He took the glass out of her hand, placed it carefully on the rock. Then, very slowly, he moved in towards her until his lips brushed hers. At the same time one hand slid into her hair, the other grasped her waist. He pulled her against him, hard yet tender. She felt her lips part, his tongue slid into her mouth, her breasts were pressed against his chest, nothing separating them from each other except a flimsy blouse and a cotton T-shirt. The kiss went on forever, she felt as though she was spinning off into space, anchored only by the hardness of his body, the strength of those muscled arms.
He drew back, slightly, so that their faces were still almost touching.
‘You want to know my wish, Irish?’
She nodded, unable to speak.
The white teeth gleamed, briefly.
‘I want to take you. Now. By the cascade. I want to love you, your face, your body, all of you. I want...’
He paused, began to unbutton her blouse slowly, still looking into her eyes. Her breathing had stopped.
‘I want to kiss your breasts, your beautiful white breasts. I want to taste them.’
He bent his head, pushed her blouse open, ran his tongue across her skin, down into her cleavage.
A moan of pure pleasure broke from her lips. She pressed her breasts up, against his tongue.
As her mouth opened he took it again, she could taste her own sweat on his tongue, the sweat that had trickled down between her breasts, that was now trickling down her belly.
He pulled back again. Those black eyes. She could not escape them.
‘So, now I have told you. It is your turn to say your wish.’
All her witty repartee had fled. She could only look up at him, wordless, face aflame.
His hand caressed the back of her neck, rubbing slowly, massaging.
‘Your wish, my Irish Jill, tell me...’
She opened her mouth, stammered the words
‘It’s, it’s my wish too Antoine, your wish is my wish...’
He stopped her words with his lips while he lifted her as though she weighed no more than a feather and laid her, with infinite care, on her back. His fingers undid the buttons, slipped the blouse off her shoulders; his lips moved from her mouth to her breasts, licking, caressing, while he unfastened her bra. Then he sat up, and looked down at her naked torso. The flame in her face had now spread to her neck and chest, she felt as though her whole body must be scarlet. A scarlet woman.
‘So beautiful, so beautiful.’
He cupped her breasts, they were large and round and spilled over the sides of his hands. Big hands, he thought, but these breasts, they filled them like fruit, like peaches, like melons. He pressed his face into their ripeness, inhaling her silky smell, her perfume, her female smell. He marvelled at her skin, like ivory satin, tinged with a faint rose blush. Her green eyes were closed. He wanted her to open them, wanted to look into their depths, feel himself being pulled in, bewitched.
‘Mon amour, ma petite chérie.’
He pressed his face against her stomach with a groan, feeling the pulse beat fast, her chest rise and fall ever faster.
Ah those crazy trousers, those bright red things that clashed with her hair that moulded her behind so that every time she’d walked in front of him he’d felt his body respond. He unzipped them, lifted her hips, slid them down, just a little at first.
They had all the afternoon ahead of them.
Her panties were a froth of cream lace, the same colour as her bra, the bra he had glimpsed straining against her blouse as she’d reached in her bag. He bent his head lower, inhaled their scent, felt the wetness seeping through between her legs.
‘Irish?’
She opened her eyes then. He was lost, felt himself drown, ecstatic, in their depths.
‘Are you happy? Are you sure?’
There was no need to ask. He could see the answer in those eyes.
She felt a wave of tenderness for this big soft bear of a man, a tenderness that mingled with the desire that ran through her like molten fire.
‘Come here,’ she whispered, pulling him back down on top of her, thrilling as his weight pressed into her, as she felt the strength of every muscle of his body, the hardness between his legs.
This time it was she who took his face in her hands, who covered it in little kisses, nuzzling his nose his ears, his neck until tears filled her eyes and she was sick with desire.
She tugged at his T-shirt. He pulled her into a sitting position, she yanked it over his shoulders and head, she couldn’t wait. They both cried out as their bare flesh came together, slick with sweat. She rubbed her breasts against his torso, he groaned and bit her neck. They panted and writhed, still half-dressed, rubbing up against each other as though trying to get under each other’s skin.
It was he who pulled back again, so that they were a foot apart, staring at each other, breath coming fast, pupils dilated. And then he smiled again, his teeth startlingly white against his tan and she grasped the waistband of his jeans and started to unzip him.
It took them fifteen minutes before they were both fully naked. Their clothes were strewn on the grass near the rock, the navy and white espadrilles lying perilously close to the banks of the stream where he’d flung them. Now they knelt together on the blanket, face to face, aroused to the point when neither of them could stand it a moment longer. Her hair blazed in the sunlight, her skin shone like a pearl.
‘Are you ready for your wish, Irish?’
‘And you, my beautiful Basque?’
‘Not too fast? I am not going too fast?’
It was all too fast. But she couldn’t help herself.
He changed positions, lifted her so that she was straddling his lap. Slowly, not breaking eye contact he lifted her again, higher, then lowered her, slowly, carefully, seeing her pupils dilate, her lips grow full, her head fall back and then their cries mingled with the sound of the waterfall as they rocked together in a final ecstasy.
Later, as they lay together, hands entwined, he asked her if she had seen something in the painting of Guernica, a little flower.
‘A flower?’ She turned to him eyes widening.
‘At the bottom. In the middle, by the sword. Just a small flower. It is a symbol. A symbol of hope, that life conquers death. And Picasso told us to remember the law of the corrida, a law which says it is the bull that must die, and the horse who lives.’
15 BIARRITZ, FRANCE. JUNE
Antoine picked up Jill again at ten the following morning. He was taking her over the border into Spain. Bilbao, San Sebastian. And on a little pilgrimage. Jill had her sketching things with her. It all sounded slightly mysterious.
‘Just make sure you bring her back,’ said Edward.
Jill hugged Caroline close and whispered in her ear.
‘Thank you, thank you. I’ll tell you all about it later, promise. Can’t quite get my head around things at the moment...’
She had a dazed look about her. Her movements, usually so quick and effervescent, all seemed to have slowed down.
Antoine too, in spite of his normal cheery greeting, looked a little bit as though a big rock had fallen on his head.
After waving them off Caroline turned to Edward.
‘Is he drugging her?’
Edward raised his arms.
‘Has she put a spell on him?’
A smile started on Caroline’s lips.
‘They’re in love. Forty-eight hours and they’re in love. It can’t be true.’
Edward put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.
‘Can’t it?’
His voice was soft and teasing.
She felt a wave of heat pass through her. It had taken her all of three seconds to fall in love. And weeks before she realised.
Edward bent to kiss her nose.
‘This is headline news. Antoine, the dodger, caught. Trapped. A fly in a web. He’s always been one for the ladies but he’s as fast as a cat on his feet, no entanglements, no interfering with th
e really important things in life, surfing, pelota, drinks with the boys...’
‘Even the wiliest old trout gets caught in the end, Rayburn.’
Caroline tapped him on the chest.
‘You calling me an old trout MacDonald? An old trout? That’s fighting talk.’
‘No!’ she yelled, as he flipped her up and over one shoulder. ‘Ouch! Where are you going? Edward, we don’t have time! Edward! Julian’s due any minute!’
She was protesting and laughing all the way up to their room.
***
‘I need to go the market. I need to get stuff for tonight’s dinner. What time is it? You’re impossible, you know that? Look at my hair!’
She was running a comb through her tangled hair, had leaned over to grab his wrist, look at his watch.
‘I’m late, and all because of you. No, stop it!’
He had thrown her back on the bed again and was tickling her mercilessly.
Her T-shirt rode up, he pinned back her arms and started to kiss her stomach, his hands moving over her, practised hands that knew just what his Caroline liked...again.
She made it to the market just as the stalls were closing.
‘I’ve got lamb,’ she said, hurrying into the villa half an hour later, out of breath and clutching her basket. ‘I thought a braised shoulder. I’m just a bit worried about this nanny, how she likes her meat cooked. Maybe I should have got a chicken.’
‘My sweetheart, knowing you there’ll be tons of other stuff if she turns out to be vegetarian or something. Stop worrying.’
As a starter Caroline had made one of Edward’s favourites, a salade de poivrons provençale, roasted red peppers in oil and garlic dressing garnished with hardboiled eggs, black olives and anchovies. It could easily serve as a main course if the nanny wasn’t used to French cooking. She planned to follow it with boned shoulder of lamb stuffed with mushrooms and spinach, accompanied with a rice pilau. If she braised the lamb in the oven she could get everything prepared in advance and be free to spend time with the new arrivals.
‘You’re going to have to make do with a sandwich for lunch. And it’s going to be a late lunch. Your fault.’
‘I can do sandwich. In fact I can make us both a sandwich, we can have a picnic in bed, take up a bottle of wine, get naked...’
Edward grabbed a baguette, waved it suggestively. Caroline rolled her eyes. What was going on? Villa Julia was steaming with lust.
‘Just concentrate on the sandwiches. I’m going to get going with the mushrooms.’
It was Madame Martin’s day off, fortunately, what with all the morning’s hanky panky. And no Jill to hear the screams and giggles coming from the second floor.
‘Any news from Julian?’
‘A text. The flight’s on time. Ham or cheese?’
‘Cheese please. With ham.’
He threw back his head, laughed.
Her stomach gave a nervous flutter. Edward had been on the phone to Julian several times in the previous couple of days. Annabel had apparently left for London waving a list of engagements and telling him how grateful he should be that she was ‘taking care of everything.’
‘I’m going to ring her.’
‘Who?’
‘My sister.’
Caroline went to get her phone.
‘Don’t you think I should?’
‘Up to you my sweet. But be discreet. Julian hasn’t said anything to her about his suspicions and you know what she’s like, if by any chance he’s got the wrong end of the stick–highly unlikely–but anyway, if he has, she’ll probably fly off the handle and come storming over here like a Fury. Not what we need right now.’
Caroline hesitated.
‘You really do think his suspicions are right?’
‘He’s not got any hard evidence, if that’s what you mean. Just what I told you the other day.’
‘Where’s she staying? In London I mean?’
‘Julian’s flat. Or so she says.’
Caroline slumped into a chair, phone in hand.
‘Annabel, Annabel, why can’t you just, for once, leave us all in peace?’
She looked up at Edward.
‘She’s like a mosquito. A giant, indestructible, bloody mosquito!’
Edward raised one eyebrow, continued slicing tomatoes.
She brought up Annabel’s number on her phone, hesitated, then jabbed the call button.
Edward saw her pull a face. Voice mail again.
‘Oh hello Annabel, it’s Caroline. I was just ringing to see if you were OK.’ She paused. ‘As you know we’ve got Julian and the baby arriving this afternoon, and I was wondering whether there were any special instructions. You know, for his feeds, and any little habits. Although I’m sure the nanny is super efficient. And of course Julian.’ She hesitated again. ‘But, hey, you’re his Mum!’ She gave a false laugh, grimaced at Edward. ‘So anyway, maybe you could call me back when you’ve got a minute? OK, bye, take care.’
She slumped in the chair.
Edward put a plate in front of her.
‘Come on, let’s eat. Glass of wine?’
‘Better not. I’ve got a lot to do. You have one though.’
‘No, I’ve got to pick up Julian at the airport, and there’s a couple of work things I need to do first. If you’re sure you don’t need a hand with the cooking?’
Caroline bit into her sandwich.
‘You go and work. I can concentrate better when you’re not around.’
Edward grinned and attacked his sandwich.
‘She might ring back, you know,’ he said ten minutes later as they were clearing the table. ‘Right, I’ll be in the library if you need me.’
He planted a kiss on the nape of Caroline’s neck and headed across the hall.
But Annabel didn’t ring back. Caroline had put the finishing touches to her evening meal, double-checked the rooms were ready, showered, changed and was setting out tea things on a tray when she heard the sound of the car drawing up on the gravel. It was a quarter to five.
She hurried round to the side of the villa.
‘Julian! It’s so lovely to see you! It’s been ages!’
She hugged her brother-in-law tightly, feeling the difference in his body through the thin shirt he was wearing. He had lost weight. Lots of weight. And his face, as she stepped back to give him her brightest smile, looked haunted, the eyes red-rimmed, with purple shadows underneath. He looked awful.
She kept her smile in place, turned to the young woman standing behind him.
‘And you must be Nadia.’
‘I am pleased to meet you.’
There was the faintest trace of a Polish accent.
‘You must be tired after your trip. Did everything go OK?’
‘No hitches, we were lucky, weren’t we Nadia?’
Julian turned to the nanny with an encouraging smile.
Edward had been fiddling in the back of the car. Now he appeared round the side, holding a baby seat in front of him. A small figure was drooped over, eyes closed, head on one side.
‘Oh look at him.’
Caroline opened her arms, dying to cover the baby in kisses, but not daring to touch him in case he wakened.
‘How long’s he been off?’
‘He’s a perfect little traveller. Out like a light as soon as the plane takes off, wakens as we land, looks around, falls straight back asleep as soon as we get in a car.’
Julian’s face had lit up as he looked down at his son.
‘Great little contraption,’ said Edward, holding up Joshua’s car seat for Caroline to admire. ‘You don’t need to be a Nasa engineer to get it out.’
‘Part of his Multifunctional Travel System. All terrain, air tyres,’ said Julian, nodding sagely.
‘If you say so mate.’
Nadia was lifting various other objects out of the boot.
‘There it is. All clips together,’ said Julian. ‘Chassis, adaptors, carrycot, seat. Easy fold, super compact
. It’s brilliant. I just got it for him.’
Edward was looking impressed.
‘A BMW top of the range, is it?’
Julian smiled.
‘iCandy Sweet Pea.’
‘Ah. iCandy Sweet Pea. Not heard of that one. But now I understand the colour. Sweet pea, huh?’
‘I think it’s lovely,’ said Caroline, stroking the lime and turquoise fabric.
‘Right. Well let’s get this other sweet pea up to his room, shall we?’
Caroline led the way.
‘Will Joshua want to sleep for a bit upstairs do you think? Here we are, Julian this is you, and opposite, Nadia, I hope this is alright for you? We’ve put you all on the first floor. And here, just next door,’ she moved down the hallway, ‘this is for Prince Charming.’
‘Oh it is so pretty,’ Nadia gave a big smile as she saw the mobiles and the rocking horse. ‘What you think Julian, shall I try to put him down for a while?’
They transferred the baby to the cot that Madame Martin had brought round, pulling the blanket over him although the room was warm.
He gave a little snuffle, a big yawn, opened one eye for a second then with a contented murmur shut it again.
Caroline left them to settle in and take a shower, telling them to take their time.
Edward joined her in the kitchen and they exchanged looks.
‘What do you think?’
‘He’s not looking great, is he?’
She turned to pour boiling water into the teapot.
‘Well, at least I can try to fatten him up while he’s here. He looks to have lost so much weight. And you can try to get him out on the beach with you as often as you can, he’ll look better with some colour in his face.’
‘Yeah, I’d already promised Antoine we’d be there tomorrow morning. Come here.’
He pulled her close.
‘Have I told you I love you recently? No?’
He held her tight, hugging her to him, staring off over her head.
His Caroline. How could two sisters possibly be so different?
16 LONDON, ENGLAND. JUNE
Annabel Courtenay listened to the message from her sister and tossed the phone on the table with a shrug of contempt.
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