Biarritz Passion: A French Summer Novel (9 page)

‘We asked you because we wanted you to come, that’s all.’

Annabel was smiling at her with such a guileless expression that Caroline felt a pang of guilt. It did sound nice. More than nice, if she was honest. Two weeks in a villa by the sea, two weeks of sun. She longed for some sun. She could always find an excuse to lie by the pool, bury her nose in a book while the others went sightseeing and clubbing. And Margaret had a point. It was an opportunity.

‘
Who else is going?’

‘Oh some lovely people! Edward of course, who you’ll meet tomorrow, he’s so sweet! I know you’re going to love him. And his cousins, twins I think they are, from the French side of the family, Jean something and
, his sister, I’ve forgotten her name. So with us three that’ll make six. An ideal number for a holiday!’

That didn’t sound too bad, thought Caroline
, relieved to hear that none of the twittering starlings would be there.

‘What about the parents? Don’t they go?’

‘Not this year. That’s why Edward suggested it. His mother has had an operation so they’re going on a cruise.’

Annabel chattered on, relieved
that her sister was coming round. As she talked she wandered about the room, picking up this and that, pausing from time to time to peer at her reflection and tuck a strand of hair into place.

‘I know you’ll adore it once you’re there
. The photos, wait till you see them, it’s just your sort of thing, wild and romantic, huge waves, white sand.’

She tilted her head to one side and look at her sister appraisingly.

‘You know darling, if you’d just let me do your hair...’

She advanced on Caroline with a look of determination.

‘No Annabel!’ Caroline headed for the door. ‘I said I’d help Birdie, and that was ages ago.’

‘But
aren’t you even going to change?’ Annabel’s voice held a note of disbelief.

Caroline looked down at her jeans. They were faded, but clean.
They had one little hole. And most of the little hole was hidden by her favourite Gap T-shirt, Extra Large. A comfort T-shirt. She turned and eyed her sister purposefully.

‘Annabel, I have agreed to go on holiday, I’ve even agreed to like the white sand and the romantic rocks, but I’m not going to let you interfere with everything in my life. I’ll
get changed for Margaret’s birthday dinner, this evening. If that’s OK with you?’

She heard her sister’s sigh of resignation as she left the room.

Birdie was adamant that she did not want Caroline in her kitchen. She was preparing braised pheasant
à la normande
for Margaret’s birthday dinner. The cake was in the larder. Everything was organised. She had a list on the fridge door.

‘If you’re sure,’ said Caroline.
‘You know how much I love to cook, Birdie. I could have done all this, given you a break.’

‘Yes my dear, but everything is under way, and I’d feel so much happier if you
got a bit of fresh air. You’re the one who needs a break. Now shoo.’

Margaret had fallen asleep, book open on her lap. Julian had disappeared, no doubt to
rub attar of roses into his fiancée’s feet. Caroline stood on the terrace, took a deep breath of the warm air. Bees were nuzzling at the honeysuckle that wound round the stone pillars of the balustrade. She broke off a sprig and inhaled its sharp scent. Book in hand, she wandered down to the bottom of the garden, where a deckchair sat invitingly in the shade of a horse-chestnut tree. She sank down and kicked off her sandals, feeling the grass cool between her toes. There were patches of wild mint; as she rubbed her feet in it the fragrance rose into the air. Beyond the lawn,
Soames had left a swathe of uncut grass. It ran down to the edge of the wood, scattered with poppies and larkspur and tall buttercups. There seemed to be a bird in every tree, competing for who could sing the best aria. Caroline let the book fall on to the grass and closed her eyes.

She must have dropped off for a few moments. She blinked, disoriented, not sure what had wakened her. There was a movement in the foliage near the edge of the wood, a flash of white. Suddenly a man stepped out of the trees, tall, with an athlete’s
powerful body and a long lazy stride. He was wearing an open-necked white shirt, with a cricket pullover slung over his shoulders. As he came out of the shade the sun caught his blond hair. He paused for a second, eyes narrowing against the glare, reaching into his shirt pocket for sunglasses. Caroline saw a flash of blue as he put them on. He ambled through the long grass, loose-limbed and nonchalant, lifting his head to smell the air, taking his time. In one hand he carried a bouquet of flowers.

She saw him notice her. He stopped abruptly, shading his eyes to make out the figure under the tree. Neither of them moved
, looking towards each other across the nodding poppies. Caroline saw the change in his body, the alertness as his muscles tensed. Then he came on, the relaxed stride giving way to something more like a hunter’s prowl, a cat stalking a bird. She shivered as the image came into her mind. The garden had fallen silent. As he stepped into the green dimness under the leaves he paused, took off his sunglasses. Their eyes met.

For a moment neither of them said anything. Then Caroline jumped to her feet.

‘Hello there. Sorry to disturb you, please don’t get up.’

His voice was a warm baritone. He was
staring at her, an unwavering blue gaze that seemed to take in every detail, her dishevelled hair, her bare feet. She gazed back, tongue-tied. A little breeze passed through the branches. The air between them seemed to hum with an invisible current.

She drew in a short breath, managed to find her voice.

‘I’m sorry, just a second...’

The elastic slid out of her
ponytail as she bent to reach for her sandals. From behind the fall of her hair her voice came to him, muffled.

‘Can I help you? Were you looking for someone?’

She had managed to fasten one sandal
. Where was the other one? Her heart was beating fast and she could feel the heat rushing to her face.

‘I’m here to see Miss MacDonald, she very kindly invited me to tea this afternoon.’

Such a formal way of speaking she thought distractedly, kindly invited me to tea. Then she froze. This must be Edward, Edward Rayburn! But hadn’t Annabel said he was coming tomorrow?

Her thoughts whirled. Birdie would have a fit, caught on the hop, no cucumber for the smoked salmon, typical Annabel, oh where was that bloody sandal?

‘Here, let me help.’

Placing the bouquet carefully on the chair, he knelt down and took hold of her foot. As his hands touched her bare skin a bolt of electricity shot up the length of her leg and heat spread through her stomach like wildfire. She almost fell, had to hold on to his shoulder for balance while he slid on the offending sandal and tightened the strap. His fingers were very strong and warm, the skin hard in places. A rower’s hands. A rower’s arms, the muscles flexing as he moved. His dark blond hair was cropped short and lay thick to his head. It would be curly if he grew it long. Curling down his neck. She could see the top of his shoulders, the bare brown skin where his shirt gaped open as he leaned forward.

‘There. All done.’

As he let go of her foot she was torn between laughing and crying. Pushing the hair out of her eyes she stammered a thank you. She had to tilt her head to look into his face. He was smiling down at her.

‘You must be Caroline. There’s a family resemblance,’ he said seeing her look of surprise.

‘You and your sister. The same mouth.’

He made a circling motion close
to her lips.

‘I
’m Edward Rayburn by the way, the neighbour’s son. Annabel did say I was coming, didn’t she?’

A slight frown drew his brows together and she hastened to find words of reassurance.

‘Yes! Oh yes. She did. Of course. It’s, it’s lovely to meet you, we were just talking over lunch and Aunt Margaret, that is Julian actually, it was Julian, was telling us all about your job and um—’

Her eyes dropped to his hands again.
Big and strong, tanned a dark brown.

‘
–are you still rowing?’

‘
Rowing?’ Edward looked bemused for a second, then his mouth twitched.

‘Rowing. Yes.
Not as often as I’d like, these days. I try to get out when I can, but it’s difficult living in a big city.’

‘Ah yes, Toulon. No, Toulouse. Ha ha.
Not the same thing. It must be, um, wonderful. Living in a foreign country. Well of course it’s not really foreign to you. I mean your mother’s foreign. French I mean. Though she doesn’t live in a, in a foreign country. Any more.’

He was nodding, vigorously. Caroline
found herself nodding too, even more vigorously, then stopped herself.

‘Well
I’m sure you’re ready for some, for some tea. Should we go up to the house?’

Mentally she was frantically running through the provisions she’d seen in the kitchen, surely there would be enough of Birdie’s cakes and biscuits to make it look as though they had all been expecting Edward today. Too bad for the cucumber. There were tomatoes, she’d seen tomatoes. Of course it would interrupt the preparations for dinner.

She was frowning. She switched expressions quickly, put on a bright smile and flung out an arm theatrically in the direction of the house. She was in that 1950s play again. She pulled her arm back, clamped it rigidly at her side.

Edward had a curious expression on his face, was it possible he was trying not to laugh? Instead of setting off up the lawn he suddenly put out one hand and leaned towards her. He was going to kiss her! Of course, that’s what they did in France, they were always kissing each other on the cheeks, twice, three times, even four.
When she’d gone on the school trip...Her knees turned to jelly and the fire in her stomach blazed up again. She gave a little gasp and closed her eyes. She felt his fingers in her hair and her eyes shot open. He wasn’t kissing her. He was holding a sprig of honeysuckle.

‘It had got caught in your hair.’ He smiled down at her. ‘You looked like a wood nymph.’

‘Oh,’ she said faintly, and turned to lead him towards the terrace. One sandal fell off and they almost bumped heads trying to pick it up at the same time.

‘Sorry, mustn’t have fastened it properly.’

He bent down again while the wood nymph leaned awkwardly on his shoulder, tensed, heart beating like a drum, every cell in her body on red alert. He must think she was a complete idiot. She was going to kill her sister. Slowly and with great pain.

‘Are you sure you couldn’t manage another piece of this cherry cake, Edward?’

Birdie’s voice oozed persuasion. The object of her attention lifted a feeble hand in protest.

‘A tempting but physically impossible prospect! It was all delicious Miss Bird.’

On seeing their unexpected visitor coming across the lawn with Caroline, the ladies of the house had risen to the occasion with magnificent aplomb. Margaret pretended that she forgot what day it was every time she fell asleep and woke up again, and Birdie, after a fleeting look of panic, assured their guest that ‘everything would be ready in a jiffy’ before hurtling into the kitchen and conjuring up a feast. Annabel and Julian had seemed completely unfazed by Edward’s appearance on the terrace one day earlier than announced and ha
d welcomed him with kisses (Annabel) and much hearty backslapping (Julian).

The table was littered with the remains of sandwiches, scones, three different kinds of cake, Bakewell tart, homemade plum jam, bowls of honey and whipped cream
. There was, as Margaret had predicted, enough to feed an army. The day, which had started off warm, had developed into a dazzling late afternoon.

‘So much for the weather pundits with their computer models,’ said Margaret with a sniff. ‘
In my day we used to tap the barometer in the hall. Never let us down.’

They had helped Birdie clear away the tea things,
and moved into the shade of a large linden tree. Titus, head on paws, slept tranquilly, his sides lifting in an occasional sigh of contentment. Summer sounds drifted on the air, the drone of bees, the distant hum of a lawn mower.

‘Let me get my phone
, I think I left it in the kitchen. Then I can show you the photos.’

Edward disappeared into the house. Caroline was sitting inert, trying
to make sense of what had happened. She’d hardly spoken since they got back to the house. She felt as though she had been taken over by an alien force. The encounter with Edward, coming out of the blue like that, had caught her unprepared. Every time she thought of how she must have looked, slumped in the deckchair, shapeless T-shirt, bare feet, bird’s nest hair, she felt hot with embarrassment. The electric jolt that had run through her as he took her foot between his hands, her bare, perhaps not too clean, foot (why oh why had she not done her nails?), it had shaken her to the core. It was the first time in her life she’d ever experienced such a feeling. She didn’t even know how to describe it to herself. The sensation had been so immediate, so erotic that her entire body had responded, she had felt a flush that spread from her toes to the roots of her hair. Reason had fled, her body had assumed control, had willed those hands to keep going, to run right up her leg, caressing, stroking. How many months since a man had touched her? And Edward’s warm fingers, his whole presence, the shock, but a shock that was somehow pre-ordained, as though she had just been waiting for this moment, oh, she’d been so amazed, so pierced through by the most extraordinary thrill, it was almost as if...no that was ridiculous. You didn’t go thinking about Cupid’s arrow, not in this day and age.

As they had sat around the tea table, chatting, laughing, she’d managed to get a grip on herself. But even as she listened to the conversation, her thoughts kept returning to Edward. Everything about him
surprised her. When Annabel had talked about him earlier a picture had come into her head of a ‘typical Frenchman’, short, dark, animated. Waving his arms about a lot. So much for stereotypes. With his close-cropped blond hair, blue eyes, and tall athletic frame, Edward looked every inch an Englishman. One of those Englishmen you saw striding out onto the cricket pitch, bat in hand, ready to lead his team to victory. Or sitting in a boat on the Thames, that long lean rower’s body, broad shoulders, hard, muscular arms, tensed to shoot off down the river leaving the Oxford boat floundering far behind. Although, according to Julian, it had been the Oxford team that had shot off, leaving Cambridge floundering. But still.

The
way he spoke. There was nothing French about it, he sounded as though he’d stepped straight out of the pages of an Anthony Trollope novel. ‘I say Miss Bird, this cherry cake is quite the most...’ Though not exactly, she reflected, there was something a bit too precise and correct about his speech, as though he’d learned English as a second language. Which he probably had. He wasn’t her usual type. Liam had been thin, dark, intense. Brooding, almost. Estuary English, lots of this and thats. She pushed the thought away. Liam was over. And there’d only been one other man in her life, if you could call him a man, they’d both been young starry-eyed students at University enjoying a short romantic interlude. But again, Johnny, her student lover, had been dark and serious. In fact she’d fallen for his Bono image, he’d been a huge U2 fan, spending most of the time in dark glasses looking enigmatic.

No,
it wasn’t the way that Edward looked that had had such a profound effect on her, though she had to admit he wouldn’t look out of place in a Calvin Klein underwear advert. He was undeniably sexy. But the thing that drew her was something else, harder to define. Something that put her senses on alert, made her skin tingle and her insides melt. A magnetic force. A heat. Standing near him you could feel it coming off him, passion, recklessness, impulsiveness. Looking into those blue eyes, you could see the turbulence in their depths. Was it that, the contrast, the tension, between the cool classy text-book-handsome exterior and the sense of a hot unpredictable interior, which made him so attractive, which drew people towards him? Cool and hot. Caroline shivered.

The
charm seemed to work on everyone. He had greeted his hostess with a wide spontaneous smile as he presented the bouquet of flowers.

‘Miss MacDonald, how do you do. I feel I know you already, my parents have told me so much about you. May I wish you many happy returns on this special day?’

And then he had leaned forward and kissed her hand, much to Margaret’s delight.

And to Birdie, causing many blushes:

‘Ah Miss Bird! The mainstay of the family! I hear your cherry cake is the envy and despair of every cook in the county!’

They had chatted pleasantly over tea, with Edward talking about his mother’s operation, the forthcoming cruise, and the latest village gossip, a great source of interest to Margaret and Birdie.

Now he was coming across the terrace, holding a smartphone. He squatted down to show them.

‘This is it, the Villa Julia. And the garden, well a bit of it, where we usually eat in fact. Unless it rains, that is.’

‘Rain!’ exclaimed Annabel. ‘I thought it never rained on the Riviera!’

Julian and Edward exchanged looks.

‘Darling,’ said Julian, ‘I know your geography’s pretty hopeless but we’re not going to the Riviera. The Riviera is on the Med. Biarritz is on the Atlantic.’

‘But I’ve been telling everybody we’re going to the Riviera!’

Julian took one look at Edward’s face and turned to his fiancée.

‘
Annabel my sweet, we need to talk, urgently, before Edward withdraws his offer and we have to book two weeks in Benidorm. Just remember one thing. The Basque country is paradise on earth. Got that?’ He turned to Edward. ‘So, what were we talking about?’

‘Paradise on earth, otherwise known as the Basque country.
Good save, Courtenay.’

Margaret
gave a little chuckle.

‘I do incline to agree
with you Edward. The Riviera, alas, is not what it once was. I remember it in the fifties, of course. Quite magical. Strolling along the seafront in Cannes and looking out over the bay. None of this film festival hysteria, red carpets and all those goggling fans and photographers with flashing lightbulbs.’

Caroline was looking at a photograph of the garden. In the background was a geranium
-covered terrace, with a pretty girl leaning on it, smiling at the camera.

‘My cousin, Claudette,’ said Edward. ‘You’ll see her twin in the next one, Jean-Paul.’

The next photo showed a young man in a white shirt and trousers with a red sash. He was holding a long basket-shaped object above his head in a sign of victory.

The resemblance between the twins was noticeable.

‘And that?’ asked Caroline.

‘Ah
. That is a
chistera
. You’ve heard of the
pelote basque
, the
cesta punta
? No? It’s the national game of the Basque country, a very fast ball game, a bit like squash. They play with wooden rackets, or even barehanded, or wearing this thing you see in the photo. Jean-Paul has become quite a star.’

‘Will we get to see him play?’ asked Annabel, leaning forward.

Edward laughed.

‘
Oh yes. We’ll be going to all sorts of sporting events. July is the high season for festivals on the coast. Don’t forget the 14
th
of July is the French National Holiday, Bastille Day.’

‘
Oh that poor Marie-Antoinette,’ exclaimed Birdie. ‘One can’t help feeling sorry for her, even if the aristocracy were terribly corrupt and needed to go. You must admit Edward, it was all very violent, the French Revolution.’

Edward nodded diplomatically, having taken note of the large calendar of the Royal Family that Birdie had on display in the kitchen.

‘Claudie and Jean-Paul, do they live in the villa permanently?’ asked Caroline.

‘No, both of them are studying in Paris. But they go down as often as they can, they still have lots of friends in the area. And in their heart, they consider themselves pure Basques. Jean-Paul speaks the language fluently.’

‘It looks like a beautiful house,’ said Margaret. ‘And the grounds, what magnificent trees.’

‘Villa Julia was built by my great
-grandfather at the end of the 19
th
century,’ said Edward. ‘He helped to build the railway and made a lot of money. He built the house for my great-grandmother. She was the Julia. She came from Provence, as a matter of fact. Near the
Riviera—
’ He threw a stern look at Annabel. ‘But nowadays the place is used for holidays, which is a shame really. I for one would love to live there on a permanent basis. But that’s modern life. We all have other commitments, work, mainly, so it’s out of the question I’m afraid. But we all have such wonderful memories of being there together as children.’

‘A bit like Willow
dale,’ said Birdie, with a sigh.

Caroline saw a look pass between
Birdie and her Aunt and felt a surge of anxiety. She knew the difficulties of maintaining the house, both economical and practical, were increasing steadily. She really must sit down and have a talk with them this weekend, see if there was anything she could do to help.

Changing the subject she asked ‘Are you sure there’s room for us all, Edward?’

He laughed. ‘It’s a huge rambling thing, with rooms under the roof and half way up the stairs. In fact,’ he turned to Annabel, ‘you could still invite Gloria as well as Caroline you know.’

‘No no
, she’s made other plans,’ said Annabel hurriedly.

‘Gloria? Gloria Winchfield do you mean?’ asked Margaret.
‘It’s an age since I saw her. The two of you were inseparable when you were teenagers. Glorious Gloria, we used to call her, Birdie and I. Striking girl, but a bit pushy. How is she dear?’

‘Oh she’s fine.’ Annabel’s tone was dismissive. ‘Let’s see the other photos Edward.’

‘Gloria Winchfield,’ mused Birdie, off on a train of thought. ‘I remember the year her grandmother came out, do you Margaret? The belle of the season. She did very well for herself, married into money. Lots of money. Gloria’s the only grandchild, isn’t she? Started to move with a very fast set when she went to live in London. But she was very helpful when you applied for your job with the magazine wasn’t she Annabel?’

Annabel appeared engrossed in the photos on Edward’s phone and didn’t reply.

‘That’s right Birdie,’ said Julian. ‘She’s very friendly with the editor, what’s her name, darling? And she’s made quite a career for herself, Golden Gloria they’re calling her now. In fact she was just promoted to Assistant Features Editor. We were at her party last week, she was quite the star, wasn’t she darling?’

Annabel gave a noncommittal ‘Mmm’ and kept her eyes fixed on the photos. Caroline saw that the colour had risen to her cheeks and her mouth had turned down.

So that was it. The light bulb moment. That was the real reason Annabel had invited her to join the villa party. Annabel had followed Gloria on to the magazine as a junior but now it seemed Gloria’s career was really taking off. Golden Gloria, whereas Annabel...

Keeping her tone light she turned to Edward.

‘So Gloria was supposed to join you this summer?’

Edward was looking at Annabel with a wary expression.

‘Yes, that was the original plan. But then Gloria had to cry off for some reason so Annabel…’

‘Asked me instead.’ Caroline smiled brightly. ‘Lucky me.’

She turned to pet Titus who had suddenly come up and given her a nudge with his nose.