‘Go right ahead.’
Yes, tomorrow Caroline was signing the rental agreement and soon would be saying goodbye to her home in the large Victorian house where she had lived for the last eight years. Then off to start a new life and a new career. She’d had two job offers, both conditional on getting the diploma. That meant if she failed...she pushed the thought to the back of her mind. Cross that bridge, she told herself. One of the schools was within walking distance of Edward’s flat. The other, more prestigious, was on the outskirts of Toulouse, and would mean a commute. For the moment she was still hesitating. Edward, though he was trying his best not to influence her, was in favour of the school closer to home.
She still hadn’t made up her mind. All her focus this last month had been on the exams. At least now she’d have time to weigh the pros and cons. And to relax. No more reading, no more notes, no more essays. Just a long, leisurely break at the Villa Julia.
Biarritz in June. She felt a rush of excitement. Edward had told her it was a lovely time of the year to visit, the trees in their new green, the oleanders in full flower, the birds swooping about the garden, everything coming into life. It would be too cold to swim in the sea, but that didn’t bother her, she’d scarcely set foot in the ocean last summer even in the scorching heat of July. Much too terrified. The pool would be fine. It was heated, and if the weather was good, it would be warm enough for Caroline and Jill to lie back on the comfortable sun-loungers, work on their tans.
In any case, Edward would be off doing his surfing, he’d already been on the phone to Dominique and Antoine, arranging to meet, giving out invitations to come and eat at the villa, to meet Caroline’s friend, Jill, no not another English rose, this one was a fiery Irish redhead with a black belt in karate.
‘She doesn’t have a black belt in karate! And she was born in Liverpool!’
‘Well, she’s a redhead.’
Edward had been a sweetie. After hitting the ‘send’ button that afternoon back in March when she’d first had her brainwave about setting up Jill with Antoine, Caroline suddenly realised she’d invited a friend to stay at Edward’s family’s house without even checking it out first. As soon as the mail was off, she’d started to bite her nails.
But Edward had just thrown out his arms, said ‘Great! I love Jill.’ And that was that. That was Edward. Easy going, the more the merrier, the perfect host.
For the thousandth time Caroline thanked her lucky stars.
Of course, The Man wasn’t perfect. His voice, for a start. How could someone who spoke in such a beautifully modulated, sexy baritone have a singing voice from hell? His morning arias in the shower were torture. His magnificent lungs, developed by years of rowing, turned the sweetest melody into the soundtrack for a horror film, bringing tears to Caroline’s eyes and making every glass in the kitchen tremble.
Plus he was a workaholic. He just loved his job, there were times she scarcely saw him for days on end. That would put some women off, but Caroline didn’t mind, she liked being on her own, had always been able to entertain herself. And it made their times together more special. The minute she sensed that things were easing off at work she would segue into seduction mode and lay gleeful, devious plans. The cookery books would be taken out, champagne put to chill. Scented candles and flowers bloomed on surfaces. Sometimes she’d pop out and treat herself to a new top. Or a new pair of shoes. Of course she was a shoe fetishist, she was a woman wasn’t she? And those shoe shops in la ville rose, they’d tempt a saint.
She’d also developed another passion since Edward had entered her life. Sexy lingerie. Au revoir Marks and Spencers, bonjour Victoria’s Secret, Sweet Dreams and Barely There. Oh yes, Edward was a man who liked to take his time undressing his sweetie, running his fingers over the silk and the lace, lifting a hem, eyes narrowing in anticipation, a smile curving that sensual mouth. Watching while she posed.
Posed! Sometimes, thinking of the old Caroline, she felt like blushing. How had she learnt to do such things, tease, flirt, play games? It had all started last summer, of course she’d been egged on by naughty Claudie, who, let’s face it, was Oscar material in the seduction game. No way would she ever have felt comfortable behaving like this with Liam the ex, but Edward was the perfect one-man audience. Just the sight of those amazing blue eyes turning dark with desire as she turned to look at him provocatively over one shoulder had her feeling dizzy and elated. Suddenly like a panther he would spring, grab her, the fire would blaze, the look of love would fill his eyes.
Oh she would do anything for him. And last weekend at Willowdale they’d scarcely had a minute. But they’d certainly made the most–
‘Earth to Caro? Are you receiving me?’
Geraldine had finished her phone call and was grinning at her from across the table.
‘Sorry, sorry, I was miles away.’
‘Hmm. You looked to be having a really good time, wherever you were.’
Caroline looked guilty.
‘Missing the man. Going to miss you too, dear Ratty. Bit of a long way, Thailand.’
‘Don’t start. I’ve already had my Mum doing the tragedy queen routine. We both have Skype, don’t we? And anyway, now I’m expecting the honeymooners. If I’m not installed in a palace owned by my rich Thai Prince I’ll put you up in my bedsit. You can even have my bed, and I’ll sleep on the futon, with earplugs.’
They parted an hour later, with hugs, double hugs, tears, and promises to ‘be in touch’.
Caroline headed for the Tube. Her appointment with the agent tomorrow wasn’t till ten, afterwards she could make a start on the final stages of packing and cleaning ready to hand over the keys at the beginning of next week.
And then, at last, she would be on her way.
Her phone rang, and she smiled as she saw Edward’s name appear on the screen.
‘Yes my darling, it’s over...not too bad, I think...OK, I’ll phone when I get to the flat. Love you, mon homme.’
8 FRANKFURT, GERMANY. MAY
The enormous Gothic villa, a castle really, on the outskirts of the city, was set well back from the road and shaded by densely planted pines. It was enclosed by a high wall, and the entrance was through monumental gates equipped with security cameras.
‘Oh wow.’
Annabel was impressed, peering through the dark trees to the floodlit turrets.
‘You like it? Looks positively sinister to me,’ said Julian, pressing the switch to close the window and moving forward as the gates swung open to let the car through. ‘I get the feeling I’m stepping into a particularly nasty fairy story by the Brothers Grimm.’
‘Oh darling, you’re so predictable. If it’s not a Tudor residence with half-timbering and rose gardens you immediately act snooty. We are in Germany you know. They don’t do Tudor. Or Regency. Or Victorian. I think it’s atmospheric.’
Julian raised his eyebrows and remained silent. They rolled into the enormous forecourt alongside Daimlers, Mercedes and a couple of Ferraris. A uniformed attendant stepped forward to open the door for Annabel. Julian noticed him eyeing her legs as she swivelled gracefully in her seat. Long, beautiful legs and a very short skirt. He got out of the car and handed the keys to the groom, thinking that at one time he’d have felt a surge of jealousy mixed with a surge of desire. Now all he could think of was the argument they’d had about Claudio’s invitation. Another argument, he thought wearily.
As they walked up to the entrance with its blazing lights and blast of loud music coming from inside, he could scarcely put one foot in front of the other. He needed a drink, preferably a large scotch.
‘Annabel my dear, you look simply ravishing!’ Claudio kissed her on both cheeks, stood back to gaze at her admiringly.
‘Julian, nice to see you.’
A servant dressed up like a Swiss guard sans helmet received their coats with a bow. Julian closed his eyes briefly then opened them again. Their host was ushering them in to a huge room that rose to a lofty ceiling. A minstrel
’s gallery ran round three sides. Stags’ heads, boars’ heads and other parts of dead animals adorned the walls. In an immense fireplace that could easily have held half a dozen of the defunct creatures roasting over a spit, logs crackled and flared, giving off a resinous scent. It was like being on a set for ‘Game of Thrones’.
There must have been at least sixty people there already, thought Julian, walking over to say hello to Klaus, standing near the fireplace with another couple.
‘Find your way through the enchanted forest?’ Klaus gave him a conspiratorial grin.
‘Thank you.’ Julian took a glass from the tray offered by a waiter in black tie. Champagne. He really would have preferred a scotch, something to hit him in the gut, jolt him awake, but manners prevented him from asking if there was a choice.
‘Yes, I was saying to Annabel, it’s a bit brothers Grimm, don’t you think?’
‘Ah Claudio, he’s gone more native than the natives. You’d have thought a guy like him, a Milanese, would go for the glass and chrome and black leather. Not this...’ he waved his hand around the room ‘...kitsch. Stags’ heads, my God, and all this faux-Tyrolean stuff, I might have to break into a yodel.’
That got a laugh out of Julian. He’d already picked up on the vibe that Klaus was less than impressed with the new member of their group. His wife, Susie, was another matter altogether. In fact all of the wives did a universal swoon whenever Claudio stepped into a room. Thinking of wives, he looked around for Annabel. She was, naturally, in the little group of worshippers that stood near the host, arm in arm with Susie, giggling at some bon mot from the matinee idol in his impeccable dinner suit, face tanned, features impossibly chiselled, hair like polished jet. Looking at the circle of female admirers Julian had to admit that, although there were some good-looking women present, including Susie, Annabel knocked them all into a cocked hat. She had got her figure back since the birth of the baby. Tonight she was wearing a peacock-blue silk sheath that showed it off to perfection, daringly low cut, and with a slit up the back of the skirt. He hadn’t seen it before, must be something new she’d bought. She’d let her blonde hair grow long, it tumbled across her shoulders and down her back, rippling gold in the lamplight as she tossed her head.
He grabbed another glass from a passing waiter, knocked it back in one.
They hadn’t made love for months, long before Joshua was born.
But whose fault was that? he asked himself. The new job was more of a challenge than he’d thought, the constant flying back and forth to check on the London end of operations was taking its toll. And then the baby, sweet little Joshua. He still hadn’t managed a full night, and when his frail cry sounded from the nursery, it was Julian who pushed himself out of bed in the darkness, Julian who gave him his bottle. He loved it, loved the way his rosebud lips latched on to the teat, the contented murmurs as he sucked, the way he stared up at Julian with those big blue eyes, so like Annabel’s. Gradually they would start to close, the heavy lids would droop, and Julian would lay him gently back in his cot, adjusting the comforter, planting light little kisses on his downy head. He adored his Joshua, felt his heart squeeze with anguished love every time he held him.
But he was tired out. Knackered. Worn down. Running on empty. And the last thing he’d wanted to do this Friday evening was drive out into the forest for a party that would end at God knows what time in the morning. But Annabel had pouted and sulked and gone on and on and on. Always the same old refrain, her ‘I never wanted to come to Germany’ litany, he knew it by heart, could recite it backwards in his sleep. In the end it was easier to give in than listen to more of her complaints. And perhaps the fact that he’d capitulated would mean that she would let him have the weekend to recover, the first weekend in ages when he didn’t have to go to the office, when he hadn’t brought back a briefcase stuffed with papers, when they’d nothing planned for Saturday night.
He turned back to Klaus, who was saying something.
‘...not had a recent update. How is he, my friend, how is your beautiful son and heir?’
With a burst of enthusiasm, Julian started to tell him.
Dinner was served in another enormous room, a banqueting hall, Claudio informed them. ‘What, no serving wenches with unlaced chemises?’ Klaus had muttered in an undertone. Before they ate, their host had taken them on the obligatory tour of the ‘castle’. A ballroom, an indoor pool, a hothouse, where the pungent smell of lilies had Julian’s head reeling, innumerable bedrooms, all with four poster beds, dark panelled walls, and crimson curtains. It was, as Klaus had said, pure Hollywood. Pure, bad Hollywood.
The high point of the visit was the garage.
Inside the immense space, big enough for a fleet of cars, Claudio showed them his latest ‘baby’.
A Ferrari 458 Italia.
There were admiring whistles. Claudio patted the bonnet, smiled with his big white teeth.
‘562 horsepower. 0 to 100 kilometres in 3.3 seconds. Stratospheric.’
He rattled off the figures, pronouncing the word ‘stratospheric-a’, in his sexy Italian accent.
The men fell into a collective drool and moved in like a swarm of bees, peering inside, running their hands reverently over the sleek red silhouette. Claudio slipped into the driver’s seat and started the ignition.
The ear-shattering vroom vroom in the enclosed space was like a den of lions roaring and brought the women rushing in to see what was going on.
‘A woman magnet, my friend.’
Claudio winked at Julian from behind the steering wheel.
‘I can take my pick. You should treat yourself. I’ll make you a special price.’
Arrogant bastard, though Julian surprising himself by his animosity.
‘Yeah, and it’ll spend more time in the garage than on the road.’
Klaus had come up behind him and was watching the proceedings with a sardonic smile.
Julian caught the flicker of dislike in Claudio’s eyes before he smiled and winked at Klaus.
‘Eh, if it happens, I just take the Maserati my friend.’
It was well after midnight by the time dinner was over. The group split up, most of the men heading for the gloomy library which at least had real books in it, and decanters full of real spirits, and French windows that opened onto the terrace for the smokers. Music had started up in another room, the sound of laughter and screams mingled with the pop of champagne corks. Casting a glance inside, Julian saw a disc jockey at the far end, strobes flashing through the semi-darkness, gyrating bodies. He spotted Annabel, arms waving, hair tossing, and resigned himself to the fact that they were not going to get away for at least another hour. He wondered if he’d be too tired to drive. He would certainly be over the limit. They’d probably have to call a taxi.
On an impulse he pushed open a door at random and found himself in what must have been Claudio’s study. Here the décor was different. Efficient, hi-tech. Modern desk, sleek chair, an array of screens, phones, computers and other gadgets. A log fire, a large sofa. And, hidden in a dark recess by the window, looking blissfully inviting, a large leather armchair.
He hardly gave it a second thought, pushed the door closed behind him, headed across the room, sank down in the dimness, and within minutes was fast asleep.
He wasn’t sure what had woken him, maybe a door closing, maybe a man’s laugh. At first he didn’t remember where he was, disoriented after such a deep sleep. The room was in darkness, except for a few bars of light falling through the heavy curtains from the illuminated terrace outside and the glow of the dying fire. He was about to push himself up, wondering what time it was, when he realised he was not alone.
Muffled sounds came from the far side of the room, in the direction of the sofa. He couldn’t see what was going on, his view was blocked by its high back, but the urgent tone of the whispered words, the soft giggles, the rustle of clothing sent a shiver of alarm down his back. Oh God, some couple had come in here for a quick fumble. How was he going
to get out without disturbing them? Should he act quickly, cough, stand up? The whispers were turning into moans, he could hear panting, more energetic movements, something fell to the floor. He was on tenterhooks, a trapped, unwilling listener as the moans increased in volume, the invisible bodies writhed and pushed against one another in a frenzy.
‘Carissima!’
Claudio’s voice. Jesus. His host.
Who was the woman?
It was over, he heard the sound of kissing, more murmurs, stifled laughter. He had to do something. He got to his feet, silently, measuring the distance. In a few swift strides he was outside, pulling the door closed behind him, loosening his tie, his heart pounding. He headed rapidly for the library, pushing into a group of people, excusing himself, heading for the windows and the cool air outside.
9 ENGLAND. MAY
There, that was it. Boxes all packed, waiting for the removal people, flat sparkling. Caroline looked around with satisfaction. Everything was in perfect order. She had been fortunate, the agent had found her a year’s let with a couple of American academics who were in the UK on a sabbatical and wanted somewhere within easy reach of London. They’d looked at a few places, shuddered in transatlantic horror at the level of hygiene, then visited Caroline’s flat.
So, neatnik, she congratulated herself, your obsessive tidiness paid off in the end. Let’s hear it for Brillo pads and Dettol spray.
The pale fitted carpet and the two oriental rugs had been freshly cleaned. The comfortable sofa from John Lewis, her first acquisition as soon as she’d had enough money to invest in some proper furniture, looked just as good as it had done eight years ago. She had scoured antique shops and auction rooms, building up a nice collection of Victorian chests and a dining table and chairs. Fortunately for her, ‘brown’ furniture was out of fashion, which had allowed her to bid for some lovely pieces which she had burnished to a dark satin sheen with beeswax and elbow grease.
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