Hot Basque: A French Summer Novel 2

by Laurette Long

  Jill shot upstairs.

  ‘How about you, Nadia? Do you fancy coming with us or would you like some time to yourself?’

  Nadia, beaming with pleasure, said she’d very much like to go down to the beach with them. She’d never seen live surfing before.

  The thermometer on the terrace showed 32 degrees as they set off, causing Mme Martin to check three times that Joshua was wearing a hat and sunscreen and that the hood on his super-atomic Sweet Pea stroller was in working order. The heat hit them as they left the villa, but as they neared the seafront, they were met with a welcome breeze.

  Nadia was pushing the baby who was gurgling and waving, enjoying the fresh air, the new and unfamiliar sights and sounds. It was a glorious day for a walk. They passed by the rocky outcrop that formed the southern boundary of the Grande Plage, stopping to watch the waves dash against the side of the rocks, sending plumes of spangled spray high in the air, catching the sunlight in sparkling droplets. Joshua’s eyes were wide as he watched the show and listened attentively to the strange hollow boom of the water pouring through the holes.

  Continuing along the coastal path they reached the cluster of small coves and inlets that formed the old fishing ports of Biarritz. Back in the 12th century the Basque whalers brought their catch in here; le port des pêcheurs, the newest of the two, had rows of boats moored in the harbour but other than that there was little sign of its former activity. The cobbled square was now full of cafes and restaurants, tables and chairs set near the water’s edge to catch the breeze, customers protected from the sun by jaunty blue and white striped awnings.

  Both Nadia and Jill begged so hard to stop for a coffee that Caroline finally gave in.

  ‘But not too long, otherwise we’ll miss the Men in Rubber.’

  ‘Look at those little houses, they’re so...is the word quaint?’

  ‘Yes, good word Nadia. They were the old fishermen’s cottages, the locals call them crampottes. Go take a look. You too Jill. I’ll order, is it coffee for everyone?’

  The one-storey white houses were huddled close under the sheltering cliff whose flanks were covered in stunted pines and evergreens. They were beautifully maintained, some with bright blue shutters, others preferring the more traditional ox-blood red of the Basque country.

  Caroline settled Josh next to her chair where he could gaze out over the harbour, whose quiet waters shone a translucent jade near the edge, darkening to deep emerald further out. The sound of the waves breaking at the harbour mouth, the mewing of the gulls wheeling high overhead and the pungent smell of seaweed engulfed Caroline in a sudden rush of childhood memories.

  Cornwall, it must have been one of the last holidays with her parents. She’d have been nine then, Annabel not much older than baby Josh in his stroller. Another world.

  A couple with another baby buggy stopped at an adjacent table. Caroline looked up, exchanged smiles and nods. The parents after some thought, parked their buggy near to that of Josh and the two babies came face to face. After a rather solemn staring match they broke into smiles and gurgles and were soon engaged in a private conversation involving lusty shrieks, giggles and arm-waving.

  ‘What, don’t tell me you’re matchmaking again’ said Jill, dropping to a chair and un-slinging her camera from round her neck. She smiled at the couple, said ‘Bonjour’ and instantly found out that they were from Lille and the little girl’s name was Céline.

  ‘Like Celine Dion? I love her. Every time I hear the theme song from ‘Titanic’ I break out in shivers.’

  Caroline sat back and smiled as she watched her friend go to work. Give her fifteen minutes and she’d know what colour their bedroom was painted.

  But time was pressing, and after a Romeo and Juliet farewell between Joshua and Céline, the four of them left the port and headed for the Rocher de la Vierge and its stupendous views.

  The white statue of the Virgin, on the highest point of the rock, looked out towards the ocean. It had been placed there in 1854 to commemorate the miraculous rescue of a whaling boat, trapped off the coast in the middle of a terrible storm. Convinced their final hour had come, the sailors were suddenly dazzled by a bright light, which guided them back to land and the safety of the harbour.

  The rock stood out at sea and was reached by a metal walkway.

  ‘Oh wow.’

  Jill had been snapping photos nonstop. She was going to use some of them as inspirations for her pastels when she got back to Edinburgh. Now she put down her camera and stared around her.

  ‘The colours. I can’t believe the colours. They’re so bright, you can almost feel them.’

  To their right was the graceful curve of the Grande Plage, stretching as far as the Cap Martin, the promontory which formed the northern boundary of the bay and on top of which stood the 47-metre-high lighthouse of Biarritz. To their left, the Côte des Basques, the magnificent sweep of beach known to surfers around the globe, and beyond that, in the distance, the dark purple summit of la Rhune marking the mountain frontier between France and Spain, the Pyrenees.

  They continued on past the plage du port vieux, a horseshoe-shaped inlet where families were scattered on the sand keeping a careful eye on small children dashing in and out of the sea, and exploring the rocks at the edge of the cove to find the mysterious green pools, home of crabs and waving sea anemones.

  ‘This is the most sheltered beach,’ Caroline explained. ‘It’s protected from the big waves and the winds. That’s why you see so many children.’

  ‘Could we bring Joshua one day do you think?’ asked Nadia, gazing down at the shining sand and turquoise sea as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

  ‘We can. We will,’ said Caroline. ‘It’s a bit tricky, there’s lots of steps to get down to it but we’ll enlist the men. Drag them away from the surf and pelota and pastis and get them building sandcastles. What do you think of that Josh?’

  Josh showed his gums.

  ‘Right. Time to see if we can find Daddy. And Uncle Eddie. And Tonton Antoine.’

  Surfing had been introduced to Biarritz in the 1950s, when it was a popular resort for international glitterati and Hollywood stars. As they rounded the headland the breath-taking panorama spread below and beyond, a vista of golden sand and endless rolling breakers. The sun was beating down, a fresh breeze came in from the sea, and the sound of the surf filled their ears.

  There were plenty of surfers in the water, some far out, others in the shallows, boards at the ready, looking back over their shoulders for the Big One.

  ‘Did you say that Antoine was going to bring you down here tomorrow?’

  Jill, eyes wide, gulped and nodded.

  ‘Look! Isn’t that Edward?’

  There were quite a few blond heads down there, Californians, Scandinavians, along with the darker French and Spanish crowd, but Caroline’s eye homed in on her sweetie with unerring accuracy. A little further out she spotted Julian, and Dominique, who she hadn’t seen in a while.

  Suddenly Jill was jumping up and down and waving madly. She’d seen Antoine.

  They found a bench to sit and watch the fun. It wasn’t worth going all the way down, the men would be finishing up any time, coming back up the beach to change and stow their gear in the cars. Then, following the time-honoured ritual, they’d go for a pre-lunch aperitif before heading back to the villa, Madame Martin’s quiche, and a lazy afternoon of siestas and swimming.

  Caroline leaned back and smiled. Things were turning out pretty well, really.

  She thought of her sister in London and felt a twinge of malicious satisfaction at the idea of Annabel racing round stuffy old London, squashed in the Tube or stuck in a taxi, coping with temperamental chefs and dressmakers while her husband and son relaxed in the fragrant garden of Villa Julia.

  And Claudio, the mystery man. Where was he?

  ***

  ‘Right, O’Toole. Spill.’

  At last Jill and Caroline were alone, stretched out on sun beds. Edward and Julian had ju
st left to watch Dominique training for his next cesta punta match. Antoine was working at the shop, but was meeting them for dinner later on.

  Caroline rolled on to her stomach, preparing to give her friend the third degree, when Nadia arrived, bringing Joshua down to the pool after his afternoon nap.

  They settled him in the shade of a parasol. Jill, with a sly grin at her friend, mouthed ‘later’ and shot into Auntie mode, rubbing sun-cream into the baby’s ‘ickle tummy-wummy’.

  Nadia asked if it was alright if she went in the pool.

  ‘Of course Nadia, good heavens you don’t have to ask,’ said Caroline.

  Nadia had enjoyed herself yesterday evening during the water pistol fight, and Caroline had noticed her looking longingly at the sea and the surfers this morning. She slipped out of her shorts, doused herself under the solar shower, and walked to the edge.

  ‘Careful’, Caroline called, ‘that’s the deep end.’

  Nadia smiled and nodded. She was wearing a strict navy blue swimsuit. Her body was neat, streamlined, boyish. She stood at the edge of the pool, feet together, arms by her side. Then in a movement that was both swift and graceful she swung her arms above her head and dived into the water with scarcely a splash. She swam the length of the pool underwater, surfacing at the shallow end, near Jill and Caroline and the baby. She paused long enough to take a breath, then launched into a stylish crawl. She did twenty lengths without stopping, completing the turns in a fluid movement that brought her back on course without a ripple.

  As she hoisted herself out of the water with a smooth efficient push of her arms, Caroline and Jill broke into spontaneous applause.

  ‘Wow! That was impressive Nadia. And beautiful to watch.’

  ‘Yes, you’re really good.’

  Jill patted the sun bed next to her. With a shy smile, Nadia sat down and began to towel her hair.

  ‘I was in the swimming team at school. Then later the national team.’

  ‘Really?’The Polish national team?’

  ‘Yes. I had to stop when my father-’ she faltered, broke off, pulled herself together and continued almost sternly.

  ‘My father died. He fell down, at work, suddenly. It was–’ she searched for the word ‘aneurysm?’

  ‘Yes, an aneurysm.’ Jill’s face showed sympathetic shock. ‘How old was he?’

  Nadia looked down, wiped some water off the sun bed.

  ‘Forty-two. After that, it was very hard for my mother. My big sister, Paula, finally she took my mother to her home to be with family. And I, that was when I started to look for a job.’

  ‘Is that how you came to work for Julian and Annabel?’

  ‘No, this is my third family.’

  She leaned over and stroked Joshua’s cheek.

  ‘It must have been hard,’ said Jill. ‘To leave the other children, I mean. You must get attached.’

  ‘Yes, sometimes it was very hard.’

  She reached for her bag, rummaged inside and took out a wallet.

  ‘These are my other children.’

  She took out two photos. One of them showed Nadia and a little girl with blonde curls, mouth open in a giggle, hands clutched across her chest. Nadia was crouched down behind, tickling her. Her hair was shorter, framing her smiling face.

  ‘This is Rosa. Now she is eight. The family went to America. But we still Skype. Rosa speaks American now. Next is Hans.’

  The next photo was more formal. Two grownups stood behind a dark-haired little boy. The mother had her hands on his shoulders. Nadia stood slightly to one side. All of them stared solemnly at the camera. Nadia’s hair was longer, tied back in the style she wore now.

  ‘You all look very serious.’

  ‘Yes. It was a serious family. Not like with Rosa. The parents were very strict. But little Hans, he was very loving. Always wanting, you know, a cuddle?’

  ‘Yes, a cuddle. Aww. So why did you leave that family?’

  Nadia pursed her lips.

  ‘The father was a very strict man. I was with them for three years, then the father sent little Hans to school, boarding school, he said it was good for self control, to make him a man. I often write, but I have no news.’

  She put the photos away abruptly.

  ‘And with my sister? How are you finding things?’

  The words were out of Caroline’s mouth before she realised.

  Nadia’s face was inscrutable.

  ‘It’s alright,’ said Caroline. ‘I know she can be difficult.’

  Suddenly Nadia bent over Joshua and kissed him. She smoothed his hair, kissed him again.

  ‘Joshua is a beautiful baby. Loving. No problems. Not for me. I hope...’ She gazed down into his blue eyes. ‘I hope I can stay with you, Joshua, I hope I stay a long long time, till you are a big boy.’ She murmured something to him in Polish.

  The baby gazed up at Nadia, beaming. He waved his arms, burst into a series of little cries.

  ‘He obviously adores you.’

  Caroline struggled to keep her voice steady.

  Joshua was kicking furiously, his eyes locked on Nadia, a string of sounds coming from his mouth, ‘na na na na’.

  ‘I think he’s trying to say your name,’ said Jill.

  ‘You think?’

  Nadia looked at Jill, eyes wide.

  ‘Na na na na!’ said Joshua, more insistently, thrusting a fist in Nadia’s direction, and they all burst out laughing.

  ‘How old were you when you first started to swim?’ asked Caroline.

  ‘Very young. My father...’ she paused again.

  ‘My father teached, sorry, taught me. In his family everyone was a good swimmer, they put the children in the water very young.’

  ‘How young?’

  Nadia shrugged.

  ‘One year. Six months.’

  ‘Six months? You mean the same age as Josh?’

  ‘Yes. I was six months. There is a photograph. But also I think I remember a little.’

  ‘Really? You remember being in the water for the first time?’

  ‘Not really remember, just a feeling. A strange feeling. But good.’

  ‘At the place where I go for my aquagym classes they have mother and baby sessions as well,’ said Jill.

  The three of them gazed thoughtfully at Joshua.

  ‘It would be lovely to take him in, just for a little dip, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘It would. But we’re not going to do it,’ said Caroline. ‘Just imagine if anything went wrong.’

  ‘With three of us holding him? But you’re right. We could suggest it to Jules, though, when he gets back?’

  Which is what they did.

  Julian looked highly dubious but when Caroline explained about Nadia he turned to her in surprise.

  ‘I didn’t know you were a swimmer Nadia.’

  Nadia pulled her towel further round her shoulders.

  ‘Not just any swimmer,’ said Jill, ‘a member of the Polish national team, no less.’

  ‘And,’ said Caroline, ‘all her family learned to swim as babies. What do you think Jules? I only wish someone had taught me when I was a baby.’

  Caroline’s fear of water was well known.

  ‘What do you think Eddie?’

  Julian turned to his friend.

  ‘Sounds like a great idea to me. Look how he likes his bath.’

  They had all joined in with Joshua’s bath time ritual the previous evening.

  So it was decided. Edward and Julian went off to get changed.

  ‘Well done you,’ said Caroline, with a smile at Nadia. ‘I think it’ll be good for baby and good for Daddy too, don’t you?’

  In the end it was good for all of them. Joshua’s antics in the water, his obvious delight in this new element, plus the fact that he had five grownups to play with, caused him to shriek so loudly and splash so lustily that they all agreed this would now be a part of his daily routine. As the shadows started to lengthen and the pines began to emit clouds of balsamic perfume,
they stayed in the pool, enjoying the holiday feeling, being with friends, being fortunate enough to be together in this beautiful garden.

  ‘It’s all starting Courtenay. The growing up process. Swimming lessons. Later it’ll be football practice, then tennis, then cricket, then he’ll be putting gel in his hair and going off to meet his mates down the disco.’

  Everyone laughed, but Caroline noticed the shadow that crossed Julian’s face as he forced himself to join in.

  Who knew what the future held? If Julian and Annabel were really at the end of the line, what would happen to Baby Joshua?

  19 BIARRITZ, FRANCE. JUNE

  Antoine rolled up on his bike at seven the next morning.

  Jill, who had not got back from her ‘nightcap’ with him until 2 am, had managed to drag herself out of bed at six. He’d suggested she stay over at his flat but all her swimming things were at the villa so she’d finally forced herself to say ‘enough!’ and reluctantly left his warm bed and loving arms.

  Now she was ready for her first surfing lesson, trying to ignore her lack of sleep and aching muscles which still throbbed pleasantly with the memory of their love-making. She’d toyed with the idea of talking him out of the surfing idea and settling for a mammoth orgy instead but he was so keen to get his little seahorse out on the waves she didn’t have the heart to disappoint him. And there were still plenty of long languorous nights ahead of them, she supposed she’d end up confessing to Caroline very soon that she’d like to change her status at the villa from full-time to part-time guest...

  But one thing at a time. Today she was going to be initiated into the mysteries of the surfboard. She was ready. Anxious, but ready. At least under her shorts and T-shirt she was wearing a swimsuit that fitted. After her first aquagym session back in May she’d shot back to the sports shop and acquired a more respectable, matronly model in a larger size. Two sizes larger, actually. And, when she put on the wetsuit, a lot of the wobbly bits would hopefully morph into slinky snakehips. The downside was that she’d look as though she was wearing an inner tube. But at least she wouldn’t have a diaphragm on her head, an elastic band would do fine, she’d seen the women at the beach yesterday, they just tied their hair back into ponytails, much like the majority of the men, who seemed to have locks as long as their female counterparts. Except for Antoine and the rest of the gang, who all wore their hair short, but then they were mad pelota players as well as mad surfers.