Biarritz Passion: A French Summer Novel (22 page)

‘It’s so uplifting. Such a tonic.’

Caroline waved
an arm at the wide sweep of the bay flanked by rocky outcrops, the white column of the lighthouse on the promontory to their right. Whitecaps were breaking on the rocks, sending plumes of spray high into the air. They caught the morning sun sparkling like jewels.

‘All this light. And that wonderful ozone smell.’

‘Like being on holiday,’ said Claudie with a wicked grin. ‘Look over there. That is the old Bellevue Casino.’ She indicated a newly restored building with a white facade and a curved rotunda overlooking the sea. ‘Built in 1857. It was the start of the
Belle Epoque
. All the aristocracy of Europe used to come here, but also writers and artists. It was very free, very gay, very
avant garde
.’

‘Really?’ said Caroline, thinking of Victorian England. Nothing very free about that.

‘What are those small trees everywhere? The ones on the cliff? I noticed them as we were coming down. They look like little Hobbit trees.’

‘That’s tamarisk. It grows well by the seaside.’

‘It’s magical. Those soft pink plumes. And the hydragangeas. I don’t think I’ve even seen such magnificent hydrangeas.’

‘Ah yes, they are the flower of Biarritz. On every postcard.’

‘That reminds me,’ said Caroline.’ I need to buy some postcards.’

They walked back along the sea front. The beach was filling up with the morning bathers, laying out beach towels and putting up umbrellas.

Claudie pointed up the hill.

‘See that pink and cream building? That’s the
Grand Palais
. Where all the royals used to stay. We’ll go there for a drink one evening. Annabel has been going on about it ever since she arrived.’

Caroline’s euphoria vanished.

Annabel.

All day Monday
Caroline had been so wrapped up in what had happened between her and Edward at the
feria
that she hadn’t given a thought to Julian and his problems. But the following day she had waited until the others were busy, then asked to speak to Annabel in private. The prospect was as inviting as a trip to the dentist, but a promise was a promise. Julian was counting on her.

She’d been running over different sc
enarios in her mind, trying to find the diplomatic approach. Above all, she admonished herself, you have to remember to keep calm. Adopt a reasonable tone, don’t let Annabel irritate you. Gentle persuasion.

It had been a catastrophe.

She realised Claudie was saying something.

‘Today, cool. We swim, we lie in the sun, we read. We re-charge our batteries. Dinner is easy. Jean-Paul will cook the sausages on the barbecue. If you would like to help me prepare the
tagine
, we can do it this afternoon, at the end of the siesta. So tomorrow it will taste better. Tomorrow evening we prepare a little party, with the ham, the
tagine
. To celebrate the return of
mon cousin
. That’s a good reason to celebrate, no?’

Claudie shot a look at Caroline who was pushing open the gate of the villa and did not reply.

The next day the heatwave hit.

Caroline bumped into Jean-Paul as she was returning to the Villa Julia after an early morning walk. Jean-Paul was in his jogging kit, panting as he crested the hill.

‘Hi Caroline, you’re an early bird.’

‘
Bonjour
Jean-Paul.’

He gave her a
big sweaty kiss, grinning as she pulled a face.

‘Tomorrow you can come with me. Five o’clock start.
’ He looked up at the sky. ‘We’re in for some seriously hot weather.’

She had noticed the air was thick and unmoving even at seven in the morning. The sea too was curiously flat and oily, no waves, just the barest frill of foam and beyond
, a pale sapphire expanse stretching to the horizon. She’d sipped a coffee at one of the little places on the harbour,
le port des pêcheurs
. White painted houses with red pantiled roofs clustered at the foot of the cliff. Behind, sombre green vegetation, scrubby pines and tamarisk, clung to the hillside. At the top the church of
Sainte Eugénie
rose into a bleached sky. It was all so lovely. So why did there have to be problems?

They pushed open the gates and walked up the drive together. Figaro strolled to meet them, tail held high like a pennant.

By noon the sky had become the colour of molten steel. They ate in the kitchen, the coolest room on the north side of the house. Caroline was glad that she and Claudie had cooked the
tagine
the day before. Claudie had added apricots this morning to give them time to absorb the flavour of the rich sauce. Jean-Paul had watched the weather forecast on TV, shaking one hand up and down, whistling. Temperatures were due to rise for the next few days. The twins had gone around closing all the shutters against the heat and the villa looked like a cave, full of shadows. A good place to hide thought Caroline as she took her Kindle into the cool dim
salon
and curled up in a comfortable armchair. Thin bars of light sliced through chinks in the shutters and there was a smell of logs and long ago fires.

She still hadn’t finished the Patricia Cornwell. She kept reading the same page over and over, her mind on other things. What time was Edward due back? She hadn’t wanted to ask. Picturing him pulling into the driveway, pushing open the door, coming to say hello to everyone, her stomach churned.

It was no good, she couldn’t sit still. She went into the kitchen for a glass of water. She’d been unable to eat at lunchtime, nibbling a tomato and a piece of cheese. It was so hot that no one had had much appetite, apart from Jean-Paul, who had polished off half a
saucisson,
two boiled eggs, several slices of ham and most of a
baguette
. She could hear Claudie on the covered loggia outside the kitchen talking on her phone. The others had gone to their rooms for a siesta. She wondered if they had noticed the frigid atmosphere between herself and her sister. Annabel had said hardly a word at lunch, then gone straight up to her room. What was going through her mind?

***

Upstairs in her second floor bedroom Annabel put her head on one side and gazed at her nails. Oval, perfectly even, scarlet. She waggled her fingers to dry the varnish. She had always had beautiful hands. Raising her eyes to the mirror she lifted one graceful arm in a mock toast to herself. She turned her head slightly examining the line of neck and shoulder through narrowed eyes. No hint of sagging flesh. Good. She smiled. The sun had powdered her face with gold; in the grey light filtering through the shutters the gold took on a deeper glow, the hyacinth eyes turned to mauve, glittering with a dark intensity.

Julian had finally left her alone, thank God.

‘I just need some space!’ she’d said. ‘And it’s so bloody hot in here! You’d think with all their money they could at least have installed air-conditioning.’

Julian had sighed and picked up his newspaper.

‘Try to get some rest darling.’

‘Try to get some rest darling,’ she mimicked as soon as he had shut the door behind him.

Abruptly she rose to her feet, shrugging the silk robe from her shoulders. A perfect body. Nature had been kind. She didn’t need to do any exercise, follow a diet. Maybe that would change, she thought, with a little frown. She stepped back, turned, looked at herself over her shoulder, noting the graceful back, the rounded hips, the long slender legs. She placed one hand one her stomach, let her fingers trail lower, touching the moist place between her legs. Her face grew sombre. She bent to pick up the robe and slipped it on again. It was still warm from her skin.

Bloody Caroline. The thought of her sister planted itself like a thorn in her mind. Caroline, adoring, anxious Caroline. Always there in the background for as long as she could remember, ready to protect her little sister, ready to take her side in an argument, constantly seeking ways to bring a smile to Baby’s lips. First, an endless stream of toys and sweets bought with Caroline’s pocket money. Later, as she grew older, it was scarves, bottles of colog
ne, embroidered handkerchiefs. Annabel sprang from her seat and stalked over to the table where her packet of cigarettes lay. She wasn’t supposed to smoke in the villa. More bloody rules. She lit a cigarette, threw back her head,
inhaling deeply, then began to pace back and forth with the twitching nervous movements of an angry cat.

She had always been able to do exactly what she wanted with Caroline. Right up to the time she met Liam. Arrogant, domineering, she’d disliked him from the start. He’d shown plenty of interest in her though, when Caroline wasn’t around. She smiled coldly. Of course Caroline had never known, never even suspected. Annabel was still a teenager, an innocent younger sister in Caroline’s eyes. In reality she’d had more experience with men than poor Caro would ever have in her life probably. She ground out her cigarette impatiently. In the end it
didn’t matter, Liam was only looking for an excuse to dump her sister, it was just a question of time. Anyone could see it. Anyone except Caroline of course. Annabel wondered what exactly had taken place between the two of them on that holiday. Caroline had been ill for weeks afterwards. Oh she’d struggled on as usual, pretended things were OK, refused to take time off work, brave little soldier and all that. But you could see she was being eaten up inside. Annabel had finally lost patience. With Liam out of the picture, she had
expected Caroline to turn to her again, pay attention to her, but it was if a light had gone out inside her, she had no time even for her little sister. She’d become more and more reserved, shrinking into her shell. Though she had a sharp enough tongue when she was irritated. Which seemed to be pretty often these days, usually with Annabel.

It had been a mistake inviting her on holiday.
Of course she’d got her own back on Gloria, a sweet little revenge after that humiliating business, deputy editor, Gloria preening like a peacock, everyone at her feet, fawning. But she’d never suspected that her own sister would be more of a challenge than Glorious Gloria. When she and Edward had
got back from Bayonne she had been literally taken aback by Caroline’s appearance. She could see her now, standing on the bottom step, a slender figure in a softly swirling skirt. Her waist looked positively tiny. And that top she was wearing! Annabel had never thought of her sister as having good boobs. She usually looked thin and scraggy, her figure hidden under baggy clothes. But that white top had clung to her. It was almost provocative!
As she came to meet them she had even looked taller. That was the heels, though. Caroline usually wore flats. But that day she’d had on a really fabulous pair of wedge-heeled sandals. She’d looked taller, but also more confident. She was walking differently. Of course she’d taken ballet classes when she was younger, they both had. But usually the way she walked, she was all hunched over almost like an old lady. But no, she was coming to meet them in her sexy white top and her clingy skirt, swaying her hips like bloody Darcy Bussell. At the same time she was projecting, what was it exactly? A sort of vulnerable femininity. That was it. A woman, but not one of those liberated feminists, no, the sort who needed a white knight on a charger. It was a look that Annabel knew was so appealing to the opposite sex. She used it herself, all the time, it had become second nature now, she scarcely gave it a thought. She just had to tilt her head, open her eyes as wide as she could and men would be falling over themselves to pull out her chair, take her coat. And here was her sister, doing her thing. And her hair! The sun had caught in it, turning it to a mesh of strawberry blonde. When she realised it was Caroline she also realised that she was face to face with a new and most unexpected rival.

Of course she had
taken Caroline aside at the first possible opportunity and quickly got to the bottom of it. Yvette Delorme, she might have known, that affected plump little creature, tiny hands fluttering like butterflies, sharp black eyes missing nothing. And her daughter was even worse! Marie-Claire this, Marie-Claire that. The season before her marriage it had been impossible to open a society magazine and not see her face staring out wearing a self-satisfied smile. And smile she may, having bagged the catch of the year. Her husband had about a million oil wells and film star looks into the bargain.

Annabel’s thoughts turned to marriage and her eyes grew hard. She would not let Julian rush her into some hole in the corner affair with a half dozen guests and a column in the local rag. He was being unexpectedly stubborn about things. And then there was this stupid German business. Germany! She shuddered. Give up London, her friends, the weekend parties, the expensive restaurants? For what? Some gloomy Teutonic city full of fat men drinking beer out of steins and
dowdy
hausfrau
wading into gigantic slabs of chocolate cake? Never. Julian would have to change his mind. If she couldn’t talk him out of it in the next couple of months he would simply have to go on his own. Let him just try it, living away from her for a year in a strange city on the twentieth floor of a block of flats! He would soon come to his senses and get somebody else from the business to replace him. Of course he was a senior partner, he was always banging on about his responsibilities, but there were plenty of other people he could send into exile. He could pop over to keep an eye on things from time to time and everything would carry on as normal. Annabel could begin to plan a real wedding. You needed at least twelve months now, even more if you wanted the right venue and the right event organisers. Of course there was this other business to sort out first, but she wouldn’t think about that for the moment. She thought of the little card, tucked away in her bag.

But what had got her really riled was Caroli
ne. First she turns into a L’Oréal advert, then she starts poking her nose into Annabel’s affairs. She couldn’t believe the conversation they’d had the other day. Caroline had said she wanted ‘a word’. Annabel had stupidly followed her into the house, thinking it was something to do with Margaret. She was always going on about their aunt, Annabel should make more of an effort to see her, she was getting on in years blah blah blah. Probably wanted to know if Annabel had sent her a postcard yet.

She had flung herself into an armchair and gazed up at her sister, who was looking nervous and serious at the same time.

‘I hope you don’t mind, but Julian asked if I could talk to you. About the Frankfurt thing.’

Annabel sat up straight and glared.

‘He’s been talking to you about Frankfurt? What’s it got to do with you?’

‘Annabel, you are my sister
, you know. It seems pretty normal to me.’

‘And what has he said exactly?’

Annabel’s voice was ominously calm.

Caroline hesitated.

‘Well, I think it sounds like a nice idea, don’t you? Living abroad, just for a bit? You’ve always fancied the high life.’

‘The high life! You think moving to
Frankfurt is the high life? It’s not exactly Paris! Or New York!’

‘Yes but it’s more the lifestyle
, Julian says you’d have a luxury flat, a maid, lots of money. And you could hop over to London any time you wanted. It would be a new experience. You could learn a new language.’

‘
A new language? German? Maybe even get an Angela Merkel outfit while I’m at it? And what pray would I do about my job? Throw up everything and become a
hausfrau
? Join a knitting group? Cook dumplings and sauerkraut and spend jolly evenings singing Bavarian folksongs with the colleagues?’

‘Oh Annabel don’t be ridiculous!’ Caroline was getting exasperated now. ‘I don’t know where you get your ideas from. Look, the main thing is this
, Julian loves you. He wants to be with you. He’s ready to give you everything you want, to marry you—’

‘Marry! So he’s been telling you about that stupid registry office scheme has he? What else has he
told you?’

Annabel’s eyes were flashing.
Storm warning. Coming in fast. She looked ready to leap at Caroline and hit her.

‘Just..
. just that you could always have a big event sometime later. You’d have plenty of time to plan it, if you went to Germany with him. It would be so exciting. I could help you.’