Best Maid Plans

by Klaire, Jody

“It wasn’t that bad,” I mumbled. My dad hadn’t cared about tradition. He’d let me go to France as a teenager and he’d been the one who supported me in London and, again, he’d been the one who was just pleased that I was happy with Berne.

  “Wasn’t it?” He eyed me. “Your mother, your sister, Mr Monmouth-Whitely, they all demanded you fit into a box.”

  I nodded. They did, I couldn’t argue with that.

  “My mother came from a family of farmers, my dad’s family were raised by public schools and nannies. They fell in love over dog breeding.” He smiled. “Couldn’t have been any more different upbringings but love cancels that out.”

  I leaned on my fist. “Apart from the dog breeding, that sounded really romantic.”

  “Either way. She never thought of him as inferior because he had a bigger bank balance.” His tone filled with an irritated hurt. He turned to the server who had managed to reach the counter. “Right, We’ll have...”

  I drifted off, staring at the glass. It was my problem that I had an issue with money. He wouldn’t care if I didn’t have any. He loved me. Babs loved Rebecca. I sighed. Berne often got insecure over money, over me wanting to run back to luxurious cars and grand houses. Finances were a prickly topic.

  “Fabrice and Stephanie passed their courses with distinction,” Doug repeated, looking at me like I should have been listening.

  “I don’t think it’s graded like that.” Not that I knew. I’d done a plastering course with Guy when I’d been a teenager and it was in French.

  “They passed. How’s that?” He took the loaded up bags from the man, who was whizzing about like someone had just pressed the on switch.

  “You give him your card or something?” I asked, staring at the man.

  “No, I told him if he stepped on it, I’d leave a fifty quid tip.” He winked at me.

  I’d been close then. I peered into the bags. “There cheese and chips in there?”

  He nodded as I held open the door. “You’d pout if there wasn’t.”

  He was right, I would. “Caddying makes you hungry, right?”

  He expanded his chest, his jumper straining over his broad shoulders. “Fresh air and exercise. Great for the appetite.”

  “I feel like a child sometimes.” I stared at his car, bracing myself as a gust of wind whipped through my hair. “I try to be an adult but I feel like a child.”

  “Letting the people you care about help you isn’t being a child.” He pulled open the back door and stowed the bags. “It takes an adult to know when you need help.”

  I chewed on my lip. He was right. He was right a lot, not that I was telling him. “Then I need help with a question.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Think I’ve burned enough calories to have chocolate for dessert?” I wasn’t a calorie counter really, mainly because it involved maths but even I knew that deep fried food was a lot of them.

  “I’d say so. I’m sure the rate you’ve been sanding wood has burned off enough for two cartons of cheese and chips and...” He grinned a cheeky grin. “...a piece of my mother’s chocolate gateau.”

  Saliva poured into my mouth with joy. “She made some?” I sounded as excited as I was. I’d have married him just for his mother’s gateau.

  “Steady on, Babe.” He opened my door for me.

  “Gateau erases restraint.” I glanced around the car. Where was it? Could I reach it?

  “Boot,” he said, shaking his head as he started the car. “Kitchen staff at the club kept it cool for you.”

  I loved them, I loved his mother and I loved him.

  He shook his head again, chuckling at me as we drove through the lanes toward his house. “Money, manners, treating you: they are all things that make you uncomfortable.” He chuckled again. “Show you a gateau and your need for independence vanishes.”

  “What’s the problem?” It was chocolate. It was different.

  “Nothing.” He patted my knee with a smile. “There’s the Pippa I know and love.”

  ◆◆◆

  Rebecca nursed her tea, still stuffed from their meal. Doug had bought enough to feed the nearby village. Babs, now medicated, had gone to bed to get some rest; Pippa had taken Berne to bed, offering such seductive things as a heat pack and gel; Stephanie and Fabrice had been falling asleep on the counter, so it was just her and Doug.

  “You seen the cantankerous buffoon yet?” Doug asked with a yawn. It was his favourite name for her dad.

  “No, I’m starting to wonder if I’ve forgotten what he looked like.” It would have felt more convincing if she could erase the look of disgust on his face when he’d kicked her out.

  “Pippa did really well today.” He smiled, leaning on his fist. She was glad he’d agreed to take one of the spare rooms and not drive anywhere. It was nice to have him around.

  “Not sure if Mr Saunders will be able to help much,” he said, sipping at his tea. “You know he tried talking sense into him before.”

  “Hopefully I won’t need plan B,” she said with a sigh.

  Doug chuckled. “Pippa’s only plan B? I’m sure she’d be happy with that.”

  “I’m trying to book an appointment through his secretary.” She tapped the rim of her mug. “As for Pip, normally I’d agree, but who knows.”

  He studied her. “What do you mean?”

  She rubbed the bridge of her nose. She was tired and grumpy. “Apart from the fact that she hid Berne from me?”

  Doug grunted his agreement. “Should have known she wasn’t happy.”

  “It’s not your fault.” She glanced at Pippa’s door. “I wonder what’s going on in her head a lot of the time.” She studied her hands. How did she explain why it bothered her? “There’s glimmers of this ‘Pepe’ they all talk about but I can’t match it with who I know.” She sipped at her tea. It was cold. Yuck. “She asked Berne to move in with her in Monaco.”

  He sucked in a breath. “She did?” He stared down into his mug. “Outdone by a bricklayer.”

  “And a woman.” She patted him on the back.

  “Salt firmly rubbed in.” He leaned on his fist and yawned again. “So what is the issue?”

  Rebecca met his eyes. “She asked her to move in... but I’m not sure she is comfortable with holding her hand in public yet.”

  “I meant with your dad,” he said with a smile. “But we’ll stick with Pippa.” He glanced at the door. “Berne isn’t making her happy?”

  “More that they don’t talk.” She didn’t get them. “Berne is convinced that Pippa wants to run back to England... and be looked after.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Did she miss Pippa leaving everything for her?” He shook his head. “The woman makes my head hurt.” He pulled his mouth to the side. “Actually women make my head hurt.”

  Rebecca shrugged. He had a point. “So you don’t think Berne’s gorgeous?”

  He laughed. “I’m aware of her attractive qualities, yes, but her blindness to Pippa’s bravery baffles me.”

  “Think some of it is to do with her accident.” Rebecca glanced at the door to Pippa’s room. “She was unconscious for months, messed up her back. I think it’s taking a while for her to adjust.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “If they need a consultant or—”

  She raised her hand. “She’s okay now, I think. She injured it again and it’s not like she can take any time off.” She sighed. “She’s working the equivalent of three jobs.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Why?”

  “Supporting us, supporting Stephanie.” She sat back with a sigh. “No one wants to hire us and Stephanie’s ex-girlfriend stole her business...” She stopped as Doug’s scowl grew deeper. “You didn’t know?”

  “No.” He pursed his lips. “That explains Pippa’s mood in the fish and chip shop.” He glared at Pippa’s door. “So you’re struggling. I know it’s not my place but I cannot let you struggle.”

  She smiled at him. “Hopefully, if Stephanie can get her half of the
business back, we’ll have work.”

  “This business... it’s hers?” He rubbed his hand over his chin. “She’s not just a plasterer?”

  Rebecca chuckled. “Stephanie is...was... a successful property developer. She’s been working with Babs for years. Her ex-girlfriend has issues though.” She smiled at his scowl. “Babs has her lawyers on the case.”

  “Well, if it doesn’t work and she needs a start-up grant, give me a call.” He fixed her with a stare. “You two are getting one and I’ll have you working on the centres. I don’t care if she moans, I want you two to be comfortable.” He drained his cup and smacked his lips. “Take it from me, if Babs wants to treat you, let her. It hurts when someone can’t accept you for who you are.”

  “So stop whinging?” She asked, getting the feeling it was directed at her as much as Pippa.

  “Yes.” He pulled out his phone and smiled down at it.

  “Who is that, Marie?” She chuckled at the goofy smile. Doug never did goofy.

  “What?” He met her eyes. “Oh... yes... Um... She likes my mother’s gateau too.”

  “Thought your mother didn’t know about Marie?” She finished her tea, wincing, and took the cups to the sink.

  “No... right... she doesn’t know. I... er... dropped... some around?” He nodded, avoiding her gaze.

  Another person who couldn’t talk about their feelings. What a group they were. “Talking of gateau, what do you think, Pip hasn’t had a slice in over an hour.”

  He grinned. “She only had two large slices, she’ll be out.”

  Rebecca nodded. “Is Marie really that bad?”

  Doug blinked a few times.

  “Gateau, is she that bad with gateau.” She blew out a breath, he was worse than Pippa.

  “Right, yes?” He said.

  She cocked her head. “You don’t sound too sure—”

  Pippa padded out of the bedroom in her bathrobe, her focus on the fridge.

  “So your dad was pleased with your caddying?” Rebecca chimed as Pippa raided the fridge, pulling out the gateau.

  “He thought my advice was extremely valuable,” she mumbled, pulling out a knife and plate.

  Rebecca snorted with laughter.

  Pippa shot a glare her way. “You think I can’t caddy?”

  “I know you can’t.” She winked at Doug who was chuckling. “He can.”

  Pippa poked her tongue out and cut two large slices.

  “Didn’t want Berne seeing how much you enjoy it?” Doug asked, shaking his head.

  Pippa waved it off. “My dad knows how we can get Rebecca’s dad’s attention.”

  Rebecca eyed her as she cut off an extra slice. She’d missed the gateau it seemed. “How so, Pip?”

  “Your dad is taking part in the battle of the sexes.” She licked her lips, moving all the slices onto one plate.

  “There’s a surprise.” The women in the club always played against the men in an annual battle. Her mum had always beaten her dad but she doubted anyone had managed it since.

  “So are you,” Pippa said, tucking her hair behind her ears and licking the chocolate off the knife.

  “What?” Rebecca and Doug muttered in unison.

  “If you play him, maybe he’ll thaw and give you his blessing.” Pippa met her eyes. “Easier than trying to get through his secretary.”

  Rebecca sucked in her chin.

  Pippa’s eyebrow rose.

  Yeah, she knew her too well.

  “How can I play him, I don’t have clothes, shoes or... well... I just don’t have the equipment.” She shook her head as Doug sniggered. “Golf wise.”

  “I’ll stump up,” he said with a grin. “Happy to help.”

  “No, it’s okay, I’ll use the winnings.” She’d told him all about the driving range in Monaco. Doug appreciated it. He’d asked if she could take him to have a go when he visited.

  “That’s to buy Babs nice things.” Pippa winked at Doug.

  “In that case, I’m definitely paying.” He held up his hand. “We’ve had this conversation.”

  They had and she loved him for it. “Thanks.”

  “When’s the tee-off?” Doug asked Pippa as she picked up the plate, licking her lips. She eyed it like she’d forget the spoon and bury her head in it.

  “Kettle’s not on, is it?” Pippa glanced at the kettle.

  “Not the tea,” Doug muttered. “Tee, when is the battle?”

  “Oh.” She shrugged as Rebecca shook her head at her. “Your stag weekend, I think.”

  “We can’t do that. Doug comes first.” She’d just keep trying with the secretary.

  He shook his head. “I’m happy to have it here.”

  They both stared at him.

  “I don’t want a fuss,” he said, waving it off. “Just the girls. You’ll be back in France and... I... well... I miss you.”

  They both beamed at him and kissed him on the cheek.

  He shrugged. “So,” he said, clearing his throat. “Are you eating that?”

  “We know you love gateau, Pip,” Rebecca said with a smirk. She was so easy to tease.

  “Yes, you don’t need to hide that from us.” His eyes twinkled and Rebecca high-fived him.

  Pippa blushed.

  “Oh, she’s sharing...” she winked at Doug not bothering to hold in her chuckle.

  Pippa’s blush grew.

  “You never shared with me,” Doug muttered, folding his arms.

  Pippa kissed him on the cheek. “You don’t like getting mucky, remember?” She winked at Rebecca and sauntered back toward the room. The glimmer of “Pepe” shining through. “You may not, but Berne doesn’t mind at all.”

  Chapter 37

  Iwas delighted to discover how much Berne really enjoyed gateau and even said that she would get the recipe off Doug’s mum so she could make it. Chocolate gateau and Berne? Now that was dessert.

  Babs had told us that Stephanie’s key group of workers had chosen to work with Emilie. I’d suggested Doug could fix it because he’d dealt with the workforce in France. That earned me a glare from Berne and Babs.

  I’d stopped talking at that point.

  So we headed into the pub in the local village in search of a workforce. Babs and Berne stared like tourists as we headed inside. Low wooden beams and a deep wood floor; dark paint on the walls complete with pictures of landscapes; Wooden tables and spindle-back chairs; a big wooden bar, and a large chalkboard on the counter. It was a rather standard British pub but you’d have thought I’d taken them to a heritage centre.

  I led them over to the bar, smiling at the barman. I tried to ignore the crowd of people, who’d stopped talking just to watch us. Either the village was having a party or, my suspicions were correct, and they all wanted a nose at the French ladies.

  Babs cleared her throat as we reached the bar, she beamed up at the barman with a charming smile. “Do you have a table free?”

  The barman’s cheeks coloured. He broke out into a toothy grin. “Aye,” he said in a half-sigh. “Over the-like-see?”

  “Pardon?” She turned to look at me.

  I didn’t know why. I didn’t have a clue. Like see? Like the sea?

  She motioned for me to help. I glanced at Berne who nodded her encouragement.

  “Like-see?” I asked. “Is that the name of the table... or room? ” When Doug and I had been to posh conferences, sometimes meetings were held in rooms with names like: the Pilkington Suite or the Oak Room.

  “No,” he said, slowly and with extra volume. “The-like, see, innit?” He nodded toward Babs.

  “He asks me something, oui?” she asked in French.

  I shrugged. “Maybe he’s speaking Welsh. Welsh people do that sometimes.” I was the finest tour guide.

  “Perhaps,” Berne whispered. “I can sing some of the anthem. If we get stuck, I try this, oui?”

  She was serious too. I was glad, we may need to use it if it was this difficult just to ask for a table. I turned and focused on t
he barman. I was British. I could speak to my fellow British... well Brits. “Is that Welsh for upstairs or are you full?”

  He exchanged a glance with one of the men propping up the bar. I hoped he was a plumber because he had a tool-belt with a sink plunger hanging from it. If you needed to bring tools to get served, I’d have to borrow Berne’s. My tool-belt seemed to have wandered into Rebecca’s possession and she wasn’t giving it up and I wasn’t going to ask.

  “It’s there-like,” he said, shaking his head at me like I was simple. “The table is over the-like, see?”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Where or what is the-like-see?” I tried to keep my tone civil but the men gathered were smiling at me in a way only French people did. The “Oh bless, you are trying but you’re a bit of a numbskull” smile.

  He lifted up the hatch, wandered through the crowd, which shuffled out of his way, and motioned to an empty table in the centre. “I got your table here-like.”

  Either way I wasn’t going to argue, we had a table and he hadn’t kicked us out, hurray.

  He pulled out a seat for Babs—who winked; a man in navy overalls held out Berne’s chair with a cheesy grin; whereas an old man shuffled over to help me and pulled the entire table over to me, knocking over the chair.

  “Er... thanks,” I mumbled as the barman shook his head and yanked the table back. I went to pick up the felled chair only for a large man in orange high-visibility trousers to duck in front and almost rugby tackle me onto the table in his haste.

  “Chair,” he said, with an enthusiastic grin.

  I nodded, staring, as I took it from him. Good thing Rebecca hadn’t been there, she didn’t like it when anyone held doors or chairs for her. She didn’t mind doing it for Babs but try and treat her like a lady and she’d bop you on the nose.

  “Do you have a menu?” Babs managed, between sniggers.

  “On the board.” The barman grinned at her. He was smitten. There was a surprise.

  “You are?” She asked. “Of what?”

  He shook his head. “Not me, the food.”

  “You do not serve it on plates?” She looked to me and I opened my mouth but the barman blurted out a nervous laugh.