Читать книгу Escape to the Riviera: The perfect summer romance! - Jules Wake, Jules Wake - Страница 11

Coming down the metal steps as dusk fell, the balmy heat enveloped her in that familiar holiday-warm embrace, immediately making her smile. In the distance lights twinkled, winking through the heat haze pouring off the tarmac of the runway. Overhead a plane roared as it took off. Despite the petrol fumes in the air, she could also smell that indefinable mix of Cypress and the Mediterranean.

Jade, who’d moaned for much of the flight, now started hopping up and down and asking lots of questions. Angela answered them patiently. Carrie tuned out. She had other things on her mind. She clutched the travel wallet closer to her. The car-hire papers were all in there. Booked online. Her diving licence as instructed. They weren’t delayed. The car-hire office expected them. They were used to people arriving at all hours.

She had her phone. It had maps on it. They’d work in France, wouldn’t they? She’d already programmed the address of the villa into the app. Carrie didn’t feel as sure about driving as she made out to her sister.

Her hand tightened on her carry-on luggage.

Angela turned anxious eyes on her. ‘Do you think we’ll be able to find the car-hire place okay? They won’t have closed yet, will they? It’s peak holiday season. They must be used to people flying in at this time. It will be alright won’t it?’

‘Of course it will. Once we’re through, it will be dead easy.’ Carrie smiled, hoping that her sister couldn’t see the mild panic in her eyes. She’d never ever driven on the wrong side of the road. Why the hell had she thought she could?

‘Do you think you’ll be alright in a left-hand car? And with the French drivers. I’ve heard they’re mad.’

Nerves danced in Carrie’s stomach, taking up a full-blown jig instead of the slightly agitated rumba of a minute before. ‘It’ll be fine. I’ll take it nice and steady.’ And pray that there wasn’t much traffic on the road at this time and that the sat-nav on her phone would be patient with her and that she’d be able to manage the gears with the wrong hand.

They crawled at snail’s pace through passport control and then it took forever for the noisy juddering carousel, like an angry caterpillar, to disgorge their luggage with ill grace.

‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you offered to do this.’ Angela squeezed her arm as they walked out through the ‘nothing to declare’ channel, pushing a heavily laden trolley. It had been impossible to persuade Jade that, in the heat, she wouldn’t need that many clothes, even if they were going to be away for nearly a whole month.

Carrie had halted at the ‘nothing to declare’ sign, fancifully imagining that she might get stopped and turned back to go through the other channel. You should have declared your marriage. The jury was still out on whether she should have told Al. Not telling him was cowardly, but how did you go about telling your fiancé that you were already married? She couldn’t face the questions. Why hadn’t she mentioned it before? How long were you married? When did you last see him? Why didn’t you tell me?

‘I’m not sure that if I was driving out here, I would have been brave enough.’ Angela’s voice penetrated her thoughts. ‘You’ve always been so adventurous compared to me.’

‘No I haven’t,’ Carrie responded, slinging her bag over her shoulder. ‘It was easier for me to leave home.’ She hadn’t had a chronic illness to contend with. ‘And I had a reason to go. A place at drama school.’

‘Yes but you could have turned the place down. Not gone to live in London. It was a big step. You were marginally older than Jade and yet you went and embraced it.’

‘I was hungry then. To perform. To act. It wasn’t necessarily being brave, more like young and stupid. Foolhardy, even. I had no conception of what I was getting into. I assumed if I wanted it enough, it would happen and that, against the massive odds, I might be good enough and get work.’

‘Yawnsville. We’re on holiday here, guys. There’s proper French on the signs and everything and you two are having a history lesson.’

They emerged into the airport departure lounge. What was it that made you aware that you were in a different country? Was it the people? Their indefinable Frenchness, which made them look different.

The familiar logos of Hertz and Eurocar loomed and there was the company name and logo that matched her paperwork. Hurdle one successfully surmounted.

‘Why don’t you wait out here?’ suggested Carrie, looking at the tiny goldfish bowl of an office, dwarfed by its big-brother branded counterparts on either side.

‘Bonjour,’ said Carrie, retrieving the pages printed from the internet.

‘Bonsoir,’ said the middle-aged man on his feet behind a tall counter.

‘Yes. Do you speak English?’

‘Oui Madam.’ His dark eyebrows drew together in a ferocious, rather off-putting, slash suggesting that Carrie had committed a faux pas already. What he didn’t realise was that if she’d attempted to speak French they’d have been here all night.

Rather than upset him any further, she laid the paperwork on the counter with an encouraging smile, hoping that managing the transaction with minimal dialogue might make him feel better.

He took the folded sheets and held them close to his face, his nose almost touched the paper.

With a nod, he looked up at her and then back at the paper before busying himself typing at his computer. ‘Permis du conduire,’ he said without shifting his gaze from the screen. Her mind went blank for a second trying to deconstruct the sentence. He’d spoken so quickly the words ran into one another and could have been a sneeze for all she knew.

‘Driving licence.’ He repeated in perfect English.

Like a chastened school girl or the stupid tourist she obviously was, she dug into her bag and pushed it across the top of the counter, smiling like an idiot in the vague hope it would soften him up. She could do with a friendly face right now.

The fears, which hadn’t been fears at all when she’d first suggested they hire a car and she drive, had been given life by relentless questioning from both Angela and Jade.

Dammit. It was an adventure. A summer on the Riviera. An escape from everyday life for a whole thirty days. She should be grasping it with both hands and wringing every last bit of fun and happiness out of it.

‘What sort of car have we got?’ she asked. She’d always been good with people. Why should one measly, grumpy Frenchman be any different? ‘The four-wheeled variety I’m assuming but what make?’

He narrowed his eyes and glanced up. ‘A Renault Clio.’

‘Fabulous. Something with a bit of va va voom. I don’t suppose Thierry Henri comes as standard?’

Who knew that Thierry Henri was the French equivalent of Open Sesame?

‘Unfortunately not, Madame.’ The words were said with a wry smile.

She lifted her shoulders. ‘Oh well.’

He studied the screen. ‘You’re staying in Gassin. It’s not too far from St Tropez. You perhaps will see a famous face or two during your time. They’re filming a Hollywood movie near where you are staying.’

Carrie’s pulse quickened. ‘Really? That would be interesting to see.’

Lifting his fingers to his lips, he shifted his gaze from left to right, which was rather hilarious as there were only the two of them in the office, before saying, ‘The production company has hired rather a lot of vehicles.’ He nodded. ‘Next door, on either side. They did not have sufficient. We have supplied several cars.’

‘Wow,’ said Carrie. ‘Do you know where they’re based?’

‘No, there was a lot of secrecy about that.’

‘Yes, I guess there would be. They wouldn’t tell many people.’

‘However,’ he continued, straightening and leaning forward, lowering his voice, ‘the director took one of our cars. He asked about parking for some of the locations. The harbour in St Tropez, the market in Ramatuelle and at a restaurant in Grimaud.’

Carrie wondered how many people he’d imparted that self-important information to in recent weeks.

‘God, were you building the car or what? You’ve been ages.’ Jade scrambled up from her position on the floor, where she’d half-sprawled across the cases on the luggage trolley.

‘These things always take forever. But we have wheels. A red Clio. Out in the car park, bay 57.’

‘A Clio. I hope it’s going to be big enough.’ Angela prodded the pile of luggage.

‘It will be fine,’ said Carrie and then with a wink at Jade. ‘We can always leave Jade behind and come back for her tomorrow. Or we could ditch one of her cases.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Jade nudged Carrie. ‘Mum, chill. It’ll be fine. And,’ she poked her tongue out at her aunt, ‘I’ll sit on one of my cases if I have to. I’m not leaving a single thing behind. I need everything.’

‘No one needs ten pairs of shorts,’ said Carrie.

‘Wanna bet?’

‘They do have washing machines in France, Jade,’ said her mother.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Are we going to get out of here or what?’ asked Jade, seizing the trolley.

‘Or what,’ answered Carrie, her spirits suddenly lifting. ‘Let the vacances commence.’

‘Please don’t try to speak French when we’re out.’ Jade groaned. ‘It sounds sooo embarrassing.’

‘I’ll do my best.’ Carrie exchanged a look with her sister, who burst out laughing.

‘I think the chances of anyone understanding her are extremely slim.’ Angela smiled, linking an arm through Carrie’s. ‘Lead us to our chariot. I’m ready for a nice cup of tea.’

‘Tea? We’re in France. On holiday. I’m ready for a large glass of wine.’

‘Yeah, Mum. And I’m allowed to drink here. There’s none of that being eighteen and identity card crap here. Hallelujah.’

‘Like it’s ever stopped you before.’ Carrie often received a texted plea for a bottle of wine for a party. She and Angela were of the view that banning something made it more enticing and as a result had a fairly laid-back approach to alcohol, which thankfully Jade had respected.

‘Isn’t this fab? It’s eight o’clock at night and it’s still lovely.’ Jade peeled off her cotton top. ‘I wish I’d got my shorts on now.’

‘We’ll be in the car in a minute. It’s got air con.’ Carrie spotted the numbered signs. ‘Here we are.’

Jade let out a sigh. ‘Seriously. Why are you going so slowly?’

Carrie examined the speedometer, they were doing a respectable speed but it did feel painfully slow.

‘I’m doing seventy.’

‘The French obviously don’t give a toss about speed limits, then, because every other bugger keeps overtaking us.’

‘Let Carrie do her own speed, Jade. She’s driving on the wrong side of the road. She’s concentrating.’

‘I also don’t know what the local speed limit is, to be perfectly honest.’

‘Easy, peasy.’ Jade tapped away at her phone. ‘110km unless it’s raining. Isn’t that funny? Our speed limits don’t mention rain and I bet we get far more than here.’

Carrie started to laugh as she put her foot down on the accelerator, watching the speedometer creep up. ‘I forgot the speedo was in kilometres. I’ve been sticking to 70 thinking it was miles.’

‘You muppet.’ Jade shook her head.

In the back Angela laughed. ‘Although you probably needed to go slowly at first to get used to the car and driving—’ Jade and Carrie exchanged a look before joining in unison ‘on the wrong side of the road.’

With the help of the phone and Carrie’s new-found understanding of the speedometer the journey passed more quickly, the roads getting progressively smaller as they left the motorway. In the dark it was difficult to see much of their surroundings. They could have been in Milton Keynes, but as the miles on the signposts counted down to St Tropez, Jade suddenly shouted, ‘The sea! The sea!’

Down below them a concentration of lights crowded around the water, outlining the coast.

‘We’re nearly there.’ Jade began to bounce in her seat. Carrie gripped the steering wheel.

‘I can’t believe it! St Tropez. It sounds incredibly exotic.’ Angela’s tremulous voice held buttoned-down excitement.

Too damn right. It was exciting. And the minute she peeled herself out of this car, Carrie would be celebrating with something cold.

They circuited the outskirts of St Tropez and began to climb the hill up to Gassin, following the directions of the disembodied voice on the phone.

‘I hope it’s going to be nice,’ said Angela. She’d edged to the front of her seat, holding onto both head rests on the passenger and driver seats. ‘Marguerite said not to expect too much but she wouldn’t send us anywhere horrible.’

‘Angela, as long as it’s dry and has beds, it will be fine,’ said Carrie, resigning herself to the prospect of an uncomfortable bed and very basic surroundings for the next four weeks. It wouldn’t matter. When it was hot, you didn’t spend much time inside. They could go out every day. Take picnics. All they needed was somewhere to sleep.

‘Yes. You’re right.’ Angela sighed. ‘And if it’s awful, we can go home early.’

‘It won’t be awful. It will be fine.’ And hopefully the heat would be good for Angela’s arthritis. They’d have to make sure she had the most comfortable bed.

‘It had better have a shower,’ said Jade. ‘I can’t be doing with it being this hot and no shower.’

‘I’m sure it will,’ said Angela. ‘Marguerite has owned this place for a while. I remember her saying something about new tiling in the bathroom being done last year.’

The directions on the phone were becoming more frequent and they all shut up so they could hear them. The road climbed and twisted and turned more frequently.

‘Destination on your left in two hundred feet,’ announced the map lady.

Carrie slowed right down, thankful there was nothing behind them. The road was completely black with absolutely no sign of habitation nearby. To the left, falling away down the hill, were lights in the distance but nothing nearby.

A horrible sense of foreboding clamped around her. Surely Marguerite’s place had basic facilities like electricity. Or maybe it was all switched off and they would need to turn on the fuse box.

She drove slowly, still unable to see any sign of a house. ‘Destination on your left.’ The voice on the app held a note of desperation. ‘Turn left. Turn left.’

Carrie couldn’t see anything and it was only after the car crept past, she spotted a square of light embedded into a brick wall.

‘At the nearest point perform a u-turn.’

Jade tutted. ‘We’ve gone past it. You’ve missed it.’

‘Well, it wasn’t exactly obvious.’ Carrie kept driving, looking out for some handy place to stop, but the road was narrow with too many bends. After about a mile she spotted a driveway, pulled in and did a quick three-point turn, to return back up the road.

This time she pulled in and realised that the blur of light was a keypad on the edge of two large gates.

‘Ah,’ said Angela, in sudden realisation. ‘Marguerite said there was a pass code. I thought she meant for the house. Thirty Oh Six.’

‘Are you sure this is right?’ Carrie eyed the wooden gates, no wonder they’d passed them earlier, they were so dark they melded into the night, their solid size and dimensions designed to repel the hordes and keep out unwanted visitors. She had visions of angry Dobermans chasing them off someone’s property.

‘I think so.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake. Put the code in, if it works we know we’re in the right place. If not, we’re stuffed.’

For once Jade’s prosaic approach agreed with Carrie’s.

Leaning out of the window she tapped in the code with nervous apprehension. The drive had taken it out of her and now she wanted to be there.

To her slight amazement and utter relief, like magic, lights came on and the heavy wooden gates opened with slow, ponderous eventuality until the gap between them was wide enough to take the car.

Carrie inched forward, not quite knowing what to expect beyond, taking a leap of faith rather like stepping through the wardrobe into Narnia, except she had no idea what was on the other side. Luckily the smooth tarmac continued and the road curved downward in a wide sweep before coiling back upwards. Solar lights lit the road like sentries posted at regular intervals along the way.

‘Whoa,’ Jade leaned forward, her nose almost on the dashboard.

‘That’s Marguerite’s little place?’

‘Erm … I think so. She was quite vague. Talked about the view a lot.’

‘You mean you heard the word ‘free’,’ said Jade laughing. ‘Mum, that is so typical.’

‘Now let’s not get carried away. That might be the main house and we’re in an annexe or something. I know she said it was all on one floor.’

‘All on one floor is somewhat different from a bungalow, Mum!’

Carrie stopped the car and all three of them stared at the house ahead of them, sprawled across the top of the hill in a halo of light, looking rather like something out of a Bond film.

Angela sighed with happiness, or perhaps relief, that they weren’t staying in a dilapidated cottage falling down around their ears. Even Jade, never short of words, stared, drinking in the sight in wide-eyed silence.

Carrie drove carefully up the hill in second gear, not wanting to miss a moment of the delicious sense of anticipation. The little car wound through the landscaped grounds, lit here and there with uplighters, showing off ornamental grasses interspersed with gravel paths and evenly planted bay trees in huge pots, like sentries watching over the land.

It seemed rather untidy to park the poor relation of a car in front of this glamorous house. There was probably a garage for the sexy convertibles or huge four-wheeled things that ought to be here. As Carrie got out of the car, stretching her legs with catlike satisfaction, the scent of herbs filled the warm night. Sod the car, they were here and had possibly fallen into the lap of luxury. Whether they were in the gardener’s cottage or the maid’s flat, judging by the size and stature of this house, they were going to be alright.

Two enormous terracotta pots flanked the front double doors, twin concierges welcoming them, which might have been slightly intimidating if it weren’t for the whimsical touch of tiny fairy lights threaded through the miniature olive trees in each one. Carrie smiled, it softened the rather grand and very contemporary landscaping along the rest of the front of the house, where artfully grouped smaller pots held a variety of precision-trimmed shrubs, scenting the air with a cocktail of fragrances including rosemary, thyme and bay.

Her face broke into a broad smile as she nudged her sister.

‘I think this might do nicely. What do you reckon?’

‘I had no idea it was going to be like this.’ Angela twisted her hands together, as if she couldn’t quite believe it either.

They stood together examining the house. ‘I love the roof. Terracotta tiles. So Mediterranean. So romantic. I have a good feeling about this.’

‘It looks wonderful.’ Carrie squeezed her sister’s arm.

‘For Pete’s sake are we going inside or not? Listen to you. It’s a house. It’s flipping gorgeous.’

Angela rummaged in her bag, pulling out the precious envelope, crumpled from the dozens of times she checked it was still there during the journey. Opening it, she pulled out the keys.

She held the key gripped between twisted thumb and finger, eyeing the lock with the intense concentration of a surgeon about to make the first incision. Jade and Carrie hung back with practised patience, determinedly not looking at each other. It was a familiar routine, where neither acknowledged the slow, painful attempts that any fine motor skills demanded or made any attempt to speed up the process. Although Angela’s rheumatoid arthritis limited her in many ways, she never complained and had never once said, ‘why me and not you’ to Carrie.

The door opened, light streaming out and Angela stood poised on the threshold, a triumphant smile on her face.

‘Looks like we’re in the right place.’

They crowded in through the door, their feet echoing on the polished marble floor, blinking in the light thrown by a huge dandelion clock of a lighting fitting, with what looked like hundreds of brilliant bulbs. For a second they stared around the high-ceilinged hallway, larger than the whole of their semi-detached home.

On a console table of painted wood, in a cracked glass vase, spilled a blousy, extravagant bouquet of flowers, a white card tucked into the foliage.

Angela plucked the card and read out aloud.

Dear Angela and family, you are most welcome to La Maison de Clemont. Please do make yourselves at home. The fridge is fully stocked to get you started but please do let Marisa, our much-loved maid, know of your preferences and she will shop accordingly. She’ll pop in to say hello. I hope you have a happy and joyous holiday here and I look forward to hearing all about it on your return.

Enjoy

With much love

Marguerite