Hot Basque: A French Summer Novel 2 (32 page)

Birdie tittered.

‘All I can say Margaret is–thank goodness I’m past it all! The ‘heyday of the blood is tame’.’

Margaret looked at her friend, ensconced in her comfy chair, with her support stockings and sturdy brogues, her bushy eyebrows and Einstein hairdo and shook her head fondly.

For a few moments the two women sipped their sherry, each lost in her own thoughts. Finally Birdie spoke.

‘Do you think...?’ she stopped, then continued, choosing her words carefully. ‘Do you think little Joshua will ever get to see his Mummy? After the divorce?’

Margaret stiffened her spine.

‘My crystal ball is on strike Birdie. Who knows?’

She drained her glass.

‘One thing at a time. What we have to concentrate on now is meeting this famous Dr Novak, then getting my impossible niece back on her feet and facing up to her responsibilities. Once that is done, we must do our best to make sure that Caroline, Edward, Julian and little Joshua can get on with their lives.’

There were ways of doing things, and then there were Margaret’s ways of doing things. Birdie was in no doubt as to which method got the best results.

She finished her drink in turn, and gazed outdoors, thinking wistfully of her irises and trying not to think about the visit to the clinic.

Margaret too had turned to look out at the garden. Her hand, resting on her notebook, trembled slightly.

They said that history repeats itself. She didn’t know whether she believed that or not. But sooner or later she would have to tell someone about Annabel’s mother.

It had been a tearful goodbye at the airport in Anglet.

‘Thank you Caro for everything, really, I’ve had some of the best times of my life.’

‘I know, I know and listen I’m sure he’ll get in touch once he’s back! You did send him the text didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I checked it on my phone, it went off last night, after we’d talked.’

It had taken them an hour of discussion and three pages of scribbling, not to mention a bottle of Iroulegy to get the exact wording. Something they were both satisfied with.

‘But I don’t know if he’s got it, do I? He may not have cell phone reception where he is. In fact I don’t even know where he is, exactly.’

Nobody seemed to know where Antoine was, exactly. His sister had told Jill that he and Dominique had taken it into their heads to set off together. Dominique had some sort of ‘problem’ with an irate husband (Marielle had raised her eyes heavenwards) and poor Antoine...here Marielle had looked at Jill and shrugged helplessly. Their plan was to meet up with some old friends whose mission in life was to travel the world looking for the perfect wave. She hadn’t said if the old friends were male or female, or both. Only that the destination was ‘South America’. She wasn’t even sure which bit of South America, nor even how long they would be away. Maybe two weeks, maybe three? Their father had been pretty mad as the season was just getting into full swing, but he had seen that Antoine was suffering (here she’d given another helpless shrug) and her father had a soft heart so he’d arranged for a cousin to come and give them a hand during his absence.

Caroline had put the car into short-term parking and insisted on waiting until Jill was checked in. The queue shuffled forward.

‘Two, three weeks, it isn’t so long really. Even if he doesn’t get your message while he’s away he’ll be able to read it when he gets back. Just think, by the end of July you could be in his arms again.’

From the look on Jill’s face both the end of July and Antoine’s arms were mirages shimmering in the mists of an unattainable future. But she sighed and gave her friend a wan smile.

‘I suppose at least by the end of July he’ll have had time to think things over. Decide whether he’s still
amoureuse
or not. If he was ever
amoureuse
to start with. Maybe he’ll bump into the perfect babe while he’s looking for the perfect wave. I can just see him checking his phone when his plane lands, ‘Irish who? Oh yeah, that fat carrot-top friend of Caroline’s with the loud voice’...’

‘Jillian O’Toole. What did we say yesterday, about positive thinking?’

‘Sorry Caro. Just playing the drama queen. But you, how are you going to go on, with everything that’s happening? I wish I could stay.’

‘I wish you could as well, you don’t know how much I wish it. I’ll be in touch every day, let you know how things go. I’m hoping Edward will be back soon.’

They had hugged, shed more tears, then Caroline had watched her friend head for security.

‘Jill!’

Jill stopped, turned round.

‘At least you got those Prada slingbacks on sale in
Galeries Lafayette
–just hold that thought!’

Jill gave a ‘thumbs up’, tossed her curls and disappeared through the glass doors.

***

The villa seemed very empty without the men, and now without Jill’s effervescent presence.

Caroline and Nadia had a quiet lunch, just the two of them with the baby. In spite of the gallons of suncream the pair of them had rubbed into his skin, he was beginning to acquire a definite peach glow, which drew approving comments from Madame Martin.

‘Look at the little angel. He’s getting more handsome every day. And see how active he is! All that fresh air, and wholesome vegetables, that will put a rose or two in your cheek, won’t it
mon petit bonhomme
!’

Joshua kicked and gurgled, his eyes sparkling with happiness, not a care in the world.

That was one good thing, thought Caroline. He was a very sociable baby and so far didn’t seem to be missing his Papa. The afternoon swimming lessons were continuing; it would be just her and Nadia today.

They took him down at the end of the afternoon when the hottest part of the day was waning. As soon as they lowered him into the pool he went crazy with delight, splashing and laughing and yelling.

‘Pool, did he say pool?’ asked Nadia.

Caroline pursed her lips.

‘Sounded more like ‘poo’ to me.’

She checked his waterproof nappy.

‘False alarm.’

After they had taken him out, much to his indignation, and patted him dry and put him in the shade in his Sweet Pea which was swathed with insect-proof nets like a beekeeper’s hat, the two of them stretched out in the sun.

‘So.’ Caroline turned her head. ‘How are things going with Hans and co?’

The corner of Nadia’s lips turned up in a little smile.

‘He asked to see me again. When we get back to Frankfurt.’

‘Oh that’s great news Nadia! Tell me again what he’s studying there?’

‘Computer science. Information technology, exactly. He is in the graduate programme. He suggested I could take some courses, evening courses, he says it will bring me useful qualifications, maybe even one day I get a degree.’

‘That’s wonderful. He sounds like a really nice person.’

‘Yes, he is nice. And good and kind. And,’ she gave a naughty smile, ‘quite attractive.’

‘I had noticed that, Nadia. I would say, very attractive, actually.’

They both laughed.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Caroline’s phone. She had left it on the terrace.

‘Sorry Nadia, better get this.’

‘Of course.’ Nadia’s beam had changed to an anxious frown.

Caroline sprinted up the steps to the terrace and looked at the screen.

Claudie.

She gave a reassuring wave to Nadia, stepped into the house.

‘Claudie! How are you?’

‘Fine Caro, and you? And everyone?’

They were speaking in French. Caroline hesitated. She still hadn’t told either of the twins about the latest drama with Annabel. Claudie had no time for her sister, and who could blame her? She’d seen what mayhem she caused last summer, had been right in the middle of it. Plus she had a decidedly soft spot for Julian.

‘Well...’ Caroline hedged, played for time.

‘It’s been quite busy, listen why don’t you tell me your news first? Is everything going OK with the course?’

Claudie was doing a special course in pastry-making. She had passed all of her exams so far and was completing this optional course before she finished for the year, and started her summer holidays.

‘Yes, it’s great Caro. The course. And...the chef.’

‘Aha!’ Caroline knew that tone. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve acquired another lover to go with the other twenty. One who can make the perfect chocolate pudding.’

Claudie laughed.

‘His chocolate puddings are great. So is he. Really great.’

Caroline’s interest was piqued.

‘So go one, give me more details. Who is he, what’s he like, has he fallen head over heels in love with you and will he be making the wedding cake?’

There was a slight pause on the other end that caused Caroline’s eyebrows to rise.

‘He, um, well, he’s thirty-four. Dark curly hair, blue-grey eyes. Very, very cute. ’

‘Claudie, I know that tone of voice...’

Claudie gave a little giggle.

‘Weeeell, let’s just say I’ve broken it off with the others. Only me and Pete now.’

‘Pete?’

‘Yes. He’s English.’ Claudie was rattling on. ‘Oh Caro I’m so excited, things are going really well. He works at a restaurant in London, it’s a good one, well-rated, and he’s the pastry chef. Of course he’s on leave at the moment, to do this course for us at the school. But he’ll be going back in a couple of weeks.’

‘Oh.’ Caroline’s voice was sympathetic. ‘So...how does that work out?’

‘Well, you know I’m supposed to do a work experience thing as part of my final year? I’ve had a few offers, but–Caro I’m so excited! They’ve agreed to let me do it with him. In London! Can you believe it?’

‘That’s wonderful news Claudie! Oh, I’m dying to meet him, we’ll have to try to organise a trip, either up to Paris, or to London as soon as–’ she broke off, took a sudden decision. She wouldn’t say anything to Claudie, not just yet. Let her enjoy her romance without worrying about her cousin, or Caroline, or Jules.

‘Well that’s it, Caro, I’ve spoken to the parents, they agree I should bring him down to the villa in August! He’s got a week off! So you’ll get to meet him, everyone will get to meet him and he’ll get to meet everyone in my crazy family.’

She laughed happily.

They chatted for another five minutes, Caroline wanting to catch up with news of Jean-Paul, and the rest of the family.

‘And Figaro? How is he, the monster?’

The enormous portly feline that had been an affectionate companion to Caroline the previous summer had his winter quarters in Claudie’s parents’ house, where he waged a hopeless battle with the sophisticated Parisian sparrows always a hop and a snigger ahead of him.

‘Listen Caro I’ve got to rush, but I just wanted to let you know. We only arranged the villa thing last night. And tonight we’re taking my parents out to eat, just the four of us. Fingers crossed for me, no?’

‘Fingers, toes, ears, you got it. I’m so pleased Claudie, I can’t tell you.’

They rang off and Caroline took a deep breath.

Well, maybe her matchmaking plot for Jill hadn’t gone too well, but Cupid was certainly sending a few arrows whizzing around, and scoring some hits. Nadia with Hans, now Claudie with Pete. She felt her heart lighten. Maybe things would start getting better, little by little? She shuddered, closed her eyes, and crossed all her fingers.

Soames’ nephew picked up Margaret and Birdie at 9 o’clock on the dot, his car freshly washed and waxed. It was a cool June morning, with a light breeze.

Margaret was wearing her Windsmoor two-piece, her ‘no nonsense’ business outfit, as Birdie called it. A blue silk scarf was tucked into the neck, and Birdie’s cameo, a birthday present for Margaret’s 80
th
, was pinned to the lapel. Birdie, mindful of first impressions, had checked her own reflection in the mirror before they left. She had put her usual tweeds to one side, and chosen a matching dress and jacket in forest green. The scarf round her neck was a lighter green, but patterned with buttercups, a sign of hope, she thought, such delicate yet cheerful flowers. Brenda had done an excellent job on her hair.

The drive took an hour and a half. Normally they both would have enjoyed it, the countryside was at its best, the fields scattered with brilliant red poppies, the trees lush with new leaf. But they hardly noticed the scenery, each of them wrapped in their own private thoughts, each of them anxious about what awaited them at the clinic. Even young Soames, who could always be relied on to provide the latest gossip, failed to rouse their interest.

‘Right, this is it, ladies.’

Soames was turning in through tall gates on to a long avenue lined with poplars leading up to an impressive mansion. On either side was rolling parkland, which, as they neared the house, gave way to crisply immaculate lawns, broken here and there by flower beds blazing with June colour. Mature trees rose from the green, a striking copper beech catching the sun in its leaves, a spreading cedar with an ancient forked trunk.

‘It doesn’t look at all like a clinic,’ Birdie whispered to Margaret, peering out at the stately building with its tall chimneys and battlements running round the roof. ‘More like a five star hotel.’

‘Well, Edward did say that Julian had spared no expense.’

Young Soames pulled up in front of the entrance. He switched off the engine and went to open the door for his passengers.

‘So what would you like me to do Miss Mags, shall I wait for you in that little parking area over there?’

Margaret had been Miss Mags ever since Soames was a toddler struggling to get his tongue round her name.

‘No Reginald, don’t bother, we may be a while. Why don’t you go and get a cup of coffee in that little village we drove through? I have my mobile telephone in my handbag, I’ll call when we are ready to leave.’

‘Sure the battery’s charged Miss Mags?’

Margaret gave him The Look.

‘Right then. I’ll just give you a hand up these steps, and I’ll be off for that coffee. You give me a buzz, and I’ll be back here in a jiffy.’

As they reached the top of the steps, one of the double doors swung open, and a smartly-dressed, attractive brunette came out to greet them, a smile of welcome on her face.

‘Good morning!’ she called. ‘You must be Miss MacDonald and Miss Bird. My name is Emma. Welcome to the Sirona Clinic.’

Emma ushered them into an imposing hall with a lofty ceiling and two ornate chandeliers. Glancing up at them, Birdie noted that every shimmering drop looked as though it had been freshly washed and buffed. A faint scent of lemon polish hung in the air. Emma led them through one of the numerous doorways opening off the hall.

They found themselves in a quiet, light-filled room overlooking the side of the manor. Thick fitted carpet in lovat green muffled the sound of their footsteps. Paintings of landscapes hung on the half-panelled walls, calm scenes of millponds and woodland glades. The comfortable chairs and sofas were upholstered in yellow striped brocade. On the mantel of the imposing stone fireplace, an antique clocked ticked.

‘Please take a seat. I am sure you must be dying for a cup of coffee? Good. Dr Novak is just finishing with a patient. Please make yourselves comfortable and I’ll be right back.’

Emma gave another bright smile and gestured to an array of glossy magazines spread in a perfect fan-shape on one of the tables.

‘Not quite as imposing as Downton Abbey, but not bad,’ Margaret remarked drily, settling herself into an armchair.

Birdie was clutching her white summer handbag with both hands.

‘I just hope they bring some biscuits with the coffee. I hardly managed a bite at breakfast.’

Neither of them had had any appetite that morning. A grinning Titus got the lion’s share of the bacon, pausing, as he gobbled it down, to cast a longing glance at the toast being thrown into the bin.

Emma reappeared with a tray set with china cups. There was a modern-looking cafetière and a plate of shortbread biscuits. Petticoat tails, shaped like fans.

‘Apparently fans R us,’ said Margaret as the door closed behind Emma. Birdie gave a nervous titter and nearly choked on her petticoat tail.

They had been there for fifteen minutes when the door opened again and a man in a white coat stepped into the room.

He was of medium height, dark-complexioned, short hair neatly combed. What you might call an ordinary looking man. Until he spoke. And until he began to move.

‘Good morning Miss MacDonald, Miss Bird. I am Dr Novak.’

As he came closer, holding out his hand, their attention was drawn like a magnet to the doctor’s eyes. One of them was golden-brown, the other was dark blue.

His face broke into a smile, and the strange eyes filled with light.

‘I do hope your trip was quite comfortable?’

His voice was soft, soothing, his tones measured, coloured by a slight intonation, possibly eastern European. He shook hands with them, stepped back lightly, and gestured for them to accompany him. His movements were arrestingly graceful. It was like watching a ballet dancer, thought Margaret.

Or a lion tamer. The thought popped into her head.

She couldn’t drag her eyes away from him. Birdie too was staring at the good doctor as though he had just descended from Venus in a space capsule.

Margaret had thought that Dr Novak would want to talk to them before they saw Annabel. In fact she didn’t even know if they would be allowed to see her niece, after all it was only five days since since Annabel had tried to take her life. But Dr Novak surprised them both by saying:

‘Would you like to see your niece? Of course, you will understand, it will only be a brief visit. Just for now.’

Annabel was sitting in a chair by the window when Dr Novak knocked at the door of her room and showed the two women inside. She turned, saw her aunt and Birdie, and got to her feet.

At first no-one moved, then Margaret took a step forward, and Annabel ran lightly across the room and flung her arms round her aunt. When she stepped back and turned to hug Birdie, her eyes were full of tears.

‘How are you my dear?’ said Margaret, struggling to maintain her composure. Annabel looked thinner than when she’d last seen her, but her face was quite beautiful, and, apart from the traces of tears on her cheeks, she appeared almost serene.

Annabel hesitated before replying, looked behind them towards Dr Novak as though seeking permission to speak.

‘I’m doing quite well, Auntie. I’m making progress every day.’

Again her eyes turned to the doctor.

‘I wanted to say...I want to tell you how pleased I am that you have come to see me. I know that I’m not, I don’t, I don’t deserve...’

‘Annabel.’

Dr Novak’s voice was soft.

‘Annabel is right. She has made progress. Very good, rapid progress. We are very pleased with her.’

The doctor’s voice was soothing, hypnotic. Annabel twisted a handkerchief in her fingers and a flush rose to her cheeks.

Dr Novak spoke again.

‘Annabel, would you like to say goodbye to your aunt and her friend? It will soon be time for your spa session.’

Annabel nodded obediently.

‘Thank you for coming. It was very kind.’

‘My dear girl!’

They all hugged again, then Margaret said:

‘Perhaps next time, we can stay a little longer?’

Dr Novak smiled, stepped to one side, held the door. They had been in the room just over three minutes.

The meeting with Dr Novak lasted much longer.

He started by asking them how they thought Annabel was looking.

Margaret hesitated, not sure how to reply. The doctor encouraged her by a lift of his eyebrows.

‘As a matter of fact...better than I expected.’

Dr Novak waited for her to continue.

‘I was surprised. I’m not sure what I’d imagined, but, well, I feel...’ she shrugged, ‘reassured. Don’t you Birdie?’

Remembering the awful photo, Birdie nodded vigorously.

‘She seemed very calm, not agitated. I thought she might be agitated. But she appeared...peaceful, almost.’

The doctor looked pleased.

‘She is on medication, of course. But, she has also started therapy. We have four therapists working here. Annabel is seeing me.’

His explanation of what had brought Annabel to the point where she had tried to take her life was similar to the one Margaret had heard from Tessa and Bernard. He took his time making sure that both women were following what he said, avoiding too much technical jargon and speaking in slow measured tones.

When he had finished, Margaret told him of her phone calls to Tessa and Bernard. Dr Novak’s eyebrows rose slightly, and he nodded in approval.

‘I became familiar with their work when I was a student. Dr Sullivan, in particular, was in a field that I found very interesting. I almost followed him into the same area of study, post-traumatic stress disorder, but circumstances,’ he hesitated slightly, ‘circumstances decided otherwise. And here I am, in England.’

‘Where are you from originally if you don’t mind my asking?’

‘Hungary. When I was fifteen my parents emigrated to the States and that is where I did my studies.’

‘And are you happy here?’

Dr Novak sat back in his chair, a faint look of amusement spreading over his face.

‘Very happy, thank you Miss MacDonald. Excuse me, I am smiling because it is not often that I am asked such a question. In fact, it is usually I who am asking the questions. Freud, as you may well know, had some interesting observations about happiness.’

Margaret came to a decision.

‘I’d like to speak with you privately, Doctor, if I may. Would you mind, Birdie?’

If Birdie was taken by surprise at the request she gave no sign, getting to her feet at once.

‘Not at all Margaret, not at all. I’ll wait for you in the room where we had coffee. Thank you Doctor, it was a pleasure to meet you.’

Doctor Novak closed the door behind Birdie, came back and sat down in the chair she had just vacated. He moved it a couple of inches closer to Margaret.

‘You now have something to say to me that you think has a bearing on Annabel’s case.’

‘I do.’

She hadn’t known till the last minute if she was going to tell him. But as he talked to them about Annabel, patiently answering their questions and calming their fears, she had made up her mind. Dr Novak was an unusual man. But, she thought, he was a man she could trust.

She took a deep breath.

‘What I am about to tell you is a secret. A secret I have confided in no-one, not even Birdie, who is my closest friend. As you know, I have two nieces, Caroline and Annabel. I ended up looking after them, taking responsibility for them, after my brother, Robbie, and his wife Alexandra, were killed in a car crash. I inherited, you might say, a girl of ten, Caroline, and her sister Annabel aged two.’

She paused.

‘Actually, that’s not strictly true. Caroline and Annabel are half-sisters. My brother was not Annabel’s father.’

Dr Novak leaned back in his chair and nodded his head, slowly.

‘My brother Robbie married the daughter of a wealthy family, their name is not important, they disapproved of the match, and cut all ties with Alexandra. She found herself on her own, except for her husband. They were very much in love and she became pregnant almost immediately with Caroline. She was three months gone when her mother died. Her father, however, chose not to inform her and she found out by accident, several weeks later. The news had a devastating effect on her, and at the same time she began to feel unwell, physically unwell, I mean. After Caroline, was born, she suffered from post-natal depression for almost two years. She had treatment for it, with Tessa in fact. Gradually she showed signs of getting better and my brother began to hope that their little family could finally find some measure of happiness.’

She paused again, moistened her lips.

‘I was working abroad for most of this period and didn’t see much of them, something I will always deeply regret. However. Alexandra had always been what we called in my day ‘highly strung’. The post-natal depression was followed by other periods of, shall we say melancholy? My brother worked hard, he made a good living, he had a notion that if he could shower every kind of luxury on his family things would turn out well in the end. I have talked to my niece, Caroline, who, as I say, was ten years old at the time of the accident. What surprised me was how few memories she had of those years with her parents. And those she had were all very–how can I put this–picture postcard perfect. Beautiful Mummy and Handsome Daddy. Happy Caroline and her Adorable Baby sister. I’m not an expert Dr Novak, but I’m not an idiot either. In reality what was happening in this idealised world remembered by Caroline, and what she didn’t know, at least consciously, was that her parent’s marriage was breaking down. Again, it’s thanks to Tessa that I finally found out the truth, after the accident.’