Summer Madness

by Susan Lewis

  Danny winked at Sarah. ‘So when do we go?’ she said. ‘I thought the beginning of June. It’ll give us all time to do what we have to do here before we clear our desks and our diaries for the heavenly pursuits of paradise.’

  Louisa nodded.

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ Sarah said. ‘Do you think we’re going to get on all right together, all of us under one roof for three months?’ she grinned.

  Right at that moment the very idea that they might not seemed so preposterous that they all laughed. But if any of them, as they sat there at the end of March in the lavish and familiar surroundings of Quaglino’s, had had even the slightest inkling of what they were about to let themselves in for, they would probably never have gone. But how could they have known when what was waiting for them in France would defy even Louisa’s extravagant imagination, and would put paid entirely to Danny’s taste for the bizarre, the dangerous and the reckless.

  3

  THE TIME PASSED quickly and almost before they knew it, Louisa, Danny and Sarah, their cars as filled to the brim with luggage as they were with heady anticipation, were driving in convoy down through France. They stopped overnight in Burgundy, staying in an old farmhouse with friends of Sarah’s and breakfasting outside in glorious sunshine. They arrived on the Côte d’Azur during the late afternoon, turned off the autoroute heading inland and got lost trying to find the villa. It didn’t matter, they were back on the right road soon enough having stopped for a while to gaze dreamily out at the distant, dazzling views of the Mediterranean. They finally arrived at the magnificent, Provençal villa just as it was getting dark and not even bothering to unpack the cars or designate rooms they cracked open bottle after bottle of champagne until they were almost hysterical with laughter as they teased each other with the outlandish ways they were intending to fill the weeks ahead.

  It took little more than twenty-four hours for their initial euphoria to fade. And by the time two weeks had passed Danny was so fed up she could hardly be bothered to speak.

  Wandering listlessly out of the kitchen, hugging her cardigan around her she padded across the red-tiled hall into the sitting room. Her face was set in an expression of outright resentment. Sarah and Louisa were huddled together on one of the vast creamy leather sofas engrossed in the Times crossword and didn’t even glance up as Danny slumped down on the sofa opposite and sighed angrily.

  Two weeks they’d been here now and it hadn’t stopped bloody raining, not even for a minute. In England there was a heat wave, on the Côte d’Azur there were floods! That she might just have been able to stand, but the horror of finding themselves in a place that, for all its splendour and beauty, could, thanks to its population, only be described as the furthest flung suburb of London was a fucking nightmare! Almost the moment they’d arrived they’d been pounced on by the jolly hockey-sticks brigade who lived here and invited to every cocktail party, under-cover barbecue and pretentious dinner going. Meaning that, every damned person they’d met so far was English! No wonder her aunt rarely came here, it was purgatory.

  Maybe they should have taken somewhere nearer the coast, but how were they to know that the historic and picturesque village of Valanjou, twenty or so kilometres inland from Cannes, was going to be like this? There was no doubt that the village itself was exquisite with its steep and narrow cobbled streets, time-ravaged sixteenth-century houses and quaint arcaded square, but it was hard to work up an enthusiasm for anything when it never stopped bloody raining. And when practically every voice you heard was either English, or English mutilating French.

  Actually they’d met one French person, Jean-Claude who lived in the villa opposite with his twenty-year-old lover, Didier. Louisa had struck up quite a friendship with Jean-Claude, but Danny wasn’t particularly interested in gays so hadn’t made much of an effort.

  Thanks to Sky Gold and its repeats of Private Essays almost everyone around recognized Danny and though when in England she generally welcomed attention, when in another country she didn’t. She was feeling trapped behind the mask of her public facade and was hating every minute of it.

  Deciding it must be time for a pastis and ready to tell the others to go to hell if they pointed out that it wasn’t yet four o’clock, Danny got up and wandered back to the kitchen for some ice.

  ‘This is turning into a disaster before we’ve even started,’ Louisa remarked quietly to Sarah.

  ‘I know,’ Sarah sighed, gazing dismally out of the french windows at the rain. Right at that moment it was hard to think of this house as the dazzling white villa with its red bougainvillea-covered walls and beautifully balustraded terraces they had seen in the photographs Danny had shown them. Even harder was imagining themselves swimming in the immaculate, turquoise-blue swimming pool that, when viewed from the villa, seemed to fall off the edge of the garden. Around the pool were vibrant, green potted palms, flowering shrubs, giant cacti and the occasional stone sculpture of nymph-like creatures. The garden that sloped gently into the woods all around was filled with ancient olive trees, soaring pines and succulent orange, lemon and quince trees. There was no doubt it was a beautiful place, but how the hell could they enjoy it in this sort of weather?

  ‘Just imagine if we’d come here for a fortnight,’ Louisa said, getting up and wandering over to the window. ‘Our time would be up now and this would have been it.’

  ‘God forbid,’ Sarah shuddered. ‘Still, it’s all the more reason to stay, I suppose. I mean, just look at that pool. We can’t possibly leave without taking advantage of it and the sun’s surely got to come out sooner or later. After all, this is the south of France!’

  ‘It is? I was beginning to think we were in Bournemouth.’

  Sarah sighed, and closing her eyes leaned her head back against the sofa while Louisa watched the rain bounce off the wide, pale stone terrace outside where sprightly red geraniums tumbled from terracotta pots and lobelia the colour of lapis lazuli twisted itself lovingly around the balustrades. As her thoughts drifted through the winding, forest roads down to the breathtaking splendour of the coastline, so far only viewed from the car, she could feel herself almost bursting with frustration. The huge, sprawling palms, creamy white, subtropical beaches hugged by the aquamarine sea and the subtle, though unmistakable air of intrigue and wealth was like a magnet to her. And then there was the little hilltop village just the other side of Valanjou, that had fascinated her with its air of mystery and weird, sullen silence. When they’d stopped to ask the only person in sight if there was a café or restaurant in the village they were told that the nearest place was in Nice, some thirty kilometres away. An extraordinary response since Valanjou with all its restaurants and cafés was a mere three kilometres down the road. This had got Louisa’s creative juices flowing as freely as the rain for she could easily envisage something sinister going on in that village that the world so far knew nothing about. And the stupendous, gleaming yachts in the harbours where the very rich were about to descend for the summer were just crying out for someone to rock their polished decks with intrigue and romance. If only she could get out there and explore it all!

  ‘I’ll bet she’s gone to get a drink,’ Sarah said. ‘In fact, I think I’ll have one too, God knows we need something to cheer us up. Whose turn is it to cook tonight, by the way?’

  ‘Oh God, the mundanities,’ Louisa groaned.

  ‘That must mean it’s your turn,’ Sarah grinned.

  ‘It is. And I haven’t been to the shops to get anything yet.’

  ‘I’ll have one of those,’ Sarah said, as Danny came back with the ice, set it on the bar and took a bottle of pastis from a mirrored shelf.

  Danny looked at her in surprise. ‘You will?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, why not? What about you, Louisa?’

  Louisa shook her head. ‘I’ll have wine,’ she said, flopping into one of the armchairs that was almost the size of a sofa.

  Danny blinked. ‘You do realize it’s not six o’clock yet, don’t you?’ she said.r />
  ‘We’re on holiday, aren’t we?’ Louisa yawned.

  ‘And she wants to get drunk so she can’t drive the car to go and get us something for dinner,’ Sarah explained.

  ‘Oh great, so we’re in for yet another riveting evening of take-away pizzas and Trivial Pursuit?’ Danny grimaced, wondering how the hell this was happening to her.

  ‘Looks very much like it,’ Sarah answered. ‘God, listen to that wind, will you?’ she added as it howled around the house.

  ‘It’s called the mistral,’ Louisa said.

  ‘Giving it a bloody name doesn’t make it any more acceptable,’ Danny snapped. ‘It’s driving me crazy.’

  ‘They say it does,’ Louisa informed her mildly. ‘Now are you going to pour or shall I?’

  ‘Oh my God! Quick! Hide!’ Danny ducked back from the bar where the steamy, rain-spattered window was reflected in the mirrors and pressed herself against the wall.

  ‘What is it?’ Louisa said.

  ‘It’s Mrs Name-Drop, who do you think?’ Danny hissed. ‘She’s coming up the drive. Now hide.’

  Immediately Sarah and Louisa dived behind the nearest sofa.

  ‘It’s no good,’ Louisa whispered, peeking round one arm, ‘she’ll know we’re here, all the cars are there.’

  ‘Get back! She might think we’ve gone for a walk,’ Danny whispered.

  ‘It’s pissing down with rain,’ Sarah pointed out. ‘She’s bound to know we’re here.’

  ‘Are you saying you want to let her in?’ Danny hissed, glaring at her.

  ‘God forbid,’ Sarah cried under her breath, flinching as Mrs Name-Drop’s meaty fist rammed the front door so hard it might just crash its way through the three-hundred-year-old solid oak.

  ‘Hello! Hello in there. Is anyone at home?’ Marcia Barringer’s plummy voice boomed.

  Danny sank to her knees, edging around the bar while Louisa gripped her stomach trying to suppress her laughter.

  ‘Yoo hoo! It’s Marcia! Is anyone there?’ She knocked again, so loudly the windows rattled in their frames.

  ‘She won’t go away,’ Sarah warned, hardly able to speak she was laughing so hard.

  ‘Are all the doors locked?’ Danny asked, a quick panic stealing the smile from her face.

  ‘If they are she’ll only come in through a window,’ Louisa choked.

  ‘Helloooo! Danny!’ Marcia called.

  ‘Why me?’ Danny groaned, making the others laugh all the more. ‘What’s the matter with you two? Why does it have to be me?’

  ‘The price of fame,’ Sarah laughed.

  ‘Oh fuck!’ Danny suddenly spluttered as Marcia’s beaming face appeared in a tiny square of the hall window. ‘Don’t say she saw me. Please God, don’t say she saw me!’

  It didn’t seem that Marcia had, for a few seconds later they heard her footsteps crunching on the wet gravel outside heading back down the drive. At least, that’s what they thought, until Danny, still not totally convinced they’d managed to get rid of her so easily, crawled to the french windows and peeped out.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ she almost screamed, clutching her chest as she came face to face with Rudy, Mrs Name-Drop’s pit bull terrier.

  Rudy went berserk.

  ‘Rudy! Rudy! Do be quiet, there’s a dear,’ Marcia admonished, her voice barely muted by either the pounding rain or the french window. ‘You’ll frighten poor Danny.’

  Danny lifted her head miserably, making a slow journey up over Marcia’s stocky frame until she came eye to eye with the curious expression peering down at her from the jaunty oval of its jolly headscarf. Danny gave a weak smile and Marcia stooped to make sure it really was Danny she was seeing crouched down there on the floor.

  Sarah couldn’t hold on any longer. Her laughter came in a great whoop of unbridled mirth, while Louisa rolled around helplessly.

  The fact that all three of them were picking themselves up from the floor, that Sarah and Louisa looked remarkably as if they’d been crying, seemed to pass Marcia by as she bounded excitedly into the room, closely followed by Rudy.

  Rudy sniffed his way across the tiled floor, got one whiff of Sarah and pounced.

  ‘Get this wretched animal off me!’ Sarah screamed, slumping back against the wall as Rudy tried to nuzzle his way through the defence of her arms to get a good, wholesome lick of her face.

  ‘Rudy, you little rascal,’ Marcia laughed. ‘Leave poor Sarah alone, will you? I don’t know what it is about her,’ she said to Louisa and Danny, ‘but he seems to have developed quite a passion for her.’

  ‘For God’s sake, get him off, will you?’ Sarah cried.

  Hooting with laughter Marcia grabbed Rudy’s collar, dragging him away from the object of his affections. ‘He’s just playing,’ she assured Sarah. ‘There’s nothing vicious about you, is there my precious?’

  ‘Well he gives a damned good impression of it,’ Sarah remarked sourly, brushing herself down and throwing Louisa a nasty look as Louisa, almost beside herself, helped her to her feet.

  ‘So!’ Marcia declared, plumping herself down on a sofa and coming straight to the point. ‘Have you seen,’ here she stopped and cupped a hand around the side of her mouth conspiratorially, ‘TK?’

  Louisa, Sarah and Danny all looked at each other. Who was going to be the stooge this time?

  ‘Wasn’t he in the café earlier?’ Louisa answered, folding her legs under her as she too sat down. Unlike the others she was more entertained by Mrs Name-Drop than she was irritated. ‘I was in a bit of a hurry, but …’

  Marcia’s head whirled in Louisa’s direction. ‘He was in the café?’ she cried, clearly miffed. ‘The café in Valanjou?’ she demanded.

  Louisa shrugged. ‘He goes there quite often, or so he tells me, I’m surprised you’ve never seen him,’ she said, not having the faintest idea who they were talking about.

  ‘You mean you know him?’ Marcia said, her startling eyebrows bristling with resentment.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Louisa answered. ‘We’ve met him hundreds of times, haven’t we?’

  ‘Oh, hundreds,’ Sarah confirmed.

  ‘I see.’ Marcia’s voice was so clipped the words barely made it through her lips. ‘Have you ever been to his home?’

  Louisa and Sarah looked at each other. ‘No, no, I can’t say we have,’ Sarah answered. ‘At least not so’s I can recall.’

  ‘Andrew and I have been invited over for cocktails tomorrow evening,’ Marcia announced, certain that this would top anything Louisa or Sarah might be able to tell her about the mysterious TK.

  ‘No! How wonderful!’ Sarah gushed. ‘Lucky you.’

  ‘He lives in Opio, you know,’ Marcia said, apparently pleased with Sarah’s response. ‘Just for the summer of course. We met him last year. Such a nice man. Of course he wasn’t the king then.’

  Louisa almost choked.

  ‘The king?’ Sarah said. ‘Oh, is that what you call him? We call him Elvis.’

  Danny gave a splutter of laughter as Marcia’s mobile face was arrested by confusion. ‘I don’t think he’s the king yet is he?’ Danny said, surprising them all.

  Marcia’s busily darting eyes softened as they alighted on Danny. ‘You’re quite right, my dear, he isn’t. But as we know, he soon will be. My word, his life is going to change then. It’ll be like when Andrew and I first went to the Middle East. So many functions to attend, so many dreary dinners and cocktail parties. I could feel quite sorry for the poor man. I mean when it comes right down to it, when you actually sit down and think about it, who would really want to be a king? Such a ghastly job if you ask me. All those frightful people one has to be polite to … I was just saying to Andrew … Oh by the way, Danny dear, I just saw you on the TV. You did know they were re-running that wonderful series you were in on Sky Gold, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I think you mentioned it once or twice,’ Danny muttered.

  Marcia beamed. ‘I’ve written to tell all my friends that you’re living at the end of our
lane. You’re our local celebrity now, you know? Do you think you might like to be interviewed on Riviera Radio? It’s an English station – I’m sure I can arrange it. We’ve got our own magazine down here as well, The Riviera Reporter. I’m sure they’d love to do a piece on you.’

  ‘Well actually, I was …’

  ‘I’ll never forget,’ Marcia boomed in over Danny, ‘the first time Andrew did an interview on the radio here. We were just inundated with invitations afterwards. It was how we got to know so many people. Of course, we don’t really like to mix with the English community too often, after all, what’s the point of living in France if you don’t take a tipple with the natives? We were just saying at dinner the other night, while we were with the mayor of Nice. He’s such a charming man. I’ll always remember …’

  Behind Marcia’s back Sarah rolled her eyes and stifled a yawn. There’d be no stopping Marcia now with her, ‘I’ll never forget’s’ and ‘I’ll always remember’s’. That would be backed up by further fawning over Danny and there were bound to be more names to be dropped and more one-upmanship before she could happily be on her way. God the woman was insufferable and wasn’t it just like her to compare herself and her husband with the soon to be crowned king and queen of Belgium, whom Sarah had belatedly identified as TK, the king.

  An hour and a half later, having downed the best part of a cheap bottle of rosé, Marcia launched herself back down the drive, dragging a reluctant Rudy on his lead. ‘Don’t forget!’ she cried, turning back to Danny, ‘Colour-Me-Beautiful on Wednesday and tomorrow night is B-B-Q time! I’ve told everyone you’ll be there, so don’t let me down.’

  ‘That’s it!’ Danny declared, closing the door behind her. ‘She’s never coming in here again.’

  Sarah and Louisa were rolling around the sofa laughing.

  ‘And if she thinks I’m going to her bloody B-B-Q … B-B-Q! Why can’t the fucking woman speak properly? Well I’m telling you, if she comes near this house again she’s going to exit PDQ because I can’t stand any more of it. And stop laughing you two,’ she said, breaking into a reluctant smile herself. ‘It’s not funny.’