Hot Basque: A French Summer Novel 2 (6 page)

‘OK darling. See you soon. Drive carefully,
je t’aime.’

Caroline put down the phone in her aunt’s living room.

Edward had caught the early flight from Toulouse, all had gone smoothly, he’d picked up the car from the rental agency and was on his way.

This weekend they were celebrating Margaret’s birthday. One year ago, Caroline had come down to Willowdale for her aunt’s eightieth. And there, she had met Edward.

For a moment she stood immobile, staring out of the window, caught up in a rush of memories.

The sound of Birdie clattering in the kitchen brought her back to reality. She gave herself a mental shake, and headed off to help with the lunch preparations.

‘I know it’s very traditional, Caroline. Shrimp cocktail, Beef Wellington with Madeira sauce. But they’re Margaret’s favourites and it is her day after all.’

Caroline had agreed. She had picked up the fillet of beef on her way down to Willowdale yesterday, specially prepared by the Ravensfield butcher to strict specifications from Birdie. ‘I do not want any old inferior bit of cow, Mr Hodges. This is for Margaret’s birthday.’

Mr Hodges had been trained over the years like Pavlov’s dog. The words ‘for Margaret’ had him racing into the inner sanctum where the best cuts were kept. The word ‘birthday’ had him gift-wrapping the choice morsel and adding a nice discount ‘just a little token of my esteem for our dear Miss MacDonald’.

The pastry was chilling in the fridge. The shrimp were sitting in elegant stemmed glass bowls on a bed of chopped lettuce. Caroline had rebelled at the last minute and abandoned the traditional Marie Rose dressing for a home-made
mayonnaise verte
, with chopped chives, parsley and spring onions. Wafer-thin slices of melba toast stood ready for a final five minutes in the oven just before serving.

Also ready for a final warm up were Birdie’s carrots, glazed in butter with a touch of orange juice.

‘I always think that dash of bright orange just throws into relief the rich dark colour of the Madeira sauce, don’t you dear?’

Caroline did. She loved glazed carrots. And Madeira sauce. And Beef Wellington.

‘I know it’s not strictly ‘on’,’ Birdie continued, ‘serving a starchy veg with the pastry crust, I mean, but Margaret does love my roast potatoes, and it is her birthday.’

‘True,’ said Caroline. ‘And you know who else loves your roast potatoes, don’t you? I hope you’ve done twice as many as usual.’

Birdie tutted.

‘He’ll probably be starving by the time he arrives poor lamb. I’ll make him a nice ham sandwich to tide him over.’

Both Birdie and Margaret adored the ‘poor lamb’. Adored was the wrong word. They idolised him.

‘Would Edward like this, do you think we could do that when Edward comes, do make sure Edward’s not working too hard Caroline, and that he’s eating enough and getting enough sleep and and and and...’

If she hadn’t been besotted with him herself she’d have felt quite jealous.

‘How are the pears getting on?’

They were doing pears poached in red wine for dessert, served with homemade vanilla ice-cream. Caroline opened the freezer, dipped her finger into the egg and cream mixture. It was thickening nicely and the cinnamon stick in the poaching liquid was filling the kitchen with its spicy scent. She popped a left-over piece of pear in her mouth, hoisted herself onto the kitchen counter and chewed happily. She loved being in the kitchen with Birdie. It was as much fun as cooking with Claudie and she got to catch up with all the latest village gossip. She glanced at her watch.

‘You know I think everything’s under control, Birdie, brilliant organisation as usual. The nibbles are chilling, the champagne’s chilling, we can’t put the beef on until everyone arrives, so if you want to pop upstairs and change, I’ll keep an eye on things down here.’

‘Are you sure, dear? I won’t be long. The Rayburns are due at one. I was planning to wear my blue two-piece from John Lewis, what do you think? Margaret’s decided on her cream dress, we’ll look like a piece of Wedgewood!’

Birdie trotted briskly out of the kitchen chortling at her own joke.

The Rayburns. Edward’s mother and father, Julie and Adam.

Caroline had met them for the first time last summer. When Edward had announced they were invited for dinner at The Limes, she’d turned into a quivering mass of jelly. What if they didn’t like her? What if they thought she wasn’t a good enough catch for their handsome, brilliant elder son? What if–

Watching her change outfits for the fifth time, Edward had finally turned her to face him, put a finger under her chin and looked into her panic-filled eyes.

She’d confessed.

His eyebrows had shot up, he’d thrown back his head and roared with laughter.

Caroline had been so furious she almost refused to go. But he’d pulled her on his lap, covered her bare shoulders with kisses and told her with supreme confidence:

‘Wait till you meet them.’

He was right. The minute that Caroline set eyes on Edward’s mother the words burst from her lips.

‘Oh–you look just like Claudie!’

Julie laughed and leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

‘Thank you my dear. There is a rather large age difference. I’m very flattered.’

She turned to her son inquiringly.

‘You never told Caroline that Claudie’s mother and I were twins?’

‘I didn’t want to frighten her off,’ Edward replied, slinging an arm affectionately round his mother. He winked at Caroline. ‘They run in the family. Twins.’

‘We managed to escape, Julie and I.’ Adam bent to give Caroline a kiss and a warm hug. ‘Hello Caroline. Lovely to meet you. We’ve heard all about you. Claudie was on the phone from Paris an hour ago, actually. Yes, as I was saying, Julie and I spaced our two out, gave ourselves a breather, but poor old Anouk and Gerard ended up with the Terrible Twosome all in one basket.’

He threw back his head and gave a roar of laughter. The same roar of laughter as his son. Caroline noticed other similarities: the tall athletic build, the blonde hair now turning to gray.

Edward’s father had started as a barrister. He’d taken silk, then at the age of fifty-five, had been offered a judgeship. Now, in his sixties, he was semi-retired, enjoying life in the English countryside with his French wife. Their younger son, Antony, was in Brazil.

‘Oh you are exaggerating as usual.’ Julie gave her husband a fond look. ‘You know you love Jean-Paul, and from the minute she could talk, Claudie, she is always wanting to be with
Tonton
Adam. At least Anouk got a girl. Me too I always wanted a little girl but I never got one.’

‘
Maman
!’ Edward put a hand to his heart. ‘That explains my feelings of rejection. Also why Antony has run off to Brazil, deep down he knew he wasn’t wanted.’

Julie cast her eyes heavenwards.

‘Antony has run off to Brazil to chase a petticoat, or whatever you say in English. Pay no attention Caroline. But look at us, standing here in the hall. Come through my dear, Adam, he will get us something to drink. I want to hear all about you.’

As the evening had worn on, Caroline quickly understood why the family always spent their holidays together at the Villa Julia, the two sisters, their husbands, and the four cousins. They all shared the same sense of humour, the same easy-going outlook, the same energy and
joie de vivre.

‘You must meet my sister Anouk. I know you got on so well with the twins when you have met them in July. Ah, she was so happy, you know, Anouk, when she found out she was pregnant, with Gerard they had been trying for some time. And then when those two little babies were born, we had the loveliest times together. Fortunately our husbands took an instant liking to one another, even though they could not hardly understand a word each other said at the beginning. Perhaps that’s why!’

Caroline found herself falling into the same easy relationship with Julie that she had with Claudie. She bent her head over the album that Julie was showing her, pictures of the four cousins when they were children, Edward the oldest, proud and straight at the head of the little troop, clutching a shrimping net on the beach at Biarritz; the twins next, holding up dried crabs, both of them so brown that all you could see of their features were enormous dazzling grins, then the youngest, Antony, also dark like his two Parisian cousins. No wonder the locals called Edward ‘Blondie’ when he was in Biarritz. He looked as though he belonged to a different family. Only when you met his father, Adam, did you see where he had acquired those oh-so-British looks. She smiled as Julie turned to a photograph of Jean-Paul holding Claudie upside down over the pool. A shadow crossed her face as she thought how different it was between her and Annabel. Could she ever forgive her sister for what had happened that summer? With an effort she pushed the thought aside and concentrated on enjoying her first meeting with Edward’s parents, which was turning out to be a splendid success.

Since that evening almost one year ago, the two families, Margaret and Birdie, Julie and Adam, had shared their weekends when Edward and Caroline visited. The Rayburns had bought The Limes nine years previously; the house was separated from Willowdale by a small wood. What had started out as a neighbourly acquaintance quickly grew into something more. Caroline, phoning her aunt would learn that ‘Julie and Adam’ had been for tea, or that Margaret and Birdie were ‘invited for Sunday lunch, so looking forward to it, Julie is such an inventive cook.’

Thoughts of Julie’s cooking prompted Caroline to take another peek at the ice-cream. Perfect. She moved through into the dining room. The table was set with a lace tablecloth, linen serviettes, and Margaret’s best Spode china. A small vase of freesias, her Aunt’s favourite flowers, stood in the centre, their delicate scent perfuming the room.

She turned to the door, hearing a creak.

‘No, Titus, no...’

A doleful canine face looked back at her through the crack. She wagged a finger at the old Lab who gave a plaintive whine and began to shuffle out backwards, in slow motion, rump swaying, head down, ears brushing the floor. With perfect timing he paused at the last minute and rolled one hopeful eye upwards.

Caroline had to laugh.

‘You’re a ham, Titus, that’s what you are, a ham. Should have been on the stage with that tragic doggy face.’

Titus’s expression brightened, he raised his head hopefully, gave a small woof.

‘Alright then, come with me. But just one treat, do you hear? One. Otherwise Auntie M is going to tell me off.’

She checked the letterbox as she walked through the hallway into the kitchen. Nothing yet. Several cards had arrived in the last couple of days. But there was one conspicuous absentee.

Nothing from Annabel, not even a phone call.

She pulled out her mobile, but there was no reply to the text she had sent her sister earlier that day. She gave Titus his doggie treat, then let him out on to the terrace where he found a patch of sunlight and collapsed in a heap. As she headed upstairs to change she wondered if Edward had heard anything from Julian. A feeling of anxiety was starting in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t helped by the sight of the pile of books sitting on her bedside table. Half a dozen learned tomes on linguistic theory, all radiating an air of reproach.

Exams started Monday. That was the day after tomorrow the last time she checked. She did some deep breathing, staring out of the window at the rose garden. In, out. Think positive MacDonald. Sometimes a break was good, wasn’t that what her friend and fellow-student Geraldine had said as they each headed off for their last weekend of freedom?

***

Edward arrived late. The traffic had been mad. They had only a few minutes together while he got changed.

She asked him if he had any news from Julian as he pulled on his trousers and she helped button his shirt.

‘Not since last week. I’ve been rushed off my feet. I should have phoned but there was only one person filling my thoughts. Sweet Caroline my
petite chérie
. God, I’ve missed you like mad.’

‘Edward, no, keep still, look at the time, your parents will be arriving any minute, stop that...’

He was nuzzling her neck, licking her ear, the knot in her stomach was turning to something else. Lust.

‘You’re going to crease my dress, I only ironed it this morning–’

‘Aha! What have we here?’

Somehow he’d managed to slide one hand underneath her skirt and was exploring her latest acquisition, an absolutely irresistible object called an itsy chikini that had arrived in the post three days ago and that she’d wasted an hour modelling in front of the mirror when she should have been studying multilingualism.

‘Edward...I can hear a car!’

He reluctantly withdrew his hand and kissed the tip of her nose. She had a perfect, slightly up-tilted nose. Her face was flushed, dark eyes huge and languorous under those long lashes and those winged brows. God, she was beautiful and sexy. He wanted to rip her clothes off throw her on the bed and make love to her for a thousand and one nights. And days. He groaned.