by T A Williams
‘Poor Brutus. Carry on like this and he’s on course for a heart attack.’
‘Or some sort of awful stomach disorder.’
To reinforce Hope’s point, a horrible smell came floating forward from the boot. Clearly, Brutus’s diet was going to impact on his fellow occupants of the car as they drove down through France. Jess hastily pressed the buttons to open the windows.
‘Are you really going to give him bacon and doughnuts, Jess? It’s killing him.’
Jess shook her head with decision. ‘It’ll kill us as well if he goes on farting like that. Nope. We’ll stop before we get onto the motorway and buy some sensible dog food. He isn’t going to be happy, but, whether he likes it or not, Brutus is going on a diet.’
They made good time down to the Channel Tunnel, stopping on the cliffs just before the tunnel to give the dog a run. Or rather, as it transpired, to give the dog the chance to have a slow, asthmatic trot. Both girls were appalled at his unfitness and another problem only became clear when they returned to the vehicle. Back at Mrs Dupont’s house, the Labrador had climbed into the tall car up a specially-constructed ramp at the back of the garage. Now, it instantly became clear that there was no way Brutus was going to be able to jump several feet into the air so as to get into the back of the Range Rover. Hope took hold of his front end and Jess the rear and they hoisted him manually into the car. It was unfortunate for Jess that she picked the back end of the dog, as he almost asphyxiated her in the process.
‘Brutus, we are so going to change your diet.’
Jess had to take a few deep breaths of untainted air before climbing back into the driving seat.
They got through the tunnel remarkably quickly, barely having to wait more than twenty minutes or so. As they reached the other end and moved their watches on an hour, the time was half past one. By six o’clock, they had already covered over five hundred kilometres on motorways that were almost empty, compared to the crowded roads back in England. They had to stop for fuel part-way and Jess was relieved she wasn’t having to use her own money to fill this monster up. The big vehicle’s appetite for fuel was not dissimilar to the dog’s appetite for food. After refuelling, they stopped to let Brutus have a brief walk and Hope demonstrated what a good friend she was by opting to take his rear end when they lifted him back in this time.
It was a remarkably easy journey, apart from their being almost deafened by the loud snores from the boot. This didn’t bode well for a good night’s sleep later on if they had to share a room with Brutus. They discussed sleeping arrangements and decided to see if the dog could be persuaded to sleep in his bed in the car. Neither of them was very hopeful, but in view of the assault on their ears and noses he was likely to produce, it seemed worth trying.
They finally turned off and looked for a hotel for the night, deciding to go for one right beside the motorway, for simplicity. The place they found was a low, modern building and they were able to park the car directly outside their bedroom window. Pets were allowed in the rooms so Brutus accompanied them, at least for now. Jess found it somewhat disconcerting a few minutes later when the bathroom door swung open, just as she was going into the shower, and she heard the dog’s nails clip-clopping across the floor towards her. From the expression on his face, it was pretty clear that he would have been happy to join her in there, but she managed to wedge the glass door closed with her bottom. Luckily, Hope realised her predicament and managed to lure him out with a biscuit from the hospitality tray.
Once they were both dressed again, they took the dog for a walk round the edge of a nearby hayfield. At least, that was the intention, but the Labrador only walked for a hundred yards or so before sitting down and refusing to budge. They cajoled and even bullied him, but to no effect. In the end, Jess had to go back to the car and pick up a packet of dog treats in order to persuade him to pull himself to his feet and walk slowly back to the hotel.
‘The sooner his diet starts, the better.’
To reinforce the point, Jess pulled Brutus’s shining stainless steel bowl out of the car and filled it with dry dog food from the sack they had bought earlier. To her relief, he didn’t hesitate, and set about emptying the bowl in record time. She filled another bowl with water and he drained that in its turn. Once both were completely licked clean, he sat down, scratched his ear with his hind leg, and looked up at her as much as to say, ‘So, where’s the steak then?’
‘That’s your lot, dog. All right?’
The look he gave her was a picture of canine pique.
Their meal that evening in the restaurant alongside the hotel produced an interesting moment.
The dog spent the evening slumped under the table, snoring, but at least it looked as though he was going to let them eat without interruption. That was, until they were just starting their desserts. As Jess dipped her spoon into her ice cream, the table suddenly shot off sideways, upending their wineglasses and sending her ice cream flying to the floor. Hope’s reactions were obviously a bit faster and she managed to catch her sundae glass before it joined Jess’s on the floor, but a wave of red wine poured into her lap as she did so.
The reason for the seismic shift was the appearance at the door of another dog. This dog – a large standard poodle – must have issued some sort of olfactory taunt to which Brutus had reacted violently. Displaying an unexpected burst of vitality, Brutus had leapt to his feet and set off in the direction of the dog at the door. The fact that he was tethered to the leg of the table didn’t discourage him in the slightest, and if Jess hadn’t made a grab for the lead attached to the table leg, he might well have made it all the way across the room, the table wreaking havoc in his wake. As it was, she was almost yanked out of her seat as seventy pounds of overweight Labrador threatened to pull her arms out of their sockets.
Both of them had done French at school, but this hadn’t really provided them with the necessary vocabulary to cope with apologising for spilt food and drink and a Labrador involved in a tug-of-war with a table. In consequence, they were only too glad to pay up and leave as soon as they could after that incident. Ironically, by this time, Brutus had gone to sleep again and they almost had to drag him out under the disapproving eyes of the other diners.
Finally outside in the fresh air, they both agreed that the best place for Brutus that night would be in the car. After persuading him to come with them for a short walk, in the course of which he hopefully voided himself, they lifted him into the back of the car and saw him settle down in his bed. It wasn’t a warm night, but Jess opened all the windows a few inches, including the window in the tailgate, so he would get enough air. Apart from anything else, on his showing so far today, he was likely to asphyxiate himself if he was kept in an enclosed environment.
Jess pressed the button to lock the car, but they hadn’t even got as far as the door of the hotel when the car alarm started going off and, along with it, the lights started flashing. She scrabbled for the keys and hastily unlocked the doors, silencing the alarm, but not before several faces had appeared at windows overlooking the car park. Jess shook her head ruefully.
‘There must be some kind of motion sensor in there. I’m afraid it rather looks like we’ve got company tonight, Hope.’
‘Well, one thing’s for sure – we’re sleeping with the window open.’
‘Earplugs might have been a good idea, too.’
Chapter 4
They had an unexpectedly good night. Brutus seemed quite happy to curl up in his fancy dog bed, strategically positioned as close as possible to the open window, and even his snoring didn’t bother them too much. They were both tired after the drive and had little trouble getting off to sleep. Jess only woke once or twice and on both occasions was reassured to see the dog fast asleep.
Next morning, Brutus was visibly disgruntled that his breakfast only consisted of a small serving of dog biscuits and a bowl of water, but he did, at least, manage to accompany them on a full circuit of the hayfield before they lifted him
back into the car and set off again. They stopped twice en route to the south of France to refill the fuel tank and to give the dog a chance to stretch his legs. By now, Jess had got the hang of reversing up to a bank or bump in the ground so that the lethargic dog could climb into the back of the Range Rover without exhausting himself – and that way, they didn’t have to lift him up.
By the time they got to the Mediterranean coast, it was late afternoon, but the sky had cleared and the temperature outside was twenty-eight degrees. Considering it was just the end of May, Jess had no doubt the full heat of the summer in July and August would be intense. Inside the luxury car, with the air-conditioning turned on, even with the back window partly open for the dog’s benefit, the temperature was very comfortable. Although Jess had been driving all day, she felt pretty relaxed. Their only stressful moment had been on the motorway around Lyon, where the traffic had suddenly swollen to London proportions, but, since then, it hadn’t been too bad.
At just before five-thirty, they turned off the motorway, paid the exorbitant toll, and followed the signs towards St-Tropez. At first they found themselves on a good, fast, road that climbed through tree-covered hills, before beginning a winding plunge towards the sea. As they dropped down the other side, the view opened up – and it was spectacular. Jess found a lay-by among the pine trees and pulled in so they could appreciate the scene laid out before them in all its magnificence. The sky was a completely cloudless clear blue, unlike the grey, overcast skies of northern France and England, while the sea in the distance was a wonderful aquamarine. The wooded hills extended down towards the shoreline where glimpses of pale golden sand had them dreaming of sunbathing on the beach. Jess shot a glance across at Hope, who was looking entranced.
‘Remind you of anything?’
‘They say the camera never lies. Jess… it’s gorgeous. It’s just like I’ve always dreamt it would be. And, look, over there in the distance, at the mouth of the bay, that has to be St-Tropez itself.’
Jess followed her gaze and immediately recognised the famous pink and yellow tower of the church, poking up amidst a multitude of weathered pink-tiled roofs. There wasn’t a high-rise block to be seen and the houses themselves were a mixture of every possible shade of yellow, orange, ochre and pink – all bleached by the sun. The harbour looked as though it was packed with boats of all sizes and the white of the yachts contrasted pleasantly with the deep blue of the water. She breathed deeply and found herself smiling.
Beside her, Hope was equally ecstatic.
‘What a view! And up here, amid all these trees, it’s so quiet, so uninhabited. I was expecting a whole mass of houses and people, weren’t you?’
They sat in silent appreciation for a few minutes until they were roused by a cavernous half howl, half whine from the boot. Clearly, Brutus was keen to get to the end of their journey. Jess pulled the gear lever into Drive and edged out onto the road again.
‘It’s all right, Brutus. We’re almost there.’
As they dropped down to sea level, the whole mass of houses and people was waiting for them. Down here, it was far from quiet and peaceful. Along with people and houses, they also suddenly found themselves in the midst of a whole lot of slow-moving traffic. The closer they got to their destination, the slower it all became. As they joined the stop-start queue of traffic driving round the bay towards their destination, Jess opened all the windows and allowed some fresh air to come into the car. This even roused Brutus, who stood up, stretched and uttered his long drawn-out half-whine, half-howl again. Clearly, he too had had enough of being cooped up.
‘Just a few minutes more, Brutus.’ Jess glanced in her rear-view mirror and could have sworn he nodded his head in comprehension.
Jess – and no doubt the dog as well – was then surprised to see Hope unclip her seatbelt and scramble back over the seats until she could lean into the boot and hug the dog.
‘Thank you, Brutus. You may be a smelly old hound, but you’re the reason I’m finally here in the place I’ve been dreaming about for so long. I love you, Brutus.’
The Labrador stood up on his hind legs and did his best to lick Hope’s face as Jess smiled at the two of them in the mirror.
In fact it took them all of half an hour to do the last ten kilometres, and Jess found herself wondering how much worse the traffic was likely to get in mid-summer. If it was this slow in May, then August was likely to be total gridlock.
As they drove into St-Tropez itself, they started to catch glimpses of the sea between the houses, gardens and reed beds to the left of them. The town was positioned on the southern end of a delightful horseshoe-shaped bay, with green, tree-covered hills rising up behind. The deep blue waters of the bay were dotted with all manner of boats, ranging from local fishing boats festooned with bright orange floats and piles of nets to luxury motor yachts, sleek speed boats, sailing yachts, and a massive white cruise ship, whose layers of decks made it look like a distant wedding cake.
With the windows open, the smell of the sea came rushing in – a not particularly pleasant aroma of long-dead fish. Jess wrinkled up her nose and smiled at Hope.
‘It’s just as well posters don’t give you smells. Your kitchen would be a bit fishy by now.’
‘I must admit I was rather expecting the scent of suntan cream, expensive perfumes, and cordon bleu cuisine, rather than this pong.’ Hope grinned. ‘Although I think it’s rather nice that it smells like a real fishing port, don’t you?’
Jess nodded. The sight of the big flashy yachts had been confirming her fears that she was about to enter the domain of the super rich and spoilt. Somehow, the fact that it was still evidently a working fishing port made St-Tropez a bit less exclusive and a bit more down-to-earth. Maybe it wouldn’t be too ostentatious after all.
‘I know what you mean. So this means there must be at least some ordinary people living here.’
Just as she spoke, a high-pitched howl, not dissimilar to Brutus on a bad day, filled their ears, and a bright yellow sports car came screaming towards them from the opposite direction. As it swept past, Jess checked out the handsome driver, his sunglasses perched on his stylish mane of jet-black hair, a gold watch glittering on his bronzed wrist. Alongside him was a woman wearing a skimpy orange top that left very little unexposed. She had tied a scarf over her hair, Thelma and Louise style, and Jess could have sworn she saw the sunshine reflected from her exquisitely painted nails. As the car roared past, Jess turned to Hope with another grin.
‘I may have spoken too soon.’
‘Mmm, not a lot of fishermen drive Ferraris.’
‘Is that what it was?’
‘I’m pretty sure. Do you realise, that car probably cost more than my flat?’
Jess nodded morosely. Rafael had had a Ferrari at one point and she didn’t want to be reminded of him. Luckily, she didn’t have time to reflect, as the satellite navigation sent them shooting off to the right, away from the centre of the town. She squeezed the big vehicle through narrow streets, gradually climbing, roughly in the direction of the massive old citadel, until they crested the hilltop and began to drop down the other side.
‘Wow! Take a look at some of these houses.’ Hope’s voice was awestruck.
They were now running down a gentle slope, slowing as they went over speed bumps designed, no doubt, to prevent Ferrari drivers from turning the road into a racetrack. The road was lined on both sides with high, meticulously-pruned hedges, bushes and trees, securely situated inside metal fencing. Just visible behind this protective barrier, they caught glimpses of a fine selection of luxury villas, ranging from old Provençal-style houses to far more ostentatious mansions, at least one of which appeared to have been modelled on the White House. Every single one of them was protected by hefty gates, some with video cameras and notices attached to the high fencing, warning that the premises were patrolled by dedicated security companies.
‘Bloody hell, Jess. Talk about Millionaires’ Row…’
Jess nodd
ed morosely. This was pretty much what she had been expecting in a place like St-Tropez. However, this was no time for introspection. The satnav had given up trying to get them any closer to their destination, so she scanned the left side of the road until she saw their turning coming up. She indicated and swung the car off the road onto a dusty track running between iron fences and impenetrable hedges. The track wound sinuously up the hill for a hundred metres or so before reaching the top and beginning to descend. Suddenly, the hedges and villas receded behind them and the hillside opened out – and, with it, the view.
‘Wow!’ Both of them spoke in unison and Jess slowed the car to a halt. The tiredness she had been feeling slipped away in an instant and she felt a surge of excitement. It was an amazing view.
The hillside was covered with a mass of vegetation that, on closer inspection, appeared to consist mainly of low, wind-blasted trees, wild rosemary, and thorn bushes – all interspersed with a stunning display of bright red poppies, purple thistles and a mass of other wildflowers. The coast immediately below them was rocky and the water so clean and transparent, the rocks, sand and seaweed on the seabed were clearly visible for some considerable distance from the shore, before the browns, greens and blues all merged into a rich cobalt as the water deepened towards the horizon.
Beside her, she heard Hope’s voice, full of emotion.
‘It’s so beautiful, I think I’m going to cry. Thank you so much for bringing me with you, Jess.’
Jess turned towards her and saw her looking almost as emotional as she had been after her break-up. She stretched out her hand, caught hold of her friend’s arm and gave it a squeeze.
‘What was that you were saying about the camera never lying? That poster of yours hasn’t been photoshopped after all. The sea really is this colour. I honestly didn’t believe it, but it’s quite amazing. But don’t cry, Hope. We’re here, and we’re staying for a whole month, maybe all summer.’ She pointed down the hill. ‘And, unless I’m very much mistaken, that’s us down there.’
