What Happens at the Beach.... T Williams A
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know who he is?’
‘No, but from his accent I would say he’s local.’ Dominique gave her a wink in her turn. ‘Leave it to me; I’ll find out who he is if you’re interested.’
‘Who says I’m interested?’
‘I do. I saw you flirting with him.’ Dominique was still smiling. ‘And Laure did as well, didn’t you, Laure?’
‘Definitely.’ Laure giggled.
‘I was doing no such thing.’
‘It’s all right, don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with us.’ Dominique followed her husband into the kitchen with a smirk on her face while Natalie and Laure concentrated on clearing the last of the tables and setting them for lunch the following day. Natalie couldn’t help smiling at Dominique’s obsession with trying to get her fixed up with a man, but she knew this wasn’t going to be the one, although she had to admit it had felt rather nice to be on the receiving end of some Gallic charm.
As she made her way back up the path again later on, she reflected that this made two rather handsome men she had met in the space of a few hours. She glanced up and saw the lights of the chateau at the top of the hill and wondered how Mark was spending the evening.
The next day, she met a third handsome man. This time, he was a very different kettle of fish. Or, more precisely, a different basket of fish. As she sat at her usual table on the terrace after her morning swim, sipping her grand crème, he came up the steps from the beach with a basket of fish and shellfish for the kitchen. As he and Alain checked the contents of the basket and haggled over the price, Natalie let her eyes run over the fisherman.
He wasn’t as tall as Mark or as well-groomed as the man in the polo shirt, but he made up for his lack of height and refinement with his muscular build. His forearms were powerful, his leg muscles well-formed and his chest statuesque. He was wearing a battered old T-shirt that had once advertised Spanish beer. It had faded from its original red colour to a rusty brown and it was peppered with holes, some of them, Natalie noticed naughtily, affording tantalising glimpses of his suntanned body beneath. His shorts had probably started life as jeans and had been chopped off high on the leg, leaving frayed threads hanging across his powerful thigh muscles. His feet were bare and his wild mop of jet-black hair hung down to his shoulders. His face was weather-beaten and tough. As the complete antithesis of David or the man in the polo shirt, he fitted the bill to perfection.
When she had finished her coffee, she took the cup back into the kitchen and put it in the dishwasher. Alain had already started on the fish. He was standing at the sink with a sharp knife, removing the beak from a big octopus under a stream of cold water. Natalie went over to watch the process and, casually, enquired about the fisherman. She needn’t have bothered to dissimulate; Alain really didn’t miss much.
‘Well, well, well, so you’re in love with Rémy as well.’ He looked up as Natalie did her unsuccessful best not to blush. ‘You’ll have to join the queue. Every time Laure sees him she goes weak at the knees. He’s been fishing these waters since he was a little boy. He and I went to school together and just about every girl in the school had a crush on him. He was never interested in studying, but what he didn’t know about spear-fishing or teenage girls wouldn’t cover the back of a postcard. You’ll see quite a bit of him if you keep coming here at this time of the morning. He’s got a boat round at Banyuls, but every August he comes over here for the spear-fishing. Have you seen this beauty?’ He flicked off the tap with his elbow, lifted the octopus out of the sink and laid it on a chopping board, the tentacles so long they hung down over the edge. ‘Half an hour ago this fellow was swimming around. You don’t get them much fresher than that.’
Natalie admired the octopus for a few seconds and then left Alain to his preparation, collected her towel and made her way back up the path to home. She cast a hopeful look across the beach for Mark and Barney, or even Rémy the fisherman, but there was no sign of any of them. As she climbed up through the trees, she found herself reflecting on the emotions Rémy had inspired. Chief among these was, without a shadow of a doubt, lust. There was something so primal about him; something very, very arousing. She had no doubt at all that he did indeed have a queue of women lusting after him. At least, she thought to herself, in a desperate attempt to salvage some sort of self-respect, sex with him could maybe be justified as an excellent palate cleanser after her former fiancé. She allowed herself to imagine sex with him as she climbed the path and, in consequence, she was in an excellent mood when she got back to the house.
Colette was sitting out on the terrace. Natalie gave her a kiss and received a friendly smile in return. ‘Good morning, darling. You look cheerful this morning.’
Natalie reflected that she not only looked cheerful, but was feeling more cheerful than she had for a good long time. ‘It’s the sunshine.’ She decided against mentioning the spear-fisherman. ‘You can’t be unhappy on a day like today.’ This was true. There still wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but the wind had picked up a little, blowing blessed fresh air into the house. She smiled back. ‘How are you today, Gran?’
‘I feel pretty much the same as you. This is such a wonderful place to live. I’ve been so lucky.’
Natalie found herself deeply impressed that, in spite of the crushing blows of losing her husband and her only daughter in the space of a few years, her grandmother considered herself lucky. In comparison, Natalie’s break-up with David and her search for a job seemed insignificant, and she felt a sense almost of shame. She gave her gran an affectionate hug.
‘What’s that for, darling?’ Colette smiled up at her.
‘Nothing. Just giving my big sister a hug. Now, how about some tea?’
Natalie went inside and made their morning tea. As she brought the mugs out onto the terrace, their four-legged visitor arrived.
‘Hello, Charlie.’ Natalie could see that her grandmother had no intention of starting to call him by his real name. As it was, the dog went straight to her and sat down with his nose on her thigh, looking up at her. Natalie smiled at the two of them.
‘So, what’s in a name, eh, Barney? Or Charlie? Like your master said, all it needs is a biscuit to attract your attention.’ As she mentioned his master, Natalie looked up, rather hoping Mark might put in another appearance, but the dog was alone. The immediate sense of disappointment she felt was palpable, but inexplicable. Only a few minutes earlier she had been thinking erotic thoughts about an entirely different man. What was wrong with her?
She set the mugs down on the table and went back into the kitchen to get the dog a biscuit. When she returned with it, he was only too glad to take it from her and settle down to eat. She sat down beside her grandmother, the dog between the two of them making short work of the biscuit. Food didn’t last long with a Labrador around.
Colette smiled down at him. ‘Charlie here is such a nice visitor to have, isn’t he?’ Natalie scratched the dog’s ears and he grunted with satisfaction, stretching out at their feet. Colette added a mischievous comment. ‘And, of course, his master’s rather nice, too.’
Natalie returned her smile. ‘No argument there, Gran.’ Yet again, she felt a sense of almost annoyance that she should be thinking about the Labrador’s master when she had already firmly declared men off the agenda until she had settled her career.
Below the table, the dog had stretched out so that he was lying across their feet, his head actually resting on Natalie’s sandals. He, at least, was untroubled by such concerns. A vet had seen to that years ago. She reflected once more that, apart from his little encounter with the vet, he enjoyed a pretty good life, with a rich master, a comfortable home and a whole hillside to run around in. She looked around at the stone walls of her grandmother’s house and, beyond them, the spectacularly beautiful backdrop, dotted with the deep green of the umbrella pines and punctuated by the tall, slim shapes of cypress trees. Down below she could just see the entrance to the bay and, beyond that, the blue of the Mediterranean. Yes, it really was a wonderful place and she determined not to let other matters, particularly men, get in the way of her enjoyment of this well-earned