French Lessons (3 page)

“Bonjour,”
said the handsome dark–haired young man, as all three of them wandered
over to greet her.

“Bonjour,
Monsieur!”

Charlie
Hetherington was intrigued. So, he thought, the sprightly young blonde of the
motor–yacht had made her way to him sooner than he had ever hoped. She
looked a handful of years younger than him, and Charlie could tell at once that
she was indeed English. This could be real fun.

“Vous
allez bien? Est–ce que je peut vous offrir un verre, peut–être?”

Charlie
waved his arms towards the entrance of the Hotel while his two friends stood by
grinning. They too were greatly taken by the young lady, with her shapely legs
bare under the stiff linen summer frock, and her blonde curls waving in the heavy
breeze. Eleanor was caught short however. She hadn’t understood the colloquial
use of rapid French and didn’t quite know how best to respond.

“Er,
oui monsieur, mais je – si je
– .”

Charlie
gave a light friendly laugh. This wasn’t fair of him, he thought.

“Don’t
worry. My own French needs brushing up as well I have to say. We’re all from
London. These are my friends Freddie, and Jake. I’m Charles Hetherington.
Everyone calls me Charlie,” he held out his hand. Relieved, Eleanor took it.
She looked at him properly for the first time. He was slim, and stood way over
a foot taller than her. His pitch–black hair was cut short and stylish,
and he had quite the most dazzling smile. She was well travelled enough too, to
know that his well–spoken tones revealed a solid, comfortable upbringing.
Old money, as Daddy would say.

“I’m
here for the summer,” Hetherington continued. Eleanor thought he was quite the
most handsome man she had ever seen. His perfect teeth gleamed and his eyes
shone when his face creased in friendly greeting.

“Eleanor
Walker,” she said trying to be formal, tentatively shaking his long, strong
hand.

“Pleased
to meet you Miss Walker. Are you holidaying?”

“Yes,”
she beamed. “That’s our motor–yacht down in the harbour. Do you see it?”

Charlie
and the young men with him purred, impressed, and looked at one another.

“So
that’s yours?” asked Freddie, a blonde sporty looking type.

“Wow!”
said Jake. Eleanor grinned happily.

“It
is! Well, it’s my father’s – obviously. He’s extremely proud of it.”

“He
has every reason to be,” muttered Charlie, “very nice indeed.”

Eleanor
revelled in the newfound attention from the young Londoners.

“Looks
like you’ve done pretty well yourself?” she pointed out to Charlie, nodding
towards the bright scarlet sports car.

“Fully
intend to move on to something a whole lot bigger before summer’s out,” he
replied. “But I’ll be working for it. No intention of lounging about spending
Daddy’s money, me.”

The
friends chuckled. Eleanor bristled. Cheeky devil. Who did he think he was?

“And
neither do I, I’ll have you know,” she offered up. “I’ve left school now. I’m
working out what I would like to do after the summer. I rather think I’d like
to take up a position in America. Perhaps in the clothing industry.”

Eleanor
had let slip not for the first time, that in fact she aspired very much to what
Tamara did for a living. A career in the fashion magazines would be just
perfect. And she adored what she had seen of New York.

“Charlie
matey, we need to get going,” Freddie spoke up. Eleanor felt a jealous all of a
sudden, and disappointment that she was losing their company so soon. They had
that lovely little sports car, and their freedom. She guessed Charlie was a few
of years older than she was. And of course they were
boys
so they’d be
permitted to do pretty much what they liked. It was so unfair at times, the way
she was treated like a child. Well, she resolved, she’d show them all one day.
Daddy, Tamara, and softheaded clots like this fellow Hetherington. She’d earn
her own keep and no–one would tell her what to do.

“Will
we see you later, Miss Walker?” Charlie asked, pulling on his driving gloves. “We
have a trip planned today to see some of my family in Cap d’Ail. We’ll be back
here later. It would be very nice to see you.”

“I’m
really not sure,” said Eleanor haughtily. “We have a very busy schedule here in
France. And er, I have an appointment right now. So I’ll bid you good day.” She
stayed standing where she was, waiting for them to leave.

“An
appointment? Where? Might we offer you a lift?” Charlie asked.

“No,”
she said hurriedly, “I’m meeting someone in – there,” she nodded towards
The Grand Hotel.

“I
see,” Charlie could not help but give a faint smile, seeing that she was making
the whole thing up, the adorable little minx. “A most tasteful choice of
location. I happen to be staying there myself. Well, do enjoy your afternoon
Miss Walker.”

And
with that he and his friends piled into the car and shot down the hill. Eleanor
looked about her, sadly. Everywhere there were couples and families and groups
of friends. And down in the yacht she knew for sure that Daddy would be with
her,
oblivious to the entire world. Probably in bed again. She cringed. It was so
disgusting the way Daddy fawned over his new wife day and night. Eleanor felt
lonelier than she had ever felt in her life. Why wasn’t her Mummy here? Why was
Daddy so nasty and besotted with that horrid American bitch? Eleanor dared
think the word, almost out loud. Fine, she thought. She’d show them.

CHAPTER THREE

Determined
not to head back to the yacht with her tail between her legs, Eleanor at last
steeled herself and made for The Grand Hotel. She had money. Her father was
known in the town. What could they say to stop her? She was nineteen, not nine.
She could order a cup of coffee and read an English newspaper. She might even
have that cocktail drink she wanted to try so very much. Or a glass of
champagne! Why not?

The
Grand Hotel de Provence stood proud and imposing. Its ornate dark doors gave
forth the promise of serious luxury. A stiff, taut–lipped doorman looked
Eleanor up and down with a stage smile, before opening the doors for her with a
faint bow. Realising in an instant that it was too late to backtrack, she
brushed past him with an overly friendly ‘bonjour.’

The
foyer felt much bigger and far more intimidating than she’d anticipated. The
carpet was thick and the walls lined with glass cases, filled with fancy
leather goods, jewelry, and expensive perfumes. Eleanor made as though she did
this kind of thing every day of her life on her own. She followed the gentle
hubbub of chatter, glasses chinking and cutlery meeting plate, and found the
Riviera Bar at the end of the lobby.

The
maître d’ smiled in surprise as she approached. He noted her youth and the fact
that she was alone. The man knew for certain that she was English – very
pale–skinned, if quite the most stunning creature he had laid eyes on for
quite some time.

“Bonjour,
allez
–y
Mam’selle
,”
he said graciously. Her confidence growing, Eleanor swept into the bar. Without
a further thought, she waltzed straight up to the horseshoe shaped serving area
and took a barstool. Of the two waiters behind, one was almost visibly struck
dumb. The girl was hardly of an age to be drinking alone, he thought. In France
she would be expected to be with her parents. These English and Americans could
be so brash at times, he remarked to himself disapprovingly. But Eleanor was in
her element.

“Un
verre
de champagne
s’il
vous
plaît
,” she announced, her
French more than adequate for ordering what she so badly wanted. A glass of
champagne by herself in Monte Carlo, how thrilling! An elderly couple having
coffee glanced at her and did a slight double take at her fine dress, and
assured turn of phrase. And Eleanor knew the protocol. She had been abroad with
Daddy many times and had stayed in countless hotels. When there was a murmur of
uncertainty in rapidly exchanged French, between the two waiters behind the
bar, she produced her little purse from her bag. In it was the precious
checking card her father had given her. It was for emergencies only. Well,
thought Eleanor, this
is
an emergency. She was alone, shirked, abandoned,
while her father only had eyes for that over–dressed New Yorker. And even
that Charlie fellow, who had at first seemed so interesting and handsome, had
been sarcastic to her. Well, stuff him and his flash red sports car. If she
were forced to be alone, then she would jolly well make the most of it.
        

The
maître d’ warmed, realising from her card that this was Harry Walker’s girl.
The man spent a lot of money in The Grand. It wouldn’t do to be offhand with
his daughter. Eleanor basked in having won him over. As the bar staff duly
provided her with a large glass of vintage champagne, she swung happily on her
barstool. She gazed across the bar and out the long windows towards the sea,
and the brilliant perfect azure skies beyond. No doubt her father and his
irritating wife had forgotten she even existed. In the background, Billy Fury
sang soft seduction from a discreet little jukebox. The whole stunning French
day was hers to enjoy. Gulping the flinty cold bubbles, Eleanor decided to wait
around the Hotel for the return of Charlie Hetherington. With her own money,
she’d prove to him she had independence. And if he were polite this time, she
might even buy
him
a drink. How exciting!

The
afternoon passed. Charlie and his mates enjoyed an expensive long lunch with
his elderly uncle and friends of the family in Cap d’Ail. Uncle Jack had
retired to France and was most generous with his hospitality. Charlie couldn’t
get the Walker girl out of his head; her sweet blonde curls, petite frame, and
the cute shape of her pretty backside in her summer dress. She was a doll. He
very much hoped she wasn’t one of those spoiled brats he was growing tired of.
There was every chance. Harry Walker was seriously wealthy and, Uncle Jack was
able to confirm over lunch, had brought up the girl single–handedly.
According to him, Walker was one of the wealthiest men in London. His teenage
daughter was probably a right ruined handful. But still, Charlie thought, it
would be more than worth the effort to try and find out. She was such a treat
to the eye. And he’d loved her pouting expression when he had teased her
briefly.
 

Later
still, Harry and Tamara lay in each other’s arms, deeply contented after
another three–hour lovemaking session.

“Where
on earth has that daughter of mine got to?” Harry muttered, looking at the
small silver bedside clock. “Do you want to eat on board tonight, honey?”

“I
reckon I’m pretty full as it is,” Tamara replied with a laugh. She stroked her
husband’s strong, bare chest. “Do we have to get up?”

“I
would love nothing better than to lie here forever,” replied Harry, sitting up
on his elbow and gazing adoringly at her. “But the staff have a schedule to
keep darling, and it’s almost dinner time. God knows where Eleanor has got to.
It’s been four hours...” Harry said, concerned.

As
Charlie drove up to The Grand Hotel in the dying sunlight, he could see Eleanor
quite clearly through the enormous windows. She was seated at the Riviera Bar
alone. The barefaced front of the little devil, he thought.

As
he wandered casually into the hotel, he heard loud laughter and could detect
something of a scene unfolding. Approaching the bar, he heard her girlish
English voice float out to the foyer and beyond.

“Now!
S’il
vous
plaît
! I
demande
encore du
champagne – and – ooh! A room for the night!”

Slightly
panicked, Charlie rushed to the bar area. Eleanor was waving her arms at the
bar staff, all but unseated from the barstool. A waiter looked helpless and
askance at the checking card she thrust in his face.

“Do
you know who I am? Walker. Eleanor Walker. The daughter of Harold Walker,
millionaire. Do you hear me, garçon?”

Charlie
cringed as he went to steady her from falling off the stool.

“Eleanor!
Are you ok, Miss?”

Eleanor
turned to face him. At once he realised she was quite drunk.

“Mister...
Charles... Hethering–
tone!”
she said loudly and snidely. “To what
do we owe the pleasure? Champagne? Like some? Then tell this clot of a
Frenchman to serve it now, please!”

As
the waiter turned to the approaching maître d’ for assistance, Charlie froze in
anger. He knew in a second he had to save the young Miss Walker entirely from
herself. These men were among the finest in their profession and would not
tolerate her rudeness .She risked being banned from the premises for good,
regardless of her father’s status.

“Monsieur
Lefour,” Charlie addressed the maitre d’ with familiarity, “I am acquainted
with this young lady. I do trust she has been no great trouble to you?”

The
man looked as though he would not care if Eleanor Walker were struck down dead
by lightning at that very moment.

“Alors,
Monsieur Hetherington. We are pleased to hear that you know the young
 
... lady. Perhaps you are here to
accompany her elsewhere?”

Seeing
that the entire hotel had had enough of Eleanor Walker’s drunken demands,
Charlie moved to make good as best he could.

“Quite
so, Monsieur Lefour. I am so very sorry that she has become ... over–excited.
And I am sure her father will be very apologetic also. May I ask if there is
anything to settle?”

The
suave man moved away, raising a hand in apology. He spoke in thick French.

“Not
at all, du rien. Miss Walker has paid for what she has consumed with her father’s
checking card. Just that I am sorry monsieur, but the lady seems to me as
though she has had enough drinks.”

“Too
right she has,” Charlie said, almost to himself. Angrily, he picked Eleanor up
by the waist from the barstool and plonked her firmly on the floor. She giggled
loudly and tried to throw her arms around his neck. With the elderly couple in
the corner stifling laughter, and the maître d’ glaring openly, Charlie was in
absolutely no mood for any more. Did the little brat enjoy making a show of
herself in public? He couldn’t imagine that a man like Harry Walker would have
much truck with this type of behaviour. Especially at his own expense.

“I’m
taking you back to your father’s yacht right now, Eleanor! I am staying at this
hotel and I would like to keep it that way. And I’m not having Harry Walker
think I landed his precious daughter in this state. It turns out he knows my
Uncle rather well. I will be explaining myself. As will you. Now come on!”

With
that, Charlie grabbed Eleanor hard by the arm. Smiling in embarrassed apology
at Lefour, he marched her out of the bar and through the lobby. Giggling and
trying not to trip on her sandal heels, Eleanor did not resist. It was all such
fun! And there wasn’t a thing that Tamara could do about it. If the rest of the
holiday passed with as much excitement as today, then it would be the best of
her life.

As
Charlie walked Eleanor as best he could along the gangway of the yacht, she
laughed and skipped up and down. Her father and Tamara were seated on top deck.
Fabien was pouring them a cognac. The sea was a glass–like, perfect calm
and the last of the seagulls soared above the Palais on the horizon. Harry
screwed up his eyes in the last of the daylight. He looked at his daughter,
puzzled, and stood up.

“Eleanor?
Darling? Are you OK?”

“Oh
yes, Daddy! I feel just simply marvellous!” Her words slurred slightly as
Charlie held on to her elbow.

“Who
are you? Qui?” Harry barked at the young man, assuming him to be local.

Charlie
held out his hand, his reply well–rehearsed.

“Charles
Hetherington, sir. I’m English. Jack Hetherington’s nephew. I am staying at The
Grand on holiday. I met your daughter earlier today. Then I came across her in
the Riviera Bar ten minutes ago. It would appear she has been er, rather
enjoying their finest champagne.”

“What?”
Harry was aghast. He could not take his eyes of his daughter, the shoulder of
her dress slipping down her arm.

Eleanor
freed herself from Charlie.

“She’s
drunk,” Tamara said quietly.

Eleanor
danced clumsily across the deck in front of them all.

“Oh
do shut up you old bag! What’s it to you?” she waved a hand in Tamara’s face as
she walked past her. Tamara looked deeply hurt, still astonished at Eleanor’s
behaviour.

Harry
was open–mouthed in rage, as he watched his daughter make towards the
diving ladder at the side of the yacht. There was frozen horror all around, as
Fabien and a stewardess moved tentatively after her.

“Get
back here! Eleanor–Jane Walker! How dare you speak to my wife in that
way! And you are filthy drunk! You’ve done it this time, you little brat!”
Harry’s face was deep red in anger. Eleanor ignored her father. To the combined
horror of all in view, she started to climb up on the yacht’s sidings.

Charlie
made to run after her, but Harry stepped in.

“You!”
Harry caught the young man by the arm. “Are you the reason my daughter is drunk
out of her mind?”

Deeply
annoyed, Charlie was determined not to lose his own resolve. As Tamara watched
Eleanor in increasing fear, her slim legs now parading shakily along towards
the diving ladder, he rounded on Walker.

“No
sir. I most certainly am not. Your daughter was several drinks down when I
arrived back at The Grand. I believe she used your checking card to order. I happen
to stay at that hotel regularly, and would have no wish to be a part of any
drunken antics in public. And I might add that given your daughter’s mouth, she
is most unlikely ever to be welcomed back there again. She was impossibly rude
to all in earshot.”

“What?”
Harry bellowed. He knew the staff at The Grand all too well. This would be
talked about. That Harry Walker’s head had been so turned by his marriage, he
was now letting his teenage daughter run amok. How dare she use that card
without his permission? Tamara looked about distraught, trying to work out
where Eleanor had gone. She stilled her husband with a firm touch to his arm.
Charlie too looked furious.

At
that moment, a piercing scream and a loud splash broke the air. Harry, Charlie,
and the stewards all rushed to the side of the yacht to see Eleanor flailing
helplessly in the sea. As had been inevitable, she had plunged into the water
and was now head deep in the soft, cold waters of the bay. Shocked and gasping
for air, she tried to scream but was pulled down by the weight of her clothes.
Her head swam with the effects of the champagne, and she choked as she
swallowed seawater. The splashing was loud in Harry’s ears. He was frozen
momentarily in shock.