“OK then, dear. But I really don’t want you going any further than the hotel. The Grand – look, you can see the sign from here.”
Eleanor shaded her eyes with her hand. She glanced up the hill and found her immediate bearings. Yes, she remembered Daddy had done a major deal in that hotel last summer. He was well–known there. They’d look after her nicely, she thought. Eleanor planned to order a cocktail and sit in the bar by herself. How tremendous! And there were well–known actors and musicians everywhere. She was bound to find company far more exciting than Daddy and his trophy wife.
Walking slowly up to The Grand Hotel, her pink kitten heels clacking on the boiling hot pavement, Eleanor breathed in the crisp sea air and forgot all about her father and stepmother. Just then, she spotted a group of young men in dark suits. They were standing around a bright red sports car, smoking. There were three of them, all very expensively attired. One in particular caught Eleanor’s eye – the tallest. He grinned across at her, a quick glance up and down giving her the seal of approval. Eleanor smiled sweetly back.
“Bonjour,” said the handsome dark–haired young man, as all three of them wandered over to greet her.
“Bonjour, Monsieur!”
Charlie Hetherington was intrigued. So, he thought, the sprightly young blonde of the motor–yacht had made her way to him sooner than he had ever hoped. She looked a handful of years younger than him, and Charlie could tell at once that she was indeed English. This could be real fun.
“Vous allez bien? Est–ce que je peut vous offrir un verre, peut–être?”
Charlie waved his arms towards the entrance of the Hotel while his two friends stood by grinning. They too were greatly taken by the young lady, with her shapely legs bare under the stiff linen summer frock, and her blonde curls waving in the heavy breeze. Eleanor was caught short however. She hadn’t understood the colloquial use of rapid French and didn’t quite know how best to respond.
“Er, oui monsieur, mais je – si je – .”
Charlie gave a light friendly laugh. This wasn’t fair of him, he thought.
“Don’t worry. My own French needs brushing up as well I have to say. We’re all from London. These are my friends Freddie, and Jake. I’m Charles Hetherington. Everyone calls me Charlie,” he held out his hand. Relieved, Eleanor took it. She looked at him properly for the first time. He was slim, and stood way over a foot taller than her. His pitch–black hair was cut short and stylish, and he had quite the most dazzling smile. She was well travelled enough too, to know that his well–spoken tones revealed a solid, comfortable upbringing. Old money, as Daddy would say.
“I’m here for the summer,” Hetherington continued. Eleanor thought he was quite the most handsome man she had ever seen. His perfect teeth gleamed and his eyes shone when his face creased in friendly greeting.
“Eleanor Walker,” she said trying to be formal, tentatively shaking his long, strong hand.
“Pleased to meet you Miss Walker. Are you holidaying?”
“Yes,” she beamed. “That’s our motor–yacht down in the harbour. Do you see it?”
Charlie and the young men with him purred, impressed, and looked at one another.
“So that’s yours?” asked Freddie, a blonde sporty looking type.
“Wow!” said Jake. Eleanor grinned happily.
“It is! Well, it’s my father’s – obviously. He’s extremely proud of it.”
“He has every reason to be,” muttered Charlie, “very nice indeed.”
Eleanor revelled in the newfound attention from the young Londoners.
“Looks like you’ve done pretty well yourself?” she pointed out to Charlie, nodding towards the bright scarlet sports car.
“Fully intend to move on to something a whole lot bigger before summer’s out,” he replied. “But I’ll be working for it. No intention of lounging about spending Daddy’s money, me.”
The friends chuckled. Eleanor bristled. Cheeky devil. Who did he think he was?
“And neither do I, I’ll have you know,” she offered up. “I’ve left school now. I’m working out what I would like to do after the summer. I rather think I’d like to take up a position in America. Perhaps in the clothing industry.”
Eleanor had let slip not for the first time, that in fact she aspired very much to what Tamara did for a living. A career in the fashion magazines would be just perfect. And she adored what she had seen of New York.
“Charlie matey, we need to get going,” Freddie spoke up. Eleanor felt a jealous all of a sudden, and disappointment that she was losing their company so soon. They had that lovely little sports car, and their freedom. She guessed Charlie was a few of years older than she was. And of course they were boys so they’d be permitted to do pretty much what they liked. It was so unfair at times, the way she was treated like a child. Well, she resolved, she’d show them all one day. Daddy, Tamara, and softheaded clots like this fellow Hetherington. She’d earn her own keep and no–one would tell her what to do.
“Will we see you later, Miss Walker?” Charlie asked, pulling on his driving gloves. “We have a trip planned today to see some of my family in Cap d’Ail. We’ll be back here later. It would be very nice to see you.”
“I’m really not sure,” said Eleanor haughtily. “We have a very busy schedule here in France. And er, I have an appointment right now. So I’ll bid you good day.” She stayed standing where she was, waiting for them to leave.
“An appointment? Where? Might we offer you a lift?” Charlie asked.
“No,” she said hurriedly, “I’m meeting someone in – there,” she nodded towards The Grand Hotel.
“I see,” Charlie could not help but give a faint smile, seeing that she was making the whole thing up, the adorable little minx. “A most tasteful choice of location. I happen to be staying there myself. Well, do enjoy your afternoon Miss Walker.”
And with that he and his friends piled into the car and shot down the hill. Eleanor looked about her, sadly. Everywhere there were couples and families and groups of friends. And down in the yacht she knew for sure that Daddy would be with her, oblivious to the entire world. Probably in bed again. She cringed. It was so disgusting the way Daddy fawned over his new wife day and night. Eleanor felt lonelier than she had ever felt in her life. Why wasn’t her Mummy here? Why was Daddy so nasty and besotted with that horrid American bitch? Eleanor dared think the word, almost out loud. Fine, she thought. She’d show them.
CHAPTER THREE
Determined not to head back to the yacht with her tail between her legs, Eleanor at last steeled herself and made for The Grand Hotel. She had money. Her father was known in the town. What could they say to stop her? She was nineteen, not nine. She could order a cup of coffee and read an English newspaper. She might even have that cocktail drink she wanted to try so very much. Or a glass of champagne! Why not?
The Grand Hotel de Provence stood proud and imposing. Its ornate dark doors gave forth the promise of serious luxury. A stiff, taut–lipped doorman looked Eleanor up and down with a stage smile, before opening the doors for her with a faint bow. Realising in an instant that it was too late to backtrack, she brushed past him with an overly friendly ‘bonjour.’
The foyer felt much bigger and far more intimidating than she’d anticipated. The carpet was thick and the walls lined with glass cases, filled with fancy leather goods, jewelry, and expensive perfumes. Eleanor made as though she did this kind of thing every day of her life on her own. She followed the gentle hubbub of chatter, glasses chinking and cutlery meeting plate, and found the Riviera Bar at the end of the lobby.
The maître d’ smiled in surprise as she approached. He noted her youth and the fact that she was alone. The man knew for certain that she was English – very pale–skinned, if quite the most stunning creature he had laid eyes on for quite some time.
“Bonjour, allez–y Mam’selle,” he said graciously. Her confidence growing, Eleanor swept into the bar. Without a further thought, she waltzed
straight up to the horseshoe shaped serving area and took a barstool. Of the two waiters behind, one was almost visibly struck dumb. The girl was hardly of an age to be drinking alone, he thought. In France she would be expected to be with her parents. These English and Americans could be so brash at times, he remarked to himself disapprovingly. But Eleanor was in her element.
“Un verre de champagne s’il vous plaît,” she announced, her French more than adequate for ordering what she so badly wanted. A glass of champagne by herself in Monte Carlo, how thrilling! An elderly couple having coffee glanced at her and did a slight double take at her fine dress, and assured turn of phrase. And Eleanor knew the protocol. She had been abroad with Daddy many times and had stayed in countless hotels. When there was a murmur of uncertainty in rapidly exchanged French, between the two waiters behind the bar, she produced her little purse from her bag. In it was the precious checking card her father had given her. It was for emergencies only. Well, thought Eleanor, this is an emergency. She was alone, shirked, abandoned, while her father only had eyes for that over–dressed New Yorker. And even that Charlie fellow, who had at first seemed so interesting and handsome, had been sarcastic to her. Well, stuff him and his flash red sports car. If she were forced to be alone, then she would jolly well make the most of it.
The maître d’ warmed, realising from her card that this was Harry Walker’s girl. The man spent a lot of money in The Grand. It wouldn’t do to be offhand with his daughter. Eleanor basked in having won him over. As the bar staff duly provided her with a large glass of vintage champagne, she swung happily on her barstool. She gazed across the bar and out the long windows towards the sea, and the brilliant perfect azure skies beyond. No doubt her father and his irritating wife had forgotten she even existed. In the background, Billy Fury sang soft seduction from a discreet little jukebox. The whole stunning French day was hers to enjoy. Gulping the flinty cold bubbles, Eleanor decided to wait around the Hotel for the return of Charlie Hetherington. With her own money, she’d prove to him she had independence. And if he were polite this time, she might even buy him a drink. How exciting!
The afternoon passed. Charlie and his mates enjoyed an expensive long lunch with his elderly uncle and friends of the family in Cap d’Ail. Uncle Jack had retired to France and was most generous with his hospitality. Charlie couldn’t get the Walker girl out of his head; her sweet blonde curls, petite frame, and the cute shape of her pretty backside in her summer dress. She was a doll. He very much hoped she wasn’t one of those spoiled brats he was growing tired of. There was every chance. Harry Walker was seriously wealthy and, Uncle Jack was able to confirm over lunch, had brought up the girl single–handedly. According to him, Walker was one of the wealthiest men in London. His teenage daughter was probably a right ruined handful. But still, Charlie thought, it would be more than worth the effort to try and find out. She was such a treat to the eye. And he’d loved her pouting expression when he had teased her briefly.
Later still, Harry and Tamara lay in each other’s arms, deeply contented after another three–hour lovemaking session.
“Where on earth has that daughter of mine got to?” Harry muttered, looking at the small silver bedside clock. “Do you want to eat on board tonight, honey?”
“I reckon I’m pretty full as it is,” Tamara replied with a laugh. She stroked her husband’s strong, bare chest. “Do we have to get up?”
“I would love nothing better than to lie here forever,” replied Harry, sitting up on his elbow and gazing adoringly at her. “But the staff have a schedule to keep darling, and it’s almost dinner time. God knows where Eleanor has got to. It’s been four hours...” Harry said, concerned.
As Charlie drove up to The Grand Hotel in the dying sunlight, he could see Eleanor quite clearly through the enormous windows. She was seated at the Riviera Bar alone. The barefaced front of the little devil, he thought.
As he wandered casually into the hotel, he heard loud laughter and could detect something of a scene unfolding. Approaching the bar, he heard her girlish English voice float out to the foyer and beyond.
“Now! S’il vous plaît! I demande encore du champagne – and – ooh! A room for the night!”
Slightly panicked, Charlie rushed to the bar area. Eleanor was waving her arms at the bar staff, all but unseated from the barstool. A waiter looked helpless and askance at the checking card she thrust in his face.
“Do you know who I am? Walker. Eleanor Walker. The daughter of Harold Walker, millionaire. Do you hear me, garçon?”
Charlie cringed as he went to steady her from falling off the stool.
“Eleanor! Are you ok, Miss?”
Eleanor turned to face him. At once he realised she was quite drunk.
“Mister... Charles... Hethering–tone!” she said loudly and snidely. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Champagne? Like some? Then tell this clot of a Frenchman to serve it now, please!”
As the waiter turned to the approaching maître d’ for assistance, Charlie froze in anger. He knew in a second he had to save the young Miss Walker entirely from herself. These men were among the finest in their profession and would not tolerate her rudeness .She risked being banned from the premises for good, regardless of her father’s status.
“Monsieur Lefour,” Charlie addressed the maitre d’ with familiarity, “I am acquainted with this young lady. I do trust she has been no great trouble to you?”
The man looked as though he would not care if Eleanor Walker were struck down dead by lightning at that very moment.
“Alors, Monsieur Hetherington. We are pleased to hear that you know the young ... lady. Perhaps you are here to accompany her elsewhere?”
Seeing that the entire hotel had had enough of Eleanor Walker’s drunken demands, Charlie moved to make good as best he could.
“Quite so, Monsieur Lefour. I am so very sorry that she has become ... over–excited. And I am sure her father will be very apologetic also. May I ask if there is anything to settle?”
The suave man moved away, raising a hand in apology. He spoke in thick French.
“Not at all, du rien. Miss Walker has paid for what she has consumed with her father’s checking card. Just that I am sorry monsieur, but the lady seems to me as though she has had enough drinks.”
“Too right she has,” Charlie said, almost to himself. Angrily, he picked Eleanor up by the waist from the barstool and plonked her firmly on the floor. She giggled loudly and tried to throw her arms around his neck. With the elderly couple in the corner stifling laughter, and the maître d’ glaring openly, Charlie was in absolutely no mood for any more. Did the little brat enjoy making a show of herself in public? He couldn’t imagine that a man like Harry Walker would have much truck with this type of behaviour. Especially at his own expense.
“I’m taking you back to your father’s yacht right now, Eleanor! I am staying at this hotel and I would like to keep it that way. And I’m not having Harry Walker think I landed his precious daughter in this state. It turns out he knows my Uncle rather well. I will be explaining myself. As will you. Now come on!”
With that, Charlie grabbed Eleanor hard by the arm. Smiling in embarrassed apology at Lefour, he marched her out of the bar and through the lobby. Giggling and trying not to trip on her sandal heels, Eleanor did not resist. It was all such fun! And there wasn’t a thing that Tamara could do about it. If the rest of the holiday passed with as much excitement as today, then it would be the best of her life.
As Charlie walked Eleanor as best he could along the gangway of the yacht, she laughed and skipped up and down. Her father and Tamara were seated on top deck. Fabien was pouring them a cognac. The sea was a glass–like, perfect calm and the last of the seagulls soared above the Palais on the horizon. Harry screwed up his eyes in the last of the daylight. He looked at his daughter, puzzled, and stood up.
“Eleanor? Darling? Are you OK?”
“Oh yes, Daddy! I feel just simply marvellous!” Her words slurred slightly as Ch
arlie held on to her elbow.
“Who are you? Qui?” Harry barked at the young man, assuming him to be local.
Charlie held out his hand, his reply well–rehearsed.
“Charles Hetherington, sir. I’m English. Jack Hetherington’s nephew. I am staying at The Grand on holiday. I met your daughter earlier today. Then I came across her in the Riviera Bar ten minutes ago. It would appear she has been er, rather enjoying their finest champagne.”
“What?” Harry was aghast. He could not take his eyes of his daughter, the shoulder of her dress slipping down her arm.
Eleanor freed herself from Charlie.
“She’s drunk,” Tamara said quietly.
Eleanor danced clumsily across the deck in front of them all.
“Oh do shut up you old bag! What’s it to you?” she waved a hand in Tamara’s face as she walked past her. Tamara looked deeply hurt, still astonished at Eleanor’s behaviour.
Harry was open–mouthed in rage, as he watched his daughter make towards the diving ladder at the side of the yacht. There was frozen horror all around, as Fabien and a stewardess moved tentatively after her.
“Get back here! Eleanor–Jane Walker! How dare you speak to my wife in that way! And you are filthy drunk! You’ve done it this time, you little brat!” Harry’s face was deep red in anger. Eleanor ignored her father. To the combined horror of all in view, she started to climb up on the yacht’s sidings.
Charlie made to run after her, but Harry stepped in.
“You!” Harry caught the young man by the arm. “Are you the reason my daughter is drunk out of her mind?”
Deeply annoyed, Charlie was determined not to lose his own resolve. As Tamara watched Eleanor in increasing fear, her slim legs now parading shakily along towards the diving ladder, he rounded on Walker.
“No sir. I most certainly am not. Your daughter was several drinks down when I arrived back at The Grand. I believe she used your checking card to order. I happen to stay at that hotel regularly, and would have no wish to be a part of any drunken antics in public. And I might add that given your daughter’s mouth, she is most unlikely ever to be welcomed back there again. She was impossibly rude to all in earshot.”
French Lessons Page 3
