Hot Basque: A French Summer Novel 2

by Laurette Long

  She took a deep breath. Time to see if she had the surfing gene or if she was going to make a complete wally of herself by falling off the board arse over teakettle as her Granny used to say.

  ‘Ready, Irish?’

  Antoine was looking at her like a proud Daddy watching Little Jillian prepare to step on stage in the role of Mary in the Christmas play. Jill plastered a beaming smile on her face and gave him a thumbs up. What wouldn’t she give for Granny’s magic rosary.

  ***

  Down by the water’s edge the boom of the surf was deafening. Before they went in, Antoine took her through a few basic techniques, shouting into the wind and miming body positions. They would start with some simple body surfing. Simple! Jill, her eyes fixed on Antoine’s, nodding her head as he explained, didn’t dare to look at the giant rollers. She was also suddenly in dire need to go to the loo. That would have the additional advantage of delaying the moment of truth for at least an hour by the time she’d wiggled in and out of the inner tube. Now, where was that sign saying ‘Toilettes Publiques’?

  She opened her mouth to ask but Antoine had clasped her firmly by the hand and suddenly they were off. She almost lost her footing wading in and the shock of the water made her gasp, she was sure she felt an ice-floe brush past her legs.

  ‘OK we are enough far. Remember all what I told you?’

  His words were difficult to hear over the wind and the waves. She gave a terrified nod then found herself on the surfboard, clutching its edges in a death grip.

  Antoine was paddling close by, grinning.

  ‘I am here by you, Jill. Nothing can hurt you.’

  The way he was looking at her, all those little droplets on his long eyelashes...suddenly the water felt a whole lot warmer. She might actually be going to enjoy this.

  ‘Look! A wave!’

  She turned her head. She couldn’t see the wave, there was an avalanche in the way, a gigantic, enormous, terrifying avalanche, roaring towards her, a menacing wall of cloudy green with a ridiculously jaunty white frill along the top. Wait a minute, why was it green–

  ‘Un deux trois–vas-y!’

  A ton of water came crashing down on her head.

  ***

  Two hours later, she was sitting on the beach next to Antoine, shaking her hair loose from the elastic, laughing like a loon.

  ‘It was marvellous, marvellous! Now I understand what gets you out of bed so early, oh Antoine, thank you so much. You’re an excellent teacher, you really are.’

  With extras, she thought, remembering all the times when he’d grabbed her, held her, managed to get her upright, pulling her in for a long squeeze, pressing her close against his hard body, encouraging her to go on.

  ‘You want to finish with a swim? Without the suits?’

  She did. Antoine helped escape from her rubber prison and she raked a hand through her mop, pulling it back into a pony tail again.

  ‘Race you to the water!’

  The joy of plunging into the sea and feeling it slip over her skin unimpeded by the wetsuit sent a rush of pleasure through her body. Freedom! She kicked out, joined Antoine, who had turned on his back and was letting the swells rock him. As she came close, he reached out and pulled her in, his biceps hard as rocks, his body a dark shining bronze in the water. He rolled her on top of him, under him, pressed her body against his, wrapping his strong legs around her. He licked the salt from her neck, put his tongue in her ear, rubbed his thumbs against her nipples. She held on, eyes half-closed, breathless, letting him play with her like a dolphin with its mate. She was happy, deliriously, unbelievably happy. If he’d suddenly plunged to the depths of the ocean and tied her to an anchor she’d have died ecstatic. He slipped behind, pulled her against him, ran his hands over her body, holding her tight as the sea lifted them then lowered them. She could feel him hard against her buttocks, see the desire in his eyes when he turned her, pulling her close. Her body was tingling with arousal, he slid one hand inside her swimsuit, her head jerked back against his encircling arm and she was overcome with a rush of pleasure, carried away, utterly helpless, her gasps drowned by the screaming of the gulls and the pounding of the surf.

  Afterwards, when they lay side by side on his towel on the beach she turned to look at him. Their fingers were entwined, their arms and legs touching.

  ‘Oh Antoine. I...’

  He rolled on to his side looked down at her.

  She stared fascinated at those dark eyes, dark skin, hair as thick and gleaming as a seal’s fur. His lips drew back in a huge smile, dazzling, dangerous. The smile of a wolf, un sourire de loup, Caroline had said. If she had the strength to raise her head she was sure that she would see his ship, anchored at the mouth of the bay, spars and rigging and sails furled, the Jolly Roger fluttering in the breeze...

  He leaned close, his breath warm in her ear.

  ‘Je te désire, Irish, ma belle, my beautiful Jill...’

  Her eyes left his mouth, travelled upwards, locked once more on those dark, dark eyes below the assertive arch of his eyebrows. Desire. But they held something else, those eyes, they brimmed with unbearable emotion, speaking to her of passion, of tenderness, of love.

  She was lost.

  ***

  ‘Is it OK if I go and watch a film, Caroline?’

  Nadia couldn’t seem to get out of the habit of asking for permission in spite of Caroline’s best efforts. They had been swimming and sunbathing, stretched out by the pool in the shade of the immense pine tree near the far end, dozing and reading, Jill with her sketch book propped on her knees, looking up from time to time, dreamy-eyed, then back down at the work in progress.

  ‘Of course Nadia. You know how to work the DVD player?’

  Silly question. Nadia knew how DVDs worked, and computers, and smartphones and could probably make Caroline understand the difference between a gigabyte and a megabyte.

  ‘I will hear Joshua if he wakes.’

  ‘Fine. Bring him down to the pool if he fancies a swim with his Aunties. His daddy should be back soon anyway.’

  The men had gone off on another one of their male-only missions, probably to the pelota court. Or the café next door.

  Nadia had no sooner disappeared inside the house than Caroline shot upright, leaned across and gave her friend a poke.

  ‘Ouch’

  ‘Feeling a little tender are we? After all that, ahem, surfing? And what time did we get in last night? Or should I say this morning?’

  Caroline’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Sit up, O’Toole, and pay attention. I want to hear every single detail. Starting from the morning you guys disappeared into the hills on the Hot Harley.’

  ‘Torquemada. I just need some rest. Everything aches. Even muscles I didn’t know existed. Can’t I tell you later?’

  ‘No.’

  Jill put down her sketch book, heaved herself into a more upright position, wincing as her sunburned shoulders rubbed against the towel.

  ‘You don’t want to rub some lotion onto my back first?’

  ‘No.’

  Jill sighed. Her green eyes were innocent as grapes as she smiled at Caroline. She yawned and stretched.

  ‘There’s nothing much to tell really.’

  She just managed to dodge the bottle of sunscreen hurtling towards her.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done. The top’s come off. It’s all over the towel. Alright!’ She held up a hand in a gesture of defeat as Caroline looked round for more ammunition.

  ‘You want everything, huh? No details spared? How much time have we got? Well, as you say it all started with that big sexy Harley. Our first stop was in this little village. In a churchyards to be exact.’

  As Jill told her story. Caroline’s mouth opened, her eyes opened wider.

  ‘So anyway,’ Jill concluded, ‘when we were on the beach this morning, after my surfing lesson and, incidentally, my very first experience of an underwater orgasm–’

  ‘Too much information!’

/>   ‘You said you wanted to know everything!’

  ‘Yes but I feel that life is passing me by all of a sudden.’

  Jill gave a wicked cackle.

  ‘Anyway, as I was saying, on the beach this morning Antoine started to talk about teaching me how to ski this winter. And how, before that, maybe I could get a few more days off in September to join him on a bike trip. Into the Estremadura. Picnics in the forest, just the two of us, eating jamón ibérico and ripe juicy figs–’

  ‘Hold the juicy figs!’

  Caroline clapped her hands over her ears.

  ‘OK I’ll spare you the figs. Anyway, where was I, oh yes, then he asked me about Ireland. Had I ever wanted to explore Ireland in one of those little caravans, you know the old tinkers’ things that have been revamped by some entrepreneur or other. He’d seen a programme on telly. I said it was a wonderful idea for a holiday even though the very notion is enough to make me puke, sitting up behind a horse’s rear end and cooking squirrel stew of an evening.’

  ‘Really? They always look so romantic when you see them in those Hollywood romcoms.’

  ‘Yeah. Hollywood’s so authentic and it’s not true that Mel Gibson was wearing furry Y-fronts under his kilt in ‘Braveheart’. Anyway, I told him yes, hells bells I’d even agree to a holiday cleaning toilets in New Delhi Airport so long as I could do it with him. Oh Caro, that man, he’s got me totally bewitched. I’m a goner. How long is it since we met?’

  Caroline counted on her fingers. ‘Six days.’

  ‘Six days! I can’t start making life-changing decisions based on a relationship that’s only been going for six days! I must be mad.’

  ‘A holiday in a gypsy caravan isn’t really a life-changing decision.’

  ‘No, no, not the caravan...’ Jill squirmed and tugged at the bottom of her bikini.

  ‘Out with it O’ Toole. I know that look.’

  Caroline gave a sudden gasp.

  ‘He’s not proposed has he? After only six days? I mean I know he’s a hot Basque and incredibly sexy and cuddly but really Jill you don’t want to go rushing into things, you both need to get to know each other a bit better–’

  ‘Will you calm down? I do not need marital advice from the MacDonald Relationship Bureau, thank you.’

  Caroline winced.

  ‘Touchée. Continue, dear friend.’

  ‘I’ve just been looking on the internet, that’s all. Since I got back from my surf lesson.’

  ‘You reject my excellent well-meaning true-friend advice in favour of Dr Google’s Marriage Counselling blog?’

  ‘No, eejit, I just started researching jobs for dental hygienists. In the European community. If it was possible, what they required and all that.’

  Caroline fell back into her chair and burst out laughing.

  ‘What?’

  Jill was looking mulish.

  ‘You never cease to amaze me. I think it’s brilliant! I can just see you in your white coat, with that metal spike in your hand saying ‘Ouvrez votre bouche, s’il vous plaît Monsieur. Plus grand, oh cher Monsieur what big white teeth you have!’ They’ll be queuing up from Paris to Bordeaux.’

  Jill grinned.

  ‘I’ll have to remember that, ouvrez votre bouche. However, it’s not quite as simple as that. There are all these rules and regulations and getting your qualifications approved by the French and that’s even before you start looking for vacancies.’

  ‘My dear Watson, you forget you are speaking to an expert. One Who Has Been There. I can point you in the right direction, give you a few tips. I mean if I managed to convince the French authorities that I was worthy to put my foot in the hallowed halls of their education system, why not you? In the Health Service?’

  ‘So you don’t think I’m crazy? To be thinking about moving to France because of some guy I only met six days ago?’

  ‘No, because there’ll be so much red tape involved that by the time you’ve got it all sorted out you and Antoine will have been having underwater orgasms for at least two years. You’ll have been skiing with him, had a lovely week in a gypsy caravan cooking squirrel stew, spent so much time on his motor bike you’ll be walking bowlegged. If you change your mind, you can always stay in Edinburgh.’

  She gave Jill a saucy look.

  ‘So, he’s well and truly bewitched you, hey? I can see how that might have happened. I always half-fancied him myself.’

  ‘O ungrateful, ungrateful wretch. You go and land yourself Drop Dead Ed and now you’re interested in the hot Basque?’

  ‘Did someone mention my name?’

  Edward had come up behind them, bare feet silent on the grass.

  Both Jill and Caroline gave a shriek.

  Edward nudged Caroline over and perched on the side of her chair. He trailed one finger across her bare midriff, smiling when he saw the rush of goosebumps.

  ‘Is this the sort of conversation a chap can contribute to?’

  ‘Noooo!’

  The chorus was emphatic.

  He held up his hands.

  ‘OK just a suggestion. But I wanted to warn you ladies that Jules is back, getting changed, and that fellow, what’s his name, the big guy with the muscles and the Harley, oh yeah, Antoine, he’s on his way over too.’

  The announcement brought another shriek from Jill and a sprint indoors.

  Edward, watching her go, raised one eyebrow.

  ‘Why does she have all those red marks on the back of her thighs? Right, ma petite chérie. Time for a confidential talk with your fiancé. About, what did you call him, the hot Basque? And a certain ungrateful Caroline, from what your friend was saying. A blond half-Basque not good enough for you, hey?’

  Caroline put up her hands protectively.

  ‘No, that’s not what she said, well she did, but you didn’t hear the bit before, so the remark was out of context.’

  ‘Ah. Out of context. That’s an original excuse. So, put me in the picture, my sweet, I’m all ears.’

  ‘Now Edward you know that’s not fair, I can’t break the secret of the confessional, this was women’s talk, you won’t get a word out of me so don’t start, no, no, don’t do that, Rayburn, stop it, put me down, I insist you put me down immediately, I am warning you...’

  The rest of her words were drowned by the huge splash as her fiancée tossed her into the pool, a satisfied smile on his face. He flung himself down on the sun lounger, laughing as she fumed and spluttered.

  ‘I hate people who throw other people in the pool! It really is juvenile. And I’ve only just learned how to swim! I could have drowned, do you hear me, Rayburn? I’m serious.’

  Rayburn thought he loved it when Caroline got cross. Later he could get to try out some fake apologies involving subtle seduction techniques until his petite chérie finally caved in, forgave him and fell to her knees begging for more.

  He was really looking forward to that.

  20 LONDON, ENGLAND. JUNE

  Annabel was not a happy person.

  She’d had to set the alarm at some ungodly hour in order to be at the Crucial Cake Consultation. Apparently bakers, oops excuse me, famous French chefs, didn’t do afternoons. She’d been with Claudio until 5 am, before managing to drag herself away and get a taxi back to the Docklands. She’d been in such a state of feverish arousal she’d hardly got a wink of sleep.

  Now, in a taxi once more, heading for the rendezvous in Mayfair, she was so tired she could hardly focus.

  The meeting with the Great Chef did not go smoothly. He and his team of fawning elves kept whizzing all these pictures past her, babbling on about the unity of the Theme and the unity of the Ingredients, orange, marzipan, vanilla, chocolate, royal icing, how was she to know what was best, she’d never even baked a scone, it was their job to come up with the perfect creation, God knows it was costing enough. They’d showed her pictures of things that looked like upturned whitewash buckets all the way through to five-tier sandcastles complete with turrets and staircases and mi
niature brides and grooms.

  The Great Chef’s patience was wearing thin, his ‘French’ accent had slipped back into Birmingham. What concept, he wanted to know, was ‘Madame’ hoping to embody, now that she had rejected the Aztec theme they had (a peevish purse of the lips here) agreed on at the beginning? Was it something spiritual, embodying the essential harmony of two soulmates perched on the brink of The Unknown? Something primal and unadorned, without too many Elements? Or a more traditional concept, there were some beautiful creations with lace and vines and hand-sculpted roses and even imported blown glass seashells from Italy. And if she wanted a Symbol, the Great Man could do them all–top hats, chandeliers, skyscrapers.

  And of course there was the all-important matter of the colour coordination. Had ‘Madame’ finally decided how she was going to theme her day colourwise?

  Annabel’s head was spinning and she was having a hard time keeping her temper under control. How the hell did she know how she was going to theme her colours or anything else when she was now dithering about whether or not there was going to be a Day at all? But if there was going to be a Day, then she needed the Great Chef.

  Last summer it had all seemed so easy, she’d met with three different events organisers, they’d jumped at her idea, Acapulco was the thing, sea, clifftop, Aztec holy man, the bride walking barefoot across the sand to her groom, a sort of Inca pre-Raphaelite virginal figure, long hair in twists and whorls, specially coloured in that amber strawberry blonde the painters used. In the end she’d dismissed the lot of them. Who needed an events organiser? She was the one coming up with all the brilliant ideas. But recently she’d got distracted, and time had just seemed to fly, and now it was all spinning out of control, if only she wasn’t so tired!

  She fought back a yawn, caught the eye of a particularly snotty young elf standing next to the Great Chef and gave herself a mental shake. If she could just escape from the basilisk stare of the Great Chef and his team and go back to the flat for a hot bath and a nap. Her mind was in a whirl between all the different decisions she had to make, all the pressure people were putting on her ‘You do realise ‘Madame’ that we are now in June...’