by Jody Klaire
“Another stroke?”
Berne shook her head. “No, the doctors said it was not so but he stumbled. I pulled him away from the ledge but my foot slipped.” She met my eyes. “I fell. I was in hospital for a while.”
Cold sweat soaked right through my t-shirt. “You fell? How far? How long were you in hospital?” More to the point, why had I been hiding in England and not with her? Why hadn’t I been there?
“Three months.”
Nearly choking on thin air, I fought to swallow. “Three months?” I needed to sit down, my legs were trembling like a violin string.
“I was . . . I was unconscious.”
Now I did sit down, thank goodness for the patio chairs. “Are you alright?” Stupid question because she sat right in front of me and I was pretty sure I’d given her an intense physical examination. “Long term?”
“Oui, the scar was from the glass mais it missed everything . . . and I have had more scans . . . nothing permanent.” She smiled, sitting next to me. “Only, I can’t write or drive anymore.”
“Why those two?”
Berne shrugged. “They think that it will come back in time. For now, I do not feel safe to be in charge of a vehicle.”
I grabbed her and held her to me, wanting to fix it all for her somehow. Why hadn’t she said something? “Is that why you wanted the lights off?”
Berne nodded.
“You think I would find any part of you unattractive?”
She flicked her eyes away.
I scowled. “But someone else said something . . . right?”
Her silence said more than enough.
“She’s wrong. Whatever that poor-excuse-for-an-actress said, she’s wrong.” I felt the stress turn to irritation, more sweat stuck my t-shirt to me. “You’re gorgeous, Berne Chamonix.”
I made her turn around and lifted up her t-shirt. Oh wow, that was one big scar. How had I missed that?
It was still pinky-white like scars often are and stretched most of the way up her back, up her neck and into her hair.
It looked mean.
The thought of her landing on glass, lying there hurt made my heartbeat accelerate.
Flashes of the man on the road took over. His eyes locked on mine. The blood pulsing from his neck. His quiet, calm reaction to the fact he was lying there, dying. It terrified me. I’d kept talking to him. Stupid things in French, I talked about how much I loved the city, how much I loved Berne. Anything not to actually bring attention to the fact that I was pressing my shirt to his neck as he bled to death.
“It is in the past now,” she whispered, bringing me back to her. “I am healthy now.”
I took slow, deep breaths. This was about her hurt, not mine. Pull it together, Saunders. I wanted to ask if she’d hurt her head, if that was why she couldn’t drive. I wanted to know why she was unconscious, how long for, and just what damage had been done. Oh, I felt sick now, sick and clammy and like I’d faint at any moment.
“Does Babs know?”
Berne shook her head.
“She will so kick your ass,” I managed. Well done, Saunders, make her feel guilty about it, why don’t you.
Berne nodded.
“I’ll protect you.” Because I was sooo scary.
She leaned in and kissed me. I slid my arms around her neck and caressed the scar. I wanted her to know I loved her, every inch. She moaned as I did it. Ooh, it was sensitive. I could work with that.
Her mother cleared her throat beside us.
I jumped.
The chair leg dropped off the stone patio. I lurched and ended up in a heap on the lawn.
“Bonjour, Pepe,” Berne’s mother said with a hint of laughter in her voice.
I pulled myself up from the grass and tried to regain some dignity. Why I was bothering, I wasn’t sure. I had all the grace of a peanut.
“Bonjour, Madame Chamonix.”
Her face, lined and ever smiling, was contorted with her attempt not to burst into laughter. The giveaway was her white puff of hair wobbling with the internal giggling. At seventy-five, she still had the spirit of a joyful teenager and was still quite the looker herself. Combined with her bubbly nature, Madame Chamonix was poles apart from my own mother.
“You are ever the suave seducer, Pepe.” Her laugh rumbled through her words. “I can see why she finds it so hard to resist you.”
It didn’t matter how many times I was teased by the woman, the inbuilt need to run and hide from a parental unit who had caught us pulsed through me.
Berne’s mother was as laid-back as you could get with every facet of life. Nothing at all fazed her. She found my discomfort hilarious.
“Yes . . . well . . . it’s all in the jumping technique.”
With Berne sniggering and her mother breaking into laughter, I found myself grinning. How different it was here, with them. How much I loved it.
“I see that you come to experience the celebration.” Berne’s mother clapped her hands. “It will be the first of many, non?”
“Maman—”
Her mother tutted. “I see that she is here in heart. I also see that ring on her finger.” She beamed at me. “I knew you would see sense.”
At least someone had. “Thank you for the faith.”
With a quick nod, she tapped Berne on the arm, ordering her into the kitchen.
Berne shot a nervous smile my way.
“I will be back later. I promise.”
Her eyes lingered on mine for a few seconds and she disappeared into the house.
With grass stains on my knees, I wandered back onto the street. I waved to Rebecca, who dropped what she was doing to come to me. “You going to see him?”
“I am,” I said, attempting to pick blades of green out of my knee cap. How did they get so stuck? “The sooner I leave that behind, the sooner I can start anew.”
Mean, Saunders. That sounded cold, mean, and ungrateful.
“Er . . . It’ll be better for him too.”
“I’m coming with you,” Rebecca said, taking off her rings. “I’ll hang back outside but no way am I letting you do this alone, you got that?”
Apart from removing jewellery as though she were about to duff someone up, I was so relieved that I wanted to sing with it. “Yes, please.”
“Settled.” Rebecca motioned to Babs and gave her a thumbs up.
Babs nodded and yelled, “Bonne chance,” at the top of her lungs.
“Wow, you speak your own language or something?”
Rebecca nudged me as we walked up the huge hill. “Nah, we were just talking about you. Babs is right behind you too.”
Didn’t that bring a lump to my throat? Ah, did I love these ladies. “I’ll keep that in mind when I’m stammering like an idiot.”
The hill was steep and I was unfit. Plus I was oddly tired for some reason. “So things seem to be going well?”
Rebecca bumped my hip as we walked. “This is about you, Pip. I’m really proud of you.” She laughed and I glanced at her. “It’s good to see you so . . . whole.”
It was a good word, whole. Was that just down to Berne? “I get flashbacks sometimes, nightmares.”
“From Catherine?”
“From everything. You know those dreams you get when something chases you?” I swore I was the only person whose issues could be represented in a nightmare by a giant sock. I spent my nights being pursued by knitted footwear. I really did need locking up.
“Yeah?” She didn’t. Rebecca never remembered her dreams. She was one of those annoying people who, once her head hit the pillow, she was snoring for Gloucester.
“Liar.”
She shrugged. “Bet you didn’t get any last night?”
“That’s because I didn’t sleep—” I clamped my hands over my mouth. She chuckled at me, her loud bellow drawing the attention of two elderly men strolling on the other side of the road.
I waved at them, plastering a cheery grin on my face. “Yes, yes,” I muttered at Rebecca, thumping
her arm to stop her cackling. “I had sex, why is that so funny?”
“It’s the fact it meant so much that your eyes glazed over when you said it.” Rebecca wagged her finger at me. “You are completely gone on her.” She grinned. “It feels great to see it.”
I took her hand and kissed her on the cheek. “I love that you know me so well.”
“Me too.”
We rounded the corner to the cottage. My stomach seemed like it dropped out and made a sprint for it down the hill.
“Oh shit.”
Rebecca gripped my elbow. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m not leaving your side.”
I gripped hold of her, bending at the waist. I was winded. How could I be winded just by seeing them. Rebecca held on, grounding me.
“You can do this, Pip. You’re not alone anymore.”
Panic soared through me. My shirt felt like I’d dived into the Ardèche. Nope, I was going to pass out. It was official. I was the biggest wimp on the planet.
Rebecca rubbed my back. “You have to face them. Just think about how you felt this morning, yeah?” She pulled me up to look into her eyes. “Focus on how good you felt being yourself.”
“Myself, right.” I swallowed. My throat decided it had forgotten how to, again. Wonderful. I’d face them all with grass stuck to my knees, soaked through, stinky, and dribbling because I couldn’t swallow. Suave, Saunders, really suave.
Rebecca held me by the shoulders. “You can do this.”
I could. I could do this. It helped me get my feet moving and I stumbled towards the group waiting for me.
Doug, my parents . . . and Catherine.
Oh shit.
“Deep breaths. You’re not alone. You love Berne right?”
I nodded. Why did the ability to swallow seem to be so intermittent these days?
“Do you love her, Pippa?” Rebecca turned me to look at her. “Do you?”
“Yes . . . Yes, I do.”
Catherine was there. She looked mad. She looked livid. Oh boy. I couldn’t face her.
“Tell me what you said this morning,” Rebecca whispered. “Tell me out loud.”
Panic seemed to have taken up residence in my soul, right alongside fear. Why were they all here? What were they doing here? Why were they waiting for me?
Oh shit, shit, shit.
“Pippa, tell me.”
I focused on Rebecca’s eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m gay. I love Berne. I want to be with Berne.”
“Do you?” Now she sounded like she was recruiting me for the army. “Is that what you want?”
There was no doubt whatsoever. “Yes, I want that, I want to be with her.”
Rebecca smiled. “Then, whatever they say, let it go. This is for you, not them, live for you.”
“You’d make a great coach,” I mumbled, in a half-hearted attempt at humour. My brain seemed wired to go on strike at any moment.
“Phillipa, why are you loitering there? Where are your manners?” My mother’s voice ripped through my resolve until my knees wobbled.
Rebecca squeezed my elbow. “I got your six, Saunders. You can do this.”
“Good morning, Mother.” Strained, polite, terrified. What was I doing? I couldn’t face them. I couldn’t tell them.
Rebecca squeezed my shoulder as I dared meet my mother’s eyes.
“Is it?” She tapped her watch. “It’s two pm, young lady. Where have you been?”
Why did young lady make me want to run to the nearest bedroom and barricade myself in. Deep breath, slow breath. Calm. “With Babs, Rebecca and . . .” I rubbed at my throat. Say it. Be a grown-up. “Berne.”
Catherine’s eyes narrowed.
Rebecca gripped my elbow harder.
Doug and my father seemed oblivious to it all. They were too busy chatting to one of the workmen.
“Well, that’s wonderful,” my mother said. “Why haven’t you called? I know that hen weekends are all the rage these days but really, in your condition.”
I felt like I was walking into battle, striding into the hail of verbal bullets being fired off by an overwhelming enemy.
Rebecca held fast, not a word, only her physical presence.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Doug said, walking towards me. “You look like crap.”
Incoming at twelve o’clock. Verbal volley from the fiancé.
“You look fine, Pip,” Rebecca whispered. “Berne loves you just the way you are.”
She did. Berne loved me. She knew how much of a complete coward I was and she still loved me.
“I’m going in,” I whispered back. “Cover me?”
Rebecca mock saluted, which made me giggle. It was a nervous “what am I doing, save me” giggle. Feeling slightly unhinged, I strode out to face foe number one. Doug deserved an explanation, a private one.
He ducked to kiss me. I turned so he found my cheek.
“We need to talk,” I managed.
Ugh, I hated those words, they were never good.
“Alone.”
He nodded, casting a glance at my mother. “Of course.”
I led him towards the house, glancing over my shoulder. Rebecca ignored the glares from mother and Catherine, instead launching into a conversation with my father.
Her voice cocky and confident and every inch pouring love out towards me.
She believed in me.
I could do this.
“Look,” Doug said as we got into the house. “I know what you must think. I wanted to tell you. It was a horrible mistake.”
“It wasn’t your fault. The way I acted, it would make anyone think that way.” I felt for him, he’d obviously realised that I wasn’t pregnant, thank goodness.
“No, I take full responsibility for this,” he said, running a hand over his stubble. “I didn’t realise that she’d contacted you.”
Blinking a few times at him, I tried to figure out what that meant.
Did he mean my mother? “Who?”
Doug took my hand. “I knew something was wrong when you left that day in Paris. Then I got a call from her. I knew then. Pippa, I never meant to hurt you.”
Did I walk through the door into another book or something? I wandered over to it and peeked outside. There was Rebecca, my parents, and Catherine. It all looked the same.
“Pippa?”
I turned back and frowned. “What did you do to hurt me?” Okay, so he’d been a bit of a patronising twit on the phone and there was the whole securing the heir stuff, but he hadn’t been that bad.
Doug sighed and paced around the creaky floor. Why he was in a shirt and trousers in this weather I didn’t know. “Fine, I deserve it. Make me say it.”
Either he was crazy or I was. More likely me but completely confused, I managed a “huh?”
“Brandy,” he said as though that revealed everything.
“It’s a little early to drink, Doug.”
He folded his arms, then dropped his chin to his chest. “Oh, you don’t know, do you?”
Whether it was too early to drink? It was two o’clock in the afternoon.
“Are you telling me you’re an alcoholic?” I’d seen no signs. How much did Doug drink when he was out of sight? Why hadn’t I spotted it? He didn’t seem like he had a problem.
“No,” he grunted. “Brandy. The girl in my office.”
Who called their child Brandy? I guessed someone rather fond of the beverage?
“What’s the matter with her?”
His words, “mistake” and “I wanted to tell you” filtered in. I tried not to smirk. “You slept with a woman called Brandy?”
Doug burst into tears. He clutched me to him and sobbed into my shoulder like a little boy. “It was a mistake but she’s pregnant. I have no choice, Pippa.”
He was breaking up with me. “You’re marrying her?”
Why was that funny? It was no laughing matter. Do not snigger, Saunders.
Doug sobbed harder, soaking my already sticky t-shirt. “I don’t want to. She won
’t get rid of it. She’s threatening to tell the papers, think of the scandal.”
My, my, the golden heir of Fletcher enterprises knocking up a girl called Brandy. Golf club dinners would never be the same. Stop it, that’s too funny. Nope, no laughing.
A gross thought chased away the mirth. “How long?”
Doug held on tighter.
“Doug?”
“Just after you resigned. You were crazy. She was there.”
That made me feel better. We hadn’t . . . well . . . since then. If I’d felt sympathy before, I definitely didn’t now. Way to show support, numbskull.
“She the only one?”
He nodded into my shoulder. “Pippa, I adore you. I don’t want to marry her. I promised you, I can’t go back on that.”
There was no way that Doug could survive cut off from his parents and no way that Fletcher enterprises would continue to thrive without him.
“Doug, I love you, even though you are a complete idiot.” I stepped back from him, pulled his ring out of my pocket, and handed it back. “You are released.”
His mouth opened and closed a few times but then he hugged me again. “You are trying to do what’s best for me.” He held onto me, confusing me once more. “You’re such a good person.”
“Er . . . thanks?”
Doug looked me in the eyes. “You can have this place. I know what it means to you . . .” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “I just need you to sign this and I’ll sign the deeds.”
He’d certainly come prepared. The matter of me signing a gagging order and I got a house.
A gagging order?
“Doug, who am I going to tell?”
“You can’t tell anyone,” he said. His eyes wide. “My parents don’t even know. I need . . . I need us to have split up . . . for a reason that . . . um . . .”
“Doesn’t make you look bad?” I said, desperate to hold the grin back. He was so flustered it was cute. How was it that only now I realised he felt more like an annoying brother?
“You understand . . . thank goodness . . . will you?” He held out the gagging order again.
Thankfully, it was in plain English. I wasn’t to go selling my story to the press about him or contacting him ever again. That bit hurt. I loved the daft clot. He’d been a part of my life for eight years.
“Pippa . . . I love you . . . please . . . please know that.”