Chapter 28
They land at an airport that Teddy coolly reports in a lovely French accent to be the ‘ aeroport du golfe de Saint-Tropez ’.
A limo is waiting for them outside, and they travel the fifteen kilometres to their hotel at speed.
Audrey and Teddy chat over each other the whole time, wondering where to get Paula a toothbrush and knickers.
Thankfully, it hasn’t yet occurred to Audrey to share.
Paula is distracted, still unable to shake the doomed feeling she’s brought with her across the Mediterranean.
So she opens the window and sticks her head out, silently pleading with the French sunshine to do its job.
Paula the Dog joins her, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as they both let the warm wind whip up hair around their faces.
Even feeling as she does – and even with Paula the Dog’s hair flying into her mouth – Paula can acknowledge this is something like a dream. Until . . .
‘I feel sick,’ Ivy says suddenly from the other side of the car. She leans forward to speak to the driver. ‘Pull over, please, sir? S’il te plait? Monsieur? Er, je suis . . . mal? ’
He nods, understanding and quickly pulling over. Poor Ivy opens the door, throwing herself at the foreign ground, and then throwing up on that foreign ground.
‘Too much champagne?’ Audrey climbs out, rubbing Ivy’s back as Teddy and Paula hover at a distance.
‘She’s only had one glass,’ Teddy points out. ‘She fakes drinking when you aggressively top everyone up. She always does.’
‘Excuse me,’ Audrey smirks. ‘I was making Connie the air steward aggressively top everyone up, actually .’
‘Car sick,’ Ivy mumbles, her face hot and sweaty.
‘You’ve been in my car plenty of times!’ Audrey points out.
‘You go really, really fast,’ Ivy pants. ‘It helps.’ She collapses onto a grassy bank. ‘I just need a minute. I’m sorry, everyone.’
‘Don’t be sorry, my darling!’ Audrey tells her loudly. ‘It’ll give Paula a chance for a wee.’ Everyone looks to Paula quizzically and Audrey hastily adds, ‘Paula the Dog, I mean. Sorry, darling.’
Paula the Human steps away, thinking about how she does actually need a wee, but will probably wait.
She takes in the scenery and her breath slows.
It is so beautiful here. So beautiful. They are high up, looking down at endless rows of beautiful yellow, pink and orange buildings, dotted higgledy-piggledy across the landscape.
The sea stretches out beyond it, covered in small white boat-shaped dots.
A large port snakes out into the water, with what looks like a small lighthouse at the end.
Paula suddenly wants to run towards it. She wants to dive fully clothed into the emerald sea and swim and swim and swim.
She won’t though. It’s not her.
‘ Ah non, est-ce que tout va bien? ’
Paula turns towards the lyrical syllables, finding a debonair older man in a hat, regarding Ivy prone on the grass.
‘She’s fine!’ Audrey leaps into his path and he steps back. ‘I mean, elle va bien, merci .’
‘British?’ the man asks with a smile. His teeth are startlingly white against his deep, deep tan.
‘ Oui! ’ Audrey says, offering him her hand. He kisses it, looking more and more amused.
‘How charming,’ he tells her in that swoony accent. ‘Have you just arrived?’
‘ Oui ,’ Audrey repeats, her eyes laser-locked on to his. ‘We’re on our way to our hotel right now. Do you have any recommendations for anything we should see while we’re here? We haven’t the first idea about this place!’
This, from a woman who spent the plane journey itemising every single building in Saint-Tropez.
‘I’m actually feeling a lot better now,’ Ivy says, sitting up. ‘We can get going.’
‘Not yet, darling,’ Audrey tells her. ‘You’re still very pale indeed. You stay seated on the ground there. It’s the best place for you.’
Ivy eyes the pool of sick beside her with discomfort. ‘Is it?’ she asks, but Audrey ignores her. Her gaze is focused.
The Frenchman considers her question. ‘Well, you must see the citadel,’ he says after a moment, ‘and the Saint-Tropez market. Pampelonne beach, perhaps? Cape Camarat? Oh!’ Inspiration strikes. ‘You must see the Chateau de la Moutte!’
Audrey inches closer. ‘That all sounds fascinating!’
They are all things she has already told the group they should see.
‘ Mon nom est Antoine ,’ he offers, and Audrey introduces everyone, barely turning as she waves, half-heartedly acknowledging her friends.
‘These three are not as cultured as I am,’ Audrey tells him. ‘They just want to sit by the pool and gossip about men.’ She titters as Teddy rolls her eyes. ‘Would you be interested in taking me to see the castle of Moutte? Maybe tomorrow?’ Audrey flutters her eyelashes and he beams.
‘ Merveilleux! Wonderful!’ he says. ‘I would be honoured.’
They grin at one another, swapping numbers as the rest of the group pile back into the limo.
As they drive away, Audrey squeals, reaching over to cuddle Ivy. ‘Thank you, my darling! You did splendid work.’
‘Oh!’ Paula looks between them. ‘Was that all a set-up? You spotted him and faked your . . .’ She trails off at Ivy’s face. She is very pale and sweaty.
‘Not fake,’ she says in a quiet voice. ‘Definitely not fake.’
‘Not everything is a plan,’ Audrey says. ‘Just most things. And either way, it worked out perfectly!’ She smacks her lips with satisfaction as Ivy sticks her whole head out of the window. Paula the Dog loyally joins her.
‘Look, we’re here!’ Teddy points out the front windscreen. They catch Ivy murmuring, ‘Thank God,’ as they pull into a car park.
The hotel is lovely. The Cheval Blanc Saint-Tropez is small and boutique, sitting on the water with its own jetty.
Not to mention its very own beach. The inside – which the concierge, Gerard, calls an ‘intimate maison’ – is smaller than Paula expected.
Much more low key and minimalist than the large ceilinged London hotels Audrey talks about.
The concierge shows them round, and they walk from room to room in awed silence.
There are only thirty bedrooms, but Gerard says each is themed around ‘thoughtful elegance’. By which it’s clear he means money .
When Teddy informs Gerard that Paula has come without a suitcase, within an hour, someone has filled her room with everything one might need for a holiday in the South of France.
And quite a lot of things she would never, ever need.
For example, in what world might she have use of a week-to-view calendar on her holiday, or a toastie maker? But she is impressed nonetheless.
In her room, Paula takes a minute to brush her teeth, admiring the shininess of the bathroom and the room itself – sorry, the two-bedroom Sea Suite.
It must be a thousand square feet, with two expansive bedrooms, a dressing room and its own private garden terrace.
Moving past her king-sized bed and out onto the balcony, Paula looks out over the Mediterranean, admiring the deep greens and pale blues.
There are boats in every direction and Paula thinks of Ivy and of her deep-seated need for freedom.
It’s a beautiful distraction, but everything that’s happened isn’t far from her thoughts.
The way Paula left without a word, Tilly and Seb will be even more convinced of what they said.
And what is she going to do about the money she owes?
She shouldn’t have come here. It doesn’t feel right.
Nothing feels right. She just wants to be at home in her own bed, under her duvet, where she can cry and cry and cry.
She checks her phone, hoping there might be a message from at least one of her children.
But there is nothing, only messages from Audrey and Teddy in the TLWWC WhatsApp group.
Audrey wants them all to know that Antoine has already been in touch about their date, and she’s hoping to fix that twenty-five years and five months dry spell imminently.
If they know what she means. Teddy’s reply asks about dinner and studiously ignores any mention of Audrey’s sex life.
She’s also asking in convoluted metaphors, what they’re going to do about sexual predator, Owen.
Paula’s heart beats fast as she backs up across the room, sitting heavily on the sprawling bed.
She doesn’t even take off her shoes, climbing under the covers and holding them over her.
She squeezes her eyes tightly shut. She came here for an escape from everything, to hide from the danger and the horror.
But she’s brought everything with her here to paradise. There is nowhere to hide.