La Vie en Bleu (6 page)

“Pip, you doing okay there?” Rebecca walked in and stood by my
side. “Berne senior has just showed up so I thought I’d come check on you.”

“I’m just great.” I sounded more like I’d been impaled on
something sharp.

“Pip, you said that you wanted to marry Doug.”

“I do.” That sounded like a question.

“By the look on her face and the deer-in-headlights reaction
you’re sporting, something tells me there’s unfinished business.”

That was putting it mildly. “I’d better get out there before she
says too much.”

The fear of facing Berne paled in comparison to the fear she would
tell Doug the truth. I couldn’t face that conversation. I couldn’t face having
to explain to them both why I was so pathetic. The shame of it made me sick for
a start.

With Rebecca trudging beside me, I stepped out into the sunlight
and promptly wanted to get in the car and speed off.

“Won’t work,” Rebecca whispered, holding my elbow. “Doug’s got the
keys.”

“I hate that you know me so well.”

“I know.”

Berne appeared from around the back of that little beat-up van her
father had when I was here. It had been ancient then. It made Winston look like
a spring chicken.

Berne however looked even more spellbinding than she had when I
had known her. I had to stop for a moment at the sight of her. Tall,
olive-skinned with shoulder-length brown hair that she always tied back when
working but never enough to stop a strand on each side from falling into her
hazel eyes. The sun just seemed to dance across her skin. I couldn’t explain it
but Mediterranean blood seemed to make her blessed by sun.

“You were right,” Rebecca said, forcing me to move. “She
is
French.”

I could only nod, feeling as though I were being led to the
gallows.

“In fact, she’s gorgeous . . . I mean look at those arms.”

The prompt did not help. Berne had spent her life lifting stone
and spent her summers on the Ardèche kayaking. Needless to say, the term buff
should have her as the description in the dictionary.

“Not to mention her as—”

“You’re not helping!” I glared at Rebecca.

She chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this flustered.
There is a woman beneath the lady after all.”

“It’s not funny.” Now I sounded like I was begging. “I can’t do
this . . .”

“Hey.” Rebecca rubbed soothing circles on my back. “You’ll do
great. It’s just the shock of seeing her, that’s all.”

“Right.” I could work with that. “A shock.”

“Besides, Doug is rich and handsome.”

I nodded, puppet-like. “Rich and handsome.”

“And a man,” Rebecca added with a sly smile. “Important for you
being
straight
and all.”

“Quite.” I turned to walk the rest of the way, ignoring the
teasing in Rebecca’s voice.

“Really,
really
straight. Not staring at those lips, nuh,
uh.”

Was I?

Balls.

I was trying to read what Berne was saying, that was all. I took a
deep breath. I had absolutely no feelings for her what-so-ever, nope. Not one.

TORTURE WAS A strong word to use but it was the only one that
could describe our little business meeting. Doug and Berne’s father made hard
work of communicating through Doug’s terrible French and Berne’s father’s
broken English.

Rebecca could speak the language as fluently as I could but acted
ignorant, enjoying Doug’s attempts, while I stared straight down at the floor,
trying to avoid Berne’s gaze.

My heart happily pounded away as if I was swimming lengths in the
pool, my brain joining in the torment by replaying every clandestine memory it
could find.

I knew there was talk of me working closely with my old friend, as
Doug kept calling her. I knew the plan was that Rebecca would project manage. I
was sure that Monsieur Chamonix was quite confident that we could have the
project finished by Christmas and from Rebecca’s laughter I knew she thought
that was crazy talk.

Snippets, moments of the afternoon flittered by but what was
noticeable by its absence, was Berne’s voice. Like me, she had not uttered a
word.

As the sun started its evening descent, Doug made the suggestion
to leave us alone while he, Rebecca, and Monsieur Chamonix headed to see a
problem section. Neither of us could really refuse. What possible reason could
there be for two old chums, as Rebecca was calling us, not to catch up?

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Rebecca left hanging in the air
as the three of them abandoned us.

Traitor. That’s what she was. A traitor.

“Pippa?”

I closed my eyes, wondering if I tried really hard like in
The
Wizard of Oz
, I’d wake up in Kansas or even better, somewhere they didn’t
have rattlesnakes.

“Pippa, you cannot bury your head. I am right here.” The purring
sound of her dropped h’s made my stomach gurgle. I rubbed it.

“Must be hungry.” I didn’t believe my own words for a minute.

“That is because you did not eat.”

The feel of her hand on my arm sent a shivery ripple up my skin.

“Doug,” I said, clearing my throat. “Doug is always hungry.”

Oh nice one, Saunders. Start off by shoving your fiancé in her
face. Bravo, you numbskull.

“He seems like a nice man.” Her tone didn’t seem to agree with
her.

“Wonderful. And rich and handsome.” That was what Rebecca said,
right? Rich, handsome, wonderful, yes.

“He cares for you deeply.”

I nodded and slid my left hand in my pocket as though I’d
committed a crime.

“Pippa, he said you talk of me?”

Well done, Doug, tell her that why don’t you. What kind of a thing
was that to say anyway? “Yes, well . . . Why not?”

She grunted and I tensed for it. I couldn’t even look at her. I
just kept my gaze on the bridge as if it could save me.

“Perhaps because we were lovers,
non
?” She teased out the
word lovers in a way that made me want to run to the car, smash the windows,
and crawl inside. I couldn’t do this, she was too Berne . . . too her . . . too
. . . French.

“He doesn’t know.” I shrugged, feeling her gaze on my face. Was
she looking at my lips? “He can’t. I can’t . . .”

“You wish to marry him yet you conceal your deepest truths?”

That made me glare at her. I was face to face with the beauty I
had spent a decade trying to erase from my mind. She’d aged to perfection—the
sun had highlighted her hair in touches only nature could pull off. Her hazel
eyes deep and as big as ever and those—

“He doesn’t need to know everything,” I squeaked, stepping
backwards. Desperation pounded in my neck. Could you have a neck attack? “I . .
. he . . .”

“You run away from me,” she said, her hand on my elbow, those eyes
searching. “I wake to find you gone. No trace . . . nothing.” The hurt flashed
across those gorgeous eyes. “You turn up now, here, with
him
. You think
I stay quiet?”

“No.” My heart felt so constricted by her pain that tears filled
my eyes. “I didn’t know anything about it, I swear.” Touching her hand, I felt
the familiar calluses from her work, knowing how hard those hands worked, how
strong. “I would never have done that to you.”

“Yet you wish me to remain some sordid secret?” Berne stepped away.
“You wish to play pretend, very well.” She looked at the house. “I would not
want Vivienne thinking that I would be unfaithful to her anyway.”

Didn’t that one land like a prize punch? “Vivienne?” I knew that
I’d disliked that name all along. What kind of a person was called such a name,
huh?

“
Oui
, my lover.” Again, that longer than necessary emphasis
which gave me another shudder. “We have been together many years.”

Ouch again. It didn’t matter that I deserved it.

“Yes, well. You were always too good for me,” I snapped.

My words sounded so angry that I almost took them back but I heard
Rebecca’s voice. I turned from Berne and stomped towards the doorway.

“Do we have a place to stay or do you expect us to live in a
ruin?” My tone was even icier to Doug who seemed not to notice.

“Sure, I hired the place down the road. Rebecca’s got one all to
herself for once.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want that?”

Poor Doug twigged that I was beyond PMS and held up his hands.
“Now, Pip, Rebecca isn’t that far away—”

“Her place have two rooms?”

Now Rebecca was staring at me along with Berne who cast a
suspicious glance in her direction.

“Does it?”

Doug nodded. Poor man must have wondered if I was crazy. “Yes . .
. but—”

“Then you can find me there.”

Doug sucked in his chin. He wanted his own
way. “Now, Pip—”

“Key.” I was sure that if he didn’t hand it over, I may drop to
the floor and kick and scream. Toddlers had it pegged, there was nothing like a
good temper tantrum.

I’d never even had a heated word with Doug before but why not
start now. I could be one of those neurotic wives that had him followed and
changed his diet on a whim.

He handed it over and I didn’t miss the look of “help me” shot
Rebecca’s way. Rebecca shot him one back that said, “Don’t look at me, she’s a lunatic.”

Berne studied the whole situation, sussing out where the lay of
the land was, who Rebecca was, and reading my every emotion like I’d been
written just for her. How did she do that? It was unfair. Spectacularly unfair.

“I will help her to unpack. I am delighted to catch up with my old
friend, non
?” Berne could barely keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “You
can drive.”

She threw the keys at me and I caught them dumbstruck. I knew I
wasn’t the only one staring at her. Doug sprang to life first and piled my
things into her van like he’d get on the next plane to England. Wow, this was
going well.

ONCE MY THINGS were in the Chamonix van, I drove us in awkward
silence. The roads were so tight that I wanted to breathe in as we squeezed
through lanes. To the left, up the hill, was a huge ruined Benedictine abbey.
We’d had picnics in the grass expanses between the old buildings dotted around.
To our right, the hill sloped down. The village plonked in a smooth plateau.
The sun beat down through the windscreen as I slowed the van to look. Every
single inch of the square was etched in my memory. The cragged steps of the
houses, shutters painted green or blue, the flowerbeds spewing vibrant reds,
yellows, and whites.

I swore it was even the same group of elderly men playing boules
on a patch of muddy stone. France in the summer, how I loved it. I could almost
hear the clink of coffee cups. The scent of rich
caf
é
mixed with freshly
baked bread. Humming chatter of locals, their accents so different from the North.
The relaxed soul-soothing beauty of a small country square centred around a
tree that had white blossoms during the summer months.

Berne’s parents lived on the edge of the square in a large stone
house with green shuttered windows. Monsieur Chamonix’s furniture and masonry
shop sat to the side of it, hand-painted letters on the peeling wooden sign.
The furniture and sculptures were Berne’s. It was why I’d been sent to study
under her by a friend of my father. She could work any surface, any material with
ease, but stone was her forte.

The cottage Doug had rented for Rebecca was straight over the
crossroads towards the gite holiday park. I knew it the second I saw the key.
It was where my father’s friend had stayed and why he’d known of Berne in the
first place.

My father had been supportive. More so because he’d wanted his
youngest daughter to explore her love of language other than wood. He had a
view that after that year, I would have endured all the culture I could stand
and come home. I would then have been ready to marry a doctor, or even better a
man with an estate, and live some weird Jane Austen parody.

Unfortunately, I’d returned back from France a gibbering wreck
who’d spent the first two years secretly spending my money on counsellors.
Then, Rebecca’s father had found out about her and we’d headed off to London.

Again, my father had been gracious. He’d bought our house so we
could rent a flat in it cheaper. He did love Doug. That was my soul redeeming
feature. I’d bagged the rich man and so to my father all was well.

I didn’t quite feel that way. What I felt was akin to a kept
woman. I had gone from parental allowance to a pathetic excuse for a job and
would probably have a credit card and allowance from Doug. My older sister was
happy living like it. She completed the collection with two kids, a dog, and a
Land Rover. I’d never wanted that and yet, here I was on the very same path.

Only, I was in a dinky van with a woman who had meant freedom
once. Now, she just reminded me of how empty everything seemed to have become.