Hot Basque: A French Summer Novel 2 (28 page)

‘Happy ending? I had a killer of a hangover, I’d just been on the point of getting it on with the woman of my good friend and my face looked as though I’d walked into a truck. And the bloody Melodie was yammering on about getting dressed, storming round to Chadi’s to pick up her things and moving in with me! With me!
O malheur
!’

It was too much. Caroline put her head in her hands and gave in to pure, wonderful, hysteria.

Antoine’s eyebrows slowly descended to their normal level and a reluctant chuckle escaped his lips. Soon the two of them were hooting and gasping, attracting some odd looks.

Finally Caroline groped in her bag for a tissue. The giggles subsided into sniffs.

‘How on earth did you manage to get rid of her?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘You did get rid of her, didn’t you?’

‘I did. I phoned my mother.’

That set her off afresh.

Antoine passed her another tissue.

‘But seriously,
la rose,
you know the best? Or the worst, depending on how you look at it. I went round to see Chadi, try to explain, apologise and I mean to find out why the hell he’d hit her in the first place. And you know what?’

He gave a dramatic pause.

‘The guy hadn’t laid a finger on her! They’d had a blazing row when he got back, she’d broken all their plates and then she’d grabbed hold of the kitchen door and slammed it into her face deliberately! Told him she was going straight to the police to press charges of assault! She’s a mad woman, can you imagine that, hitting yourself in the face with a door, it must have hurt like hell. But she was prepared to do that to herself, just to get her own back on him, just because he’d been out for a drink with his mates!’

He shook his head.

‘And after she stormed out, Chadi, he was on tenterhooks the whole night, waiting for the police to arrive with handcuffs, wondering how he was going to tell his family. Then first thing next morning, his phone beeps and he gets a text from her saying she was in bed with me and he can go to hell!’

Antoine tapped a finger to his temple.

‘
Loca
. That woman, she’s the volcanic type. Vesuvius. You never know when she’s going to erupt. We never know when she’s going to turn up, at his place or mine, or worse, at the restaurant. Either she’ll be in tears, pleading and trying to cosy up, or else she’ll be shouting insults like the other night. It’s like a curse. She’s an albatross round our necks, Chadi and me.’

His face darkened.

‘That’s what I mean about your sister
la rose
. There’s something not right up here.’ He tapped his temple again. ‘Sorry, I am maybe speaking too roughly, but I recognise the signs. If your sister had ever taken a fancy to me, I can tell you, never mind what a stunner she is, I’d have run a mile. Emigrated. I did actually consider emigrating, just for a bit, you know, to get out of Melodie’s firing line. Desperate, when a man can’t even stay in his own
pays
.’

Caroline had sobered up. She shook her head.

‘You’re right. Always on tenterhooks, always waiting for an explosion, I know exactly what you mean.’

They were both silent for a couple of minutes.

‘So...how is Jill?’

Here it is, thought Caroline, the question she had been dreading.

Ever since she’d had her long conversation with her friend.

Ever since last night, when she had seen her kissing Julian.

It was half past six when Edward and Julian left GG’s office.

London was in full rush hour mode, traffic backed up, exhaust fumes rising into the warm evening air. The sound hit them as they walked out of the door.

‘Jules, we need to get something to eat. No discussion, protein rules. Then back to your place. It’s a mess, I warn you. I’ve taken the liberty of getting someone to come in, tomorrow, they can do a complete clean. I’ll sort out the details.’

Returning to the flat earlier that day to change and shower he had been appalled when he’d seen the state it was in. The kitchen in particular. He’d felt a clenching of the gut when he’d seen it, remembered in vivid flashbacks the terrible struggle that had gone on the previous night. He’d hesitated, should he try to start the clean up now, on his own? At least try to do something about the kitchen.

He’d grabbed a cloth, found some cleaner. After five minutes he’d realised it was an impossible task. Time was pressing, Julian was due at the hospital any minute.

He’d called a cab, taken the lift down to the ground floor, and spent the ride to the hospital calling around different cleaning firms. Finally he’d found someone who could come in tomorrow morning and see to the lot. For an exorbitant fee.

Now, standing on the pavement, feeling the heat rise up beneath his feet, smelling the diesel fumes mixed with gusts of stale air from extractor fans, he felt his stomach lurch. There was an Italian place just across the road.

He grabbed his friend by the arm, shepherded him towards it.

‘Listen. We need to take some time out, eat a proper meal. Otherwise we’re not going to be able to cope.’

Julian nodded.

The restaurant was open, a few early bird diners sitting at tables, but mostly the place was empty.

Edward ordered an antipasto, then lasagne for them both. A couple of scotches to start.

Neither of them said much until the drinks arrived. Edward felt the hard liquor hit his stomach with a jolt. He leaned back in his chair, looked at his friend.

‘So. What are your thoughts, now we’ve seen GG?’

Julian rested his elbows on the table, leaned his head on his hands.

‘I feel better. Relieved. As though I’m finally doing something instead of just reacting, dodging the custard pies. You know.’

They stared at each other like two punch-drunk boxers.

‘Nothing like a night on the town, just us boys, hey?’ said Edward.

The food helped. The booze helped more.

Edward talked as they shovelled in the lasagne with its rich meaty sauce.

‘We’ve both had sleepless nights, yeah? Now, we have to crash out for a few hours otherwise we won’t be able to function. The flat’s a mess, I said that already didn’t I? So, here’s what’s decided for tomorrow. You go back to the hospital, sort out the transfer. I’ll wait, let the cleaners in, then leave things with the concierge. We OK so far?’

Julian nodded. He had talked to the consultant at the hospital who had quickly sized up the situation and made a phone call to a private clinic on Julian’s behalf. Everything was arranged, Annabel would be transferred tomorrow. Julian would go with her, get her installed. Then he would make the trip to Buckinghamshire, to talk to his parents.

‘So Eddie you’ll go to Wiltshire, after you’ve seen the cleaning firm? Talk to Margaret and Birdie? Can you face that? We can’t keep a lid on things any longer. Poor Margaret, she must be going out of her mind.’

Julian’s face crumpled.

‘It’s the thought of the innocents getting hurt that breaks me up. Do they have any idea, Margaret and Birdie, about what’s been going on?’

‘You know Jules, I shouldn’t worry about that if I were you. Margaret and the Bird, they’re tougher than they look, got plenty of backbone. Don’t forget the jobs they were doing, the high risk places they’ve lived in, some of the stuff they’ve seen would make these latest events seem like mere trifles. Except of course, it’s Annabel. So, in this particular case, it will have hit them hard. But you know what? My money’s on backbone.’

Edward realised he was slurring his words, took a drink of water.

‘It’s the ‘not-knowing’ that’s worrying them. Once I fill them in I’m sure that they’ll rise to the occasion. That generation, those women,’ he shook his head. ‘I could have done with Margaret last night. She’d probably have marched into your flat, boxed Annabel’s ears and sent her to bed with no supper. Or not. Right, Courtenay, another drink, and then back to the Docklands?’

Julian, opening the door and seeing the state of his normally immaculate flat, had recoiled, then grabbed a roll of bin bags and started to throw stuff inside.

‘I know there’ll be a professional team here tomorrow but I have to do something now.’

He and Edward had attacked the living room, tossing everything, bottles, ashtrays, plates, glasses, cutlery.

‘Chuck it all in, the lot,’ said Julian with a shiver.

‘Right that’s it.’ Edward grabbed the last bag from his friend and dumped it with the others. ‘We both look like zombies. Bed.’

Julian threw one arm round his friend’s shoulder and surveyed the room. There were still scuffs and stains, but it was presentable.

‘Thanks Shaun of the Dead. I could never have got through all this without you.’

‘Should have married each other, hey? It’ll work out Jules. You’ll see. From now on, things are going to start getting better.’

Caroline disconnected and pushed the phone into the pocket of her jeans. She wandered outside to where Jill was sitting on the terrace, drinking a cup of coffee and fiddling with her sketchbook. She closed it as she heard Caroline approach.

‘What’s the latest on Annabel?’

‘Julian’s arranging for her to be admitted to a private clinic. She’s apparently not talking to anyone, I mean physically she’s out of danger, but mentally, who knows what’s going on. Have you heard from him at all, Jules I mean?’

‘No. Why would I?’

Caroline had tried to make the question sound innocent. She was in a dilemma. She wanted to come out and ask Jill frankly about what had happened the other night. The two of them had always been able to speak freely to each other, but an awkwardness had grown between them over the past forty-eight hours. Caroline wished dearly she had never gone down to Julian’s room that night
,
had never seen what she’d seen, but the knowledge was there like the proverbial elephant in the room. Jill and her brother-in-law. As if there weren’t enough complications.

‘I’m sorry. For all of you.’

Jill tapped her pencil against the tabletop, tap tap.

‘Have you heard from Antoine again? Seen him?’

Her tone was subdued.

Caroline nodded.

‘Yesterday.’

‘So, did he...what did he say?’

‘Jill, I really think...’

What did she really think?

Jill stared at her for a moment as if reading her thoughts, then with an abrupt movement pushed back her chair and stood up.

‘You know, I’m not really interested in what Antoine said. My head’s splitting. I’m going to lie down for a bit.’

Caroline drifted back into the kitchen, where Madame Martin was preparing a chicken
à la
basquaise
in a large cast iron casserole.

‘Make sure everyone eats this for lunch, Mademoiselle Caroline, do you hear?’

Caroline nodded. She knew that none of them would be able to swallow more than a mouthful. She patted Madame Martin on the shoulder.

‘
Merci Madame Martin
.’

Poor Madame Martin. Yesterday she’d left the villa as usual, just before lunch, then returned twice, once with a basket of cherries, the second time with a bottle of the Martin homemade
eau de vie
.

Caroline found herself back on the terrace again, depressed and full of doubts. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything to Antoine, she thought. Maybe I should just have been evasive, pretended Jill wouldn’t talk to me, let them work it out face to face. But after the discussion in the kitchen two days previously when Jill had stormed out wishing Antoine a watery end on his bike, plus whatever it was that had happened between her and Julian, Caroline had not felt optimistic about a reconciliation. She hadn’t wanted to get Antoine’s hopes up, only to see them shattered again.

She still had difficulty thinking of her friend with her brother-in-law. It was so untypical of either of them. But emotions had been running high, and it was clear that they liked each other. Jill had instinctively taken Julian under her wing when he arrived, it was all perfectly predictable behaviour on her part. She was the girl who stood up to the playground bullies at school, who put her arm round the victims and gave them sweets, who rescued kittens from gangs of stone-throwing boys.

The O’Tooles, Jill had told her, had always been short of money, always scraping by. They’d lived on a rough housing estate in Liverpool where the boys had soon learned to defend themselves with their fists and Jill too had learned how to stand on her own two feet. Caroline had seen her friend when she was angry, and the sight was enough to make most people take a step back.

Fighting O’Toole. Nurse Jill. She’d taken Caroline in when she’d been getting the creepy calls from Liam, was feeling frightened and worried about going home to her flat. She’d spent three weeks at Jill’s place, much of it trying to dissuade her friend from storming into Liam’s workplace, grabbing his cell phone and beating him over the head with it.

So it was logical, the way she’d reacted to an emotionally bruised and battered Julian. Then she herself had taken a blow to her feelings. They’d both been dangerously vulnerable.

What was it Edward had said, about the sex? Julian had told him that he and Annabel hadn’t had sex for months, that was it. So there it was, a sweet, attractive man who’d had no sex for months, a sympathetic, sexy lady who believed her dream of love was shattered–all the ducks were lined up. It had just taken one little push and wham, they had both acted instinctively and done whatever they had to do. Needed to do.

Still, for Jill to go straight from Antoine’s arms into Julian’s, even thought she was hurting like mad, there was just something that niggled.

Oh MacDonald, don’t be a prude, she told herself. Men are men, women are women, passions are passions. Comfort sex. Everyone knew that sometimes it was the best medicine.

But Antoine’s face when she’d told him there was little hope...

She could feel herself getting angry. It was all her fault, that monkey-woman, that Melodie, had there ever been such an inappropriate name? If she hadn’t tuned up in the restaurant, Jill and Antoine would not have fallen out and Jill would have been fast asleep in his arms that night instead of comforting Julian in his bedroom.

And why was she having to comfort him? Because of Annabel. Because of her sister. She’d been livid with Annabel, but her anger had been replaced with a more complex mixture of feelings now that her sister was lying in a hospital bed, a victim too, even though a lot of it was her own fault. But that Claudio–what kind of crawling slimy louse was he, screwing the wives of two of his friends?

Caroline banged her fists on the table in frustration. Monkey Melodie and Creepy Claudio. Between them they’d ruined everything. The two of them were made for each other, it was a pity she couldn’t wave a magic wand and hook them up, a match made in hell, what a great ending that would be. Probably worse than a Greek tragedy, volcanoes erupting and bodies everywhere.

She ran down into the garden, threw herself on the grass under the big blue cedar.

If only she could make things right.