La Vie en Bleu

by Jody Klaire

  My mother frowned. “Pardon?”

  “I’m not pregnant. I know that you wanted another grandchild but I’m not.”

  If I’d expected her to mourn, I was quite taken aback by her sly grin. “Atta girl.”

  “Excuse me?” I looked at the maid who raised her eyebrows and went into the bedroom. At least she could escape.

  “Sometimes you need wiles to keep them honest. Good way to hurry his commitment too.”

  Never before had I actually smacked my palm to my head but that moment was the first. When did I wake up in the dark ages?

  I strode to the window to check what kind of vehicles there were down below. No, that was definitely a brand new Merc pulling in. We hadn’t gone into a time warp.

  “What are you doing?” My mother peered over my shoulder. “Has he come back?”

  “No, I’m looking for horse and carts.”

  My mother put her hand to my forehead. “Maybe you’re coming down with something?”

  I wriggled free and picked up my bag. “Is Doug coming back here tonight?”

  My mother nodded. “He has booked the opera.”

  “Good,” I said. “You’ve always loved the opera.”

  I needed to get away. I needed to think without distractions, without anyone influencing me. I needed to remember who I was again and understand what I wanted.

  “Tell Doug that I am going offline for a few days. I’ll give him a call when I’m ready to talk.”

  “Phillipa—”

  “I will call him then. Have fun.” I hurried out of the door and power walked to the lift.

  In the reception, the sweet lady behind the counter bid me a cheery good morning. I smiled back then skidded to a stop on the shiny marble floor.

  The woman raised a bored Parisian eyebrow at me.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I said in French.

  “You already did, Madame.” Her lips twitched in a smile.

  I cocked my head. Rebecca smiled like that quite often. “It’s a personal question.”

  Again that smile. “Madame?”

  “Do I look happy to you?” What a stupid thing to come out with. I needed a straightjacket not a wedding ring. “I mean, do I look like I should be with Doug?”

  “Madame, I—”

  “I’m asking you as a person not a service provider.”

  She looked into my eyes with deep brown ones. Every bit Parisian elegance but no doubt there was Spanish or Italian in her genes. “Honestly?”

  “Please.”

  “Non.”

  And cold water seemed to drench me from head to toe. “Will you tell me why?”

  She wagged her finger in the air. “Madame, the fact that you ask me of all the people here should tell you something, n’est pas?”

  Should it? I looked around at the other staff members.

  “What do you mean?” She looked perfectly reliable and helpful. She was friendly. “You’re the receptionist.”

  “Oui, Madame.”

  The third time she’d smiled at me in that knowing way. When did Rebecca use that smile? Why did it make me think of—?

  I looked at the porters, the maids, the staff buzzing around, and back to her.

  “You’re gay, aren’t you?”

  Her smile turned to a charming grin.

  Uh oh.

  “Is this your way of telling me that you think I’m gay?” Okay, so I was in love with Berne but that had never registered as anything other than, well, I was in love with Berne.

  “Madame, if my girlfriend was not the security guard, I would happily speak of it to you all day.”

  The laughter burst out from my lips before I could hold it in. She was beyond charming and now I knew why I’d liked her. She was like Rebecca, being gay had nothing to do with it but being a cheeky charmer did.

  “In that case, I’d better not ask too many questions.” I smiled at the rather intimidating security guard watching us like a hawk. “She’s a lot taller than me.”

  The receptionist laughed. “Pay no attention to it. She is nothing but a big bear.”

  Leaving her with a smile, I headed out into the busy Parisian afternoon. I dodged the line of Spanish students yabbering on about seeing the Eiffel Tower and over to Doug’s driver.

  He was one of two men I’d seen who Doug used on business trips or left to babysit me when he thought I’d get lost in a foreign city. It was sweet and irritating all at once. I still wasn’t sure if I liked the fact he was attentive or annoyed that he thought I couldn’t cope.

  I could cope.

  I was adept and in contr—

  “Careful, Madame.” The driver caught me as I tripped over my own foot.

  “Thanks. You fancy dropping me at the station?”

  He smiled. “I can take you anywhere, Madame. There is no need for the train.”

  And that way Doug could keep tabs on me. “No, thank you. I’ve got some girlie things to do . . . you know . . . wedding and all that . . . Can’t have you spilling the beans now, can I?”

  Poor guy lost me at spilling beans, but nevertheless nodded and beamed. “Whatever you wish.”

  THE TGV WAS one of my favourite ways to see the country. France was so beautiful and so vibrant that each moment was like gazing at living art. No wonder the renaissance artists had found inspiration here. France was sunshine to the creative mind, easing the depth of imagination from the soul and basking it with light.

  Each region, each department in the country was different in personality, in accent, and yet unmistakably French. Berne was much like that, unique in every single sense but there was no doubt that her blood ran blue.

  La vie en bleu, life in the blue of France. It had been an education for me. The sing-song sound of l’accent du midi, made my schoolgirl French useless. Factor in the multitude of cultures crammed into the packed Côte d’Azur during the heat of summer and it was a nightmare. Berne had given me a basic overview of stereotypes. I could never tell if she was teasing or not but I took her word for it.

  The city of Nice and the Niçois had a Latin outlook and temperament, a zest for the good life. She made them sound Italian in a way. Personally, I’d assumed all French people were like this, and if I was honest, I still did.

  People from Monaco, the Monégasques often were more refined. A bit like my upbringing I guessed—posh and liked dressing up. I wondered if they had the same odd traditions and rituals as the Brits did.

  The people of Marseille were very proud of their city. A little more rough and ready than the rest of the region and massive fans of football. Marseille was a base for Berne because it had more of a community. At least this is what she told me. I never ventured anywhere that constituted rainbow flagged.

  And yes, that was exactly as it sounded. I, at eighteen, was slightly homophobic. Laughable as I fell in love with a woman but it was true. Lesbians, or at least what I thought constituted a lesbian, terrified me. They still did in many ways. I knew Rebecca and so I understood how she saw the world but some of her acquaintances had scared the living French fries out of me.

  One woman seemed so intent on staring at me, without blinking, and competing with everything I said that I was sure she wanted to attack me. Rebecca had later said that she’d found me charming. I couldn’t really say I returned the sentiment.

  Rebecca, Berne, and her best friend Babs were different to me. They had passed through my odd little fear barrier and were people. In Berne’s case, I was also slightly biased. She found it amusing.

  Instead she’d shown me the south of France from a point of view I could understand. We’d explored art galleries, museums, little villages off the beaten track. She’d kayaked me down the Ardèche, taken me cycling in the Alpes d’Huez. We’d tried dishes like bouillabaisse, which I’d hated, and Niçois salade, which I adored. I had never been a drinker and so wine wasn’t a great idea but there had been a wine-tasting day. I still couldn’t remember much of it.

  France. Berne. Both were
ingrained in my consciousness. It meant excitement to me, it meant freedom and adventure, it meant love.

  Before I’d succumbed to her effortless charisma, Berne had given me tasks to help me learn her language. One had been to catch the TGV from Marseille to Perpignan and get passengers on the train to teach me “La Marseillaise.”

  Berne had sat a few seats behind me, which I hadn’t known at the time, and had watched the chaos unfold. By the time I’d gotten to Perpignan, the packed train was in full voice.

  I’d gotten three marriage proposals and had learned every word. Turning around at the station and seeing the smile on her face had been a moment etched in my memory ever since.

  In that moment, I had understood that I’d felt more than friendship. I’d never been more scared in my life. The building torrent of feeling was not something I’d ever experienced before.

  Berne against the sunshine through the window, the scent of the dusty station outside. Berne lounging in the seat, a proud smile on her face and hunger in her eyes. It was the first time I’d caught her looking at me like it. My heart had hammered in response. My feet had lost the ability to move.

  Berne.

  My mobile vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and looked down at the caller ID. “Hey, did you get back to Ajoux okay?”

  “Yeah,” Rebecca answered. She was crunching crisps. The sound made me hungry. “Weirdest thing is, I got a call from your mother.”

  I hadn’t eaten when I’d gotten up and my stomach rumbled. I ran my hand over it to try and quell its protest. Why didn’t I pick something up on the way? I could never concentrate when I was hungry.

  “You listening or what?”

  “Hmm?” The man across from me had some kind of roll. It looked yummy. Ham, was there ham in there?

  “Pip!”

  “Right, yes . . . my mother.”

  “Yeah, your mother,” Rebecca mumbled between crunches. “She said you went AWOL on her.”

  Maybe I should go see if there was a buffet cart. Did the TGV have one? I swore I’d brought lunch when Bern—

  “Pip, focus!” Rebecca sighed in the background.

  My stomach rumbled louder. I was starving now.

  “Pepe, where are you?”

  Berne’s voice brought my stomach to attention. In fact, my whole body did an about turn.

  “On the train.” I had no idea why I’d whispered like I was in a library.

  “Where are you going on the train?” Berne whispered back.

  Her response made me chuckle. It was official, I was a loony. “Je ne sais pas.”

  “You do not know?” Berne tutted. “I do not think that is true.”

  My first thought to flee the stifling baby talk in Paris had driven me to the train. I’d intended to get on the train and go somewhere quiet to think. Looking down at my ticket, I felt the embarrassment wriggle up through my stomach until it heated my cheeks.

  “If I tell you, it won’t be a secret.”

  “This is true,” Berne said. “Mais, if you tell me, I will keep your secret and your maman will not need to send out a search party, oui?”

  “I’m an adult. I can get on a train if I want to.” Yes, because that was so mature. Thirty-one going on eight. “I told her I needed a few days to think.”

  “Then, let me meet you at the station and escort you to this place of thought, S’il te plaît.”

  “I’m not going to Marseille,” I said. The fact Vivi-vixen was strutting her sultry voice in the same city coated it with a “no go” sign.

  “But you go to Lyon, non?”

  I looked down at my ticket. Hmmm . . . maybe. “No?”

  Berne laughed, her voice filled my ears and made me feel like I’d ended up in some bad country song. Why was everything about her so close to need? Why did she do this to me?

  “Let me get you to your sanctuary. I will ask for no more.”

  “Liar.”

  Berne laughed again. “Then I will feed you first, oui.”

  Oh low blow. My stomach rumbled. It was hopeless. She was like breathing. “I’ll be at the station in half an hour.”

  “Merci. I have someone who will bring a smile to your face.”

  I doubted it. The last thing I wanted to do was to face anyone. “Rebecca is more likely to give me stomach ache.”

  “But this is not her.” Berne’s dropped H’s made my stomach growl again. I knew how it felt. “This is someone who misses you much.”

  A smile split across my face, making the man opposite grip his baguette like I would launch myself at him. “Babs?”

  “Who else?”

  My intended solitude forgotten, I lay my head back against the chair. Babs was one of the most electric people I’d ever met. She was thrumming with energy, laughter, and an erratic spirit that exhausted and exhilarated anyone who came within feet of her.

  “Keep her away from Rebecca. Poor girl won’t know what’s hit her.”

  Berne chuckled once more and my mood was lifted. It was official. She had some kind of superpower that made my brain dribble out of my ears. “It is too late for that, mais I think your friend has some wiles of her own. It will be an interesting battle.”

  I looked out at the scenery and remembered a very old bet Berne and I had once made. I smiled. It would be more than interesting, it would be epic.

  “SHE GOT ON the train to Lyon?” Babs’s lips curled into a smile as she swung Clio around a bend and Berne tried to suppress the jolt of electricity in her stomach. It didn’t mean anything that Pippa had run towards her and not London.

  “I can’t believe she ditched her mother and ran,” Rebecca said through gritted teeth, her knuckles white on the seat. “I have never seen her so much as breathe out of place round the old bat before!”

  “Her mother is strict?” Berne rubbed her hand over her tense stomach muscles as they whizzed along the road towards an old guy on a bike. It had shown courage for Pippa to walk away but what did that mean? Was she following her heart once more?

  “Yes and no,” Rebecca said. “Think it’s the fact that Pippa never felt good enough, never quite fit the box her mother wanted.”

  “I cannot imagine Pepe feeling such doubt.” Babs yanked the steering wheel to avoid the cyclist, throwing Rebecca into the door. “She is sure of her heart and soul.”

  “She was sure enough to leave.” Berne shrugged off Babs’s look. It was foolish for such a betrayal to ache after all these years. Pippa had her reasons back then, she had apologised. Why then, did it still hurt?

  “You know, I’m gonna be grilling her about that.” Rebecca nodded as Berne turned around to look at her. “It’s not like Pip to duck out on anyone without at least explaining.”

  “Like she has with her mother?”

  Rebecca sighed. “You got me there. Something is shifting inside her cold shell if she’s breaking free.” She offered a gentle smile and let go of her seat long enough to squeeze Berne’s shoulder. “Maybe you hit her deep down.”

  “Perhaps.” Berne braced herself as Babs overtook a tractor on a bend. “Mais, it is not my place to find out these things.”

  “It’s always your place, Bebe,” Babs said. “I married you, remember?”

  “You what?”

  Both Berne and Babs turned to look at a stunned Rebecca.

  “You . . . what?”

  “Not officially,” Berne said, grabbing the wheel and steering the car onto the right side of the road as Babs adjusted her bobble. “Babs decided that we would be so during a day at the beach.”

  “What did you do to her?” Rebecca shut her eyes as Babs leaned forward to dig out a hairbrush. “Doug had to blackmail her into getting engag—wait.”

  Babs took control of the wheel as Berne tried to read the frown on Rebecca’s face. “There is a problem?”

  “Oh great llamas in pyjamas!”

  Berne looked at Babs for help only for her to shrug.

  “Did you give her a ring?”

  Even t
he thought made Berne grin from ear to ear. “Oui. It was handmade . . . an heirloom.”

  “Kinda swirly and silver?”

  Babs nodded, shooting Berne a grin.

  “Oh great mice of Marsden!”

  Again, Berne looked at Babs who again shrugged. “Maybe it is a set saying?”

  “She never takes the stupid thing off.” Rebecca seemed to forget that they were hurtling Babs-style through the growing traffic. “She had it on the night he proposed. She really didn’t want to swap fingers . . . Merde!”

  “Now that I understood,” Babs said with a smirk.

  “She wore it until then?” What did it matter? It was not official. Doug’s ring would replace it for good and then it would be nothing but a memory. A silly token from a past stranger.

  “She still wears it now!”

  The car screeched to a halt in mid-traffic. People beeped and swerved as Babs spun around.

  Rebecca covered her face in her hands. “I need more whiskey to be in a car with you.”

  Babs pulled Rebecca’s hands away as Berne looked on. Her heart hammered a pulsing march through her head.

  “She wears the ring . . . now . . . still?”

  “Yes, she only switches them when he’s round.” Rebecca took deep breaths, cringing as the traffic continued to hurl abuse at them. “Can we move already?”

  Babs shook her head. “That means she must still love you.”

  “We know this already.” Berne motioned to the wheel, trying to calm her silly heart. “She told me she loves me. It changes nothing.”

  Roaring them into motion, Babs waved her hand in the air. “Oh no. It means we need to get her to that beach so we can make it official this time.”

  “You are forgetting Vivienne.” Berne folded her arms as if that would settle the matter but Babs would ignore it, she always did. “You are forgetting that she wishes to be with him, that she left me to go back to her life.” She wagged her finger in the air to stop Babs protest. “You forget that she has not explained this, only repeated the escape from him.”

  “You think she’s a commitment phobe?” Rebecca chewed on her lip. “Maybe you’re onto something there.”

  “Alors, it does not become a question of love then, non?” Berne’s heart seemed to wilt with the reality. It still hurt, it still ached, nothing had changed. “It is more a question of who she loves enough to conquer this fear.”