Biarritz Passion: A French Summer Novel (5 page)

‘So that’s it. If I change my mind, you’ll change yours.’

‘Well darling, you know what they say, one good turn and all that…’ Annabel gave a hard tinkly laugh. ‘You know what you’re like, sister dear, so over-cautious. So
not
spontaneous. You think I’m twisting your arm, don’t you? Thanks for the vote of confidence. You’re unbelievable, you know. Julian has this great offer, and we immediately think of you.’

Annabel was working herself up into the role of the injured party.

‘It’s really insulting. A fabulous holiday, for free, and how do you react? Defensive and suspicious. Incredible. I don’t know what’s happening to you, Caroline. Ever since Liam—’

‘Alright. I’ll see you at the weekend.’

Caroline’s voice was stony.

There was a pause.

‘So that’s a ‘yes’?’ Annabel’s voice had changed in an instant from hurt to jubilant. ‘Wonderful darling. You won’t regret it I promise! I’ll let Julian know right away. And we’ll see you this weekend.’

‘
We? I thought you said Julian was busy?’

‘Oh don’t worry about that. You know Juju
. I point, he sits. See you soon darling! Or should I say
à bientôt
?’

Caroline
replaced the receiver with a trembling hand. She was seething with anger. The blood was pounding in her temples, her eyes were hot. Annabel had gone too far. She would have it out with her this weekend, party or no party. To phone her like that, when she was unable to talk freely, to force her to agree to some scheme that wasn’t of the slightest interest to Caroline—how could she do it? How could she be so unaware—Tears of fury came into her eyes, she blinked them away, groped in her bag for some paracetamol, feeling the headache take hold with a vengeance.

Through the glass wall of her cubicle she could see that the window in the main office was once more tightly shut. George was working in front his screen, head bent.
Sheryl and Jen were both attacking their work with unusual dedication. Caroline got up, walked over to the coffee machine, poured herself a cup and walked back. No one spoke. They all worked on in silence until lunchtime.

‘Er, Caroline?’

‘Yes Sheryl?’

The girl was hovering in the doorway.

‘I was wondering if I could leave early this afternoon. Dentist’s appointment. I forgot to mention it yesterday.’

Caroline almost laughed out loud. The previous week it had been her mother, ill in bed with a stomach upset. A couple of weeks before that, a doctor’s appointment.
Sheryl stared expressionlessly at the wall above Caroline’s head. What did the teachers at school use to call it? Dumb insolence. Jen, though she had her limits, was a useful member of the team; George, for all his maundering, was solid and reliable. But Sheryl was slipshod and untidy and didn’t seem to give a damn. And the memory of too much information in the form of Mozzarella in a red thong was the final straw.

‘
That’ll be fine.’

Sheryl’s
eyes met hers.

‘What’s the name of the dentist by the way?’

The smile that had started on Sheryl’s face froze.

‘Er, I can’t remember exactly, it’s one of those practices you know.’

‘Really? What’s the address?’

Sheryl
was now looking positively sullen.

‘I’ve forgotten the name of the street. It’s near the park.’

‘Oh well, doubtless it will be on your card. Your appointment card.’

Caroline held out her hand. Two red spots appeared on
Sheryl’s cheeks.

‘I forgot
it.’

‘Well well well.’ Caroline’s voice was icy. ‘I think you maybe need to take a memory pill
Sheryl. Can’t remember your dentist’s name, nor his address. Can’t see how you’ll possibly be able to keep your appointment this afternoon, can you?’

Sheryl
gave her a look of pure dislike, and turned on her heel. There was a snigger from the corner. George his skinny shoulders heaving, was laughing into his columns of numbers.

Caroline stood up, took her bag, and said to no-one in particular:

‘I’ll be back at two if anyone asks for me.’

The rain had let up as she walked down the road towards the coffee shop where she usually had a light lunch. As she opened the door she was met by the smell of steam and wet coats. She stood at the counter waiting to place her order, head spinning.
She could have done without the little scene with Sheryl. She was still trying to get to grips with Annabel’s phone call and its implications. So much for taking back control. Had she really agreed to spend two of her precious holiday weeks with her sister?

No,
she decided. She’d been tricked into agreeing. That didn’t count as a real promise. When she saw Annabel this weekend, she would make things quite clear. She ordered a sandwich and a diet Coke. As she picked up her tray she noticed Rita and Helen waving to her from a table in the back. Normally she enjoyed having lunch with them, but today she would rather have been on her own.

‘Hi Rita, hi Helen. Everything OK?’

She forced a smile as she joined them at their table.

‘It would be if this bloody weather would just let up.’

Rita gave Helen a friendly nudge and the two made room for their friend.

‘You’re looking a bit pale love.’

Helen was the solicitous type, hard to let anything get past her.

‘Headache,’ said Caroline. ‘Brought on by five days of non-stop rain and the joys of the workplace.’

Rita gave her signature laugh, a rich deep gurgle that had people looking up from their plates.

‘Tell me about it. They ought to do a sit-com about that place. Like
‘The Office’ except 100 times more surreal. I had another run in with Roger the Dodger this morning.’

Caroline gave a sympathetic grimace as she bit into her tuna sandwich.

Despite being the mother of four children Rita was the acknowledged pin up of the Accounts Department, and every other department if it came to that. She was a tall bosomy brunette with creamy skin and full lips, like a forties Hollywood star. Men lost their power of thought when she sashayed into a room wearing one of the low-cut figure-hugging outfits she liked, more through a sort of malicious contempt for the masculine sex than from any wish to attract one of its members. Caroline had met Rita’s husband, Gerry, a laid-back car mechanic who thought Rita was a hoot. They got on famously.

‘Go on then, tell her,’ said Helen, chewing her way through a bean sprout and tofu salad. She was on a permanent diet, with no apparent results. ‘I saw it all, nearly choked on my Digestive. Roger the Dodger and his famous long wandering fingers.’

‘The laying on of the hands,’ intoned Rita. ‘Of course he was just placing an invoice in my in tray, wasn’t he, only he happened to get the wrong side, so had to do an extra long lean, extra close, holding on for support. Same thing as last time. The bloke’s a walking cliché. You only have to look at his ties. Anyway, as well as the wandering fingers I got a close up of his back molars and a blast of his breath mints. Which do not work, I may say. Some people just never learn do they? The thrill was too much. My nipples hardened at his touch. I had visions of a desk-top spanking with Roger snapping his braces. I shuddered in pure ecstasy, knocked over my hot coffee and Roger got a soaked trouser crotch and a big fright.’

Caroline enjoyed her first laugh of the day.

‘So Caro what are you doing for the holiday weekend? Going anywhere nice?’

The three of them chatted amiably, discussing plans and kids and house refurbishing, Rita making them both laugh with her description of Gerry being dragged around the Home Furnishings department of John Lewis in search of new curtains.

Feeling decidedly better after her chat with the girls, Caroline left early to buy Margaret’s card. She decided she would confront Annabel at the weekend and get out of the villa thing by fair means or foul. She’d also give Jill that call about organising a weekend together, either in London or in Edinburgh. These last few months she’d been drifting, just going along with the same mindless routine, never doing anything different. If she didn’t watch herself she’d end up like George. Poor George. He had been working in the same department for thirty-six years, dealing with his endless columns, first on paper and now, after repeated training sessions, on spreadsheets.

It
was his unchanging habits that both fascinated and horrified Caroline. Lunch was always eaten at his desk. She’d never seen him go out. And it was always the same thing, cheese sandwiches and an orange which he carried to work in an ancient leather satchel. For one hour he would munch away, studying an old copy of the ‘Reader’s Digest’. Then he would carefully wipe his pen-knife, and wrap all his crusts and orange peel in paper ready to return to the satchel and be disposed of at home presumably. At the end of this ritual, he would shuffle over to the electric kettle, stick his hands in his pockets, whistle silently through pursed lips while waiting for it to boil. Caroline shuddered. Was she slowly, inexorably, turning into a George? And could she stand another year with Sheryl? Decision time. She would log on to a Jobsearch site this evening when everyone had gone home. And she would ring an estate agent, get her flat valued.

It was time to get the hell out of Dodge, she thought, walking back into the office building and pressing the button for the lift.
This weekend she would tell her sister she was sorry but she’d won a three-week holiday in Ibiza in a Lucky Draw at Tesco’s. Departing July.

She was approaching the office door, which stood half-open, doubtless for George’s benefit
, when she heard her name mentioned. Struck by something in the speaker’s tone, she hesitated. It was Sheryl, her voice high-pitched with indignation.

‘..she really hacks me off, I can tell you, Miss High and Mighty with her superior airs, bossing us all around, I’m not going to put up with it for much longer I can tell
you, who does she think she is?’

She heard
Jen’s laugh.

‘Your boss, dummy! Get over it. She’s not as bad as some I’ve worked for, I can tell you. Just set in her ways. Old before her time, really. They get like that here, you only have to look at her in Stationery, Miss Keene. Should have been a Sergeant Major in the Army. It’s being on their own that does it. Take my advice
Sheryl and find yourself a fella. Don’t end up stuck in the waxworks chamber of horrors!’

The two of them
burst into giggles.

Caroline was rooted to the spot.

‘Oh well as far as that goes, Jen, I don’t have any problems. Eric’s asked me out again, he’s got a new motorbike. Plus there’s this friend of his, been eyeing me up behind his back, cheeky bastard. But her, who’d fancy going out with a dried up mummy like her, a bloke’d have to be really desperate!’

‘
She did have a boyfriend you know, it was before you arrived.’

It was
Jen again.

‘Used to pick her up from the office sometimes. Good-looking, posh car. She used to look totally different then, nice clothes,
sort of sexy business suits, a bit of makeup, had something about her.’

‘So what happened, she scare him off in the end?’

‘Don’t ask me, he just seemed to disappear into thin air. She looked a bit mopey for a bit, then picked up again, brisker than ever. Maybe she’s one of those who doesn’t need a man, they make too much mess, know what I mean?’

Caroline finally unfroze. She backed down the corridor, away from the office, the unkind laughter following her. She bumped into a wall, turned, and rushed towards the stairs. In her mind she heard over and over again the callous as
sessment. Dried up mummy. Even Jen, who she’d thought was a bit of an ally, what was it she’d said? The sort who doesn’t need a man. Her bag banged against the hand rail as she stumbled down the steps. Where was she going? At the bottom she saw a door marked ‘Emergency Exit’ and pushed it open. She was standing in the car park, not far from her car. With only a second’s hesitation she walked over, unlocked the door and was backing out of the parking space before she had time to think.

Once inside the flat, Caroline closed the door and turned the key. She stared numbly at the home she had built for herself, the pretty flowered curtains, the armchairs in matching fabric, cushions soft and inviting. The pale green carpet was spotless, the polished surfaces of tables gleamed, the books were neatly aligned on the shelves, arranged by author. Flowers stood in an elegant china bowl on top of the bureau. Nothing out of place, not a speck of dirt or dust. No pets, no children. No man.

She forced herself to move to the telephone and dialled Rita’s work number.

‘Rita, it’s Caroline.’

‘Hi there Caro. What’s up?’

Rita sounded surprised.

‘I’m at home. Terrible migraine. Just came on after lunch and I had to get back right away.’

‘There you are. I said to Helen I thought you were looking a bit peaky. You’re probably
coming down with something, there’s a nasty bug going round. Want me to call and get you something from the chemist’s on my way back from work?’