by Jules Wake
‘Do you mind if I open a window?’
‘We do have air con.’
‘I know but it feels … boring. Dull. I want to feel the fresh air.’
Richard laughed, ‘I did think about getting a convertible, but it’s a bit posey and in this heat it’s not that practical. Go ahead.’
‘And a Ferrari isn’t posey at all,’ she teased, throwing her head back and laughing at his rather endearing logic.
Unable to contain her excitement, she opened a window and put her hands out to let the air whip through her fingers. As Richard took another bend at speed, the engine revving to a high-pitched whine, a burst of adrenaline crashed around her system, sending her heart rate pounding. The car held the road beautifully and despite the scenery rocketing by, Carrie felt perfectly safe. Richard drove well, with verve and panache, but not so hair-raisingly that she worried. She envied him his skill and rather wished she could take a turn in the driving seat.
As she was admiring his profile, he turned and smiled. Her heart skipped a beat. With his dark hair windblown and the designer aviators in place, he looked every inch the movie star today.
‘Any clues as to where we’re going?’ she raised her voice, the wind whipping her words from her. The wind swirled around in the car, the breeze toying with her heavy plait like a playful kite.
‘Don’t you trust me?’
‘Hmm, jury’s out on that one,’ she yelled. The coastline in the distance glistened as white-topped waves coasted into shore. A private secluded beach took some beating but she was rather glad they weren’t going there again. Hopefully wherever they went today would have plenty of people around.
Half an hour later, having enjoyed the journey thoroughly in the powerful little car, they pulled up into a car park outside a rather grand white building.
‘A winery,’ she exclaimed in delight.
‘Thought we could do a wine tasting. I know you love your wine.’
She thought of the days when they’d turned out coat pockets and kitchen drawers to scrape together enough money to treat themselves to a bottle of Lambrini and thought they were doing well. Bottles of the good stuff, when they’d splashed out more than ten pounds for birthdays or special occasions, had been few and far between, but savoured with great appreciation.
A small glow burned in the pit of her stomach at his remembering.
The welcome contrast of cool air greeted them as they passed through a heavy glass door and walked into the refined, hushed atmosphere of the winery. It brought to mind a museum or an art gallery. Even though there were quite a few people inside, there was the same sense of reverent quiet, voices lowered in soft conversation. Carrie almost felt obliged to tip-toe to stop her sandals slapping against the glossy marble floor.
Someone had spent a lot of money making the place look perfect. The cavernous room had been designed to within an inch of its life. Glass, wood and stainless steel dominated. While admiring the sophistication, with the heavy wooden tables bisecting the space exactly down the middle, and the polished bar area framed by hundreds of wine bottles, Carrie thought it was too soulless and pulled her shawl from her bag, wrapping it around her shoulders. It felt constrained, a little too antiseptic and trying a touch too hard, especially after the heart-racing high of speeding along in the Ferrari, which had left her buzzing.
However, as the place was busy it must be doing something right. Lots of small groups of people sat at the tables, their noses in long-stemmed tulip-shaped glasses, obviously at various stages of tasting.
A petite and very dapper young Frenchman rushed forward to greet them.
‘Bonjour. Welcome. Have you booked?’ He spoke in heavily accented but perfect English.
‘Yes. Name of Maddox.’
The young man nodded gravely but gave no hint that he recognised Richard or had made any association with the name.
‘Ah, yes.’ He selected two long, thin menus from a box on the wall and ushered them down the room to a section of the table at the end, where another couple were already seated. ‘Madame, Monsieur.’ He indicated two spare stools. ‘Someone will be right with you to take your order. Please have a seat.’
The woman who’d been staring out of the window, turned and her mouth dropped open as she did a very unsubtle double-take, flushed and examined her hands.
Carrie noticed that Richard gave her a gentle smile before focusing his attention on her.
‘What would you like to taste?’
The woman nudged her husband and whispered something in his ear, trying to look discreet. She failed but Richard pretended not to notice.
Carrie tapped him with her foot under the table in a gesture of solidarity and mouthed. ‘You okay?’
He winked at her and edged closed, his thigh brushing hers. ‘Fine. How about this one,’ he pointed to the menu, ‘it says it’s a blend of Sauvignon and Viognier, with soft grassy aromas and a touch of melon and figs.’
The man opposite got up to leave, pulling his phone out of his pocket while his wife remained, sneaking glances at them.
Following Richard’s unconcerned lead, Carrie read the menu and said with a teasing smile, ‘I’m always up for an elegant, harmonious wine with low acidity.’ Being recognised wherever he went was an occupational hazard but luckily this couple chose to respect his privacy.
Richard ordered the wine, which arrived in no time, presented with a great flourish by the dapper waiter, who slid the glasses in front of them with a polite, ‘Salut.’
‘Nice pale golden colour.’ Richard stuck his nose in the glass and took a deep sniff. ‘Smell that. Grass. Meadows.’
‘Gosh you’re quite an expert,’ said Carrie, surprised by the sudden serious expression on his face.
He nodded with the haughty attitude of a sommelier from a Michelin-starred restaurant. She watched as he tipped the glass back and sipped the wine, swilling it around before swallowing. Her mouth parted with a half breath as her skin prickled at his obvious sensuous enjoyment. With his head tilted back, eyes closed, it reminded her of another moment, sending a little kick through her system with a flare of desire due south.
Sommelier became naughty school boy in a flash. ‘It helps that the tasting notes are rather informative,’ he said, a wicked twinkle dancing in his eyes.
She batted his arm. ‘You! Do you know anything about wine?
‘Only what I like.’
‘You had me going for a minute.’ Carrie shook her head, storing the moment away as another pertinent reminder of his chameleon-like ability.
He grinned, unrepentant. ‘Good.’
Carrie tasted another couple of wines, Richard taking the odd sip, as he was driving. Their conversation flowed smoothly as they talked about the whereabouts of old drama- student friends, few of whom worked in the entertainment industry these days.
‘Shall we have lunch here?’ Richard checked at his watch.
‘If you’ve got time,’ said Carrie, raising an eyebrow.
‘I’ve got all day for you,’ he gave her a hammy smouldering grin, which made her burst out laughing.
‘Then, that would be lovely.’
‘I need a quick word with maître d’. Excuse me a moment.’ As he got up, he levelled a quizzical stare at the couple opposite who’d managed to pretend that they’d forgotten who he was in the last half hour.
They had lunch at the winery, outside on a terrace under a vine-covered pergola, offering a shady retreat. Richard had swapped to mineral water but ordered her another glass of the white wine. She’d taken a few mouthfuls when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet, his narrowed gaze focused on something over her shoulder.
‘Quick,’ he tugged her towards the back of the winery, walking with a slow but determined pace.
‘What?’
‘We’ve got company.’
‘Company? What sort of company?’ She almost giggled at the clichéd lines, but Richard’s pissed-off expression stopped her. Through the winery and the front w
indows, she spotted a man with a large camera peeling himself from the back of a scooter.
‘Oh shit,’ said Carrie.
‘Don’t worry. I thought that might happen when boyo opposite us got his phone out. I made a contingency plan.’
‘You did?’ Carrie raised her eyebrows.
‘This happens a lot.’
‘I guess.’
He hustled her towards a door at the back of the terrace, which despite being in French, clearly said Staff Only.
‘This way,’ he guided her to another door with another notice on it. This time Carrie couldn’t read it but Richard obviously had a plan and directions.
As he ushered her in, she burst into giggles. ‘You know how to show a girl a good time.’ She moved a mop out of the way to take a second step inside the tiny space. ‘The cleaning cupboard?’
With a shrug, he eased in after her and closed the door. ‘It was the best he could come up with.’
‘I hate to say this but that bright-red monster out the front is a dead give-away,’ she whispered as it went dark.
‘How do you think I got him to help? I offered him a drive. In a minute he’ll be motoring off down to St Tropez.’
‘Clever.’
‘Brilliant.’
‘Modest too. Now what do we do?’
‘We wait for a little while.’
‘In the dark?’ asked Carrie, doubtfully.
‘Sorry I left the candles and matches at home this time.’
‘Well that wasn’t very good planning, was it, Mr Boy Scout with the brilliant ideas?’
‘I need to work on that part.’
‘You do. I’m losing track of who the real you is.’
‘What that’s supposed to mean?’
‘You slip in and out of parts easily. Gardener. Old Richard, movie-star Richard, Sommelier, Action Man.’
‘They’re all me. At the heart of it all I’m the same person. It’s an external façade that I can pull on as the situation arises. Inside I’m the same.’
‘Are you?’ Her voice faltered. In the dark, his familiar voice tugged back the memories.
‘Yes,’ he answered, a husky note to his voice which sent quivers straight to her stomach.
She felt his breath ease out on a long sigh, whispering past her cheekbone. With a rustle, she heard him move and his hands encircled her, reaching for the plait down her back.
‘This … this confuses me.’ His hands wove into the bottom of her intricate braid and she felt a gentle tug as he released the band. With small, slow movements, his fingers worked their way through, loosening the hair with butterfly touches against her back.
‘I always loved your hair.’ He eased closer, a bare inch between them. ‘Whenever I imagined you …’ he burrowed his fingers deeper into the woven hair, the movement of his arms brushing her ribs beneath her breasts, ‘I always had a mental of image of it wild and loose.’ The weight of the braid lifted and the breath in her lungs shortened as his fingers worked upwards, vertebrae by vertebrae. ‘Of it streaming behind you, crackling with energy, the curls bobbing when you laughed.’
His fingers reached her scalp, a zing tingling the skin.
‘I missed you so much. I thought about jacking it in so many times. Once, I got as far as the airport.’ His voice swirled around her in the dark. No matter how tightly she squeezed her eyelids, it wouldn’t shut out the words she didn’t want to hear. ‘But then Dad would have been right and Mum would have been furious … and you? Would you have wanted me to give it all up?’
Damn, the question broadsided her. She pulled her hair out of his hands, trying to ignore the blanket of dull sickness descending.
‘No, I wouldn’t.’ He caught a strand and wound a finger in and out of the ringlet. Grateful for the dark, she blinked hard, afraid to move in case the stabbing pain in her heart spread. ‘You did the right thing,’ she said, a slight break in her voice.
‘And you?’
The sick sensation rose up, threatening to swamp her.
‘There’s no point dwelling on the past.’ She shifted, turning sideways and grasped the door handle, opening it to let in a welcome chink of light. ‘Do you think they’ll have gone yet?’
‘We ought to give it a few more minutes.’
‘Can I have my hair band back? It’s too hot to leave it down.’
He caught her eyes as he handed it back, but she ducked her head and fussed about pulling her hair into a high ponytail.
With a rueful smile, he shook his head and tugged a few ringlets around her face free.
‘That’s better.’
She rolled her eyes, grateful that normal service appeared to have resumed. Her stomach let out a yowl of hungry protest.
‘Dear Lord,’ Richard stepped back with a horrified expression. ‘Chewbacca’s still alive and well, then.’
‘Oh, yes. Especially when my stomach’s being neglected. Are you going to feed me or not?’
‘Given that awful noise, I might be taking my life in my hands if I don’t. I’d rather face the paps.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Carrie reviewed her wardrobe. All very well being invited to a swanky party, but what the hell was she going to wear? Somehow, she didn’t think the daisy dress would cut it and, yes, vanity dictated that she did not want to look like some dowd next to the glitterati that were sure to be there. She needed a steer.
Any clues as to dress code at this fancy party of yours?
After she sent the text off to Richard, she re-read the last one from Alan.
Feel like I’m king of the mountains. Conquered one hell of a slope yesterday. Thighs sore today but worth it.
He did love his cycling and while she wasn’t about to don lycra and join him, she’d never stop him pursuing his heartfelt hobby, just as she’d never have stopped Richard going to Hollywood or let him come back. She’d done the right thing. If he’d come back and they’d stayed married, would they have even stayed together? Disappointment made you bitter. She might not love being a drama teacher but her life with Angela and Jade offered contentment, kept her busy and most of the time she could claim to be happy.
With a ping, her phone announced a new text.
Clothes are always good. ;-)
What sort of you clothes, you numpty.
Why don’t we go shopping?
Now there was an offer. Shopping with Richard. Always an adventure. Her heart lifted.
He picked her up an hour later, the throaty roar of the Ferrari revving on the drive announcing his arrival. Today he was smooth-skinned.
‘Had a shave?’
‘We’ve been filming a couple of different scenes this week, so I get a reprieve. Ready for some retail therapy?’ he waggled his eyebrows.
‘Yes, but you have to be sensible.’
‘Sensible. I don’t know what you mean.’
‘No showing me up in front of shop assistants or making me try on outrageous outfits.’
‘Who me?’ He held his hand up to his chest.
‘Yes, you. You have history, mate.’
‘That satin bustier. Fabulous, darling.’
‘Only if you were a nineteenth-century courtesan,’ she said with indignation, remembering the lime-green corset, frothing with cheap lace and uncomfortable boned seams that he’d dared her to try on in Soho one afternoon.
‘Now, I recall, you looked better out of it.’
Ignoring him, she patted her handbag, looking for her sunglasses. ‘Where are we going?’
‘St Tropez, of course, my darling,’ he said in an outrageously camp voice. ‘The place to shop and be seen.’
Carrie settled back into the leather seat as Richard drove with his usual verve and swagger, nursing the car around the bends and revving into the straights. She arrived at the underground car park in St Tropez with a big smile on her face. There was nothing quite like living life in the fast lane, on occasion.
Still in an upbeat mood when Richard slipped her hand into his, she was
too content to demur as they strolled along, wending their way through the busy colourful streets, full of well-dressed people walking along in flip-flops and open sandals, enjoying the sunshine. She smiled at the sight of men topless in shorts, some bearing barrel bellies best hidden and others swaggering with taut defined abs dusted with hair, who knew exactly what they were about, attracting second glances from women of all ages. The women, Carrie decided, casting envious looks, exuded style, some in tiny white dresses showing off deep-golden tans, girls in strappy tops and short shorts designed to expose the maximum amount of lithe, lean flesh and plenty of others wandering along in nipple-skimming bikini tops, quite uninhibited. It made Carrie feel overdressed and a touch dowdy. Every seat in the pavement cafés appeared to be full, with people checking out the menus at the kerbside entrances, making the air buzz with light-hearted chatter.
Richard seemed perfectly happy to weave their way through the crowds. It made a nice change to have company.
Alan wasn’t a shopper; he didn’t like crowds.
A spurt of guilt flared, which she tamped down.
They turned into Rue Gambetta, the familiar designer names headlining their way down the street. People clutched expensive shopping bags bearing the names and logos of Chanel, Longchamp, Dior and Cavalli. Carrie had forgotten how much fun it could be window shopping, wandering in and out of the expensive shops, gasping inside at the crazy prices while looking at the silk scarves in Hermes, the handbags in Louis Vuitton and the jewellery in the famous Gas Bijoux.
A couple of things in Ralph Lauren caught Carrie’s eye but nothing she couldn’t live without. She tried on a shirt which she wasn’t sure about, even before she caught sight of Richard lurking outside the changing room, shaking his head and giving it the thumbs-down.
‘Wrong colour and not very flattering at all. Made you look completely flat-chested.’
‘Thanks!’ It was hard to take offense at his matter-of-fact tone, especially when she agreed.
‘You’d rather I was honest with you, wouldn’t you?’
‘I suppose so,’ she laughed. ‘But only this time because I knew it looked rubbish. It’s always better to try things, then you know for sure.’
