Hot Basque: A French Summer Novel 2

by Laurette Long

  She’d been taken completely by surprise at his kiss, really surprised, but...go on, admit it, Jillian Benedicta, she told herself. A part of her, a tiny little part, a selfish, base, despicable little part, had responded. A voice of revenge had maybe whispered in her ear that at least one man desired her, even if Antoine had been playing her for the fool.

  And then of all things, that was the moment Caroline chose to pop up like a genie out of a bottle and witness a scene which should never have happened.

  She pulled the pillow over her face and groaned.

  Buried in the depths of her handbag, sitting on a shelf in the bathroom, her mobile rang, then stopped.

  ***

  It was a subdued trio who gathered for lunch on the terrace. Joshua had gone down early, so they didn’t even have him as a distraction.

  Caroline had made a seafood gratin, one of Jill’s favourite dishes. She’d been up early, at the market by eight, in the kitchen all morning making fish stock from scratch, fiddling about with the sauce, Madame Martin hovering behind her suggesting ‘a little more nutmeg perhaps’ and ‘do you think you’ve reduced that enough Mademoiselle Caroline?’ until she was ready to hit the worthy lady over the head with her wooden spoon.

  All to no avail. The three of them picked at it. Nadia kept fidgeting and looking at her watch while Jill kept saying ‘thank you Caroline,’ and ‘it’s so delicious, really, you shouldn’t have taken the trouble’, all in a toneless voice.

  ‘Oh! Excuse me!’

  Nadia’s phone was ringing.

  She jumped up from the table, pressed the phone to her ear and moved towards the house.

  Caroline heard snatches of a conversation in German, saw a happy smile dawn on Nadia’s face. Well, at least that’s one of us who’s feeling a bit better she thought, as Nadia disconnected and came back to the table, looking hopeful.

  ‘Hans?’ she asked, forcing a smile.

  ‘Yes, Hans. He has invited me to take a coffee. But I told him maybe it is not possible?’

  Caroline shook her head.

  ‘No Nadia, not possible. We need you to clear the table, wash the dishes, do some ironing and make a chicken pie for dinner.’

  Nadia’s face was a picture.

  Caroline jumped up and gave her a hug.

  ‘My silly sense of humour. Of course you must go. Jill and I have got things covered here. Take the afternoon off, take the evening off, just enjoy yourself!’

  Nadia left the terrace in an Olympic sprint.

  ‘Well, that’s one of us sorted.’ She poured another glass of wine for Jill and herself. ‘Just us two misery guts left now.’

  She took a deep breath.

  ‘Before we get well and truly drunk on your last day at Villa Julia, can I say how sorry, how deeply truly sorry I am for meddling in your love life, introducing you to Antoine and then running off to tell tales about you that weren’t true. I haven’t slept a wink and I feel like the world’s lousiest friend. I don’t know what to say, what to do. Kill me.’

  ‘Oh Caro.’

  Jill rushed round the table and the two hugged each other till their ribcages cracked.

  ‘Here,’ said Caroline, passing a packet of tissues to Jill when they finally broke the embrace. The pair of them wept and sniffed for a good ten minutes, then Jill said:

  ‘What am I going to do? What am I going to do? I’m going back tomorrow, I’ll never see him again!’

  She put her arms on the table and sobbed in earnest.

  The sky was a radiant blue. A faint breeze stirred the pine boughs. The swimming pool danced and sparkled.

  Caroline came to a decision.

  ‘Sit up O’Toole, look at me. I’ll phone him. Tell him I got the whole thing wrong. Tell him...’

  She looked across at her friend.

  ‘Tell him there’s a lady here who’s pining to death for her hot Basque. Who’s going to die if she can’t see her pirate before she leaves.’

  Jill’s eyes were brimming with tears again.

  ‘It’s true. I am going to die. Bloody hell Caro, what’s wrong with me?’

  Caroline put her head on one side.

  ‘Well. Speaking as a woman of experience, I’d say you’ve got it bad. Really really bad. Like ‘amoureuse’ bad.’

  ‘Amoureuse. I am amoureuse. In love. Hopelessly, mooningly, like a hormonal fifteen-year-old. I’ll be playing ‘Unchained Melody’ on repeat when I get back to Edinburgh. Oh God. Maybe I’ll be too sick to get on the plane. My stomach hurts. Everything hurts.’

  ‘OK. Good. That’s good, Jill, well done. The first step. You’ve admitted it. Second step, tell him. I’ll phone and ask him to come round and then I’ll make a discreet exit to see to some urgent flower arranging.’

  Jill stood up.

  ‘I can’t tell him.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because...because he might not be amoureuse. Then I’d feel a thousand times worse.’

  ‘I thought you told me your Dad used to be in the Royal Marines? Avanti! Per mare et thingie ad astra. Or something. Nothing ventured, nothing won. Faint heart never won fair lady. Or fair man, in this case. Oh for crying out loud, you only have to look at him to know he’s amoureuse as well! Actually, amoureux, he’s a man, so you have to use the masculine form of the adjective. Amoureux.’

  ‘I don’t need a bloody grammar lesson! I need–I need–’

  ‘Him. You need him.’

  The two of them stared at each other. Caroline reached out, picked up her phone, keeping her eyes fixed on Jill.

  ‘Wait! Stop. You’re right. I am the daughter of a Marine. But I have to do it myself. I have to hear his voice. I’ll know the minute I hear his voice if he’s amoureuse or not. And if he’s not amoureuse, well...I’ll just commit hara-kiri.’

  Caroline threw up her hands.

  ‘Is this the kid who learned to fight when she was five? Do it Jillian. Just do it.’

  ‘Right. Bag, where’s my bag?’

  She hauled her giant tote on to the table and began hunting for her phone.

  ‘OK. Here we go. Do I need another drink? No. If he does come over, I mustn’t have alcohol breath. And I’ve got to be sober. Can’t–’

  She broke off, frowned, tapped a couple of buttons furiously, staring at the screen.

  ‘What? What’s happened now? Is it a text? Is it Julian?’

  Caroline got up and rushed round to Jill’s side of the table.

  The message had been sent at 7 o’clock that morning.

  ‘Goodbye, Irish. I miss you. I regret you. You are my heart. I never forget my love.’

  38 ENGLAND. JUNE

  Annabel was sitting in a chair in her room at the clinic. It was called the Sirona Clinic. The walls were painted in a shade Annabel knew well. Breakfast Room Green. Farrow and Ball. She’d chosen it for their Frankfurt dining room. The furniture was white French provincial. There was a brochure on the table explaining what the Sirona Clinic was.

  She hadn’t looked at it.

  Not long after she had arrived yesterday, Julian had appeared, her husband. He asked how she was feeling and explained that he had booked her into the clinic for a couple of weeks, time for Dr Novak to assess her and to give her the help she needed. She did understand that she needed help, didn’t she? And that Julian–here he had paused and turned his head away–was prepared to see that she got everything she needed.

  She had turned her head away, too, looked out of the window where a groundsman was mowing the grass, in straight, perfect lines.

  Julian had stayed a bit longer, asking her if she wanted anything, books to read, perhaps her MP3 player, for some music?

  She had shaken her head, still watching the groundsman. Dark line, bright line.

  Finally he’d left, saying that he would be back to see her and that he hoped she would start feeling better soon.

  A woman in a white uniform had come in next. She’d asked how Annabel was feeling, and said that perhaps she would feel
better after a shower and a change of clothes. She had helped Annabel to undress, taken her into the en suite bathroom and put a plastic bag over her arm.

  ‘Just so that the dressings don’t get wet. Nurse will be in to see you soon, and change them. You’ll feel more comfortable then. Can you manage on your own in the shower?’

  Annabel had nodded, stepped into the shower. She had avoided looking in the mirror.

  The woman in the white uniform had a name badge saying she was called Elaine. Elaine had helped Annabel to get dressed, chatting about what lovely weather they were having, and how the roses were particularly good this year.

  Elaine had also towel-dried Annabel’s wet hair, and managed to get a comb through it. Her movements were gentle.

  ‘What beautiful hair you have Annabel. A lovely colour and a natural wave. Mine is as straight as rainwater. You’re probably feeling a bit tired, so maybe we’ll just let your hair dry naturally this time, is that OK? Now, someone will be bringing you a bite to eat, then you might want to lie down, sleep a little. Is that OK?’

  Elaine had left, and another person bustled in, a small cheerful lady in a green uniform.

  She had brought Annabel a tray on which there was a bowl of hot soup and a plate of chicken salad. Also some jam sponge and custard. Steam rose from the soup mixing with the smell of warm custard. Annabel’s gorge rose and she just made it into the bathroom in time.

  When she had finished retching, Elaine was back, helping her to get up, helping her to rinse her face and mouth, saying it was OK, nothing to worry about.

  Coming out of the bathroom she saw that the tray had been removed. There was just a bottle of mineral water and a glass. She drank and nodded yes to another. Elaine beamed and offered her a pill to swallow.

  Annabel had gone to sleep then.

  This morning, Elaine had been back with breakfast, opening the curtains, saying what another beautiful day it was, they seemed to be set for a run of fine weather.

  After she had left, Annabel had felt very tired. She had stretched out on the bed, fallen into a doze. Something woke her, maybe a knock at the door, she saw the Breakfast Room Green walls, the white furniture, closed her eyes again.

  Someone walked into the room, drew up a chair next to the bed and sat down. The person didn’t speak. But she could smell him. She opened her eyes.

  A man was sitting at the bedside, looking at her intently. He wore a white coat and his cologne smelled foreign. She didn’t register any other details. Her eyes had found his and locked onto them.

  They were very strange eyes. One was blue, and the other was brown.

  He picked up her hand and said

  ‘Hello Annabel. I am Dr Novak.’

  39 BIARRITZ, FRANCE. JUNE

  Caroline was jumping up and down.

  ‘You see! What did I tell you! He is amoureux! Ring him, immediately!’

  ‘I never heard it! Why didn’t I hear it? Seven o’clock? I was wide awake.’

  ‘Never mind that, call him now.’

  Jill took a deep breath, stared at Caroline, then pressed the button.

  ‘Come on, pick up Antoine, pick up, damn it!’

  She threw the phone on to the table.

  ‘Voicemail.’

  Caroline checked her watch.

  ‘He’s probably working in the restaurant. I’ll go and make some coffee, then you try again.’

  But Antoine’s phone stubbornly went to voicemail a second, third, fourth time.

  ‘I can’t stand it! What if he’s seen it’s me, and doesn’t want to pick up?’

  ‘If he doesn’t want to talk to you, why did he send you the text?’

  ‘Yes, but he said goodbye. For him it’s over. Finito. Curtains.’

  ‘He said goodbye because he knew you were going back tomorrow. I bet he turns up at the airport. Did you tell him what time your plane was leaving?’

  ‘No. Maybe. I can’t remember. I’ll never get through today.’

  ‘Send him a text. Then at least, when he gets it, he’ll know everything is OK.’

  With a sudden movement Jill pushed back her chair and stood up.

  ‘I’m going over. I’m going to the restaurant. I can’t stand it one more minute.’

  Caroline didn’t answer immediately. Then she looked at Jill and said:

  ‘Go.’

  Jill raced inside as fast as Nadia. Caroline could hear her thumping up the stairs.

  She looked at her watch.

  Two minutes, max.

  Sure enough Jill stuck her head out of the window on the landing two minutes later.

  ‘Caro! Costume crisis! I need help.’

  Caroline laughed a little hysterically, wiped her eyes and made her way inside.

  ***

  Caroline walked Jill to the gate.

  ‘You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you? We could put Joshua in his Sweet Pea.’

  ‘No. I am a woman alone.’

  ‘Well in any case, he’s going to melt into a little puddle when he sees you. You look great.’

  Jill was wearing a deep aqua sundress. Her copper hair fell to her shoulders in lustrous waves.

  She gave her friend a hug.

  ‘Sure you don’t want to take the car?’

  ‘Too nervous. I’d probably crash it. Anyway, the walk will give me time to rehearse what I’m going to say. What did you say the word for ‘misunderstanding’ was?’

  ‘Mesentente. Give me the list, I’ll write it down. You’re sure there’s nothing else? ‘I’m really missing my surf lessons with benefits?’ That sort of thing?’

  ‘How about ‘I think I’m going to throw up’?’

  Caroline waved her off before heading back indoors. Ouf. Well, that was two happy bunnies. She went into the kitchen to make more coffee. She needed the caffeine, she hadn’t managed a full night since ‘it’ had happened. Apart from everything else that was going on she was missing Edward in her bed at night, missing his sunny presence at the villa every day.

  A faint cry interrupted her thoughts; she ran quickly upstairs, quietly opened the door to the nursery.

  ‘Aga!’

  ‘Ah little man, I thought I heard you. It’s Tatie Caroline. Can you say that? Can you speak a little bit of French? Tatie. Auntie. Oh come here you darling boy. Ah. Right. Darling smelly boy. Now, let’s get some air to that bottom...’

  ***

  Jill’s footsteps slowed as she neared Chez Arantxa.

  Oh Lord she was all in a lather. She patted her neck and face with a handkerchief, pulled a mirror out of her bag, peered at her hair. She knew it. Those lovely smooth waves she’d left the villa with had shot into corkscrews with the humidity. Her face was red, her hair was orange and her nose was running. Well, this would be a test of real amourosity wouldn’t it?

  If he jumped over the bar and flung his arms around her she’d know the saying was true. Love is blind.

  Three o’clock. The inside of the restaurant was dim. She could make out a couple of tables where people were enjoying a late lunch, Spanish style.

  The door stood open.

  Marines, forward!

  She stepped inside, knees knocking.

  ‘Bonjour Madame.’

  A waitress came bustling up. Not one of Antoine’s sisters. She couldn’t see either of them, nor his brothers. Nor his mother. No sign of Antoine. Had they all left town? Her heart began to race even harder.

  ‘Er, er..

  The waitress stood, a look of inquiry on her face.

  ‘Une personne? One person? We close soon, but there is still time if you wish to eat?’

  ‘No thank you, I mean, oh I’m so glad you speak English, er I’m looking for–for Antoine?’

  ‘Antoine? Ah but...one moment.’

  The girl disappeared into the kitchen. Jill squeezed her handkerchief, nervously.

  ‘Mademoiselle Jill? C’est vous?’

  Madame Arantxa was hurrying towards her, wiping her hands on a towel.


  ‘Oui, c’est moi. Bonjour Madame.’

  Jill held out her hand but Madame Arantxa flung her arms round her and gave her two kisses.

  ‘I am sorry, l’autre soir...the night, when you eat, that person!’

  Madame’s face was a picture of worry.

  ‘Non non, all OK maintenant, pas de problème, please don’t worry Madame Arantxa.’

  ‘Come, sit, I bring you coffee.’

  Without giving Jill time to speak she had raced over to the bar and started piling coffee into the espresso machine, talking over her shoulder all the time in a mixture of English and French.

  Jill sat down.

  The kitchen door flew open. She looked up, hoping and dreading at the same time.

  ‘Jill!’

  She recognised Marielle, the elder sister.

  ‘We are happy to see you!’

  She got the double kiss from Marielle too.

  Well these were all good signs. The family seemed to like her. Now if she could just speak to Antoine...

  ‘You go back home soon?’

  ‘Tomorrow. Early, actually. That’s why–I was wondering if Antoine was here? I tried to phone him, but I couldn’t get a reply. I thought maybe he was working this lunchtime–oh, is he at the shop? I hadn’t thought about the shop, I just automatically assumed–’

  ‘Jill! Antoine is not here. You do not know? I thought he told you.’

  A strange feeling started in the pit of Jill’s stomach.

  ‘Told me?’

  ‘Yes, he say he will phone you, he did not phone?’

  ‘He did, well he sent a text, I only just saw it, that’s why I decided to come over, to speak to him...’

  Her voice faltered.

  ‘Oh Maman!’ Marielle turned to look at her mother. Her face was tragic. ‘Elle ne sait pas.’

  ‘What? What don’t I know?’

  ‘He is gone, Jill. He took the plane this morning. He is in the South America.’