That sounded trite. She ploughed on.
‘I thought it was over, dead and buried. The boat brought it all back, that boat.’
She pointed out to the bay.
‘His name was Liam, we were engaged, we were on holiday at Cowes with a couple of his friends Janet and Oliver. Do you know Cowes?’
‘Yes. The big yachting event, was that it?’ His gaze was unwavering.
‘Yes. Janet and Oliver had a sailing boat. Liam had been dying to go for ages. And he took to the sea like a born sailor, Liam. But me...’ she looked at Edward again. ‘You saw me in the pool yesterday. I’m frightened of the water. I hated that boat from the minute I set eyes on it.’
She paused, then said again, with passion:
‘Hated it. As soon as we left the harbour I was seasick. We would be out for hours, the wind making our ears numb, eyes streaming, the waves coming up to meet us with that awful thud. I can still hear it. It was so cold. In spite of the oilskins I was soaked. Soaked and terrified. When we got in the first night I told him I couldn’t do it again. Why didn’t he go on his own, I said, I’d be happy to stay around the hotel, go for walks, anything rather than go through that again.’
She swallowed.
‘He was furious. He said I was selfish, that I’d upset his friends, that I wasn’t trying. He was like that, Liam. I was never up to scratch. So the next day I put on a lifejacket and went with them. And the following day. And every single day for the whole week. Wind, rain, storms, I was on that boat retching and heaving and clinging on for dear life.’
‘Go on.’
His hand had tightened round her cold fingers.
‘Maybe... maybe I should have put my foot down right at the beginning. But the pattern of our relationship, I learnt that, afterwards, there was a pattern. My role was to please him. He was the Headmaster, I was the student. ‘Could do better. Needs to try harder.’ Stupid really. But I did try. I tried for so long. Annabel, what she said last night, she didn’t have a clue. I was the one who was never perfect enough. When we were at Cowes, we both knew that was it, finished. I felt...I don’t know exactly what I was feeling then. I was so physically sick. But he felt guilty, I suppose. And because he felt guilty, he also felt resentful. Well, that’s the way I analysed it afterwards. And it all built up. The last night we went out to a club. There was dancing, drinking, and I felt dreadful. The floor still seemed to be moving under my feet, I had to rush to the bathroom, throw up.’
Edward watched her pick at some seaweed on the rock. He had a sudden memory of the Caroline he had first met. Long, thick, tangled hair pulled back, dark circles under those darker eyes, liquid, enormous, like a wounded deer. Her slight frame, completely hidden under clothes that were way too big. The startled movements. The slender warning of her raised hand. The feel of her foot, its delicate bones, the smell of mint and grass. The Caroline who’d pulled him in like a moth to a flame.
She raised those dark eyes to his.
‘I’ve never been a head-turner. But after a week of being buffeted about, seasick all the time, unable to sleep because I was worrying about what would happen the next day...’she gave a little grimace. ‘I looked like hell. When I saw myself in the bathroom mirror, just after I’d been sick, I suppose I looked a bit the same way I did last Sunday morning.’
She managed a wry smile. He smiled back, raised her hand and kissed her fingers.
‘I thought you looked adorable last Sunday. But go on.’
‘Anyway, as I said, we were in this club. Liam started to drink. The more he drank the angrier he got. I knew it was because of me, and not just because of what had happened that week, but because, well, he just couldn’t get me right. When I came back from the Ladies, he looked at me like I was something disgusting. His face turned red. I knew that something awful was going to happen. I sat there paralysed not knowing what to do. His friends were getting uneasy too, Oliver suggested we all went back to the hotel but Liam wasn’t having any of it.’
She stopped and closed her eyes.
‘Why on earth am I boring you with all this? You must—’
‘What happened?’ Edward’s voice was soft.
‘He was making a lot of noise. Some people started complaining, the manager came over, a man got up from the bar, said something. Liam jumped up, hit him, laid him out flat, boom.’
She banged her fist on the rock.
‘To say it was a shock would be an understatement. I’d never seen him behave like that before. It was like watching television you know, those soaps where people in the local pub start shouting and punching one another. There’s always something comical about them. But here it was happening right in front of us and it wasn’t comical at all. We were all stunned, Oliver, Janet, me. We didn’t know what to do. Poor Oliver was trying to sort things out with the manager, pulling all this money out of his wallet, Janet was on her mobile trying to get a taxi. I was just standing there, dumb. It was such a horrible thing, s
eeing someone you think you know suddenly become a stranger. His face...it looked so ugly, when he hit the other man he smashed his nose, there was blood on the floor. Liam sort of laughed, he had a mad look in his eyes and then he toppled right over. So he was on the floor as well, he couldn’t even get up, he was flailing about...in the end these security guys, they just picked him up and heaved him out. On to the pavement. He rolled into the gutter.’
The man she had loved, lying drunk in a dirty gutter full of cigarette ends, greasy papers, vomit, and empty lager cans. She would never forget it.
She bent her head, hair falling over her face.
Edward’s grip had tightened even more. He longed to grab her in his arms, scoop her up, carry her away, wrap himself around her and protect her so that nothing could ever hurt her again. No, no, not yet, instinct warned. He’d made a big enough mess of things last Sunday. Softly softly. Gently he reached out and brushed the tears from her cold cheeks. She stiffened. His heart ached.
‘There was something else.’
Two things, actually. But she would never tell anyone about the second.
She bowed her head again, as though ashamed.
‘A couple of weeks afterwards, he tried to contact me. I couldn’t even bear to hear his voice, told him it was no use, everything was over. But he kept on. Ringing me.’
She had picked up at first, wondering what he could possibly have to say. She soon found out. First it was accusations. Then justifications. Then abject apologies. And finally, threats. She had changed her number.
As the nights of autumn fell she sat in her flat, doors locked, often in the dark. She tried to keep a grip on her sanity, reason with herself. The cracks had been there already, for quite a time, if she was honest. Twenty-twenty hindsight. Never, no matter how hard she tried, would she have become the sort of person Liam was looking for. On a subconscious level, she supposed, she had realised this early on in the relationship, just refused to admit it to herself. She had wanted love, romance, the wedding and the family albums. The log fires, the sleeping dog, the sound of Chopin. She only had to make a few changes, try harder, stop being less this, start being more that. He was quite specific, even down to the style of clothes she had to wear. But it was never enough. Would never have been enough.
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