Hot Basque: A French Summer Novel 2 (26 page)

***

She must have dropped off again. If only she could sleep for hours and hours, if only she could forget.

Annabel sat up, pushed the hair out of her eyes and looked around her. Her head was throbbing. The sitting room was a mess. Julian would have a fit if he could see it. His precious designer sofa had got itself a new look. Red spots. A giggle rose to her lips. She blinked, focused on a half-concealed object. Her bag, it must have got pushed under the coffee table, knocked over. It lay open, contents scattered on the floor. She remembered the phone ringing several times, she hadn’t even bothered to see who it was, had turned it off in the end. Empty bottles had rolled under the table along with it, staining the pale blue Persian rug. Naughty Annabel. It was an antique rug, silk, the stains would never come out, she was in for it now. Plates were piled haphazardly on the floor, she counted three of them, felt her gorge rise as she remembered stuffing the pasta into her mouth, slurping in the strands of spaghetti covered in cream and parmesan, washing everything down with red wine, more red wine.

She pushed herself up, staggered to the bathroom and threw up until her sides were sore. The tiles were hard and cold. She wasn’t wearing stockings. The dress she’d had on since yesterday was a wreck, stained and smelling of sweat. She slid sideways onto the floor, resting her head against the wall. She should have a shower, go to bed and sleep properly. That was it, she needed a good night’s rest. There were going to be some problems, she had to decide how to fix things. Lots of water, a sleeping pill, then tomorrow, she would make a plan.

She had just forced herself to her feet when the intercom buzzer sounded.

She was so startled she jumped back, banging her hip against the washbasin. Her first, panicked reaction was that she must not answer. Nobody must see her like this. She met her reflection in the mirror, horrified. Her face, her hair. And her dress, she had to get out of the dress.

It buzzed again, more insistently.

What if it was Claudio? The thought flashed into her mind. He knew where she was. Knew Julian’s address. He’d never been to the flat, they were not that stupid, but what if he had come round now, full of remorse, ready to beg her forgiveness, to grovel at her feet as she had grovelled at his? She couldn’t let him see her like this, no, she wouldn’t answer. But what if he went away? What if he thought she’d gone back to Germany? Had he been trying to call her?

She stumbled across the living room, into the hall, to the video display, peering at it just as the buzzer sounded again. She had to know. If it was him, she’d tell him to come back in an hour, make him wait.

A familiar face looked up at her.

She gasped, recoiled, and shrank back against the wall.

Edward! What was he doing here? Instinctively she fled back to the bathroom, shut the door, put her hands over her ears. Go away! Go away! She realised she was muttering the words aloud.

The buzzer sounded again, several times, then fell silent.

After five minutes she dared to open the bathroom door. Night had fallen, the dark living room was lit only by the glow cast by the glittering panorama of London on the other side of the window. She could make out the silhouettes of the furniture, the cream leather couch, the armchairs, the glowing LEDs of the stereo.

She moved forward silently on bare feet, not daring to switch on a lamp even though there was no way Edward could see inside Julian’s penthouse from down in the street and anyway the windows were tinted glass. Oh God, what was he doing in London? Had Julian come with him? No, he would never have left the baby. But there was always Nadia, he could have left Joshua with Nadia. And Caroline of course, Auntie Caroline would be over the moon to have the baby all to herself. She thought fleetingly of her son, she sometimes forgot entirely that she was a mother, remembered with surprise the existence of a baby she’d carried, a baby she’d given birth to. Whenever she was in Claudio’s arms she was someone else, a stranger, with no existence outside that overheated room with its thick windows and dark drapery muffling the sounds from the outside world.

Now a feeling of panic rose like a wave.

The damned phone. It was because she’d not been answering her phone, that was it, they must have got worried, maybe Edward had had to come over on business, and Julian had asked him to check on the flat. She’d been stupid, she’d have to ring, there was no way round it. Otherwise there’d be a posse of them at her door. When had she last spoken to Julian? Two days ago? Three? Where was her bloody phone anyway, she could hardly see in the shadows, she’d tossed it down somewhere. If only her head didn’t hurt so much, she was still hung over, even after being sick. Her eyes fell on the bottles littering the floor and she winced.

There it was. She reached out her hand and at the same time a scream of terror burst from her lips. A dark figure was standing by the window, half-hidden by the heavy curtains.

As she recoiled, gasping with fear, the figure stepped forward and in the glow of light from the city she recognised Edward Rayburn.

Silently, he showed her a key, in the palm of his hand, then tossed it in the air, caught it and slipped it in his pocket.

‘Shall we sit down? Maybe switch on a lamp? Or do you prefer to remain invisible, Annabel?’

His voice was like Arctic frost. She made out the glitter of his eyes as he moved towards her.

She scrambled back, away from him, bumped the edge of the couch and fell among the cushions.

He pressed a switch and the room was suddenly full of light. Without a word he looked down at her.

Annabel felt herself blush to the roots of her hair. She turned her head, shrank into the cushions. She knew exactly what he was thinking, as clearly as though she was the one standing, looking down on herself. The stained and wrinkled dress, the dishevelled hair, the smeared makeup, the bottles, the plates. Never, even in her worst tantrums, had she allowed herself to get into such a state of physical wreckage. And the smell. She started to gag again, pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. Tears of humiliation sprang to her eyes.

He sat down in one of the armchairs, without speaking.

The silence went on for ages, while he studied her, like some kind of bug under a microscope. She was the first to crack.

‘You scared the hell out of me.’

She struggled to look defiant, to summon up anger at his unexpected presence, but seeing the downturn of his lips, she turned away again.

‘I know what it looks like. But I’ve been rushed off my feet, everything to do with the wedding, nobody to help.’

And that was true! She was the one doing all the work, dealing with hoity-toity bakers and jumped-up dressmakers. She gave an injured sniff.

‘I was so stressed when I got back last night, I just needed a drink or two. Then I fell asleep. I was exhausted, simply...’

Her voice trailed off.

‘You weren’t answering your phone.’

‘My phone.’ She looked distractedly at the object she was holding in one hand. When did she pick it up? The little envelope on the screen flashed an accusing yellow
.

‘It was the battery, I couldn’t find the charger, I was just this minute going to call, I hadn’t realised how late it was, I lost all track of time, I’ve been racing all over London, the cake, the cards, the flowers, you have no idea, and I had no-one, no-one to help–’

She realised she was gabbling, broke off, made an effort to stand up.

‘I’m just going to freshen up, change out of...this. I fell asleep on the couch, I was worn out, I must look a real mess...’

She gave a self-deprecating laugh.

‘Sit down.’

She bridled at his tone.

‘What? Who do you think you are giving me orders? And marching in here, as if you owned the place, you could have given me a heart attack!’

‘I said, sit down.’

Annabel hesitated, then sat. Something about the way that Edward was behaving was off kilter. Even allowing for the fact he hadn’t been able to stand her months, had found her tonight looking like a wreck. There was something else.

‘Poor Annabel. All alone, with nobody to help you, that’s it?’

His words sent a rush of adrenalin through her body. What had Julian been saying, whenever those two got together, who knew what they talked about? But in any case, whatever suspicions he may have had, Julian had no proof, she’d made sure of that. No-one, but no-one knew about her affair with Claudio. No-one knew about this week, the arrangements they had made the nightly assignations. That’s why she’d not said anything, even to her best friend Susie–she checked herself, she couldn’t think about that now. And that’s why she’d not made contact with any of her old girl-friends in London. A drink too many, who knows what she might have let slip? The restaurants where she and Claudio had dined were known for their discretion. The clientele was exclusive. Everyone was there for the same reason. The wedding rings on display were all fake, the genuine ones hidden in bags and pockets. No un-curtained windows for prying-eyed paparazzi with long lenses. It was the same with the hotel, a discreet establishment, not known to the guidebooks. There was no proof. Julian could suspect, but he couldn’t prove a thing. He’d obviously sent Edward over to reconnoitre, it was her fault, OK, she realised that she’d slipped up there, should have phoned more often, but the time just seemed to fly and the conversations with Julian were always the same thing, ‘were the wedding arrangements going alright, did she want to say hello to Joshua?’

At the thought of her son she felt an unexpected twinge of guilt. She
had
thought about him, when she wasn’t with Claudio, she could honestly say that she did think about him from time to time, like when she was showing his photograph to the Chef’s team, they had all said what a lovely baby he was, and it had helped get things back on track with the Big Chief about the changes to the cake. But then everything had started to fall apart, somehow, slip out of her control.

Her thoughts were wandering, she had to get a grip. She focused on Edward again. He had reached for his briefcase and was taking something out.

‘I’m beginning to assume you’ve been having your little rest all day as well as all last night. In which case, you won’t have been out, seen today’s papers.’

What did he mean, seen the papers? His face was bleak. Different scenarios raced through her mind. Had there been a financial crash, was that it? Was Julian bankrupt? She felt a moment of panic.

He threw a sheet of paper towards her. It landed on the floor, at her feet. With a tremor of alarm she bent to pick it up, pushing the hair out of her eyes. A photocopy, some text and a photograph...

Edward saw her frown, blink, look more closely.

With no warning, Annabel’s body went rigid. She snapped back her head with a violent movement and a howl burst from her lips. It was a sound so shocking, so primeval, he felt the hairs on his arms stand up in reflex.

In a flash she was on her feet, ripping the page to shreds, scattering the bits around like confetti. He ducked as she raced round the room, picking up objects at random, vases, paperweights, lamps, decorative boxes, flinging them at the walls, still uttering the awful howls.

‘Annabel! Annabel!’

He tried to grab her but with astonishing strength she wrenched herself out of his grip, shoved him backwards and ran into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

‘Annabel! Stop!’

In the few seconds it took him to recover his balance and push open the door, she had grabbed a knife from the wooden block on the counter.

‘No!’

He launched himself across the room but was too late. The blade flashed and a bright spurt of blood from her wrist spattered the worktop. He recoiled instinctively, then managed to grab her as she was transferring the knife to her other hand, ready to slash her right wrist.

For what like an age they wrestled together, body to body, Annabel’s howls ringing in his ear, ‘no, no, no’ as he tried to pinion her flailing arms. She kicked out at his shins, tried to knee him between the legs, writhed and twisted and bit.

When the knife finally clattered to the floor, they were both covered in blood. And then, suddenly, all the strength seemed to drain out of her, and she slumped to the floor, head bent, hair falling across her face.

Edward grabbed a towel, made a tourniquet and bound the cut on her left wrist, cursing and swearing, sweat running down his face. She didn’t appear to have any other serious injury, the blood on their clothes was from the one wrist. It was only when he had finished checking her inert form that he realised that he himself was bleeding from a couple of places where she had swung the sharp blade to fend him off. He dabbed at them, they were superficial. It was Annabel he needed to attend to. He picked her up in his arms and carried her through to the living room. His cheek throbbed where she’d managed to bite him, he felt as though he didn’t have an ounce of strength left in him.

As she lay on the couch, eyes closed, he sank down next to her, and dialled for an ambulance, cursing Annabel, cursing Claudio, and most of all cursing himself.

Caroline had last heard from Edward shortly after he’d arrived in London. He’d phoned her from the taxi, said he’d be in touch later, was going to call Julian. She’d waited up, left messages on his mobile, and finally fallen into a troubled sleep still fully dressed.

The ring of her phone woke her. She sat up, switched on the bedside lap and squinted at the clock. Half past midnight.

‘Edward?’

He could hear the worry in her voice.

‘Did I waken you?’

‘It doesn’t matter. What’s going on, I’ve been trying to reach you, I was getting worried.’

‘Caroline, sweetheart, I need you to listen. Sit down, take a deep breath, and listen. OK?’

As he described the events of the evening, Edward paced up and down the courtyard of the hospital, watching the ambulances come in, lights flashing, doors sliding back before the vehicles had come to a stop, stretchers being carried out, instructions shouted.

In the bedroom Caroline was pacing too, pressing the phone to her ear, eyes wide. She’d been unable to prevent the cry of horror when Edward told her that Annabel had tried to take her own life. Her skin was covered in gooseflesh in spite of his words of reassurance.

‘The doctors say she’ll be fine. She’s all stitched up, sedated. Thank God I managed to get the knife away from her, otherwise I think she’d have finished the job.’

He paused.

‘Oh Caroline.’

His voice was thick with regret.

‘I’m so terribly sorry. It was my fault, showing her the photo. But I never dreamed she was going to react like that.’

Her stomach was roiling, acid coming up into her throat, but she heard the distress in his voice and groped to find her own words of comfort.

‘Edward, darling, listen to me, it’s not your fault. You didn’t have an affair, you didn’t wield the knife. This is Annabel. I know her, remember? What was it you said, yesterday? About her being unpredictable? And after everything she’d done, somebody had to confront her, try to pick up the pieces. None of us would have imagined she’d react like she did. This is a whole new ballgame.’

As she spoke the words, Caroline though back to Annabel’s fits of rage as a child, and later as a teenager, which always left the household reeling. She would stamp and scream and throw things, but her rage had always been directed towards an external source, Margaret, Caroline, a friend who had let her down. She’d never shown any signs of wanting to hurt herself.

Caroline’s mind flashed on another scenario–what if Annabel had gone for Edward, instead of herself? What if it had been Edward who ended up lying in the kitchen covered in blood? She started to shiver, tried to control herself, to concentrate on what Edward was saying. His voice was rapid, agitated, like someone coming down from a high.

‘I think it was the, the pure humiliation. She was in such a state I didn’t even recognise her at first. She looked ugly and raddled, like a junkie. God knows when she’d last had a shower, the whole place stank, there were bottles everywhere, cigarette butts. I was so mad I just flung the photo at her. And then she flipped.’

He moved to one side as a team of paramedic rushed past. Hospitals. He hated the places.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it, it was so quick, like a film. I completely misjudged her reaction, I could kick myself. The thing was, I’d got fixated on the idea that whatever happened she mustn’t be allowed to take Joshua. She’s always been good at wriggling out of situations, and I knew that the photo was proof, the incontrovertible proof she was mixed up with this Claudio guy. This time, I thought, she hasn’t got a leg to stand on, she’ll just cave in. I was so convinced of my case, so damned righteous, plus I was still fuming after the call from Julian, that bastard carrying on with the other wife as well. I–’

‘Wait, what did you say? What other wife?’

There was a pause.

‘He didn’t tell you, Jules? About the other woman in the picture, the one coming out of the lift?’

She stopped her pacing, wondering what was coming next.

‘It was Klaus’s wife, Susie. Klaus, his partner, you remember we met him when we were in Frankfurt?’

‘Oh no.’

Caroline sat down abruptly.

‘You mean, he was there with the two of them?’

‘God only knows, he probably thought he could carry on a double game, must have been so pleased with himself, out of one bed, into another, two unsuspecting husbands miles away, sick bastard, getting off on a power trip. But somehow Annabel must have found out, gone to confront him at the Ritz.’

‘I can’t believe any of this is happening.’

‘Neither can I, and I was there. I’ll never forget the look on her face, I could barely control her, she was like a demon, I thought she was going to...well, anyway, she’s in hospital overnight, obviously, I’m going to stay here, see what they say tomorrow morning.’

‘I’ll come over. I’ll get the first flight I can. Just hang on till then.’

‘No darling, listen, Julian’s coming over, I’ve just got off the phone with him, I had to let him know first. I told him you would stay in Biarritz and take care of the baby. I realise Annabel’s your sister, but Julian’s her husband and he’s the one who’s going to have to make the decisions. Is that OK sweetheart?’

She would have to stay in Biarritz and look after the baby.

She felt a wave of unexpected euphoria. She wouldn’t have to deal with Annabel. She had to look after Joshua. She could stay here in Villa Julia, hundreds of miles away from the chaos and turmoil in London, looking after Joshua. The wave of euphoria was followed by a crushing wave of guilt.

‘Are you sure? Can you manage? What about Julian, he must be reeling. He’s been in his room all evening. Do you think I should go and check on him, see if he’s OK?’

‘Could you? He sounded completely shell-shocked when I told him. How much more can he take? But she’s still his wife, he’s the only one who has the legal right to decide what happens next.’

Caroline swallowed the lump in her throat. What kind of state must her sister have been in? Had she even given a thought to her husband? To her child?

She tried to focus on what Edward was saying.

‘...an appointment tomorrow with GG, he’s a famous divorce lawyer now, handles all sorts of high profile cases. When Jules and I discussed it, just before I left, we both felt pretty sure that after the Claudio fiasco Annabel would agree to giving him custody, so long as the price was right. So now Julian’s coming over we’ll see GG together, see what he advises. But I think this will only strengthen his hand, Julian I mean, I can’t see the courts handing over a six-month-old baby to an unstable mother. Sorry, I know it’s rough on you.’

‘No, we have to think of Joshua first. She never was particularly maternal anyway, we all knew that. And, you know, what we were talking about last week, she really does need help. I only hope something can be done for her.’

After ending the call with Edward, Caroline sat down and burst into tears. The tears turned into sobs, then into hysterical gulps. It had been an endless day. Every muscle in her body ached. She longed to be with her man, to feel his arms around her, to feel safe. When she was all cried out, she sat for a few moments, then wiped her eyes.

Julian. What on earth must he be thinking, feeling? It was enough to drive anyone mad. She wiped her eyes again, and pushed herself to her feet.

The house was in darkness, the staircase lit by moonlight. Taking care not to tread on any creaking boards, she went softly down to the first floor. As she rounded the banisters, she noticed Julian’s bedroom door was partly open, the soft glow of lamplight spilling out. A murmur of voices came from inside.

She moved down the corridor, then hesitated. Maybe he was with Nadia. Maybe the baby had woken up. If they were trying to get him back to sleep she didn’t want to go barging in. She’d just take a peek, perhaps it would be better to leave things till morning.

Another couple of steps brought her to the half-open door. Julian’s bed was unmade, a suitcase stood open on a table, a couple of shirts laid across it. Papers were scattered around, a passport, keys. Where was the baby? She edged closer. She could just make out the French windows standing partly open to the warm night, reflecting the scene inside. Two shadowy figures stood near the bed, a man and a woman. They were talking, in low voices.

The woman put her arm round Julian’s shoulders, murmured something.

A feeling of relief washed through Caroline. She could go back to her room, sink into bed, close her eyes and try to pretend this awful day had never happened. Someone else was taking care of poor Julian.

As she was turning to go back upstairs his voice reached her ears, muffled, but full of pain.

‘...enough time...been going on for months, I can’t take any more...’

She saw a sudden movement, then froze, unable to move, unable to drag her eyes from the scene.

Caroline watched, transfixed, as Julian pulled the woman into his arms and with a groan of anguish bent to press his lips to hers in a passionate kiss.