La Vie en Bleu

by Jody Klaire

  Feeling the blush spreading over my cheeks, I stared out at the rain-soaked city.

  “There is something we miss?” Babs asked.

  “Yeah,” Rebecca answered. “See, before we came to France, Pip and I had to order food.”

  I hated that smug cocky grin. Traitor.

  “This one didn’t have a clue what Doug wanted after living in the guy’s pockets for eight years.” She grinned wider, I could see it in my peripheral vision as I continued to stare out. “But it seems she had a place for a certain person’s favourite.”

  Babs murmured in agreement, the pair launching into teasing. Berne was looking at me, staring at me, I could feel it. Her thigh next to mine felt warm, familiar, oh how that night on the Ardèche flooded back into my thoughts.

  “You remember well, Pepe,” Berne whispered in my ear. From icy to red hot in one hushed sentence. “Do you remember the weekend we go to taste it in Italy?”

  “Nope, not at all. Complete blank.”

  More laughter, more teasing, and the thoughts of Italy now pulsed into my mind. How many delicious memories could two people make in one year? More to the point, did she want more than just memories with me?

  THE NIGHT IN Gino’s was perfect. The food was phenomenal with Gino and his family pulling out the stops to wish us well. We had the best table in the house, which was next to a painted wall depicting a villa stretching out into olive groves. Babs looked quite perplexed by it, which made me chuckle. She probably visited the real thing often enough not to need to paint brick with an image.

  Berne sat beside me during dinner as the conversation relied more and more on Rebecca and Babs. I found myself desperate to know what thoughts whirred behind the Berne’s captivating eyes. She was hard to resist at the best of times but there was something extra special about her in a pensive mood. Something which beckoned to me, calling me to lean in, to whisper to her. Calling me to discover what lay deeper inside her. It was followed with a worrying undercurrent I may not want to know. What if it wasn’t me in her thoughts?

  Rebecca had dragged Babs off to show her some of the paintings Gino had composed and I leaned on my fist and enjoyed just being next to Berne. Her presence fired desire and contentment through me in equal measure. Even now, after all these years just looking at her provoked . . . need. A need for what I wasn’t sure but it was still there, still connecting me to her.

  “Do you remember the villas?” Berne whispered as if to herself. Her gaze on the painting on the wall. “The Cypress trees flanked the country roads. We drove until we reached the shores of the lake.”

  It had been less than a week after we got together on the beach. I’d been a tangled mess of excitement, panic, and puppy love. Berne had been so patient with me. I had no real frame of reference as to how one should act with a woman they loved in public. This had led me to veer from acting as if I didn’t know her to being attached like a limpet. I had a habit of retreating inside when I was trying to work things out and Berne was always the one to force me to talk, to let my feelings out.

  She had wanted all of me, not just politeness. She wanted me free and open. It had been a battle but I’d been happier because of it then.

  “Lake Garda. You took me on a boat tour.” I smiled at the feeling of summer in my heart, cool breeze in my hair, and Berne’s warm arms around me. She’d put up with me being cold until she spotted the boat tour. She’d dragged me aboard without letting me argue and held me the way she wanted to until I relaxed.

  “You confessed to me that you were scared.” Berne stared down at her hands, her long fingers linked together. “You say that it was like setting sail without knowing if you would ever reach safe harbour.”

  One of my more poetic moments. Berne had a tendency to inspire me. Although, I distinctly remember using the term armbands and not knowing the French for them. All of which had resulted in me flapping my arms around as if attempting to fly. Yes, a true poet.

  After all, what was love without inflatable armbands?

  “You told me that I would always be safe with you.” Berne had said it through howling laughter at the time. Her belly chuckle had provoked a giggling fit from me. Goodness knows what the other passengers had thought. “We laughed a lot, didn’t we?”

  A smile drifted across her lips. “When you are young and in love there is much to be joyful for.” She sighed. “It is not as easy as you change and grow. Things happen. Life happens. Laughter is not so easy to embrace, non?”

  I felt dual twinges of jealousy and concern at her words. I had a feeling it had much to do with a woman in Marseille. “She doesn’t make you laugh?”

  Berne’s gaze remained on her hands. She ran her thumb over her right middle finger. I had noticed a silver ring but now I was beginning to understand the meaning of it. A horrible cold squelchy feeling settled in my stomach. She was wearing her ring. I hadn’t noticed it in the Ardèche but now it was back in place.

  “Vivienne is not one for careless laughter. She is . . .”

  An idiot? An ex that you left for me? Were my first thoughts but it was probably best I didn’t share them. Don’t make a scene, Saunders. “Intense?”

  “Oui.” Berne grunted it so that it sounded more like “way” than “wee.” A very French way of saying “yeah.” The unimpressed flick of her eyebrows ignited hope in me. She’d told me she was loyal to Vivienne. I’d been sure she’d leave her for me. I thought she’d left her. Had I just presumed it? I racked my brain, trying to see if I’d missed something. Berne said she loved me. She’d been very thorough in showing me she did. The way she was talking about Vivienne now was very much in present tense.

  I started fiddling with my napkin. I didn’t know what to think now.

  “I wish to tell her, Pepe. She should know.” Berne met my gaze. “She will not take it well.”

  I didn’t blame Viper-Vixen for that. I didn’t know what lunacy it would have provoked from me. All I knew was somehow I was now consoling Berne about telling her as if I was a sordid affair. “About the Ardèche?”

  “Oui.” Berne’s eyes deepened.

  My heart sped up. I felt so drawn to her that nothing else around me mattered. Confused and unable to do a thing about it, all I did know was that I was leaning in.

  Berne placed her finger over my lips. “Pepe, I cannot—”

  “Pip!”

  I jumped. My hands shook from the realisation that I had forgotten my bearings. Had I really just gone to kiss her? I was in London. You didn’t go smooching people in public. Berne’s fingertip still pressed against my lips.

  “You can’t?” I pulled her finger away. Her eyes deepened in colour as I moved closer. London or not, I needed an answer.

  “I—”

  “Oi!”

  Berne sighed and broke eye contact.

  I turned to Rebecca, doing my best to avoid glaring at her. Not great timing. “What?”

  “We gotta go. Taxi is outside.” Rebecca waved at the door.

  I glanced down at my watch. Balls. We’d be lucky to get to the airport in time. I grabbed my coat off the chair. It caught my water glass. It clunked to the table, gushing liquid all over Gino’s lovely white tablecloth.

  “Gino, I–”

  “It is nothing.” He took hold of my shoulders with his puffy hands. “Catch your plane. If you come to London, you come here to eat.” He gripped me in a rib-switching hug and gave me a smacker on both cheeks.

  I nodded. Dumbstruck. Had Rebecca and I been such great customers? We did have a lot of takeaways . . .

  “Pip!”

  “Right.” I offered Gino a smile as I followed Berne out into the belting rain.

  Rebecca and Babs were already inside the taxi. Berne handed them their coats and I slumped down next to her and hauled the door shut.

  “Good thing we booked a taxi. It’s bucketing down.” I glanced at Berne, wanting to be alone, wanting to hear what she’d wished to say. Pepe, I cannot—

  Cannot what? What c
ouldn’t she do or say? It worried me. In fact, it terrified me. What if it was that she couldn’t be with me? What if I’d got it all wrong? What if I’d imagined it? If the night on the Ardèche had just been a trip down memory lane? Oh no, hyperventilating was not a good idea. I gripped my knees, hoping no one would notice. Berne had said she loved me, right? Didn’t she? She said she wanted it to be her ring on my finger?

  “Didn’t fancy missing the flight. Babs has to go to Marseille tomorrow.” Rebecca poked out her bottom lip in a pout. Her tone said that she was hoping we’d miss the flight. If I wasn’t panicking, I would have smiled. Go Whitely.

  “I will be back after the party, d’accord?” Babs nuzzled the side of Rebecca’s neck.

  I glanced at Berne. Her eyes met mine. The rain peppered the windows, orange, white lights of the streetlamps, scent of damp, of her perfume. The flash of headlights bathed her face. There was a seriousness about her that unsteadied me. The way she was fiddling with that ring wasn’t helping much either.

  “What party?” I mumbled.

  Her eyes locked on mine. She wet her lips. I was riveted to them as they glistened.

  “Vivienne’s birthday,” Babs muttered. Her plaintive tone more likely for Rebecca than me.

  My heart gave a heavy thud. Berne’s eyes flickered with regret. My stomach crunched.

  “Right.” I tore my gaze from her and riveted it to the rainy London night outside. What had I expected? That she loved me enough to leave her? Did she only love me enough as fun, as a mistress of some sort? Is that what she’d been trying to say? I was good for her when she was young but now she was responsible. Vivienne was more in line with what she wanted. Why would she leave her?

  Vivienne was a successful actress. She may have been a cradle-robbing-no-teeth-shallow-viper but Berne loved her, didn’t she?

  She was going to Vivienne’s birthday. Even though Babs supposedly hated her, she was going too. She was happy to leave me behind.

  Berne touched my knee. “Pepe—”

  “You don’t owe any explanation to me.” My tone said she did and why had she gone and uprooted my life if she wasn’t going to do the same?

  A thought poked me, reminding me that I’d only just left Doug, that she’d endured seeing me with him. That I’d left her. Maybe it was payback?

  I told the thought to go take a hike. I didn’t care how silly or stupid I was. I’d assumed Berne would leave Vivienne the second I had left Doug and wait patiently, alone, until I was ready for her.

  I expected her to . . . woo me. Was that even a real word? Who cared? I wanted that. I wanted romance. I wanted her to enrapture me. I wanted her to ignite that adventure in me. I wanted her to grip hold of me and demand I kiss her and stop her torment. Why was that too much to ask for, huh?

  “I will be home after this,” Berne said in a gentle tone. Because that would make me feel better wouldn’t it. I glanced around, wondering if there was a paper bag. The thought of Berne with anyone else made me a wreck.

  “Wish her a happy birthday from me, friend.” My mood riddled my words.

  Berne flinched.

  “What time is the electrician coming tomorrow?” I focused on Rebecca. My voice crackled as I fought back angry tears.

  Alarm flickered across Rebecca’s eyes. Then they narrowed as she shot Berne a glare.

  “Nine,” she snapped as if wanting to smack Berne across the chops with her words.

  “Julian is very good,” Babs said, her gaze darting from Rebecca to me. “I use him a lot.”

  They started to chat about Julian and his ability as an electrician. Rebecca’s tone rippled with her redheaded mood. Babs gentle tone showed she understood and was trying to calm her. Again the entire conversation was theirs. Berne said nothing. I said nothing.

  I thought about getting out of the taxi. I wanted to run through the rain in some dramatic gesture of how betrayed I felt. Anything not to look at Berne. If she was going there for Vivi-Viper-Vixen then there’d be the expectation for romance. A party meant suitable attire. Berne would look as enticing as always. Viper would look stunning in some gown only actresses could pull off.

  I shuddered. I felt sick.

  “Pepe—”

  “It’s not like it matters anyway.” I didn’t mean a word of it. “I don’t have time. We have to get it rewired.”

  Babs and Rebecca took over once more. Berne reached for my hand but I snapped it away and folded my arms. I was half-a-second away from throwing her ring at her. Something stopped me. Something that made me feel more pathetic than ever. I couldn’t take the ring off. I didn’t want to.

  Berne’s words that I’d always be safe with her seemed worthless right now. Safe? I didn’t feel close to safe. I’d gone from contentment to lurching about in yet another storm. I felt abandoned. In fact, I felt like I’d been mutinied. She’d broadsided my nice quiet cruise with Doug, convinced me to make him walk the plank, and now she was getting back onto her own ship and leaving me to watch on.

  I lay my head back and closed my eyes. The silence was heavier than the crushing feeling of helplessness. Berne was going back to Marseille, to her.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  ONE WEEK COULD feel like years. We’d brought back a summer storm with us which seemed to echo how I felt as Berne and Babs drove away. I’d avoided looking at them the entire flight. I felt lost. Logic stated that I had told Berne I wanted to earn back her trust but I hadn’t been prepared to stand aside and watch Berne carry on with Viper.

  Rebecca had kept her thoughts to herself but the irritation with Berne was evident. She wouldn’t say so to me but it helped that she felt as confused by Berne leaving as I did. So she’d re-instated DVD nights, talked about nothing but the house, and chatted to me about Doug’s latest text message.

  Doug was a huge source of comfort. I loved him even more the way we were now than I had before. He did everything he could to make me laugh. He’d heard what my mother and Catherine had said and picked holes in them at every opportunity. The sweet clot thought I was down because of them. He’d defend me to the hilt, he’d make fun of Berne for me. I missed the numbskull, I really did.

  I’d lay in bed at night, listening to the rain, feeling comforted by it. Rebecca and I knew rain. We understood rain and cold. They were our thing. If I closed my eyes and pretended, I could be back in London. This messy, confusing summer could just be a feverish dream. I could wake up and banish it and go back to safety, to Doug, to muddling along.

  Only I was alone. Alienated from my family, in a foreign country, pining over a woman who could turn around and tell me she wanted more than I could give.

  It didn’t help that Babs had arrived within days of leaving but Berne had remained in Marseille. Neither had said a word. Babs couldn’t meet my eyes. None of it inspired me with confidence.

  I said nothing. I didn’t ask. I didn’t care. No, I’d managed to crawl up from the torment once before, I could do it again. Although I was a tune away from “I will survive,” I’d taken control over my life and been truthful. Yes, I’d come out of my shell, faced Catherine, and ended up alone just as I’d feared. Well done, Saunders.

  Still, I didn’t care. Nope. I was too busy focusing on the house. Rebecca, the workmen, and I had made the downstairs liveable. I had learned how to wire things in French and I’d fixed the stairs.

  A “Bonjour,” echoed out somewhere behind me as I sat on the top step, grappling with the last section. If I wasn’t careful, I’d mess up the screw head and then where would I be?

  “Here,” I mumbled, vaguely aware that I needed to talk for people to know I’d heard them.

  I tightened the final bolts and sat back to admire my handiwork. My masterpiece looked fabulous. Go, Saunders.

  “You work hard. It will be ready soon, for sure.”

  I registered that it was Berne speaking, and my heart cantered into a special happy rhythm then slunk into a pathetic heap. She’d been with her.

  “It’ll take
months. We’re moving into the ground floor next week.” I didn’t bother speaking French. It was a pathetic act of rebellion but it stopped me throwing things at her and, boy, did I want to throw things at her.

  I’d followed the electrician, Julian, around during the week to the point where he’d offered to show me how to wire the rooms. I was eager to learn as much as I could. That way I could do a lot of the work myself.

  Doug was subbing the house and the artisans but I wasn’t letting him pay for the accommodation too. Rebecca had agreed. So in we would move. The ground floor was watertight so we’d make do.

  Who needed traitorous French women anyway? Not me. No way.

  “Rebecca feels it will be sooner?”

  “Rebecca is a saleswoman. Don’t believe a word of it.” I examined the stairs. They looked great. The first floor still contained a host of gutted shells. Berne or her father would need to work on them before we could do more. I wasn’t looking forward to it. I tried to block out that thought. Instead I stomped up and down the stairs to try them out. Solid.

  “I missed you,” Berne whispered as I reached the bottom. She was leaning against the wall. Funny to think I’d sat there with Doug not so long ago.

  “I doubt that.”

  I threw my tools into my very industrial and professional looking toolbox. Why it needed yellow plastic compartments, I wasn’t quite sure. Was an all black toolbox too drab for the discerning workman? Were workpeople fashion conscious enough to need yellow stripes on their screwdrivers? And why yellow or orange? What was wrong with a purple hammer? Or a beige drill? Of course, there were little green numbers you could pick up, not to mention the disgusting pink sets aimed at women. Because no one on site would know you were really a woman if you didn’t have a pink hard hat? Were you any less female wearing the usual white or yellow?

  “Why?” Berne took my hand as I turned to march back up the stairs. I tried to yank it free but she held firm. “Why are you so cold now?”

  Me, cold? Me? I tried to pull my hand again. I was feeble. Ten year olds had more strength than me, I swore.