by Jody Klaire
“Oh eggshells in Ealing, we’ll be having DVD fests in a retirement home.”
Berne frowned at her.
“I love Pip, I do. I adore her, but what happens if I fall in love?”
“Pepe talks of your wish for this never to happen.” Berne raised her eyebrows, enjoying Rebecca’s blush. “She says you like to be free.”
“I do . . . but . . . well . . . things can change . . . can’t they?”
Berne looked at Babs whose eyes twinkled with mischief. Pippa was right. No doubt this battle would be epic.
“Either way, if she comes to me, I cannot just break my promises to Vivienne. What if Pepe leaves once more?”
Babs slammed her fist onto her horn. Rebecca leapt up and smacked her head on the ceiling. “We need to find her heart, her courage. We need to draw her out and make her believe in love!”
Rebecca cheered in response. The pair were dangerous together.
“I will—we will—not do such a thing.” Berne scowled at them both as Babs whizzed them into a parking space. “If Pippa wishes for more, she will need to explain much.”
“Merde,” Babs spat her way. “Pepe will simply need to flash those beautiful—”
Berne opened the door to escape, the station was busy and humming. Pippa’s train would be pulling in at any moment. Why, if she was so set on not caring, why was she rushing to her rescue?
Because they were friends?
Because they had once been more?
Berne glanced back and rolled her eyes as Babs squeezed her hands in a gesture that made Rebecca roar with laughter. They were trouble together that much was clear.
Looking up at the board, Berne tried to ignore the fact that she should be with Vivienne. She’d done exactly the same thing Pippa had done and left without an explanation. Would she be brave enough to tell the truth on her return?
Again, she was at Pippa’s beck and call, again she was falling into that pattern of coming to the rescue. How could she not? Pippa was everything. Pippa was who she connected with. Pippa was—
Berne sighed and slowed to an amble as the train pulled in.
Pippa was on that train coming to her. Doug was in Paris. Pippa had run to her. Like always, she would be waiting, like always, with open arms.
Chapter Ten
THE NERVES SWIRLED around in my stomach as I caught sight of Berne standing on the platform. Although I’d seen her quite a few times since being back in France, my body seemed to hum, heightening in intensity with every glance. I groaned to myself, she was incredible. To call her simply beautiful wouldn’t do her justice. She was one of those women who you could happily sit and stare at all day and still not tire of looking at.
She was forty-one and she had a line in the middle of her forehead. She had a longer face maybe but the years had added to her. I had no idea how to explain it but she looked even better than she had when I’d known her. I guess she was more herself now, more aware of who she was. Not that she’d ever been under-confident in any way but, well, she seemed stronger. I didn’t miss her wince as she shifted between her feet however. So I wasn’t the only one who was aching from digging after all.
As I got off the train, I couldn’t keep the grin from my face as a pocket-sized bundle of French energy hurtled at me and nearly tackled me to the ground.
“Pepe!”
It had been years since I’d been Babs’d, but memory served me well enough to turn my cheek before she planted a smacker on my lips.
“Ça va, a million bisous, I cannot believe you are back here!”
I knew better than to attempt to smooth over my clothes and pretend that I hadn’t suffered a full-frontal assault from the Flying Frenchwoman. No one in the station raised an eyebrow at the public show of affection. Nope, they were quite used to enthusiastic greetings clearly.
“And ah!” Babs pointed to my chest and I half-tensed ready for some smutty comment, only for her to tap my left breast. “This is familiar, non?”
She dragged me by the hand over to Rebecca and Berne. “I know this shirt, do I not?”
Feeling the cringe-worthy realisation of why she was making such a fuss, I glanced down at my French rugby top, or rather it had been Berne’s top once. Hmmm . . . explain that, Saunders. Freudian slip much.
“Alors, how did she get this?”
Berne sighed as though she thought anyone would think she was tired of Babs teasing.
She wasn’t.
They were a duo, they had always been.
I’d loved the fact that Babe, as I’d dubbed them, had been as close as Rebecca and I. It was one of the many things I adored about Berne.
“We should be escorting her to her thinking place, not digging up—”
“There’s another story?” Rebecca’s eyes glinted and my stomach wriggled with the embarrassment. “You have to spill it.”
Babs grinned. “Oh, it will make you see her with new eyes.”
Rebecca leaned in closer. “Please tell me it’s something I can blackmail her with.”
Babs tapped Rebecca on the nose with her nail. “Without one doubt.”
I turned from the ping-pong conversation and glanced at Berne, who shrugged, seeming to read my thoughts. “You’ve been outnumbered for a good while, huh?”
“Oui, my mother combined with these two was . . . interesting.”
I loved the way she talked. I turned to walk towards the steps and nudged her shoulder. “Do you have scars?”
Her gentle chuckle made the hairs on my arms ripple. It was a laugh that put visions in my head. Visions of long, hot summer days on a secluded stretch of sand with—
“Now, what do you whisper?” Babs yanked me by the hand and led me towards a very familiar red Clio.
“You still have her!” I ran over to the beaten up old beauty. “I have great memories of squeezing into the back of this baby.”
“Did you seriously just call a car baby?” Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “Who are you and where is Pippa Saunders?”
“This is Pepe,” Babs said. “She is the mischievous twin, non?”
I ignored the teasing and patted Clio on the bonnet. She seemed as well-loved as I’d remembered. How I’d missed this place. Every single part of it. Winston and Clio would be soul mates, this I was sure of.
“Where would you like to go?” Berne’s voice held an edge of an untold question. I was confusing her. I was confusing myself. What right did I have to come crashing into her life after all these years and cause her chaos?
I swallowed back the ache that she probably wished she could be with Vivienne right now. Palpitations stuttered through my heart. Why wasn’t she in Marseille or was Vivienne here? “I won’t keep you. I just need to get to where we’re staying so I can pack a few things.”
“You leave?” Babs sounded irritated by my answer, she didn’t look much happier either.
Wonderful, Saunders. Where were my manners?
“Well, not without catching up and letting you tease me mercilessly.”
A smile burst onto her face and she bellowed her laugh out as she opened her door.
Rebecca started at the booming chuckle and blew out a long breath. “You know she’s a lunatic on the road, right?”
“That’s why I’ll do the driving.” I held my hand out and Babs happily threw me the keys.
“Hey, I didn’t know that was an option.” Rebecca looked more relieved than annoyed.
“You did not ask, my little English banana.”
Her accent wrapping around banana gave it a joyful tone that made Rebecca’s cheeks colour but only enough that I could see.
Rebecca waggled her eyebrows. “Well, my little French peanut, next time I most certainly will.”
I looked at Berne and she wiggled her eyebrows in silent agreement. “I think they need to avoid beaches for a while . . .”
WE ARRIVED BACK at Ajoux-Sur-Rhône and Rebecca and Berne concocted a wonderful feast together as Babs cut some kind of business deal on her phone.<
br />
The woman was one of the most high-powered business women in the country. Her fortune made Doug’s look small but she still lived in her tiny apartment and drove Clio. I loved her for that very, very much.
In fact I absolutely adored the three women with me in the little holiday cottage. Berne and Rebecca busy at work in a small, but functional bland kitchen. The brown tiles on the floor had been recovered from the eighties and the cupboards looked like something from the fifties.
The cooker and microwave looked modern enough though. Okay, cheap brands that meant they had to be newish. Nothing with those names on it lasted very long. Especially if there were oafs like me using them. Berne and Rebecca working together made it look more professional.
Berne always cooked with an apron around her waist. Why, I didn’t know because she was always neat and tidy. Rebecca had her own habits, sleeves rolled up, jewellery off, and a baseball cap on backwards. I never understood why, because her hair was shorter than Doug’s but yet she always did it. If she bore a faded green baseball cap, food was forthcoming.
I sat on the sofa because it was safer for all concerned if I stayed away from hot surfaces. Instead I curled up in the corner, tucked my feet underneath me, and enjoyed being in their presence. It felt good to be with them. I felt happier here.
Berne caught me looking and strolled over to sit beside me. “Where did you plan to go?”
Something I’d run over and over on the train. “Here’s the thing . . .” I turned to look at her, hoping that if I looked, I’d not falter and end up causing chaos. Besides, with this angle, I could feel Rebecca buzzing about the kitchen and it would help me behave. “You know that I love you, right?”
Berne smiled in response and her eyes twinkled. I gripped the chair to stop from moving.
“Thing is . . . I need to know myself . . . I need to figure out who I am now.” I wrapped my arms across my chest, it was better than launching myself into her arms. “I promised to marry Doug. When . . . if . . . I do, I want it to be truly me . . . to be right.”
There was more. Much more I needed to explain but it was stuck and wouldn’t budge. She needed to understand.
“That makes sense.” Berne’s dulled tones made my stomach ache.
“I love you though,” I said, confusing her as much as myself, no doubt. “I mean . . . I need to know if . . . why . . . I need to understand if that’s because we were young or if . . . well . . .”
Why wouldn’t the truth come out? Why couldn’t I explain to her why I’d left?
“How do you wish to do this?” Berne asked, her apron as spotless as when she put it on.
Wishing wasn’t a wise subject with my heart in overload. No, better for the well-mannered approach. “Doug will be worried if I just head off into the country. He’ll have the cavalry out before I can blink. I owe him an explanation for leaving.”
“Then tell him that you want time to think.” I didn’t miss Berne averting her eyes. I owed her an explanation too.
I wanted to reach across and cuddle her, instead I hugged myself tighter. “It won’t work. He won’t listen. Besides, he thinks I’m pregnant for some absurd reason.”
Berne frowned and I couldn’t resist a quick squeeze of her hand.
“I’m not by the way. I need you, Babs, and Rebecca to cover me.”
“Got your six, Saunders,” Rebecca chimed from the kitchen.
“Oui,” Babs added, poking her head in from the porch.
“You aren’t meant to be listening.”
Both of them shrugged and went back to their tasks.
“Can you take a few days, I . . . well . . . can you?”
“Of course, my father will happily call in someone to finish the foundations.” Berne smiled. “You wish to do the Ardèche once more?”
How did she know me that well? Why was she making this so easy for me? If I was her, I would have . . . well . . . no, I’d have done exactly the same. I would have done what she needed and pined away inside. I would be wearing that look she was now.
“Would that be okay?” I closed my eyes, hoping that she wouldn’t tell me she needed to be with Vivienne.
“I will happily be your guide.”
“Why are you so patient with me?” My mother’s words about being less pedigree than her other offspring rubbed at my already raw senses. Especially my sister. She was so perfect.
“The same reason you suffer my presence,” Berne said. “We fit well together.”
I linked my fingers with hers. My breath quickened as she smiled. I needed to do something or I’d end up leaning forward, planting my lips to hers, sweet, slow—
“Food, ladies!” Rebecca threw the tea towel at my face. “You can dish out.” She rapped my knuckles with a spoon as I reached for a taste. “And then you can tell me why Babs was so excited about your shirt.”
“She’s patriotic?”
Rebecca poked me in the ribs. “You owe me the truth, Saunders.”
I owed a lot of people the truth. Take a ticket and wait for your number to be called. I sighed. It was the least I could do. It must have hurt to learn how different I’d been here in France. It must have been hard for her to realise how much had been buried.
There was much I needed to explain to everyone concerned but most of all, I needed to understand what I wanted to say. I needed to understand what I felt and what it meant.
However I found the answers inside me, I would still be hurting someone and perhaps, after my actions in recent weeks, I could end up alone.
I owed it to everyone, and I owed it to myself, to find out exactly where my heart lay even if that meant uncovering parts that I’d happily forgotten. There was a lot of pain I needed to face before I could get there. What hurt would I reawaken within my thudding heart?
DOUG WAS NOT in the best of moods when I called him later that evening. If he could have seen that I was lounging out on the sofa with my head on Rebecca’s lap, he may have been even grumpier. It was the very reason I neglected to video-call him.
“Sweetheart, I know that you have some problems at the moment,” he began with the tone that adults used with toddlers. “But running off like that makes everyone unhappy.”
Everyone but me. I was perfectly happy. I had three people with me who made me feel like me.
“Doug, I need time to process everything.” How could I say this without bottling out? “I need time to come to terms with how I feel.”
“Your mother said you would be unreasonable at this time.” His voice sounded more like my father’s than a future spouse. “I suppose we will have to expect these little blips, won’t we?”
The fact that Doug thought I was pregnant didn’t take away from his patronising. Okay, so I’d been a bit crazy but crazy did not mean stupid.
“I suppose you will,” I snapped. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk.”
“Now, sweetheart. Why don’t you let my guy come and pick you up? You don’t need to be working now.”
I looked down at the phone. I hadn’t told him where I was. I looked up at Rebecca who shook her head. “How do you know where I am?”
“You told me.”
He was lying.
“I did not. How do you know?”
While he tried to tell me that I had revealed my location, I got up and walked over to the window. Just as I’d thought. One of his drivers leaned against his bonnet, dosing in the sunshine. “I can see James.”
“Oh, he is there to help you.” Doug sounded distracted and distant. “Don’t worry about him.”
“That’s creepy, Doug.” I moved away from the window. “Don’t turn into that weird guy.”
“I won’t . . . Look, I have to go . . . I’ll talk to you later.”
He hung up.
I stared down at the phone, frowning. He’d cut me off. Was he mad?
“That is pretty creepy,” Rebecca said, peeking out the window. “He got some kind of mob ties or something?”
Even the thou
ght made me giggle.
“Doug?” I raised my eyebrows until Rebecca laughed at her own dumb thought. He was about as mysterious as Clingfilm. Doug was what it said on the label.
“You wish to lose the tail?” Babs said with a grin. “I can arrange something to curtail your shadow, oui?”
“Is she in the mob?” Rebecca asked, thumbing in Babs’s direction.
“Er, no . . . unless you count designer bathroom suites as illegal merchandise.”
Rebecca looked thoughtful as she studied Babs. At five-foot-four, Babs was three inches or so shorter than Rebecca. Her hair was raven black with a white streak on the left temple. Like Berne, she exuded a sensuality that enraptured most who looked at her. Babs was fiery, furious, passionate, and absolutely gorgeous. Her intense brown eyes, her Romanesque nose, her wide-lipped smile, and curvaceous contours made her catch most people’s attention.
Rebecca, I could tell, was drawn like a moth to the flashlight. What I wasn’t expecting was for Babs to be as drawn to her.
She was hiding it well enough but I knew better. I knew the flick of the eyes over Rebecca’s . . . well . . . behind, when she turned away.
“You don’t think Babs looks like a designer?” I asked, prodding the gawping Rebecca.
It was nice to get my own back. French women were enchanting. It was good to know I wasn’t the only helpless admirer.
“What?” Rebecca smiled in a daze. “No . . .” She shook her head. “I mean yes . . . I mean, I was wondering why we hadn’t dragged her into the design process.”
“Trust me,” I said. “Where Berne works, Babs will be . . . I think.”
Babs nodded, eavesdropping again. “Always. It will be fun, non?” she shot at us before going back to her animated phone conversation.
I looked around for Berne. Where was she?
“Viper,” Babs muttered. “Bebe was going to have to explain why she’d ditched her to play hero eventually.”
“Viper?” I asked.