La Vie en Bleu

by Jody Klaire

  “You think I’m being crazy, don’t you?”

  “I know you’re being crazy. Now, get yourself in there and pack.”

  Grumbling, I did as told. I’d never been great at packing. Rebecca rolled everything up into neat piles, everything colour co-ordinated.

  After changing, I looked at my wardrobe. What to take? What was a workman’s holiday? Stumped, I pulled everything out and crammed it into the case as it was.

  “If I become a robot, I’m blaming you,” I muttered her way as she unpacked my attempt and redid the whole thing. “I can’t raise people without you to help. I can’t even pack my own suitcase.”

  “You won’t have to raise them alone. That’s what Doug is for.” She zipped closed the case with practiced ease. “It’s not like I’ll be far away.”

  “But I can’t sneak into your room when he snores.”

  “Pip,” Rebecca said, squeezing my shoulders. “You’ll have kids’ rooms to go hide in.”

  The whole thing sounded terrible. Maybe I could delay the wedding for at least ten or so years. I’d be ready then.

  “Good thing he doesn’t know about La femme Française, non?”

  Having managed to go a whole two weeks without one thought about my time in France, I ended up hugging myself for support. If Doug found out that I had wandered over lines, he would never believe I hadn’t done the same with Rebecca. The sole reason he was so trusting with her was the fact he believed me to be one hundred percent straight. Which of course was about as true as Rebecca’s fashion sense. I doubted discovering my little secret would help convince him that I was not running around cavorting with every woman in London.

  Doug had a weird perception that all lesbians were Casanovas. I doubted they were all like Rebecca, she just had an air about her. It was called eau-de-cocky. She swaggered, women swooned, and I rolled my eyes.

  “Pip, I’m just kidding.” Rebecca rubbed my arm. “You’ll love having your own house and the Fletcher brood.”

  Not sure why her reassurances weren’t helping, I feigned a smile. “I guess so.”

  The Doug tap sounded and I jumped away from her like I’d been shot at.

  He walked in, grinning, followed by the chauffeur. “Ready to get some sun, ladies?”

  “Let’s go, Saunders!” Rebecca lugged my case into the living room, her glance at me suspicious. I shrugged. I was acting guilty, of what I didn’t know.

  The chauffeur took mine and Rebecca’s two cases and hurried out. She always packed the British way, which meant for every single weather event she could think of. Another British strength, the ability to pull out a raincoat like a gunslinger. I had the visual of Rebecca at high noon and chuckled. Doug was watching me as if he expected excitement. Rebecca was staring at me as though she wanted an explanation and I . . . I really didn’t want to go.

  “Come on, Pip.” Rebecca strode out of the door, leaving me with no option. I couldn’t just stay there.

  Doug flashed a dashing smile my way and I felt myself relax. He was amazing, why was I worrying? He looked toned and handsome in his tailored suit. The tie had been discarded and the buttons popped open, making him look a lot like a film star.

  “You ready, babe?”

  Taking a deep breath, I smiled. “Why not?” Being Mrs. Doug Fletcher wouldn’t be so bad, right?

  Chapter Five

  DOUG HAD THOUGHT it amusing to blindfold me for the last hour of our journey. He felt it would spoil his surprise if I looked out at the beautiful scenery. The lack of complaint from me must have made Rebecca suspicious as both of us knew how much I hated not being able to see. In my stress-addled brain, I thought that if I couldn’t see France then technically I wasn’t in France. It was clutching at crushed lemons, as Rebecca would say, but it was my delusion, so I wasn’t going to argue with it.

  “Pip,” Doug whispered into my ear. He had sounded more and more like a naughty schoolboy the longer we drove. “We’re just pulling up now.”

  “Funny,” I said. “I don’t remember us being in a plane.”

  Rebecca chuckled in the back of the car at my pathetic joke but Doug let out his sigh. It was the one he always used when he missed my point completely. He had never gotten my sense of humour.

  “Baby,” he said. “You’re an odd one.”

  The first time I’d heard that line, I’d been offended. Since I’d heard it countless times over the years all it did was make me picture Rebecca in my head. It was one of her best impressions of Doug. Another laugh fell from my lips, which must have made Doug think it was caused by him as he squeezed my knee. Sometimes I wondered if he understood me at all.

  Before I could ask him, the car slowed to a stop and my heart decided to pound its way into my throat.

  “I’ll get the door.” Rebecca’s voice bounced with excitement, which in turn, made my stomach wriggle. Okay, so she was the equivalent of an over-enthusiastic three year old with everything but still.

  “Pip,” Doug said, helping me from the car. “Time to see your project for the next few months.”

  If it was a nursery, I was running. The warmth on my skin made my muscles relax and I could smell . . . well . . . countryside. Freshly mowed grass, some kind of flower, and fresh clean air.

  “Don’t look so worried,” he said, taking my blindfold off. “It’ll be ours then. We can start a life here.”

  Vivid green, deep blue, rich reds, the colours flooded into my eyes. France had always been such a vibrant palette of colours in my memory but I’d put that down to the rose-tinted viewpoint I’d had. But no, France was vibrant, the trees looked abundant with health as if I’d stepped from a greyed-out print right into a Renoir.

  A little stone bridge rolled over a gently trickling brook. An old farmhouse set in a vista. I stared for a moment at its blue door, paint peeling, grubby windows in the top panel. A little light hung over the centre, cocked to the side and smashed. It was framed by some kind of plant, maybe ivy, which had embraced the walls with splashes of pink and white. It was unloved but something about that door seemed to stir me.

  France. I was in France once more. I turned to drink it all in as the hillside swept down to fields full of crops, interjected with swathes of lavender. The spire of a church peeked over a copse of trees in the distance. We had to be in the South with the Benedictine look of it. Sunshine felt like medicine here, like rays of health bathing my skin until it tingled. France did something to my soul. I could feel my heart thumping with joy at our re-acquaintance. I’d dreamed of it, yearned for it and now the dusty soil baked beneath my trainers and the endless blue sky welcomed me.

  The down side was that it almost looked like her hometown.

  She’d taken me to visit quite a few times in that year. Ajoux-Sur-Rhône, a quiet, quaint village nestled along the mighty Ardèche. Strong sweeping curves, rugged, untameable. She loved it there, working on her—

  “Pip, I take it you like?”

  I jolted myself out of my thoughts. Where was I? I needed to stop daydreaming. Focus, Saunders. “I love.” I walked to him and showed my enthusiasm with a kiss.

  Rebecca cleared her throat. “So, what’s the job, Dougie?”

  He frowned. He hated it when she called him that. “You always wanted to be an architect. I can’t give you a degree but I’m hiring you to project manage the renovations.” He smiled at me. “Meet your head carpenter.”

  “What?” The both of us stared at him. Was he serious?

  “Well, you both were something before you joined that place.” He added venom to “that,” which I knew was more to show he was on our side than anything else. “If you do a great job. Who’s to stop you there?”

  I wasn’t sure which one of us wanted to kiss him most.

  “Could you be any more perfect?” Rebecca was close to it, I was sure. If she could have wowed him by batting her eyelids and looking up at him shyly for effect, she would have.

  Doug folded his arms with his delight shining in his eyes. “K
eep talking, keep talking.”

  I kissed him again, this time with every single inch of joy I felt.

  I think I shocked him by the wide-eyed look he gave me. “Wow, Pip. If I’d known this was all it would take to woo you, I’d have found you more wrecks to fix.”

  At last, he was finally getting me.

  “Berne and her father will be along later.”

  I tripped over a divot in the grass and nearly ended up in the front wall.

  Rebecca caught me, a flash of suspicion in her eyes. “Berne?”

  “Yup,” Doug said with a chuckle. “If we’re in France then who else would I have to be the main contractor.”

  Berne . . . How did he know her name? Had I talked about her that much? Oh brother, please tell me I didn’t talk in my sleep.

  “I knew you loved it when you were in Marseille and you said that the woman you knew lived in Ajoux-Sur-Rhône.”

  “I did?” I squeaked. Had I been drunk? I must have been drunk. I never mentioned her name. To mention her name was to . . . well . . . it sounded so good, so smooth, so—

  “Yeah.” Doug was completely ignorant to me gripping onto Rebecca’s arm like it would save me. “When we first met. You were telling me how you would have loved to have worked with her on a project.”

  Ah. Had I been merry that night. Our first date and nerves had gotten me into a gibbering mess. Doug, thankfully, had not noticed quite how drunk I’d been. Rebecca had nursed me through that weekend.

  “Really?” Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “So this Berne will be working with us?”

  “And her father,” Doug said. “After all, they are the local artisans.”

  Rebecca caught me before I passed out on the spot. Oh crap, we were in Ajoux-Sur-Rhône, oh crap, oh crap. My heart beat so fast that I was sure that it showed through my rib cage.

  “She okay?” Doug caught on that I was looking less than glowing.

  “Heat,” Rebecca mumbled, gripping hold of me. “You want to get us inside in the cool?”

  “Right.” Doug hurried to the door, unlocked it, and let us in the almost derelict open-plan cottage. “Have some water, Pip.”

  I took the offered bottle and used it to focus on something other than . . . well . . . Slow sips, cool liquid, Evian was so smooth, Berne was smooth too . . . oh no . . .

  “So talk us through what you want,” Rebecca said, leading Doug away to give me time to think. Thank God for her. Thank God she knew me.

  Sipping at my Evian, I focused on the surroundings. There would be a lot of repair work needed to the stone. The rafters and floors were rotted through. Where I sat, on the damp remains of a stair, I could see black charred marks. It explained why the place had been open plan and why there was so much water. I hoped no one had been inside when the place went up in flames.

  Curious, I got to my feet and wandered through to the left. It had been some kind of entertainment room, the remains of a billiard table in the centre. There was even a melted TV still mounted on the wall. The blaze had ripped right through the place so I was careful to watch my footing. It had been over a decade since I’d done anything more than DIY at the flat. However nice it was that Doug trusted me, I would need someone with a lot of experience to help. And Berne and her father had it in abundance. Berne was ten years older than me and well, she’d always been the voice of experience and wisdom and . . . just breathtaking.

  Balls.

  “Bonjour?”

  Uh oh.

  My skin tingled with just the sound of her voice. My heart pounded. I froze to the spot. Oh, how even a hello pulsed energy through me. I was in trouble.

  “’Allo?”

  She’d seen me. I tensed. Her heavy boots clomped on the hollow floors. I couldn’t pretend I was deaf. I couldn’t exactly throw myself out of the window and run either. For a start, that wasn’t polite and if anything, I was polite. A deserter, a coward but a polite one.

  “Madame?”

  Her hand touched my arm. I started with the reality of it. She was here, she was touching me. I needed to lie down.

  “I’m sorry,” I managed, sounding like I was hyperventilating. “I didn’t hear you.”

  Do not turn around, woman, stay staring at the mess. Where was Rebecca? Where was Doug?

  “It is a tragedy, non?” Berne’s voice gave a hint that she had recognised mine. Her questioning tone almost adding, “Is that you?”

  I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t cope. It was too raw, too real, she was too real.

  “What happened here?” My voice was shaking. I tried to keep my tones clipped, unrecognisable. Why, I didn’t know. She would soon see me. What would she think? Would she still think I was beautiful? Would she be?

  “A rich man from the city bought it.” I remembered enough to know that to her, the city meant Marseille. “He had the place gutted, but he spent no time here.”

  Berne speaking English, her dropped H’s and her smooth tones. It was always a tone or two higher when she spoke a foreign tongue. In French it was deeper, richer . . . melodic, enchanting, the way she caressed each vowel was so—

  “Ah, so you’ve reacquainted!” Doug strode into the room with a clomp. “What do you think, Pip? Can you fix her up?”

  Fix anything? The effort of standing felt like I had run around the South of France, twice.

  “Pippa?”

  My skin did a rippled Mexican wave when she whispered my name. Uh oh. How did I get out of this? What was the proper conduct? How did one greet a woman, who was the love of my life, a woman I’d abandoned, in the presence of my soon to be husband? I couldn’t just stand and stare at the devastation.

  Move, woman . . . you need to move. “How did you find the place?” I sounded unnaturally cheery as though I were either about to pull out a gun or dissolve into maniacal laughter.

  “I was looking, the guy said he was done with the place.” Doug walked to me and placed his hands on my waist. “Thought there was no place you’d rather have a holiday home than where Berne was.”

  Silence.

  Thick heavy silence.

  Berne was taking it all in. I could feel her watching me. I knew her well enough to know she was taking in every detail. Doug’s words would confuse her no doubt. I wasn’t meant to care anymore. I left after all. Why would I want a holiday home in her hometown? Who did that, ever?

  “So,” Rebecca said, clapping her hands. “You guys fancy some sunshine discussion?”

  I heard the sound of footsteps behind me as I riveted my gaze to the charred table.

  “You want to help me grab some rocks to arrange for it, Berne?” Rebecca asked, always the hostess. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last by the way.”

  “It is nice to meet you also—”

  “Rebecca.”

  The, “ah,” in Berne’s response made me smile. I’d talked of Rebecca a lot during my time here. Berne had always wanted to meet her. I think to determine if there was anything going on between us. It was one of the reasons why I hadn’t told Doug about the true nature of my relationship with Berne. He’d think the same thing. That, and I was a chicken.

  Doug left my side to join the introductions. “I’m Doug Fletcher. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Oui.” Berne’s tone was icy at best. “I did not know that you knew of me.”

  His confident laugh showed just how much of a clue he didn’t have. “Course. Pip talked so fondly of you that I’ve been itching to find an excuse to meet you.”

  Now I knew that was a lie. If I’d mumbled anything about her, it had been on that first date and at no time since. I couldn’t. I’d loved her so much that it physically hurt.

  “She did?” Berne sounded shocked.

  I closed my eyes. What must she think of me?

  “So, let’s head outside and talk shop, yeah?” Rebecca saved the day once again. I owed her chocolate for a month.

  I heard the three of them leave, walked to the billiard table, and resisted the urge to curl up on to
p of it until it all went away. It had taken me two years of living in a daze just to not wake up with her on my mind. Banishing her from every conscious thought, I had slowly, surely begun to crawl from the emptiness being without her was. I still wasn’t over it. I doubted I ever would be.

  “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.