La Vie en Bleu

by Jody Klaire

  Rebecca poked her tongue out at me. “I like French women.” Her eyes lingered on Babs. Babs gave her a flirty wink.

  “And what do you prefer?” Vivienne’s voice held a threatening edge to it. She was oddly terrifying. Maybe it was the unnatural lips, I didn’t know.

  “It’s not a preference.” I put my glass down, feeling buzzed by the shot. Warm and fuzzy. “I know what I want.”

  Berne met my eyes. You listening, you dumb clot. I hoped she’d get the message.

  “And this is?” Vivienne trailed a long finger over Berne’s jaw. She leaned in and placed a kiss on Berne’s lips. Her eyes twinkled with malice. “So, what is it that you want, Pippa?”

  I was going to throw my glass at her. I didn’t care. Rubber lips or not. What did I want? Oh, I’d tell her what I wanted.

  Berne met my eyes once more. Her lost look stopped my temper short. She didn’t need a catfight. “I really, really, really want a—”

  “Pip, this is no time for the Spice Girls.” Rebecca was doing her best to keep a straight face. I was quite sure she knew I wanted to slap fish lips across the chops with a wet haddock. “Pip and I will shuttle you to the hospital.”

  Berne looked relieved. “You have much work to do—”

  “You got a problem with Winston?” I knew that Berne still hadn’t gotten around to telling Babs about the accident. A lot of that was due to Babs using her as her chief artisan at times. Berne didn’t want her worrying when she was up ladders. No one seemed to realise that Berne wasn’t driving.

  She bit her lip. Her eyes searched mine. “No, he is très beau. I do not wish to—”

  “There is plenty of room for you at home.” Vivienne met my eyes with a dangerous smile. “It will be easier for us to make the arrangements, non?”

  What arrangements? I glanced at Rebecca and Babs who looked as lost as me.

  “You have not told them?” Vivienne held out her hand. It was one vein-riddled claw. It also had a very shiny ring on it. “Berne asked me to marry her. I said yes, naturellement, non?”

  My stomach lurched. Berne stared at Vivienne, startled . . . and not the kind of startled like she didn’t want the secret out. Babs looked like she wanted to impale Vivienne on something. Rebecca caught me by the elbow as I clattered into the side table.

  “Isn’t that nice.” My voice sounded maniacal again. Uh oh. “Very nice.”

  Berne sighed. “I am staying in Ajoux, I would like your help. If it is still offered?” She rubbed a hand over her face. Tears brimmed in her eyes. She needed support.

  “Unconditional,” I mumbled. “Anyway.” I felt my hands trembling and shoved them in my back pockets. I wanted to cry. Even if they weren’t true, Vivienne’s words still hurt. “I’ll leave you two alone. I need to . . . er . . . wash my hair.”

  What? Why? Where had that come from? Wash my hair? That was an excuse for not going on a date, not excusing yourself from a potential train wreck of a heartbreak.

  “I’ll help you.” Rebecca shrugged as Vivienne raised her pencilled-on eyebrows. “She might need a towel?”

  The pair of us were pathetic.

  “I am going to stay with Bebe,” Babs said, holding her hand up before Vivienne could argue. “This is Madame Chamonix’s house. It would not do to have the happy couple share the same room, non?”

  Vivienne blew out a breath. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  “I do. I will sleep here.” Berne pulled away from her and went to the whiskey bottle.

  I didn’t want to leave her and I didn’t know what I could do to help. It clearly wasn’t my place to. The ring on Vivienne’s finger was not something Berne would pick. Not only that, she couldn’t afford a diamond corker like that.

  Somewhere inside, underneath the shock and ripple of pain, I knew I wore the only ring she would give with her heart.

  Steeling myself with that thought, I went to Berne and pulled her into a hug. “If you need me, you know where I am.”

  Berne held on. I knew she didn’t want to let me go. I brushed my ring against her cheek.

  “Just remember, you married me first, right?”

  Berne nodded. Her eyes twinkled with tears. I kissed the ring on my finger out of sight of Viper who was being distracted by Rebecca dancing about. Cramp again.

  “Merci.” Her eyes filled with so much warmth that I knew she was saying she loved me.

  “Unconditional,” I repeated. I meant it. Where had all this strength come from?

  Whiskey was good.

  Vivienne muttered something at Babs as Rebecca continued to yelp. I squeezed Berne’s hand and let go.

  “Come on, Whitely. Let’s get you a hot salty soak.”

  Again that provoked raised eyebrows.

  “Seriously? You think washing hair and salt rubs are seduction?” I shook my head, whooshing out a breath. “And they say French women are romantics.”

  Rebecca sniggered through a yelp as I helped her to hobble out. I knew Babs was on my side. She’d keep the Viper at bay.

  “You’re kinda cheery considering you just got told they’re getting married.” Rebecca hopped down the road until her cramp calmed.

  “Monsieur Chamonix is alive and well.” I smiled. I’d helped that to happen, somehow. I said a silent thank you in prayer. “And . . . you know what? I think old Fish Lips feels threatened.”

  Rebecca laughed. “You think? I was waiting for her to p—”

  I pressed my fingers to her lips. “Yuck.”

  She shrugged. “Proud of you, Pip.”

  I nudged her shoulder with mine, a smile filling me up. He was okay. I’d helped him. He was alive.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  MONSIEUR CHAMONIX WAS awake and in good spirits. Berne had taken on her role in helping me restore the house once more. We hadn’t talked about Vivienne’s announcement. The only thing I wanted to do was to help her take her mind off her father.

  We worked in silence a few days later, late into the barmy summer afternoon. We were in one of the bedrooms upstairs. So far they were shells. Drafty shells with flapping sheet windows.

  I wanted to be a part of Berne’s day and Viper was everywhere. The only place she left Berne alone was here. Still, she was marrying her. It wasn’t as if Berne had protested. She could have stopped me leaving, told Vivienne to go but she hadn’t.

  There were so many confusing emotions rocketing around me that I wasn’t sure what to think anymore. Only a cryptic visit from Madame Chamonix had helped to steel me.

  She’d brought bread, which we had. That was her reason for taking time out of her busy day to traipse down to the house. She’d talked about the decor and about how she and Monsieur Chamonix had been married over fifty years. Then she’d told me that he’d needed openness. He’d always been the same. He needed to understand her love was whole by her sharing her every day.

  “He and Berne are much the same,” she had said with a chuckle and left.

  If that wasn’t a hint, I didn’t know what was. I felt quite chuffed that Madame Chamonix was on my side.

  It wasn’t helping me find the right words. At least none that didn’t sound like I was in competition with Vivienne. No matter how I tried to place the right meaning, it wouldn’t come. So I concentrated on trying to fix the floorboard I was working on. My thoughts kept going back to Berne and back to when we met. That summer, that storm. If “I love you” hadn’t told her, if leaving Doug hadn’t shown her, how else could I prove it?

  “How long did you know you liked me before . . . ?” I heard myself asking the question out loud. I was speaking out loud. Oh no.

  Berne stopped her task of re-pointing the stone work. “Pardon?”

  “You were older than me. You knew that you were . . . well . . . you know . . .” I scratched my head, getting dust in my eye. Ouch. I winked to try and get it out. Ow, ow. Suave, Saunders, really suave. That’ll woo her, won’t it.

  “That I loved you?”

  I sat down on the
floor beside her. “Yes and well . . . that you were okay with that.” I bit my lip. “And how did you know, about me?”

  Berne swivelled around on her stool to face me. “This is what bothers you?”

  “Yes . . . no . . .” I stared down at my dusty hands. “Will you humour me?”

  “Bien sur,” Berne said with a smile. “It was not about if you were or were not attracted to other women.” She chose her words, her careful tone full of the humming sound I adored. “I was only trying to understand if you feel this way about me.”

  “I did.” I took her hand. I wanted to say I still do. Pick me! but couldn’t find the courage.

  Berne stroked my cheek with her thumb. “You were young and you were vulnerable. You look at me with such desire without realising. It was hard not to notice.”

  “I’ve always loved you.” Hint, hint. As in always.

  Her eyes twinkled but she didn’t take the bait. “Then that is all that matters, non?”

  I shook my head. Try again. Think of something else. Openness. “Vivienne makes you hide away.” Great. State the obvious. Pick on Viper. That will win her confidence, won’t it? I took hold of her hand once more and placed mine in it. “I mean . . . why doesn’t she celebrate you . . . Why does she force you inside?”

  “That takes us both to do this.” She lifted my chin and captured me with gentle eyes.

  Tell her, you numbskull. “You deserve better than the way she treats you.”

  Berne leaned in closer, her breath misted in the space between our lips. “You have a better way?”

  I glanced down at her lips and up to her eyes. I could feel the heat radiating from her as I inched closer. “She never asks you how you feel, what you want.”

  Berne placed her finger over my lips. “Ask me, Pepe.”

  “You’re marrying her.” I felt her breath mingle with mine. “It’s not polite for . . . me . . . to—”

  Bang.

  I jumped, ducked, and head-butted Berne’s chin. She grunted as I clamped my hands over my head.

  Ow, ow, ow.

  Berne sighed and picked up the screwdriver that had clattered out of my pocket. I was too busy rubbing my head to care. She had a hard chin.

  “You are right. It is unfair to act this way.” She placed the screwdriver in my hand. “It is not fair on any of us.”

  “You didn’t really ask her to marry you, did you?” I swallowed, trying to clear my throat. Time to face the truth.

  “Even if I did not, why shouldn’t I marry her?” Berne went back to her work. Her frown line prominent.

  Ouch. I sucked in my breaths. “It’s not fair.”

  Openness. Feeling. I could do this. Oh how did I say it? Berne lifted her eyes from her task.

  “I mean . . . um . . . Does she know how talented you are?” I needed Rebecca to swoop in and speak for me. Why couldn’t I say it? She could only say no and break my heart, which I doubted would ever heal. Where was the worry in that?

  Berne raised her eyebrows at me. “Moi?”

  “How you work the stone. I’ve always wondered how . . . what goes through your mind.” I threw my screwdriver on the floor. I was useless at this. “I loved being taught by you. I loved listening to you.”

  All in past tense.

  She held my gaze for a moment and her eyes softened. “It was mutual.”

  Again in past tense.

  My eyes misted up. She could leave. She could marry the woman even though she knew I’d given up Doug. Even after all we’d been through. “I want you to teach me. You know, for when you leave.”

  She motioned for me to scoot over to her and handed me the pointed tool thingy that she always used. “When you re-point the stone, it is an art. You take the bare stone and strengthen it.”

  It sounded familiar. I felt like I’d been stripped back to the bare stone. Right now I felt like my whole heart was crumbling.

  “Each stroke, each loving touch fills in another hole.” She held my hand and moved the tool to the stone. “The more care you take not to rush, not to skim the surface, the more certain that the renovation will last, oui.”

  I loved the way she talked. “All it needs is a master craftsman to show you the way?” I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

  Oops.

  “I . . . um . . .”

  Berne tutted and tapped the wall with the tool. “Would you kiss your teacher?” Her face was stern but her eyes twinkled. I knew full well she loved it when I did that.

  “If she made it sound as romantic as you do, pretty much.” I met her eyes. Pleading with her. Don’t marry her. Don’t run off with Fish Lips.

  Berne smiled a sad smile and tapped the tool to the wall. “Concentrate.”

  “I can’t.” I kissed her cheek again.

  She pulled my mouth to hers. Energy fired through me. She ran her fingers through my hair. The kiss grew. I had no idea how I’d ended up on the floor but I didn’t care.

  Berne murmured. Her hands roamed over my stomach, up my sides. I realised my hands were as busy as hers.

  She pulled back. Her breath ragged against my mouth. “Pepe—”

  I kissed her with every ounce of passion I felt. If I couldn’t say it, I was going to show it. Berne groaned and her body responded. Her hands pulled at my top. I helped her.

  “Berne?”

  She froze. Her hands on my bra fastener. I peeked open an eye just to confirm it was Vivienne. Yup. One really livid rubber-lipped Viper.

  Oops.

  Vivienne spun on her heel.

  “Vivienne . . .” Berne sighed and met my eyes. “I have to go after her.”

  I nodded. What could I say to that?

  She put her hands in her hair as I pulled my top back down. “It is such a mess.”

  She shook the dust off her jeans and looked over her shoulder at me. Her eyes filled with desire, love, regret. I wasn’t sure which of those was the strongest. Without another word she hurried off. I stared at her tools, groaned, and flopped back down with a thud.

  What did I do now? I pulled out my mobile and tried to ring Rebecca but there was no answer. A cheery bonjour told me Julian had arrived. I got up, brushed myself off, and went to find him. Something, anything, not to think about the fact Berne had left me to go to her, again.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  REBECCA SPRINTED INTO the house sporting the kind of look that made me lift onto the balls of my feet. I’d spent twenty minutes attempting to wire the landing with Julian but so far all I’d done was make his job harder.

  “Pip.” She bent over at the waist, sucking the air in. “Berne . . . Viv . . . Shop . . .”

  I hurried down the stairs, attempting to connect the dots. Berne and Vivienne shopping did not sound like sprint-worthy news. I’d be happy to forget I’d ever heard of either name.

  “Breathe.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “Berne . . . Vivienne is . . . shop.” She waved her hand over her head.

  “Make sense.” Water. Maybe water would help. I opened the fridge, realising that all we actually had was water. Where was the food?

  “So?”

  Rebecca stood up straight, cracked open the water, and downed it.

  “Caught you?” Rebecca raised her eyebrows.

  I shrugged. I had no restraint where Berne was involved. What was new?

  “Vivienne is in the workshop with Berne. They are arguing. Vivienne wants her to leave to go back to Marseille. It’s an ultimatum.”

  I frowned. “What are you doing, stalking her?”

  “No, Babs and I were . . . well . . . out the back when they came in.” Her blush said enough. Nice. “Hey don’t look so judgemental. I heard what Vivienne saw.”

  Point taken. “Berne went after her if you haven’t noticed. That’s pretty conclusive.”

  “You need to tell her, shout it at her, whatever. Just don’t let her walk away.” Rebecca shoved me towards the door. “Don’t let her get stuck with Fish Lips.”

  I sighed.
“She is the one who has to make that choice, not me.”

  Rebecca gripped my shoulders. “Vivienne is demanding she go. You know. You remember that feeling?”

  Flashes of Catherine filled my head. “It’s not the same thing. Vivienne isn’t Catherine.”

  “Berne is sweet and kind. Babs told you that she makes her cry.”

  I nodded. That made me want to throw things.

  “You want her to cry when you can make her laugh?” Rebecca looked like she wanted to slap sense into me. “You want her to grow old with someone else?”

  Urgency fired through me. “No.”

  “Then please, Pip, tell her.”

  I couldn’t, I couldn’t let Berne go. I spun around and sprinted up the hill. I was so unfit. My breaths sounded like Winston when he huffed along the road. My own rust bucket of a car was fitter than me.

  I didn’t want Berne to leave. I didn’t want her to go. I wanted her to stay. I wanted her never to be treated like that again. I wanted to make her happy. I could make her happy.

  The realisation rocketed through me. Openness. That’s what she wanted. I could do that, badly, but I would. I’d do anything for her. I loved her. I loved her too much to let her go.

  I found it harder running downhill than I did up. I’d need more than water when I got there, I’d need oxygen. Madame Chamonix poked her head out of her kitchen window as I huffed my way past her house.

  “She is in the—”

  “Workshop.” I gasped in the air. “Got it.”

  “Show her your heart.” Madame Chamonix’s eyes filled with affection. “You can do it, Pepe.”

  What was I, Rocky? I stumbled through the boules game, mumbling apologies. Sweat dribbled off my nose. I would have been faster walking. Actually, Winston would have gotten me here faster even with a dodgy starter motor.

  I could see Berne through the window of the workshop. Vivienne was pacing around like some kind of lawyer, or prison guard. I took a deep breath and shoved my way through the door.

  “Pepe, Ça va . . . ?” Her argument with Vivienne stopped as she hurried over to me with water. “Did something happen . . . the house?”