La Vie en Bleu

by Jody Klaire

  “A-level . . . and my tenses suck but I try.” Rebecca looked very much as if she was coming to the same conclusion about Berne. What a regular love-fest.

  “So are you going to get on with it or swap numbers?” Ooh, didn’t that sound less like the joke I’d intended and more . . . well . . . jealous.

  “Cool it, bride to be,” Rebecca said, eyeing me like I’d sprout tentacles. “I worked out a way to lengthen things out for you. You want to get married next week?”

  She waved her thumb at the efficient team buzzing in and out of the building. Some were grinning at Berne like they were in love. I didn’t blame them.

  Rebecca prodded me, again. Oh right, wedding. “You have?” I knew there was a reason I loved her. “Don’t stall, out with it!”

  I made a point not to look at Berne whose eyes seemed to burn my cheek. Yes, I wasn’t a willing bride. It was nerves. That was all.

  “Okay. Now every planning permission and plan has been passed. Our boy is hot on his legal bows.” Rebecca nodded as though she were leading the troops in battle. “The way to counter his plans is to drag out stabilising the foundations of the place.”

  It sounded like a logical step to me but what did I know? Solid foundations sounded a good idea.

  “Now, ’cause there’s that little river trickling away near you, it stands to reason that in the winter, that could rise.” Rebecca leaned in, hovering over the gas stove.

  Berne nodded. A grave look in her eyes. “Oui. It almost reaches the top of the bank.”

  We all looked at the area in question. That was a pathetic attempt at flooding. “Seriously?”

  “Oui. This is not far enough downstream to hold much water. Besides, it is only really a stream.” She flashed a smile at me. “It is not like the Ardèche, non?”

  Images of giggling while Berne navigated us in a kayak down the rapids burst into my mind. I hadn’t laughed like that before. I wasn’t sure if I had since. “Doug doesn’t know that though, does he?”

  Rebecca chuckled a mischievous chuckle. “Are you seriously considering lying to your future husband, Miss Saunders?”

  “You want me to have a rugby team?” I nodded at her as she paled even more than the milk bottle she normally was. “You want me to talk about baby clothes?”

  I thought she was going to dive onto her knees and beg me not to for the frown on her face. “The river rises really high, Berne, really, really high.”

  “I cannot say this.” Berne’s brow crinkled in disgust. She was always someone who felt truth was paramount. “He is paying good money. It would not be fair.”

  Rebecca turned to her and I wasn’t sure if she was going to rugby tackle her. “He wants Pippa to shop for wedding dresses this weekend.”

  Berne looked at Rebecca who nodded gravely. She looked at me and I did the very same. She rubbed her hand over the back of her neck, something I knew she did when anxious. “It will take a conversation with my father.”

  Rebecca smiled, punching her on the bicep. “I knew you’d get it.”

  OVER THE NEXT few days, we worked on breaking the news to Doug. Monsieur Chamonix had been as onside as Berne. I had no idea exactly what she had told him but I was glad of his support.

  In normal circumstances, Rebecca had told us all that the basement, which would act as Doug’s den, would need to be tanked. She had droned on in great detail about the intricacies but in short it was like making the outside of the basement like the inside of a bath, i.e. waterproof.

  I wasn’t comfortable with making Doug spend unnecessary money or messing around with the beautiful river. So Rebecca came up with some ingenious solution that involved some kind of sandbag type system that would soak up any water then dry back out. Being mischievous seemed to become her.

  Doug had offered to move in the heavy equipment to speed up the process but Berne and her father had told him that they would need a gentle approach. Monsieur Chamonix had even compared the stone to a woman’s curves, saying that it needed caressing not bulldozing. Now, I knew were the Chamonix children got their charm. Even Rebecca blushed.

  Doug went along with the advice but I could see him fuming at the delay behind polite smiles. He was not a patient man in business, and come to think of it, I wasn’t sure why he’d been so with me.

  With our cunning plan in action, we started to dig down the eight feet we would need in order to fulfil our flood-proofing. At least it was a great plan until half way through the Friday afternoon when it started to rain.

  “Tell me again why we thought this was a good idea,” I mumbled as my back protested at the constant digging.

  I was out of shape to say the very least. My gym membership had concluded sometime in my mid-twenties. Apparently years without any exercise could possibly make you unfit. Who knew?

  “You needed time to build your energy before you start breeding.” Rebecca had forgone her builder’s attire for shorts and t-shirt.

  She hadn’t begun inking up her legs yet, thank goodness. I was starting to wonder if she would start playing football for all the tattoos. Either that or join a gang.

  “Right,” I said and glanced at Berne.

  She was far fitter and stronger than the pair of us and seemed as unflappable as ever. I wondered if her skin even knew what sweat was . . . prompting me to get a very vivid reminder of just when she did. Oh boy.

  “Staring again.” Rebecca threw dirt in my direction. “You know, if you marry her already, we can stop digging.”

  The thought of such a thing made me giggle and not just a soft one. Nope, a teenage girl giggle that made me want to hide my head in the muck.

  Berne looked up in response and raised an eyebrow.

  “Cut it out.” I shoved the spade into the mud. “It’s not as if she would want that anyway.”

  “Want me to ask her?”

  Yes. Wait, no, no . . . marrying Doug. Doug, nice manly Doug with fluff on his chin and a milk bottle for a chest. Doug. “What are you going to do this weekend?” I asked, to try and throw her off. “You know, while I’m with mother.” I knew the last word was through gritted teeth.

  “Berne is heading back to Marseille for a few days,” Rebecca said, cocking her head at me. “Thought I’d tag along.”

  The spade narrowly missed my foot as I rammed it into the dirt. “Really?”

  Uh oh, that tone sounded unnaturally high pitched.

  “You’re shopping for wedding dresses, Pip. Give her a break.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  The sky opened up with rain as though it understood exactly how I felt. Marseille meant Vivi-vixen time. Stupid name.

  “Traitor.”

  Rebecca held up her hands, her spade clattering into her knee. “I’m on yours, as always.” She sighed and held my gaze. “You know, if you talked to her—”

  “Marrying Doug.” I slammed the spade into the dirt again. Berne turned and looked. “Happy, wonderful fabulous Doug.”

  So she was going back to Marseille and the old crow waiting for her. I mean, what did she see in the rich old cradle-snatcher anyway? In my mind, Vivienne was old, ugly, and needed dental work. Wait, no . . . she didn’t even have her own teeth. Yeah.

  “Do I need to hide the sharp objects?” Rebecca did look genuinely concerned. Berne looked slightly amused and I was sick and tired of digging.

  “No.” I saw Doug pull up and threw the spade into the dirt. Fine. If Berne wanted to run off to some old letch then what did I care?

  I stomped up to Doug, launched myself into his arms, and put every ounce of confusion and irritation into it. Rebecca was right, I was unhinged. Maybe it was hormones. What was wrong with me?

  “Hey, babe.” He gripped hold of my waist. “You miss me, huh?”

  “Yes.” I buried my head in his shoulder. The familiar smell, the scent of his presence. Aftershave. Strong. It made my nose twitch. “You were away too long.”

  He pulled me to arms-length and then sighed at the dirt on his shoul
der. “Pippa, look at this shirt. It was clean on today.”

  Way to fizzle the moment. “It’s just a stupid piece of cloth.”

  I could feel Berne and Rebecca watching me while Doug put his hands on his hips. “It’s handmade and tailored. You know how expensive it is.”

  Part of me wanted to grip a handful of mud and smother it over his shirt in protest. Of course, that would be the height of bad manners and I was polite. Mud fights were something other people did. Fun people.

  The sudden sorrow of that made me burst into tears and I was certain that I may need to be committed for my own safety.

  Doug didn’t seem to notice, he was too busy walking over to Monsieur Chamonix.

  “Shush now. What makes you feel so lost?” Berne’s voice beside me made me cry even harder. Her hand on my back made me shudder.

  “You are going to Marseille, he is worried about his shirt, and I’m fed up of digging.”

  The rain, which had started as drizzle, grew heavier.

  “I need to see Vivienne. It is our weekend.”

  Short of saying, “I don’t care. Why aren’t you pining for me?” there was not a lot I could say to that. I turned away from her and from Doug and trudged up the stone bridge.

  “Pepe, where are you going?” Berne, not Doug, Berne was the one following me. Her voice, not his, hers called out to me. She wasn’t even supposed to care and she was the one who came after me. There was something very skewed about that. “You must let these things out or they will drive you crazy.”

  “You drive me crazy,” was what I wanted to say. Instead I kept walking, Berne catching up.

  “What did he do that was so bad?” I could hear that she didn’t even want to utter his name. It didn’t make me feel better, it just made the tears flow faster. “You looked pleased to see him.”

  How could I tell her that the only reason I’d thrown myself at him was the desperation to rid her from my thoughts? “I got mud on his shirt.”

  “I can think of nothing better.”

  “That’s because you love me.” I clamped my hand over my mouth but the words hung there between us, in our breathing as we started down the hill towards the town.

  “Oui,” Berne whispered. “This will always be true.”

  I didn’t know if that made the aching more prominent or if it made it more bearable. My heart did a happy dance just to confirm it. She still loved me.

  “He doesn’t understand me.” I ran my hands through my mud-soaked hair and sighed. “He doesn’t even notice who I am.”

  “Sometimes we do not see the value in what we assume will forever be ours.”

  I glared at her. “You did.”

  “Look where it got me.” Her voice was filled with defeat. She stared out at the misty rain clouds.

  “You think I don’t love you?” Anger mixed with confusion and jealousy. “You think I want you to go sauntering off to the city to be with her?”

  Berne blinked a few times as she took in what I had said. “You love me still?”

  “Of course I do!” I put my hands on my hips. I clung on to stop from closing the gap between us. “You think these tears were for him?”

  Oh, that sounded cold. That sounded terrible. I was a terrible person.

  “Now I am not certain.” Berne’s eyes searched mine. Her rain-soaked hair dripped water down her strong cheek bones. “You left . . . Pepe . . . I do not understand.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I closed my eyes for a moment. I couldn’t do this. There was no choice in the matter. I couldn’t explain and I couldn’t argue. It was done. I was marrying Doug. I had to. Still, I wanted her to know one thing. “I love you. I hate that you are with someone else and I hate that I left you.” I sighed. “I’m so sorry I did that to you. I’m sorry I never called . . . I’m . . . sorry.”

  I wished I could tell her why. She’d make it all okay, she always did but I couldn’t risk it.

  Berne’s lips slid into a smile. “That is something I have longed to hear. Thank you.” She looked up the road the way we’d walked. “What do you wish to do?”

  “What I want and what I have to do are two different things. I promised to marry him. He’s not you but I haven’t wasted eight years of his time not to go through with it.”

  Wow, wonderful reason to get married. Well done, Saunders.

  Berne stood closer. “I meant about the fact we stand in the street . . . we walk far from the house.”

  To any British person, her proximity was within the massive personal space zone. A place that only people who you really wanted to be there could stand. It felt intimate and made my body fizz with excitement. She was standing there, all nonchalant, mud-soaked and beyond tempting.

  “Oh,” was about the only thing I could squeeze out.

  Her laughter and the twinkle in her eyes undid me. I hurled myself at her and wrapped my arms around her. I’d never wanted to hug anyone so much before. Okay, so I wanted more, I needed more but it would have to do now.

  “I make a promise to Vivienne also. It is not a ceremony but I am loyal to her.” Berne held me tight. The rain dribbled over us. “Alors I do not like that you are with him, I hate this. Je t’aime tout les temps.” She took my hand and led me up a very familiar side street. “You have not seen my mother in some time. You come, clean, eat.”

  “What do we do?” I clung to her hand like she could hold me steady in the storm of my own making. “Tell me how to do this?”

  “We will do it as we always did.” She guided me towards the door. “Together.”

  Chapter Eight

  IF DOUG AND Rebecca had wondered where I’d spent the evening, they said nothing the next day. I was silent at breakfast as Rebecca packed her overnight bag and told me all about her confidence that the foundations would be dug out soon.

  All I could think of was the meal in the Chamonix house and how much Madame Chamonix had welcomed me like a long lost child. Although it appeared she was not as close to Berne as her father because they didn’t work together, Madame Chamonix doted on Berne and it was returned with fervour.

  When I’d sat through lunch with my mother and Doug, I had answered as I was meant to, neither of them noticing that my mind was elsewhere. Berne and I had sat with her parents, chatting about the wonder of the food, the fact that the winds along the Ardèche were unseasonably strong this year, and Marseille’s narrow victory over Monsieur Chamonix’s belovèd Lyon.

  As my mother dragged me onto the plane and we landed in Paris, she was so busy looking at all the designer options that I doubted she noticed my mental absence. Berne had walked me home, her hand strong, holding mine. She had told me of how she planned to take over her father’s business, perhaps expand it in times when there were less local jobs into making stone sculptures.

  I tried on dress after dress as though I wanted to wear it. Smiling at the right times was easy, I seemed trained to do so. Behind those smiles I replayed one moment over and over.

  “You should head inside. You will get cold again.”

  I couldn’t let go of her hand, I couldn’t let go of her. “Thank you for taking me home tonight.” I felt over the calluses on her palm. “Seeing them, catching up . . . it was perfect.”

  “Oui, it was.”

  Her eyes glimmered in the moonlight with unshed tears. In my foolish intention to wipe them away, my thumb traced over her smooth skin.

  “Why do you always make me want to sing?”

  She nuzzled into my palm and kissed it. “Because around me, you let the truth free, non?”

  I brushed her hair out of her eyes and stepped forward. “And what is that truth?” For some reason, my heart had squashed all logic and was driving me onwards.

  Berne leaned her forehead to mine. “That you are more than what you appear. That you are another woman inside that shell.” She brushed her lips over mine. Hovered. Waiting. Waiting for me to answer. Electricity rippled up and down my arms as I looked up into soft, gentle, patient eyes.
Her eyes.

  Uh oh.

  “Why can only you see that?”

  I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and sank into a kiss. Every pore thudded with the contact, with the relief, with the elation. Her mouth swept circles around my every sense. Her kiss seemed to reach through the mist I had found myself wandering in, pulsing like a light up ahead. Blindly, I followed, my lips desperately searching. Thirsty, parched emotions flooded with the building moment.

  I had to breathe. I didn’t want to let go. I needed to breathe.

  We broke away. Breathy, ragged kisses, wanting, searching for more. Warmth, soft strong shoulders, her hair glossy and thick between my fingers. I placed my forehead to hers. It felt so real, so needed that I whimpered. I needed her so much.

  “Bon nuit, Pepe.”

  I pulled her back to me at the sound of her name for me, managing to whisper words between kisses. “Dors Bien, Bebe.”

  Her response was to pull me closer. She dragged me under once more. Her hands running up and down my back, soothing the aches from the work. Soothing the ache in my heart. “I must go now.” She pulled me back and held me at arms’ length as her chest rose and fell. “You must be bright for your mother.”

  She made no attempt to leave. I made no attempt to let her go. Our kisses had confirmed everything to us both. How could we pull this off when just kissing her felt so good?

  “I hate mornings.”

  A movement upstairs finally drew us apart. A sultry smile touched her lips. “You did not hate them so much with me.”

  Mean, mean and sly. “That’s because waking up with you was a reason to greet every day with joy.”

  Berne’s eyes darkened. She moved forward but the sound of Rebecca calling out stopped her.

  “Bon nuit.” She shot it at me as though she hated having to say it at all.

  She spun on her heels and strode away. I stood helplessly watching. Unsure that she would ever be that close again. I took in every moment, the rugged rocky roadway under her feet, the way she moved, the way her hair bounced along behind her. I leaned against the wall, wishing I had the courage to follow but knowing that, for her sake, I couldn’t. It had to stop. I had to let go, somehow. How did you let go of the love of your life?