Escape to the Riviera: The perfect summer romance!

‘And I bet he had a body double.’ Angela leaned back in her chair, waving her cup about in her usual feeble grip, sloshing tea over the sides. ‘His body can’t be that good.’

Carrie nodded again. If she wasn’t careful someone would stuff her in the back window of a car.

Angela had a point, though. It certainly hadn’t been when he was in his twenties but then he wasn’t leading a superstar lifestyle then. You don’t exactly fill out a scrawny frame when you’re existing on baked beans and fish-finger sandwiches, living in an unheated, mould-ridden flat off Cold Harbour Lane in Brixton, shivering off any muscle tone to keep warm.

‘Alternatively,’ Angela was her in stride now. ‘he could have a Rottweiler of a personal trainer who dogs his every step-making sure he lives on horrible Hollywood-healthy milkshake things, like wheatgrass and alfalfa sproutings or that keen squaw stuff.’

Carrie smiled as Angela pulled a bleurgh face.

‘And he must wear contacts. No one’s eyes are that blue.’

Richard’s were. To hide the ping of protest her heart made, Carrie let out a mirthless laugh, cupping the mug of tea to take a sip.

‘Sweet of Alan to come with us.’ Angela’s eyes were guileless and her smile kind.

‘Subtle.’

Angela shrugged. ‘He’s lovely. You’ve been seeing each other for a while.’

Carrie didn’t say anything.

‘Do you think something might happen there one day?’

‘One day. I guess.’ Carrie had been giving it more thought recently. He made her happy. So happy. They were good together. She loved him. Not in the crazy, helter-skelter being-at-a-fairground way she’d loved Richard but in a stronger, more enduring fashion.

‘What if one day is soon?’

Carrie was missing something. Angela’s eyes were bird- bright, beady with expectation.

‘What do you know?’

‘Oh.’ Worry crept across her face. ‘Shoot, I’ve given the game away.’

‘Well you hadn’t but you have now.’

‘If he did ask you, you know, to marry him, you’d say yes, wouldn’t you?’ The lines in her forehead deepened as she realised she’d dug herself into an even deeper hole.

‘Angela. What do you know?’

‘You mustn’t tell him I told you.’

‘Like I’m going to do that.’

‘He asked to borrow one of your rings, to get the size right.’ She sighed. ‘And he showed me lots of pictures, to check he’d get something you’d like.’ She brightened. ‘But he didn’t say when. Although, now I’ve spoilt the surprise. You’re going to have to act surprised when he asks you.’

‘You muppet. How could he not know you are the worst person at keeping secrets?’

‘I kept one.’

Carrie sighed. ‘You did.’

‘If he asks, what are you going to do, about, you know? You’ll have to do something.’

‘Yeah, I will and I should have done it years ago, instead …’ she paused. Instead of deliberately ducking the issue. ‘I need to do something about Richard Maddox.’ See, if she said his surname, it made it less personal, as if he wasn’t her Richard. As if she wasn’t entitled to call herself Carrie Maddox. ‘It’s time we got a divorce.’

CHAPTER THREE

Carrie dragged herself up the stairs to the staff room, consigning whoever had timetabled double drama for Year 7’s last periods on a Friday to the very far reaches of hell. As usual the staff room looked as if a cyclone had torn through, followed by marauding Vikings, hotly pursued by random burglars. The cupboard was bare of a single clean coffee cup and the biscuit barrel offered nothing more than crumbs.

Glad it was the end of the day, Carrie retrieved her bag and phone from her locker and a yellow post-it note fell out. With a smile she scooped it up from the floor. Alan had a habit of slipping them through the crack in the door.

Dinner tomorrow night? Prezzo or Pizza Express. Both have offers on. Lots of love Ax

He was out at a quiz night this evening with his cycling buddies and she’d promised herself a curry, a glass of wine and an hour with her laptop. Since she’d won a playwriting competition a few months ago, she’d been tasked with making a few changes so that it could be considered for a West End run. She had until September to get it sorted. So far, good ideas had been elusive. Thank goodness for the long summer holidays.

She tucked the note in her bag and checked her phone to find a text message from her sister, assuming it would be the usual can you pop to Tesco and pick up … she scanned it quickly.

Exciting news. Grab a bottle of something French!!!!!

‘Why French?’ she asked walking through the front door and into the living room holding out the bottle of Macon Villages, currently being feted on the supermarket shelf as reduced from £9.99 to £5.99. A bargain, no less, although she was sceptical that this bottle had ever been sold at £9.99.

‘We need to start getting in the mood,’ said Angela, bouncing out of the chair beside the fireplace.

‘The mood for what?’ Carrie flopped gratefully into the small two-seater sofa piled high with mismatched cushions. Friday night was batten-down-the-hatches night. Once her shoes were kicked off, she wasn’t going anywhere, although in her head she fondly imagined she still went out dancing. With a sigh she nestled into the comforting embrace of the cushions. This was her favourite room in the house. The only one not co-ordinated to within an inch of a paint chart.

‘A holiday. I’ve found us a free cottage, villa, house thing in France.’ Angela sat back down, clasping her gnarled hands, the joints ravaged by arthritis, on her lap.

Carrie’s ears pricked up at the magical word. ‘How free?’

‘Proper, real free,’ Angela giggled. ‘Oh, Lord, I sound like Jade. Marguerite, at Winthorpe Hall, offered me the use of her house in France for the whole summer.’

Angela worked at a rather swanky residence for distressed gentlefolk of advancing years. Basically it was an extremely posh old people’s home with an army of carers, an à la carte menu for dinner each evening with wine and its very own private cinema with screenings every night.

Her duties, as far as Carrie could work out, involved making up a fourth at bridge, completing shopping runs to the Clinique counter at the local Boots for age-defying potions, managing library visits and accompanying the residents on cultural excursions to the Royal Opera House or the Victoria and Albert Museum. It was a tough job but someone had to do it. Although, to be fair, Angela’s work opportunities were fairly limited.

‘And does Marguerite have all her mental faculties? Actually own the house? Or did she sell it years ago and she’s forgotten that minor fact?’

‘Marguerite most definitely has every last marble intact.’ Angela nodded her head to emphasise the point. ‘She’s so sharp she could slice slivers from a block of ice for her six o’clock G and T. With all her airs and graces, she’s like one of those old Hollywood stars. You should see her slippers, I swear they’re trimmed with marabou, or whatever that fluffy stuff is called. She has a different pair every day, to match her outfit.’

‘She sounds quite a character.’ Carrie could imagine her quite well tripping down the corridors of the very grand Winthorpe Hall. It was more like a luxury hotel than a home for the elderly.

‘She is.’

‘This place she has in France, I’m sorry, but why would she have a place out there and not live there? Or not sell it?’

‘She keeps it for her family. And she does go out there, when they visit, but she likes company. That’s why she moved into Winthorpe. Anyway the whole family are going to America this summer. The house will be empty and she said we can have it. What do you reckon?’

Carrie reckoned that it sounded far too good to be true, but in the absence of anything better coming along in the next few weeks before the end of term it was definitely worth considering. Blimey, once upon a time, she’d have happily leapt on the back of a scooter with a tent and a sleeping bag on her back and gone. Being cautious had crept up on her. Maybe it was all those risk assessments they were so fond of at school. You couldn’t take a trip anywhere without seven levels of form filling-in. OV8s, SF9s and a triplicate V13a.

‘Whereabouts is it?’

‘South of France. Provence sort of way,’ Angela paused, wrinkling her nose in thought, ‘Or around there. It’s in a village.’

‘And what sort of accommodation?’

‘I think, from what she said, it’s all on one level, a bungalow. She said it’s got fabulous views.’

Estate-agent speak for ‘it hasn’t got much else going for it’.

‘And the market in the village is wonderful and there are plenty of lovely places nearby to eat.’

‘The kitchen is dire you have to eat out.’ Carrie could see it now. No wonder Marguerite’s family weren’t keen on going.

‘What do you think? Do you want to come with us?’

‘In principle, yes’ Carrie said slowly, not wanting to let practical considerations dim Angela’s enthusiasm, ‘it sounds wonderful. Can I let you know? Perhaps you need to find out more.’

Angela’s face fell and her mouth crumpled into a mutinous line that was horribly reminiscent of Jade when she didn’t get her way. Except, unlike Jade, Angela wouldn’t voice her emotion, she’d button it up in disappointed, accepting silence. Angela didn’t complain about much and she had plenty to complain about.

‘Nearest airport. Train station. Things like that, so that you can work out the best way to get there and how much it will cost.’

‘Marguerite says you can fly EasyJet,’ Angela beamed. ‘And then it’s not far from there.’ With Angela’s smile restored, Carrie felt slightly less of a killjoy. Her sister and niece depended on her. They needed her and it was important to remind herself of that occasionally. Especially when thoughts of Richard intruded. Swanning off to Hollywood had never been a realistic option for her and she didn’t begrudge staying for her family. They’d needed her far more than he did, as all the pictures of him with his leading ladies had soon proved.

‘I can’t wait to tell Jade,’ said Angela. ‘She worked hard for her exams. She deserves a proper break.

‘Now, what time shall I order the curry. What do you fancy? Your usual.’

Carrie stretched, luxuriating in the fact she didn’t have to leave the house again today. She might even go and put her pyjamas on.

‘Chicken Biryani? Sag Aloo? Basmati rice?’ Angela had already picked up the phone. God, they were predictable. She sat up quickly, or as quickly as she could. It wasn’t that easy to gain purchase on a mountain of cushions.

‘No, let’s have something different for a change. Where’s the menu for the Tandoori Cottage?’

‘But we always ring the Banani on the High Street.’

‘I fancy a change.’ Carrie cringed inside. A different curry house constituted a radical change? She really needed to get out more.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘Blimey, you’re up bright and early.’ Carrie rubbed her eyes, as if trying to clear the mirage that was Jade in the kitchen before nine o’clock on a Saturday morning.

‘I’m on a mission.’ Jade flicked her head up from her laptop. ‘Sort out flights to this place in France before Mum gets all uber-twitchy and comes up with a gazillion reasons why we can’t go. She’s finally got the deets of the village where this place is. And I’ve got an early shift at the café today. Babysitting tonight. And working at the hotel tomorrow. I’ll be rolling in the Benjamins when I get paid. Primani here I come.’

‘Not paying for your flight?’ asked Carrie and immediately regretted it when she saw her niece’s crestfallen face. She shouldn’t tease her; she was a good kid who most of the time pulled her weight. Her positive work ethic couldn’t be denied. If you asked her to do a job, and she wanted to do it, or acknowledged she had time to do it, you could rely on her. The trick was finding the right job and mentioning it at precisely the right moment.

‘I should, shouldn’t I?’ She turned to Carrie with a worried frown.

‘No, honey.’ Carrie laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘I was teasing you. I’m sure flights to France won’t be that expensive and you can be completely flexible about dates. Means we can get the cheapest flights.’ She winked at her niece. ‘And still be able to afford a pair of new jeans.’

Jade pushed her hand off, laughing up at her. ‘You’re mean.’

‘What’s this about a new pair of jeans?’ Angela wandered in carrying a mountain of washing. ‘You’ve got enough clothes to sink a fleet of cruise ships.’

‘Actually,’ Jade tilted her nose in the air and said with a smug tone, ‘I told Auntie Carrie that I’d pay for my flight to France instead of buying a new pair of jeans.’

‘Really, darling, that’s sweet of you but you don’t have to.’ Angela put an arm around her daughter. ‘You’re saving up for your own car. That’s more important.’

If she wanted to drive, Jade would need her own car, as Angela’s automatic, with its specially adapted steering wheel, wouldn’t be suitable.

‘What time do you need to be at work?’ Carrie took a quick peek at the clock. ‘I can drop you off at the café when I go to Alan’s if you’d like.’

‘That would be ace, thanks. I need to be there for ten- thirty. Crikey Moses, I’d better do this and get ready.’

Carrie bit her tongue. She knew better than to query how long it took to get ready. Jade’s make-up, admittedly a work of art, took a minimum of an hour to achieve. Perhaps that was where Carrie had gone wrong in her younger days. She hadn’t cared enough about that sort of thing. Looks, appearance. There was never enough time to think about them. She was too busy living life. Teenagers these days had lots more opportunities and yet the boundaries of their lives were limited by their addiction to social media and what everyone else thought of them.

‘Right Mum. Sleezyjet. Luton to Nice. Piece of … cake. If we fly out on a Thursday evening its thirty-two quid. Come back on a Saturday night. Only twenty-four pounds.’

‘That sounds very cheap.’ Angela frowned.

‘Cos, no other bugger wants to fly then. Market forces. Supply and demand.’

‘Wow that Economics GSCE level is really paying off,’ said Carrie in mock admiration as she sauntered out of the kitchen. ‘Leave at ten-twenty.’

‘Sure.’ Jade was already busy tapping away at her laptop, Angela craning over her shoulder as Carrie went upstairs to take her shower.

With a quick review of her wardrobe, Carrie yanked out a pair of jeans and her favourite pair of Converse High Tops, covered in gold sequins. She’d bought them on a whim and she adored them, despite the comments both Angela and Alan had made. She didn’t care, they were utterly gorgeous. The fact that they were comfortable was a happy coincidence. If she and Alan were going into St Albans for the day to take a look around the Cathedral and the Roman Museum, comfort was the order of the day.

After her shower, Carrie gathered up her hair and with a ruthless tug secured it in a ponytail before wrapping it round several times into a messy bun that she skewered with a couple of decorative wooden chopsticks. She sometimes wondered if perhaps she should have it all cut off, it wasn’t as if she ever wore it down and it nearly reached her waist. She spent half of her life tidying it back into its bun. It was a constant battle, like trying to tame a small animal into submission and failing.

Grabbing her jacket, she called for Jade. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Nearly,’ came the expected response from Jade’s bedroom next door.

‘See you downstairs. I’m leaving in two minutes.’

‘Okay! I said I’d be ready!’

With a roll of her eyes, Carrie pounded down the stairs and went to retrieve her handbag from the kitchen.

Angela pored over the laptop with an unhappy frown.

‘What’s the matter? Are the flights too expensive? Did Jade get it wrong?’

‘No. They’re fine. We can get flights for around sixty-five pounds return, which is fantastic, if we fly at funny times but that’s okay. No, the problem is getting from the airport to the village. There’s no public transport – or none that connects. And a taxi from the airport would be rather expensive. I’ll have to ask Marguerite what she does.

‘Are you back tonight?’

‘No but I’ll be back early tomorrow. Marking and planning.’ She caught sight of the clock. Easy-going and laid-back in most things, Alan did have a bit of a thing about punctuality. Being late showed, he thought, a lack of respect for the other person.

‘Jade! I’m going.’

‘Alright, keep your hair on. I’m coming.’ Jade shouted back.

Angela and Carrie exchanged eye rolls. ‘Bye Angela, see you in the morning.

‘I’d forgotten how lovely it is here,’ said Alan as they strolled arm in arm around the nave of the ancient stone building. ‘No chance of bumping into any kids from school, either.’

‘Always a bonus,’ agreed Carrie with a sigh, drinking in the calm, quiet atmosphere. It seemed difficult to believe the cathedral was a step away from the busy high street.

Above them, the sun shone through the rose-stained glass window glistening with brilliant colour.

‘Now, do you fancy the guided tour? There’s a highlights tour in a few minutes.’

Carrie checked the time on her phone. They’d already been wandering around for an hour. How much more was there to see?

‘Why don’t you do the highlights tour and I’ll sit in one of the pews?’ She’d be quite content to gaze up at the window. ‘I can wait for you but I don’t think I’m up for a tour. My brain’s turned to mush.’

‘Why didn’t you say? Come on let’s go to the refectory. Tea and cake.’

‘No, Al. You stay. I don’t mind.’

‘No,’ he took her arm in a gentle but insistent grip. This was forceful Alan. Not exactly a force to be reckoned with, he did everything with calm understatement. ‘We can come back here any time. Besides cake solves everything.’

The Cathedral café, Abbots Kitchen, offered a very fine selection of cake.

‘Excellent. Coffee and walnut. Perfect. What do you fancy? I’m starving.’

She burst out laughing as the woman behind the counter served him a huge slab.

‘You’re always starving. It’s all the cycling.’ She gave him a quick, teasing glance. ‘You’ve been out this morning already, haven’t you? What are you like?’ He put her to shame, not that he ever bothered about her single-minded aversion to exercise.

He responded with an impish grin. ‘I’m making sure I’ll be in peak shape for the holiday.’

‘Rather you than me.’ Carrie shuddered. She couldn’t think of anything worse than a week toiling up and down the mountain roads of the Alps.

‘I’ve been thinking. You know we were talking about perhaps going to Cornwall or Wales later on in the holidays.’

‘Yes, I think I’d prefer Cornwall, bit more chance of sunshine.’ With the whole summer break in front of them, the holidays had seemed ages away and they hadn’t booked anywhere yet and now she had Angela’s offer to think about.

‘Well …’ Alan looked a little sheepish. ‘I was thinking … that maybe we should wait and save our money … go somewhere in the half term in October …’ A flush ran up his cheeks and the coffee cup in his hand shook, ‘… for maybe a honeymoon.’ He put the cup down in its saucer with a clatter and started fumbling in his pocket, tugging as the lining came out, ejecting a red velvet box onto the floor. It tumbled under the table, coming to rest beside her foot.

Biting back a smile, she bent to retrieve it.

Alan sighed and grinned. ‘I messed that one up, good and proper.’

Carrie laughed and handed it back to him. ‘Possibly not your finest hour. Do you want to start again?’

‘I’m not sure you’re going to have me, after that fine example of my total ineptitude in the romance department.’ He shook his head and pulled a self-deprecating face. ‘I had it all worked out. Planned. I was going to go down on one knee on the lawn outside, but there were too many people. I got nervous. So I decided I’d do it later … and then it came out. All wrong.’

He twisted the box in his hands as he spoke and then, with a start, glanced down, as if suddenly remembering what it was. Placing it on the table, he took her hand, serious now.

‘Carrie Hayes. Will you marry me?’

No fuss. No drama. Just Alan. Quiet, steadfast and true. She’d had drama and fuss and look how that had worked out. With Alan, she knew exactly where she was, while it might not be thrills and spills, his gentle love was like a warm hug. He would always be there for her.

‘Alan Lambert. Yes, I will.’

They stared at each other, smiling for a minute.

‘Oh, you need this.’ He opened the box and started to take out the ring and then half way through changed his mind. ‘Here, you’d better do it. I might drop it and then the damn thing will go flying across the room and get lost before you’ve ever seen it.’

Carrie took the open box and went to take the ring out.

‘Don’t worry if you don’t like it. I can take it back. If it’s not right. And say so, won’t you. If you don’t. Like it, that is.’

She leaned over the table and kissed him to shut him up. ‘Shh. It’s beautiful.’ And it was. A single solitaire diamond in an elegant raised setting. She handed it to him. ‘Go on.’

As he slipped it on to her finger with a shaking hand, a warm rush of love filled her heart. He was a good man. He’d look after her. Be a good partner. She’d never have to worry about him leaving her. ‘We’re engaged,’ she said with a giggle, suddenly giddy and light-hearted. It seemed rather staid and sober to be sitting there when they should be bouncing around with excitement.

‘We’ll need to talk about some of the practicalities,’ said Alan, taking her hand and tracing around the ring on her finger. ‘Like where we’re going to live. My flat’s a bit small …’

‘And bachelory,’ added Carrie with a smile.

His face fell. ‘It’s not that bad. I was going to say, I know it’s small but I think we should live there. Think how much money we could save, with you paying half the mortgage and the bills. I mean, we could carry on, but I think getting married makes a lot of financial sense. You know, pooling our resources. Later maybe, we could think about getting a bigger place. I’m loathe to throw my hat into the ring for the Head of Department job and have to suck up to Johnson.’

Alan was a brilliant teacher, but he had no ambition when it came to his career.

‘Actually, I’ve got some money set aside.’ Carrie wasn’t sure that she wanted to start married life in Alan’s flat. ‘When my parents died they left their house to me and Angela. She bought the house with her half of the money and my rent money covers the mortgage, but I still have my half of the proceeds.’

Alan sat up. ‘I’m marrying an heiress. Well that’s even better. I had no idea.’ His forehead wrinkled. ‘Hmm, well that will put us in a better position financially.’

The moment was in danger of going flat with this boring talk of jobs, mortgages and money.

‘Come on,’ she grabbed his hand.

‘But I haven’t finished my …’

She dragged him out of the café, pulling him along by his hand, bumping into chairs as they went. She wanted to run, jump up and down and get rid of some of the energy crackling through her before it burst out through her skin. Her arms prickled with it.

As soon as they emerged outside, Alan tugged back, slowing her to a halt.

‘Carrie!’ he said, smiling down into her face with a slightly reproachful shake of his head. ‘You’re crazy.’ He lifted her hand and kissed it.

‘Yes. Crazy. Alive. Happy.’ She grinned up at his familiar face, her cheeks stretched a tad wider than comfortable, ignoring a little voice telling her rather peevishly that she wasn’t as happy as last time.

Happiness last time had propelled her down Primrose Hill, running too fast and giggling so hard she could barely breathe, but it didn’t matter because there wasn’t room in her chest to take a breath with all the fireworks exploding and whooshing and crashing inside her. She’d thought she might explode from sheer joy, which only became giddier when they fell together, arms wrapped around each other, rolling down the hill. And when their pell-mell flight was halted by a hawthorn bush, with a bump that forced the air out of them, they stared at each other with the kind of hungry intensity that made you want to crawl inside the other person because you couldn’t get close enough.