Hot Basque: A French Summer Novel 2

by Laurette Long

  ‘But why does he think that Annabel was the woman? If he didn’t see her?’

  Edward shrugged.

  ‘A feeling. He couldn’t find her that evening until much later, she seemed...odd. Worked up, excited. You know how she gets.’

  She did. Her sister had a number of signs that heralded trouble of one sort or another.

  ‘Since then, he’s become more suspicious, she cuts off phone conversations when he comes into a room, sometimes when he phones from work the nanny doesn’t know where she is and her mobile’s switched off. That sort of thing. Anyway, yesterday, he followed her. Oh Caro, don’t look like that, if you’d heard the poor guy, he’s obviously at his wits end.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He lost her. But she’d told him she was meeting a friend, only he checked with the friend’s husband, apparently she wasn’t in Frankfurt that day.’

  Caroline groaned.

  ‘Poor Julian.’

  ‘I’m sorry my honey I simply had to say yes, he sounded worn out, I’ve never heard him like that before.’

  ‘Of course it’s alright, you know that’s not what’s worrying me, I adore Julian, it will be a treat to have him here, and the baby, it’s not that, it’s just the whole mess, Annabel up to her usual tricks, I really thought this time, now she’d become a mother...’ She shook her head. ‘So where is Annabel supposed to be while he’s over here?’

  ‘London. She’s going for a fitting, for the wedding dress. And to sort out other wedding stuff. She didn’t want him along, made all sorts of excuses, not that he wanted to go, but in the end he couldn’t face being on his own in the flat, wondering what she was really up to. So he asked for time off, he’s due a holiday anyway. He thought a break might clear his head, give him some perspective. He sounds like he’s ready to crack.’

  ‘Poor Jules. I just can’t believe she’s going away and leaving the baby like that. He’s only 6 months. I know he has a nanny, but still. Oh well. At least we’ll get to spend time with little Josh. I think I might pop out, do a bit of shopping this afternoon, pick up one or two things for him. And maybe something nice for Julian, what do you think he’d like?’

  She looked at Edward’s despondent face. She hated seeing him like this. He had always thought that Julian marrying Annabel was the worst possible idea.

  She put her hands on his shoulders, kneaded his muscles, brought her face close to his, sniffed.

  ‘You know, Drop Dead Ed, you’re smelling a bit ripe.’

  ‘What? I only had a shower a week ago.’

  His face relaxed into a grin.

  ‘Mmm that is so nice, what you’re doing. Yes, just there. You’re really good at this you know? Maybe you could carry on, under a hot shower?’

  ‘Deal.’ Caroline jumped to her feet. ‘One shoulder massage under a hot shower, in exchange for helping me get the guest rooms ready afterwards.’

  ‘My beloved. Not only will I wield the feather duster, I will start practising my nappy changing techniques and brush up on my Polish.’

  In spite of her forebodings she was laughing as he pulled her indoors.

  12 BIARRITZ, FRANCE. JUNE

  ‘Oh wow! Ow Ow Ow!’

  Jill stepped out of the car and stared around her.

  ‘This is just the back of the house. Wait till you see the other side!’

  Caroline grabbed her friend by the arm and led her along the path that led to the south facade of Villa Julia.

  ‘That’s alright girls! I’ll see to the bags! Don’t worry about my hernia! Bloody hell Jill what have you got in this case? Steel-tipped clogs?’

  Edward’s injured tones followed them as they rounded the corner.

  The sea was indigo streaked with violet. A few whitecaps rolled lazily inland. There was no wind today, just the smell rising up from the newly cut grass and the faint perfume of summer jasmine.

  ‘Oh would you look at those colours!’ The exclamation burst from Jill’s lips. ‘The sky! Those flowers, down at the bottom in that wild bit! And those dark green cypresses, pure Van Gogh!’

  She swivelled round to look back at the house rising three stories above the shaded terrace, the steps leading down to the pool, the brilliant scarlet geraniums that tumbled over the balustrade. Her fingers itched to grab her sketchbook.

  Caroline, watching her friend, felt a burst of pride. She was part of this now, part of the family. Not officially of course, she wasn’t a Rayburn yet. She remembered her own arrival, almost one year ago now. The way she had fallen in love with the house, had trailed her fingers across the warm stone of its walls, breathed in its strange foreign smell as she stepped through the doors into the tiled entrance hall. She had felt an instant vibration, a sense of being welcomed.

  Edward was pushing back the French window that opened on to the terrace.

  ‘Well that’s it, ladies, the bags are safely stowed in Jill’s room, on the top floor, no lift, didn’t hurt my back too much. I’ve turned the bed down, put the chocolate on the pillow, anything else I can do? Hobble into the kitchen, put the kettle on, make a nice cup of tea?’

  Caroline caught the look on Jill’s face, burst out laughing.

  ‘I think our guest had something more...French in mind, n’est-ce pas?’

  Edward tugged his forelock and disappeared into the house, returning within minutes carrying a tray with three crystal flutes on it and an ice-bucket. A gold foil wired top stuck out of the top.

  ‘Bubbles!’

  Jill gave a little shriek, ran up the steps and kissed him. She turned, ran back down the steps and kissed Caroline.

  ‘I’ve died and gone to heaven. It’s just so...fabulous. The whole thing!’

  She waved her arm around.

  ‘Thank you, you two, you’re the best! Now where’s this Antoine fella?’

  Edward rolled his eyes, popped the cork, and they clinked glasses.

  ‘To your arrival! And talking of the devil,’ Edward looked at his watch, ‘he’ll be here in five minutes.’

  Jill gasped and choked on her drink.

  ‘He’s only teasing. He’s not due for another two hours.’

  ‘You mean he’s coming tonight? Tonight as in today tonight?’

  Jill shot to her feet.

  ‘Is that enough time for you to give me spray tan Caro? Oh, and an iron, you do have an iron don’t you? And I need to wash my hair, do my nails–’

  She sat down again suddenly.

  ‘Omigod I feel sick, very sick.’

  Edward refilled her glass.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll bring the bottle up.’

  ‘See why I fell for him? Right, O’Toole, let’s go up and inspect your ballgowns.’

  Jill’s room was the one that Caroline had been given last summer when she first arrived at Villa Julia, and had been welcomed by Claudie. It was on the third floor, at the rear of the house, overlooking the large fig tree that shaded the back garden.

  ‘It’s beautiful Caro, just beautiful. The furniture, the colours, so tasteful and perfect.’

  She’d instantly made a beeline to the picture that Caroline loved, Le Rêve by Matisse. She ran her hand over the glass, following the contours of the sleeping woman, gave a sigh of pleasure, turned to the bed with its brass headboard and Provençal quilt.

  She sat down, bounced gently, and gave her friend a saucy look.

  ‘So this is where you first did the deed with El Gorgeoso, hey?’

  Caroline blushed.

  If only Jill knew...she had never confessed to her friend that she and Edward had not even made love once during the holiday last summer. Annabel had seen to that. Though they had had some close encounters. Very close, very steamy, encounters...

  Annabel.

  ‘Jill, there’s something I have to tell you.’

  A look of alarm crossed Jill’s face at Caroline’s serious tone.

  ‘What’s the matter, it’s not you and Gorgeous is it?’

  ‘No, no, nothing like that.
Never. Wave the garlic.’

  Caroline sat down on the wicker chair by the dressing table.

  ‘It’s Annabel.’

  ‘Angels and ministers of grace defend us! What’s the little bitch done now?’

  Jill had never got over her dislike of Annabel since she found out the role she’d played in Caroline’s relationship with Liam.

  ‘Julian thinks she’s having an affair.’

  ‘Another? The woman’s like a revolving door!’

  ‘Well, he’s not sure. But he’s in a bad way, apparently, poor old Jules. He phoned Edward yesterday, it was all very last minute, but–’

  She cast a beseeching look at her friend.

  ‘Would you mind dreadfully sharing your holiday with a depressed husband, a Polish nanny and a six-month-old baby?’

  Jill’s scream of laughter could be heard three floors down.

  ***

  ‘Caroline! La rose!’

  Caroline found herself being lifted in a bear hug and swung around three times. She smelled freshly laundered cotton, shampoo and tangy aftershave.

  ‘Antoine, it’s so good to see you!’

  Antoine Arantxa was an old friend of Edward’s, a member of the group of surfers and pelota fanatics that Edward and his cousin Jean-Paul had known since infancy. He was a true Basque, born and brought up in Biarritz where his family ran a restaurant and surf shop. Antoine worked in the shop and helped out in the restaurant when needed, turning his hand to anything from managing the front of house to donning an apron in the kitchen and supervising the preparation of the local specialities, fresh sea bream, squid and gambas marinated in olive oil garlic, and piment d’Espelette, the hot pepper for which the region was famous. The cooking was done on the plancha, the flat metal grills found in seafood restaurants everywhere along the coast and into Spain.

  On a trip last autumn, Caroline and Edward had spent a couple of lively evenings at the Arantxa restaurant where there was always a queue outside the door and the sound level rivalled that of a night club.

  Now looking at his face, tanned by the sun and the wind, seeing the thick lock of black hair he was constantly pushing out of his eyes, those flashing teeth, impossibly white against his dark skin, Caroline remembered the first time she had met him. She had gone down to the beach with Claudie, to watch the surfers. Edward, Jean-Paul, Dominique, Claudie’s on-off lover, and Antoine. He was a real looker, and if it hadn’t been for the fact she’d already fallen for Edward she would certainly have been tempted by the handsome man in front of her, radiating warmth and good-humour and eyeing her in a most flirtatious manner. The man with something endearingly tender in the depth of his eyes. The man who since that first day had called her ‘la rose.’

  ‘Ahem!’

  Edward had come down the drive behind her and was standing with his arms crossed and a black look on his face.

  ‘Don’t forget who’s taking you home, sweetheart, as the song goes.’

  The black look changed to a wide grin.

  ‘How are you mon vieux!’

  He and Antoine did men’s stuff, clasped hands, hugged, slapped shoulders, thumped flesh.

  ‘Come on round, we’re on the terrace. Great weather, hey?’

  ‘Set fair. We on for tomorrow morning? Not much forecast in the way of big waves, but it’ll help to break you in gently, blondie.’

  He paused half-way up the drive, gave Edward another bash on the arm.

  ‘I haven’t seen you since the engagement. Congratulations! You’re a lucky sod, you know that? Just make sure you treat her right.’

  He turned to Caroline.

  ‘Any trouble, you call me, day or night, OK?’

  Caroline laughed at the expression on Edward’s face.

  ‘Antoine, you are un amour. And I have someone very special for you to meet, who I’m sure you’re going to like. If I can ever get her out of the bedroom, that is.’

  She led them round to the terrace where the table had been set.

  June was the month of long gracious evenings when the daylight lingered till almost midnight. A magical month. The three of them sat and chatted, looking out over the garden, catching up with all the news.

  Caroline had popped out to the market that morning. It was still the asparagus season. She’d bought smoked salmon, avocadoes, asparagus. She’d selected one of the mouth-wateringly crumbly Basque cakes that were a local speciality. And, for the main course, she had gratefully fallen back on the real Chief of Villa Julia, Madame Martin.

  That worthy lady, who had been working at the Villa Julia since time immemorial, had not been able to repress her joy when hearing that Monsieur Edouard and Mademoiselle Caroline were finally ensemble. She had always known, deep in her heart of hearts they were made for each other. Mademoiselle Caroline was a real lady, with classe. It was time Monsieur Edouard settled down, he couldn’t get away with being a bachelor forever, one of these days he was going to lose his looks.

  Edward’s eyebrows had shot up at this verdict on the enduring quality of his charms and for a few days afterwards Caroline had caught him peering into the mirror for signs of a receding hairline.

  Madame Martin had got the villa ready a couple of days before their arrival, bringing in her daughter-in-law Lucie for a thorough clean. She had suggested that Caroline, ‘worn out’ with all her exams, should let her, Madame Martin, take care of the main course on the evening Jill was due to arrive. Maybe a paella? It was a perfect summer dish, and what did Caroline think? Caroline had given her a big hug and said ‘Oh oui,oui oui!’

  The big metal dish had bubbled away all morning on the special gas-ring and Madame Martin had given her instructions about reheating before she left. So that was it for dinner, everything was in place. Now it was just a question of luring the nervous guest out of her lair.

  Jill had been uncharacteristically anxious, asking Caroline if this colour suited her, and did she think she looked too fat in that dress until finally Caroline had seized a green dress with a 1940s cut, flared skirt, three quarter sleeves and a generous décolleté and thrust it at her friend.

  ‘This one,’ she had told her, ‘and if you’re not downstairs in ten minutes I’m telling him you’ve got mumps and he’d better leave instantly if he wants to preserve his manhood.’

  ‘Bad friend,’ Jill had whined, slinking into the bathroom.

  Antoine was just telling Edward and Caroline about Dominique’s latest fling with a married woman, ending in a disastrous scene with the affronted husband, a prop forward in the local rugby team, when he stopped short and his mouth opened in a perfect ‘O’.

  Caroline turned.

  Their guest was standing under the fairy lights that hung from the thick-trunked wisteria framing the door. The light threw into dramatic relief her incredible red hair, freshly washed, falling in thick waves to creamy bare shoulders. It picked up the shimmers in the green dress, shimmers that matched her cat’s eyes, shining with what looked to Caroline like pure terror.

  ‘Hi everyone. Bonjour!’

  Jill gave a nervous wave, took in the scene, got a glimpse of a dark Tarzan-like presence staring at her from the shadows, felt her heart begin to speed up, tugged at her décolleté and almost fell down the steps. So much for her brand new dangerously high daisy wedgies, she should have bought a zimmer frame to go with them. Her knees were knocking, she shouldn’t have drunk all that champagne, and she offered up a silent prayer to her favourite deity, please Divine Vulvana do not let me do a Grace Jones and fall flat on my arse.

  The Tarzan lookalike leaped to his feet, knocking over his chair and causing her to wobble further. Edward shot over to the doorway, holding out a steadying hand.

  ‘Jill, my lovely, you look positively and utterly fetching. I particularly like your shoes. Come and honour us with your presence’. He grabbed her firmly and led her carefully to the table.

  ‘This is Antoine, by the way. If he picks up that chair, you can have a seat. Antoine, voici Jill.’

>   ‘Ah you girls, you Engleesh girls.’ Antoine’s face was a picture as he stared down into Jill’s green eyes.

  Jill, having made it to the table, had regained her composure. She smiled up at Tarzan, full of sweetness, showing her dimples.

  ‘Delighted to meet you Antoine, enchanté as you say. If you call me English again though I’ll have to punch your bloody nose. Can you translate that Edward?’

  Edward gave a roar.

  Poor Antoine looked mortified as Caroline explained that Jill was Irish, even though she’d lived in England for most of her life. Well all of her life actually. But she was an O’Toole.

  ‘Oh, sorry, sorry, desolé, Miss Jill.’ Antoine nodded his head vigorously. ‘I understand, Engleesh is an insult. Like when people say to me ‘you French’, I punch their nose, too. Me Basque. ’

  ‘Me Jill. Oh, I think we’re going to like each other, vous et moi,’ said Jill, taking his hand and sitting down in the chair he was holding out for her.

  Edward turned to Caroline, murmured in her ear:

  ‘So, matchmaker, satisfied with the opening scene? Even though we’ve both been cast in the role of perfidious English.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ Caroline hissed. ‘Don’t forget I’m a MacDonald!’

  ‘Right. How often have you been to bonny Scotland? Twice? Anyway, I’m half-Basque. Oh boy, just look at the two of them. Would they notice if we slipped away, do you think?’

  Caroline grinned and snuggled up to her man.

  The evening was off to a very good start.

  13 BIARRITZ, FRANCE. JUNE

  The following morning brought the post. A letter had been forwarded from Toulouse, addressed to Caroline. The colour left her cheeks as she saw the envelope.

  ‘Edward!’

  He came rushing into the hall at her cry.

  ‘What’s the matter, what’s happened sweetheart?