by Jody Klaire
“Why don’t you tell them I’m gay,” I said, happily signing the form. “You could say that I left you for . . . say . . . Berne?”
Doug shook his head at first but then rubbed his chin in thought. “That could work. I mean, you always dress so shabbily. You hang around with Rebecca . . .”
Nice touch there, Fletcher. Shabbily, wonderful. Thank heavens I wasn’t breeding his rugby team. I waited until he handed me over the signed deeds to the house. He’d had them put into English for clear reading. One thing with him, he was fair in business.
“And, I am leaving you for Berne,” I said, tucking the papers into my back pocket. “Doug, it’ll work because I’m in love with her.”
Now he was staring, then he laughed. “You almost had me convinced there.”
“I should, it’s the truth.”
He scowled. “What?”
Before he could tear the deeds back off me, I held up my hand. “I signed your waiver, which I think you will see at the bottom, only counts if you leave me alone too and I get this place.”
“I don’t give a crap about the wreck. Why would you do that to me?” He put his hands on his hips. It looked more camp than threatening.
“Doug, you knocked up an office girl. Neither of us seems capable of fidelity.”
He sighed and bowed his head. “How did it end up in such a mess?”
I nudged his shoulder. “We had eight years. I love you to pieces but maybe we just need different things now.”
“In your case, a woman,” he muttered.
“In your case, office girls.”
He sighed. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do without you. I hate that we’ve ended up exchanging contracts.” He stared up at the ceiling. “Who will I call when I need to talk?”
Did we talk that much? When had I become a valuable part of his life?
“You got me through fending off that merger, you made me believe in myself.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, which I could see was to hold back more tears. “How will I cope without your voice to make me smile?”
Tears brimmed up in mine at his sweet words. “You don’t have to tear me out of your life. You know where I’ll be. You can always call.” I stroked his arm, feeling strange that I was the one in control for the first time.
“What about the contract?”
I held his shoulders. “I’m about to go out there and tell my parents and Catherine that I’m in love with another woman. You really think I want to confess my life to some tabloid?”
He sucked in his breath.
“My thoughts exactly. You’re a part of me.” I straightened out his shirt and pulled out a hanky from my pocket for him. “I know when you’re married to Brandy,” oh what a name, “then you’ll do your best to be honourable.”
He blew his nose, loudly.
“If you don’t love her, don’t marry her.”
He slumped down onto the stairs. “I have to, my father—”
“Will yell at you and then get over it. It’s not like he hasn’t done the same thing himself, remember?”
Doug scowled and then hung his head again. “I cheated on you and you’re the one consoling me.”
I sat next to him and leaned against his shoulder. “I cheated on you too.”
He glanced at me. “Her?”
I nodded.
He squeezed my knee. “That why you didn’t want to come back to France?”
I nodded again. “The only reason I left her was because Catherine threatened to ruin her life.”
We both stared at the doorway. Eight years and we’d imploded like one of my mother’s soufflés.
“Guess it’s a good thing I’m not pregnant, huh?”
“Right. What kind of parents would we be?” He shook his head. “Can I really still call you?”
“If you understand that I’m with Berne and will always be . . . then yes.”
He smiled and nudged into me. “You said that to me, remember?”
I tapped him on the nose with my finger. “That was before you knocked up Brandy.”
Huffing out his breath, he stared down at the contract. Then proceeded to rip it up. “I don’t want her. I do want to know the child though.”
“You’ll make a great dad.” I got to my feet. “And you may want to leave before I launch my thunderbolt at them.”
Doug didn’t need telling twice, he kissed me on the cheek and fled like a gazelle from a lion.
I half wished I could flee too. The door looked pretty good closed, shutting them out.
I stared down at the deeds. I was a homeowner. Yay me. I tucked them in my back pocket and clung to the thought. With one last glance around the gutted shell, I pulled open the door. Hopefully I wouldn’t resemble it after confronting my personal ogre.
I glanced up at Catherine.
Oh shit.
Chapter Eighteen
BERNE PULLED THE food out of the oven and flashed a smile at her hovering mother as she carried the delicious smelling pastries over to the counter.
“You have something on your mind, Maman?”
Her mother laughed that cheery laugh that filled Berne with memories of childhood. “What makes you think I have anything simmering?”
“Because you have been quiet since you saw Pippa kiss me.”
It was nothing new, Berne had always brought her girlfriends home. Her parents had welcomed every one with open arms, but then they were like that, loving.
“She moves you so deeply that I worry.” She passed Berne the melted chocolate and began work on her own half of the batch. “I have not seen you breathe so easily since she left you.”
“She did so to protect me, Maman. I only wish she had talked of that time to me, written to me, anything.”
Spreading the chocolate on, Berne tried to let go of those empty years. It didn’t matter now. All that mattered was that Pippa may come to her and never leave again.
She would cling to that hope with every part of her, simply because the alternative to it was beyond unbearable.
“I know that she loves you,” her mother said, touching a finger to Berne’s cheek. “I know that to be away must have hurt her as much.”
Berne shrugged. Her default reaction to anything she couldn’t put into words.
“What will you do if she wishes to live in England?”
“I will commute. Maman, I love this place. I do not wish to leave.”
Her mother smiled. It was clearly the answer she’d been looking for. Berne could see the relief shining through.
Although she would follow Pippa anywhere, Berne really hoped Pippa would want to stay here. Pippa belonged in the sun, she excelled in France. There was something about here that ignited a fire in her eyes. It was hard to imagine the dull grey clouds of London doing the same for her.
Babs burst in through the door. “Bebe, I know that we said we will stay out of it—”
“Where are they?” Berne strode to the door, her mother pulling her apron from her.
“At the cottage, the man has just left. Rebecca is there . . . mais . . . there are three of them.”
Berne nodded as she walked through the doorway and strode up the roadway. Babs, whose legs were shorter, trotted alongside. “You think they will do something?”
“I do not know but I would prefer to be there . . . in case.” It was silly to be so protective but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t let her go this time.
Babs smiled. “And to give her a reason not to run, oui?”
Berne looked at Babs and let how she felt show. “If she loves me . . . I want her to run to me this time.”
THE HEAT OF the sun tingled at my skin as I made the slow march towards the enemy. Doug had left nothing but a dust cloud and Rebecca was holding my father in conversation. I was sure that on TV shows and in books, women who faced their family found some kind of hero juice and presented their innermost feelings with complete and utter confidence.
I was anything but.
Okay, I loved Berne. I wanted to be with Berne. I had no real idea what that meant or why. Even acknowledging that I only wanted to be with her didn’t seem to pump rainbow juice into my veins and make me want to ride a Harley.
Now, I was pretty sure that I was being slightly stereotypical but I could have really done with some kind of leather jacket “I don’t give a monkeys, like me as I am or get stuffed” attitude. I could have also have done with the scary staring thing that Rebecca’s ex had turned into a fine art.
Instead I felt like a toddler shoved in front of a pack of roaring lions. I also felt completely naked, which I wasn’t, I checked, a lot. Naked, terrified, without confidence, and about to be devoured by lions. Yup, I was a wimp, a big wimp who wanted to run.
“Now look what you’ve done. I hope you didn’t upset the boy because you can get right in that car and apologise.” My mother launched a prize shot as I headed over to them.
What was it with that tone?
Mothers seemed to have this innate ability to rip the foundations from under your feet. I looked at Rebecca for help. She smiled, urging me on with her eyes.
“I . . . I . . .” Breathe. It helps not to pass out.
“I did upset him.” Nice start, you birdbrain. “He and I have . . . we . . . called it a day.”
A chorus of almost hostile “What?” filled the air.
My father looked like he may turn into a raisin with the purple colour he was sporting. “He will not abandon his child. I’ll not stand for it!”
Oops, he thought I was pregnant. Quite moved that my father was leaping to my defence, it took a cough from Rebecca to hurry forward and stop him giving chase.
“Dad, I’m not pregnant.”
He looked from me to my mother who threw her hands in the air.
“Daphne?”
“Don’t tell me you told him that?” My mother’s exasperation seethed through her words. “No wonder he left you. Why would he stay with you otherwise?”
Ouch. Sucker punch. I glanced at Rebecca. She nodded to me. She believed in me. I’m glad one of us did.
“I . . . I . . .”
“Yes, yes?” my mother snapped.
“I . . . left him.” And silence. One way to stun the crowd, Saunders.
“Are you out of your mind?” My mother looked like she was about to storm over and shake me. She strangled her handbag instead. “Who will look at you now?”
“Daphne!” My father’s shock echoed my own.
Ouch and then some. Was I that worthless in her eyes?
“Look at her,” my mother shot at me. Her coiffed hair flopped about as she waved a hand at me. “She’s on the shelf at her age.” She wagged a finger at me. “Your biological clock is ticking. Soon she’ll start to look like she dresses and then what?” She flapped the bag around. “Is she going to spend her life living with that?”
The “hey” from Rebecca made my jaw tense until my ears wiggled.
“Why flipping not?”
“Phillipa, language!” My mother placed her hand over her chest as though civilised society might just see her in this embarrassing situation.
“I told you.” Catherine’s half-smirk, half-pitying look stung. “She’s sick.”
Two words that at nineteen had brought me to my knees in a quivering mess. Two words that had robbed me of my confidence and instilled so much fear that I’d buckled. Two words that still rocketed agony through every pore. How could she think that of me? I hadn’t hurt anyone. I had looked up to her and the disgust hit me as hard as it had back then.
“Sick?” Rebecca shot back at her. “You want to try that one with me, you uptight little bitch.”
“Girls, enough!” my father boomed, stopping the impending fight. “Phillipa, what is going on?” His voice was soft. I’d never seen him so gentle.
“I . . .” Flashes of the motorcyclist on the ground. Cold English rain. Catherine’s words, “you’re sick,” pounded through my head. “I . . .”
“Can’t even say it, can you?” Catherine sneered. “Disgusted at yourself?”
“If you don’t shut the—”
“I said quiet, Catherine. Not. One. More. Word.” At his command she shrank back. My mother glared at me.
Rebecca nodded to me. “You can do this, Pip.”
“I . . .”
What if they walked away? What if I lost them? What if they hated me? The motorcyclist, the rain, the taunts, over and over.
“I . . .”
“Phillipa, tell me the truth. What is going on?” My father positioned himself to block out the others. His warm hands over mine. He’d always been so distant, so busy with other things, would he hate me too?
“I left him because . . .”
Come on, Saunders . . . Come on. Will you run and hide forever?
“Because . . .”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Berne stride into view as though she was riding to the rescue. Every part of my body and soul got up and bounced around in joy. I could do this.
“I love her.”
“Rebecca?” my father asked. No judgement in his voice, not even a bit.
“Well, yes, but no. I’m in love . . .” I pointed at Berne, Babs scurrying alongside. “I’m in love with her.”
“Which one?” he asked, leaning into me.
“The short ass is mine, Mr. S,” Rebecca chimed with such pride, I smiled.
My father looked me in the eyes, really looked at me. “You have known this for a long time?”
“Yes.” I tried to keep my chin up, ignoring my mother’s sobbing and Catherine’s glares. “I met her when I studied here. We worked together. She’s who Roger placed me with. She’s . . . she’s what makes me feel alive.”
He frowned at me. I tensed ready for the abandonment. “Why did you go out with Doug, then?”
Well, I wasn’t expecting that.
I glanced at Catherine. Her sneer was so venomous that I wondered just where that hero of mine had gone. How did someone get that mean and bitter?
“Ah, I see.” My father straightened out his shirt and marched over to Berne who hadn’t slowed at all. “Pleasure to meet you, I’m Phillipa’s father.”
Berne shook his hand warily. “Bonjour, I am Berne . . . Pippa’s . . . friend?”
He nodded. “Yes, yes . . . Well, it’s good to finally put a face to the name.”
“Pardon, monsieur?”
“Doug. Has been talking about you and your father for months . . . poor chap.” He shook his head. “Well . . . as you can see Daphne, Phillipa is happy and well. It’s time we went home.”
“Well?” Catherine snapped. “You just leave her to these . . . freaks?”
“Oh shut up,” Rebecca snapped. “Like you’re a picture of purity!”
“What would you know, you little tramp.”
“Will you two desist?” My father motioned to my mother who was still sobbing. “What will they think of us, hmm?”
My mother stopped as did my sister.
“As I can see, these ladies have their emotions under control.” He shot a fatherly smile at Rebecca. “This one has her own rules.”
“You can’t really be defending that against me,” Catherine spat.
“Catherine, dear, if you don’t wish to end up having a corrective nasal procedure, perhaps it’s best not to taunt the redhead.”
He pulled her by the arm and shoved her at the car. When she was in, he turned and glared at my mother. “If I find out that you knew about any of this, you’ll be sorry.”
My mother got into the car without a word. I was terrified for her. My father didn’t do angry or raise his voice often but when he did, everyone took cover.
I ran over to him. “You don’t hate me?” I felt all of eleven years old.
“Girl, what is there to hate?” He shook his head at the car. “Good old Roger has been the most amazing chap. Served together.”
“I know, but what does Roger have to do with it?” I knew he’d recomme
nded Berne as my tutor but huh?
“Fine man, wonderful golf swing.”
Not sure if my father was about to drool, I touched his arm. “What does he have to do with it, Dad?”
“He’s been living with a chap from Italy for years.” He chuckled. “He has a terrible shot—the man couldn’t hit a ball if his life depended on it.”
I should have known that with my father everything came back to golf.
“His handicap would make your mother’s look professional.” He laughed at his own joke.
I dived at him and hugged him as the tears flowed down my cheeks. “He knew?”
“Wiley man, Roger. Wouldn’t put it past him at all.” He grinned at the thought, looking as if he needed braces to run his hands up and down. “You’re the youngest. Not an easy place. Sibling rivalry is always a problem.” He patted my back. “You know where I am if you need me.”
He gave a quick clearing of his throat, a brief nod to the girls, strode around, and got in the car.
Stunned was too polite a word for such a feeling.
Of all the people I thought would be happy for me, it had been my father. Wonders never ceased.
“Wow,” Rebecca said as they disappeared up the road. “I guess it pays to fix the guy’s car.”
“Definitely,” I mumbled.
My hands were like I’d been on the sea in a storm, my knees and stomach weren’t much better.
Berne nestled up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Bravo, Pepe.”
I sighed. “Now I just have to win the girl—” I raised my hand to stop the argument. “We are not getting this wrong, Berne Chamonix. Deal with it.”
Feeling her rumbling chuckle made me smile. I was still punch drunk and a little bit woozy.
Rebecca tapped me on the shoulder, one arm slung around Babs. “We also need to find a way to earn money.”
I pulled the paper from my pocket and smiled. “At least we’ll have a place to live . . . when we fix it up.”
“Pardon?” Babs took the deeds and thumbed through them. “It is true. It is all yours!”
“Ours. The majority of the materials and contractors have been paid. It’ll have more than enough room for us all.” I squeezed Berne’s hand. “When you’re ready, there’s a place for you too.”