The Beach Hut Next Door (6 page)

‘I hope they’re not dull,’ she warned Desmond. ‘Dull would just be dreadful.’

But, being a man, he couldn’t give her a great description. The Jukes, according to Desmond, were aristocratic but impecunious – and likely to be even more so unless they took advantage of his timely intervention. ‘They’re about our age, with a son about Elodie’s age – and he’s the one due to inherit, so we need to butter him up too.’

Lillie rolled her eyes. ‘Well, there’s no point in asking Elodie’s assistance.’ Elodie didn’t have a scrap of guile. ‘In fact, it’s probably better not to tell her anything.’

The day the Jukes were due to arrive Lillie put the finishing touches to the menu plan – oysters (being French, she was convinced that there was no social occasion that couldn’t be ameliorated by a platter of oysters), beef wellington and an elaborate cherry-filled gateau smothered in swirls of cream. She sent the menu down to Mrs Marsh, the housekeeper, then she put her mind to what to wear. As she flipped through her rail of dresses, Lillie imagined a stuffy couple rigid with tweed and florid of face, like most people who lived in the English countryside seemed to be. It wouldn’t be hard to dazzle them, she thought, but nevertheless she put her mind to it. She wondered where Elodie was, and thought about giving her sartorial guidance but, actually, it was too hot to have that battle. And Elodie wasn’t really part of the battle plan. She would fit in wherever. She always did.

Elodie was, at that moment, charging up the cliff path, running through her wardrobe in her mind, trying to remember which of her decent clothes she’d brought down from Worcestershire and wondering how long it would take the new arrival to follow her directions back to the house on his motorbike: he would never be able to get to the house by way of the beach, so she’d given him detailed instructions which took him the long way round, via the village church. She just hoped it was long enough to get changed into something respectable and do her hair.

Her mother was always on at her to pay more attention to how she presented herself. Elodie didn’t give a stuff what she had on most of the time, as long as she was comfortable, spending most of the summer in shorts and her old school aertex and a pair of battered plimsolls. She knew this was a source of frustration to Lillie, who was rigid about being properly dressed for every occasion, but you could take the woman out of Paris, thought Elodie, but you couldn’t take Paris out of the woman.

Having a beautiful mother when you yourself weren’t could have been a heavy cross to bear, but Elodie had spirit and a spark about her that was ultimately more pleasing to the casual observer than her mother’s Gallic perfection. She’d never been intimidated by her mother’s looks, and didn’t care that people probably compared them unfavourably. Her mind wasn’t exactly on higher things, but Elodie was cheerful and optimistic and interested – interested in everything and everyone – which gave her a more grounded view to life. Lillie, by comparison, was fragile and an air of simmering neurosis clung to her as surely as her scent.

There was nothing fragile about Elodie. She was solid. Besides, although she wasn’t delicate and ravishing like Lillie, her rather hooded sludge-grey eyes smiled, as did her full mouth which delivered wit and encouragement and things that people wanted to hear, because more than anything Elodie was nice.

Suddenly, however, she saw herself through the eyes of Jolyon Jukes and imagined him being slightly less than impressed by what he had seen: a gangly nineteen year old, unkempt and unsophisticated. And something primal in her told her it was very important that his second impression should be a better one. By the time he got to The Grey House, she determined to be gliding down the staircase, soigné and serene, in time to lead him through to the drawing room and offer him a cocktail.

Thereby playing the role her mother had been grooming her for since the dawn of time. Lillie had known, of course she had known, that this moment would come. Elodie, in her headstrong way, had resisted. Not that there was any animosity between them. Elodie wasn’t the type to invite animosity: Lillie was only ever exasperated with her daughter, and possibly slightly mystified by her lack of vanity. She never gave up presenting her with the very latest in skin creams and cosmetics. She brought her with her to the hairdresser and made him work his magic on Elodie’s thick, dark curls. She had dresses and coats made up for her and shoes delivered, but they rarely saw the light of day. Desmond just laughed, and told his wife she was wasting her time and his money. Lillie pouted and stamped her foot with the frustration of it all. ‘One day she will understand,’ she declared.

And, suddenly, Elodie did. It was sudden and startling and urgent, the feeling. No one had ever made her feel that way before.

She’d always been perfectly comfortable in the company of men. She held her own at the dinner table with her parents’ friends. She had male friends of her own with whom she played tennis and went to dances. She’d had several fumbling skirmishes after too much fruit punch, which she’d found more amusing than enjoyable, and certainly not upsetting – she wasn’t squeamish – but she couldn’t say she was longing for the next encounter; to embroil herself in the next kiss. They were all much of a muchness to her, men, and certainly not a source of fascination.

Jolyon Jukes, however, was different. Golden hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, but best of all a ready smile, he was confident without being cocky. The hairs on her arms had rippled as his gaze swept over her. His voice was light and dry and teasing; and there was a challenge in his eyes that Elodie couldn’t resist. She wasn’t entirely sure what that challenge was yet, but it had sparked something in her. Adrenaline fuelled her onwards, up the steps of the terrace, through the French windows, in through the drawing room, into the hall and up the stairs to her bedroom. Her heart carried on pounding even when she had regained her breath. She flew into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face to tone down the redness, dampened a flannel and rubbed it under her arms and onto the back of her neck to wipe off the worst of the perspiration. She dragged a comb through her hair, still salty from this morning’s dip in the sea, and tried to pat it into some sort of style.

It was a most peculiar and particular kind of panic.

Elodie ran into her mother’s bedroom and sat at the kidney-shaped dressing table. Her fingers fumbled amidst the make-up in the right-hand drawer. She pulled out lipstick and powder and a wand of mascara. Moments later, an alien with frosted-pink lips stared back at her. There was no time to take it off and start again. She snatched up a bottle of Ma Griffe and dabbed it on her wrists, rubbing them together.

‘Elodie? Darling?’ Her mother was behind her, her perfect eyebrows raised in question.

Elodie didn’t flinch at being caught. Lillie wouldn’t mind her ransacking her things.

‘I’ve just met Jolyon Jukes,’ Elodie told her. Lillie looked blank. ‘The Jukes’ son? They’re coming to stay this weekend.’

‘Oh.’ Lillie widened her eyes with interest. ‘And is he something else?’

‘He’s … something. Certainly.’ Elodie looked at her mother behind her in the mirror. She shrugged but her eyes were sparkling.

Lillie gave a laugh of delight. ‘You see!’ she said.

‘But look at me. I look ridiculous.’

Lillie came forward. ‘Not pink, my darling. Never pink with your complexion.’ She fished in the drawer for a different colour. ‘Rouge.’

She demonstrated that Elodie should purse her lips. Her daughter did, and moments later the pink was removed and a carmine slash replaced it.

‘Hold still and shut your eyes.’ Lillie traced a sweep of black eyeliner over each of Elodie’s eyelids. She picked up a comb and teased a few curls, backcombing them into place.

Elodie gazed at her reflection, intrigued. She was still in there, somewhere, but she wasn’t quite sure how to make this new incarnation behave. She stood up.

‘What should I wear?’

Lillie flicked her eyes over her daughter. ‘White linen. Cool. Crisp. Chic.’

Virginal, thought Elodie, and her stomach tumbled.

Lillie reached out and picked up a pearl necklace hooked over the side of her dressing table mirror. She slipped them over her daughter’s head. Elodie felt their coolness settle on her collarbone.

‘White linen,’ she repeated obediently. Her mother kissed her forehead. Outside, they heard the deep rumble of a motorbike coming up the drive. They looked at each other for a moment.

‘That’s him.’ Elodie felt her heart thump.

‘I’ll let him in,’ said Lillie. ‘Go.’

Five minutes later, Elodie examined herself in the bedroom mirror she usually never gave a second glance. Her dress was round-necked and short-sleeved and because she had grown taller since they had bought it, on a trip to London two years ago, it was only just to the knee, but it had a simple elegance. She fluffed up her hair and curled the ends up with her fingertips. She looked at herself in profile, put her hand to her chest and breathed in to calm herself.

She wasn’t scared, she realized with surprise. She had waited long enough for someone to make her feel like this, so she wasn’t going to waste time being afraid. Anyway, what was there to be scared of? At worst she would look a fool, and that didn’t bother Elodie much. She covered her face with her hands as she gave herself a last glance in the mirror. Her eyes twinkled at her, and she laughed, both at herself and with the exhilaration.

She dropped her hands to her waist, made her expression sober and locked gazes with herself. ‘Good evening,’ she said, in a cool, languid tone, then burst into peals of laughter, throwing back her head as she left the room.

Jeanie and Roger Jukes were not what Lillie had expected from Desmond’s description. They roared up to the front of the house in a dark-green frog-eyed Sprite with the roof down. Roger was lean and louche, in a sports jacket and white trousers, and looked as if he would rather be anywhere else; Jeanie was an English rose with a cloud of white-blonde hair and a primness that was almost certainly a smokescreen. Prim girls didn’t marry men like Roger, whose coal-dark eyes were all over everything.

They drifted into the house, a beguiling double act impossible to decipher. Lillie observed them through narrowed eyes as Desmond ushered them out onto the terrace. The Kavanaghs, she decided, would pale into insignificance next to the Jukes, which in some sense relieved her. Yet she felt wrong-footed. Desmond hadn’t been straight with her. He’d dismissed the Jukes; played them down. Or perhaps he genuinely couldn’t see it? Even she, perspicacious and never missing a detail, could never be sure with Desmond.

‘Superb,’ drawled Roger, standing by the stone balustrade and taking in the view as Elodie, armed with a silver tray, handed him a coupe of champagne.

‘I love the English seaside,’ sighed Jeanie, her little-girl voice only just above a whisper. ‘But Roger insists on the Med. He’s a sun worshipper.’

‘England would be fine if it was like this all the time.’ Roger waved his glass at the early evening sun, shining with such bright confidence that you could hardly imagine it wasn’t there every day through the summer months.

‘We are very lucky,’ Lillie told them. ‘Me, I love the South of France, of course, but I have grown to love it here. You never know what you are going to wake up to.’

She fixed her gaze on Roger. He didn’t flicker.

‘So,’ continued Lillie, undaunted. ‘You and Desmond are in discussion about Jukes’s?’

Roger looked amused. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Not me. There would be no point in him talking to me. Jeanie wears the trousers where the business is concerned. Jukes is her family name, not mine. I took it when we married.’

Jeanie’s eyes were wide over her champagne. ‘Such a bore. Such a responsibility. But Grandpa left me the shops. I used to go round them with him all the time when I was small, telling him what he should sell. So as recompense for my utter bossiness, I was left the lot.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘But they’ve turned out to be rather a millstone.’

‘What a shame,’ said Lillie, and her gaze settled on Desmond, who looked implacable.

‘Well,’ he said soothingly. ‘I don’t think you need to panic just yet. There’s huge potential. You just have to come at it from a different angle.’

Lillie raised an eyebrow. Jeanie smiled. Roger drew on a cigarette, eyes narrowed.

Elodie cleared her throat.

‘Peanut, anyone?’ she asked, thrusting a silver bowl amidst the grown-ups. She felt something shifting amongst them: a shift in the balance of power, and it made her feel uncomfortable.

Roger scooped up a handful of nuts and dropped them into his mouth, one by one. No one said a word. At that moment, Jolyon came out onto the terrace. Now they were together, Elodie could see his dark roving eyes belonged to his father, and his fair hair was Jeanie’s. He was one of those people for whom genetics had played an excellent game.

‘Hello, everyone,’ said Jolyon. ‘Goodness, what a view.’

‘Champagne?’ said Elodie, proffering a glass, and his eyes settled on her and she felt relieved that there was a diversion from the awkwardness.

‘I met your younger sister on the beach earlier,’ said Jolyon. He was teasing her. He was definitely teasing her.

‘Really?’ said Elodie. ‘I hope she wasn’t rude. Only she can be.’

‘She was perfectly charming.’

Their eyes met and Elodie felt her cheeks pinken slightly. Suddenly she wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. Did he really think she was someone different? Then he smiled, showing white teeth, and the way his eyes crinkled showed her he was joking, and for the first time ever in her life, she felt rather beautiful.