by Jody Klaire
Trying to suppress the giggles, I nodded. “Of course . . . who wouldn’t . . . hot is not the word.”
Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “I’ll tell Berne. How quickly you turn when faced with my war paint.”
“I know, it’s terrible, isn’t it,” I said, getting into the back of the kayak. “But who could resist such a sight?”
Rebecca blew out a breath. Babs and Berne looked over from their boat. “Well, you’ll have to try. You’re not my type.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really,” Rebecca said as she stepped in.
“And there was me thinking that female was your type.” I pushed off from the shore and swung us around. The sound of the strokes through the water calmed me. “Guess I should break the news to Babs, huh?”
Rebecca spun around, making the kayak wobble. “What?”
I grinned. “You heard . . . Oh, you need cream on your back too, non?”
Rebecca’s blush shone through her block. “She was trying to help me, thank you very much. At least someone wanted to make sure I was protected.”
“Nothing to do with lathering your back then.”
Rebecca’s mock expression of shock drew raised eyebrows from the others.
“There is a problem?” Berne’s sly smile told me that she knew I was teasing.
“Yes. It seems that because Pippa is a floozy, she has labelled me . . .” Rebecca clutched her chest. “Me, such an innocent, with her loose morals.”
“You should have taken drama, you know that?” I flicked water at her with my paddle.
“Berne, could you please tell this floozy that I’m as pure as the sunblock on my face.”
Berne raised her eyebrows as Babs shot her a wicked smile. I didn’t miss the second grin shot Rebecca’s way. Hmm, Babs looked a wee bit smitten.
“I am afraid this may be so,” Berne said to me. “Her English manners have her strung tightly, non?”
This time Rebecca’s shock was genuine. “Did she just call me frigid?”
“In a polite French way, but yeah.” Oh, I loved seeing her squirm.
Rebecca slammed her paddle onto her lap. “I demand a retrial!”
I flicked more water her way. The two boats bobbed side by side and I gave into the temptation. “Well, now, maybe I should call in an expert witness?”
“And who would that be?”
I smiled at Babs. “What do you think? Is Rebecca here tied up tighter than her float vest?”
Babs anchored their boat to ours as she made a show of examining Rebecca closely.
I smiled at Berne who nudged my shoulder with hers. She looked tense today, like she had a lot on her mind. What was going on behind her hazel eyes? Sometimes, I wished I had some kind of device so I could know.
Babs wriggled her fingers up Rebecca’s side. Rebecca flinched and slapped Babs’s hand.
“Hmmm . . . It seems Berne could be correct in her thoughts.” Babs winked at me. She was enjoying herself, a lot.
Rebecca wagged her finger. “Uh huh, no way. That just means I’m ticklish.”
All eyes turned to me and I shook my head and adopted the best forlorn and serious expression I could muster. “I dunno . . .”
“Try again.” Rebecca took an exaggerated breath, rubbing her hands together like they did in Olympic gymnastics. “I’m ready for you.”
Babs wiggled her eyebrows.
Berne smirked. She was enjoying the show as much as me. It was nice to see how much she liked Rebecca. Berne had always been incredibly protective over Babs, scaring most of those she deemed unsuitable. It was the way she carried herself. Even without intending to, she dominated the space around her. The way she walked oozed alpha female. From the outside, she could appear cold and arrogant but I knew better. Berne was shy, a deep thinker. Someone who said a lot without needing words if you could read her.
“Hey, cold hands, cold hands!”
Rebecca slapped at a giggling Babs, rocking the boats in the process.
“Steady, you’ll tip us, nitwit.”
“Less of the insults, dreamy.”
Babs shook her head. “I think that is conclusive evide—”
Rebecca planted an enthusiastic kiss on her lips. “See, no prude would do that, my little French delight.” She folded her arms as if that settled the whole thing.
I kept an eye on Berne but she seemed delighted.
Phew.
Babs sat in a daze, touching her fingers to her lips.
“I would say advantage England,” I whispered to Berne.
“Don’t count her out of the race yet, Pepe.” Berne nodded towards Babs who dragged Rebecca into an enthusiastic response.
She pushed the stunned Rebecca back and nodded smugly. “If you are going to kiss, do it properly, my little English belle.”
Rebecca blinked a few times, her blush a lovely colour against the white cream.
“First set to France, oui?” Berne whispered back.
“Undoubtedly.”
Before the match could continue, we rounded the bend in the river and the gorgeous wonder of Pont D’Arc came into sight.
It looked like a giant had once had a doorway there. Its green-covered top gave it the look of a Roman ruin. A very tall Roman with the need for Rebecca’s tanking method. It stretched over the river that flowed underneath it.
Rebecca saw it too, her eyes drifting over the natural arch. “Man, that’s stunning.”
“About sixty metres wide and fifty-four metres tall. It is a wonder of nature, non?” Berne’s eyes lit up at the sight. I loved hearing her talk about the Ardèche.
“That’s a lot of Babs piled on top of each other,” Rebecca mumbled. “And you guys stick the Eiffel Tower on your postcards.”
“Oui, there is nothing more pleasing than nature’s work. Human hand does not compare.” Berne tapped the boat. “There is a beach not far ahead. We shall stop for a break? It is a good spot to find inspiration.”
I knew that she was addressing Babs who was the most incredible artist I had ever seen. Not that I would know a Matisse from a Chagall, I was surprised I even remembered the names.
“Inspiration?” Rebecca asked.
Why she was looking at me I didn’t know. She’d seen me draw. Matchstick men were not art no matter how cute I made them look.
Berne nodded at Rebecca. “You will need it if you are to negotiate the rapids, non?”
Rebecca’s eyes flew to mine. “You didn’t say anything about rapids.”
“Do not worry, Madame, I will be steering you.” Babs flashed her a debonair grin.
“These two need their own court,” I muttered. People would want tickets. It would be a sellout.
Berne landed her kayak and extended her hand to help me out of the boat. “I think you may be right about this, mais, it means I am with you in the rapids.”
“Which means it’s me getting soaked then.”
I looked up at Rebecca. Should I tell her that the front was the raw deal? I watched Babs nudge her hip as they walked up the beach and thought better of it. Why spoil her fun?
FED, WATERED, AND back out on the river, Berne slowed the kayaks. “Your helmets are all fastened?”
We all nodded.
“Your vests, they are secure?”
A few yanks and tugs and we nodded again.
“Alors, Babs and I know the route and so I wish you to enjoy the journey, keep your arms inside the boat . . . and try not to fall out, oui?”
We murmured agreement as Berne and Babs set off at a pace and manoeuvred to the side of the river they needed to follow.
“We will go first. That way Pepe will be ready with the camera, non?” Berne said.
Babs chuckled.
Rebecca gripped onto the front. “Why couldn’t I be with Berne again?” She leaned over towards me. “I’ve seen her drive, remember.”
“You are in erratic hands,” I said, plonking her on the helmet. “Enjoy it.”
“Some friend you are.”<
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I blew her a kiss as Berne set off. “See you in a minute!”
I pulled my paddle in and allowed Berne to take over. She’d asked me on the beach if I wanted to be in charge and paddle us through but I felt happier with her at the helm, or rear . . . Stern? Could you have a stern on a kayak? No . . . port was left . . . or was that right . . . Oh well, whatever the bit at the back was called.
“Do you remember the first time?” Berne asked as we entered the rapids, the swirling water speeding us forward.
“I was terrified, I remember that much.”
Berne’s laughter echoed over the roaring white waters. We swept past a rock. I held onto the front, glancing back at her. Her strong arms were hard at work to manoeuvre us into the right position.
Not a great time to start drooling.
“You were so glad that we made it through, oui?”
I had forgotten my very ardent response to making it through the rapids and the recollection burst through my mind and every single inch of me. Good thing we’d been alone that day.
“Now, is that why you’re in my boat?” Was I flirting? What was I doing? That was not concentrating on finding myself or being mad at her, was it? No, that was completely letting the side down.
“It was to protect Babs, non?”
I doubted Babs needed much protection. If Rebecca was the same as me, she would delight in the reward.
“So you wouldn’t want me to thank you?” Flirty, Saunders. What was I doing now? I was supposed to be mad. Berne was mean . . . she sucked . . . I needed to focus. Mean Berne, mean, mean Berne.
Water crashed over me as the boat dipped down a level. I whooped with the tickle it shot through my stomach.
“That depends how relieved I can get you to feel, non?” The tone sent more tickly wriggles up and down my body.
Focus, woman . . . focus. Mean, mean . . .
“Oh, that’s a big dro—”
Another wave of water crashed over us. I clung on, my bottom leaving the seat and clattering back down as we burst out through the water.
“Good thing I still have my own teeth, right?”
Berne’s lively smile made my heart thud. Her mouth open, her arms pumping, her hair dripping, she was incredible. I turned back around, knowing I was sporting the same grin. It was just the rapids, just the fun of it all. It was a simple memory. I didn’t really want to thank her, nope, not one bit. Uh, huh. Not focusing on very strong, very toned arms or the way the water dripped off—
“Nearly to the finish line, you wish to paddle?”
I grabbed my paddle and drove through the water at her command. Sun beat down on us, the water wild, the beauty of the sheer cliff faces on either side. I was giggling like a fool by the time we hit the chequered flag or more realistically, a load of branches stretching their knobby fingers across the water.
“That was not bad,” Berne said, turning around to look upstream. “I think you may even have time to take a picture of her.”
Without thinking, I leaned forward and brushed my lips against hers.
“Merci beaucoup.” Before logic caught up with me and spoke sense into my giddy mind, I pulled out my camera.
“Do you think she’s still on board?” I asked, trying to ignore the intensity of Berne’s gaze.
“Oui, Babs is far better on the water.” Her answer was quiet, her voice deeper. My legs felt wobbly at the hum of her tone. “There they are.”
I put the camera to my eye, trying to calm my breathing. I needed some kind of aversion therapy. What was I doing kissing her in broad daylight on a river? What if someone Doug knew had seen?
I snapped a few pictures as Rebecca was dunked into the white foam and pulled the camera away.
Who did Doug know here?
As Rebecca was dunked once more, I leaned in but Berne was waiting for me. Before I could think, her mouth had reclaimed every forgotten sense. I had my hands in her hair as she reminded me exactly what I was missing.
Every second, so raw with emotion.
Berne broke free from me and nipped at my bottom lip before pulling away completely as Rebecca resurfaced.
“What was that for?” My voice was hoarse, my blood thumped a celebratory rhythm in my ears.
“I need a reason?”
No. Nope, not one. I placed the camera in the bag, did anything not to be recaptured by those eyes. Somewhere in the rapids, I seemed to have lost my sense of control.
“I . . . well . . . you are supposed to be with—”
Berne silenced me with another fleeting kiss. “This is my river, oui?”
My resistance was pathetic. “I guess it is.”
“When you are on my river,” Berne brushed her lips against mine once more, “you must pay the toll.”
In that case, why argue? “Don’t need to ask me twice—”
A load of water splashed over me. Rebecca and Babs sported matching wide grins.
“Oi, cut it out,” Rebecca said. “I leave you for two minutes!”
“Did you enjoy the rapids?” I asked, ignoring the sudden urge to dive out of the boat and swim away from the heat rising in my cheeks. I was the worst fiancé in history. Stick me in a boat with a French woman and I was a floozy, just like Rebecca said, a brazen hussy!
“I gotta say, I love her driving this thing.” Rebecca tapped the side of the boat. “She’s like a mad thing.”
“Like a mad thing?” I smiled at Babs who was eying me suspiciously. Yes, I know, I was an awful fiancé. I was meant to be mad with Berne, meant to be getting married, meant to be straight and loyal. “I would say there’s no like in it, she is one.”
“And proud of it no doubt.” Rebecca’s knuckles were still white on the boat. Berne was still waiting for me to look at her and Babs eyes felt like laser beams.
“Er . . . anyone fancy lunch. I’m starving.”
Rebecca rubbed her stomach and nodded. “Sounds like a plan. You enjoy the rapids?” She smiled at me. “You look as dry as I feel.”
“Berne likes to . . .” Every answer seemed open to innuendo. I didn’t do innuendo. Was I really thinking along those lines? Oh wonderful. I was not only a floozy but turning into a teenage boy, like Rebecca. “It’s an adventure,” I managed.
“Certainly looked it,” Rebecca said with a grin. “So much for mad and unforgiving, huh?”
“That is me mad and unforgiving.”
Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “If that’s you mad, what happens when she does something you like . . .”
Rebecca grinned at Berne who wiggled her eyebrows.
I stared pointedly at the cliffs to our right. “I don’t know what you mean. Not one idea.”
Chapter Fourteen
WE HAULED ONE boat on top of the other upside down and placed a blanket on top to create our lunch bar. Berne spread out the sandwiches and other goodies. She was magical with food. The woman made it impossible not to love her. Who could be angry with someone who turned a simple roll into something that should be served in Michelin star restaurants?
To attempt some kind of decorum, I went and sat by myself. It unnerved me how I’d given in so quickly. Yes, I had admitted to myself that I wasn’t in love with Doug but did that really give me any right to go drooling over Berne? What did that say to her about me? I couldn’t be with her and yet here I was acting like I’d never been away. My heart thumped as if it had woken up from a long doze. My palms were clammy, my body felt as though I’d been plugged in on high power and everything felt brighter.
Experts, like the ones I’d seen when I came back from France the first time, had told me it was simply the love drug. They reminded me that I was just a bunch of chemicals whizzing around driving me to procreate. That my entire existence was merely to breed. What a load of old codswallop. I had bought it as much as I bought the fact that men were just acting out of impulse to be cavemen when they were idiots.
If we were just here to breed then why did we like painting pretty patterns on walls? Plus,
I’d never seen a monkey erect a shrine and try for spiritual awakening.
All that being said, science nor any kind of counselling could explain why, all these years later, it was still Berne who stirred every part of me. Why only she had ever done so. Honestly, I was akin to a eunuch . . . No, that wasn’t quite right . . . Oh bother. I was just not full of hormones like Rebecca.
I sat chomping on my baguette, wondering how I’d got from food, to monkeys, to eunuchs in one thought process. Babs wandered over and I was sure that I was about to get lambasted. I ripped off a chunk with my teeth so at least I wouldn’t have to answer.
“If I did not know better, I would think that you came here with another reason than the one you say, non?”
Here it came.
I chewed, pointing to my mouth.
“What better way to earn back Berne’s trust than to have her paddle you down your memories?”
That sounded very calculating and involved all sorts of forward planning. Babs must have thought I had changed my personality entirely. Cunning took focus and effort, and well, I couldn’t even pack my suitcase.
“Do not look at me that way. I hear you say you cannot do these things, mais, I remember.” She tapped her nose. “I remember how you helped me back then. I remember how easy it was for you.”
I swallowed my chunk and frowned at Babs. “When was this?”
“I was in London, you met me, you took me around that weekend.”
I grinned. That was an awesome weekend. Babs had been teaching at some posh arty college for the week and I wanted to show her all the treats of London that tourists wouldn’t ever see. Babs and Berne had always made France so much fun, I wanted to do the same for her.
“You count showing you around a city help?”
“Oui. You knew who to talk to for tickets to the match, non?”
“That’s because my dad is a member of the tennis club. It wasn’t me. He was delighted I’d asked him.” Not only that, we’d got the full five star treatment. It had been a great day on centre court, not that I knew what was going on but Babs did. I whooped when she did. The strawberries with cream over the top, I knew exactly what to do with.