by Klaire, Jody
Oh right. Who was the sixteen year old and who was the adult? “Fabrice plastered it about a week ago.” I smiled at her, hoping it was a maternal smile which showed I was only testing her knowledge, not that I was a numbskull. “Are you sure you’d be happy to do the whole house?”
“Yeah, my uncle let me go on work experience with him.” She picked the paint off her long nails. “I can call him if I get stuck.”
“He’s local?” I asked. Another painter would be handy.
“No, he lives in Spain.” She laughed as I screwed up my face in concentration. “He’s really old.”
Dare I ask? “Old?”
“Yeah, at least thirty something.” She met my eyes with a cheeky smile. “You know really old.”
I was being teased by a teenager. How had that happened? I got teased by Berne, by Babs, by Rebecca and Doug... and now a youth.
“You did your work experience in Spain?” I asked, making sure she wasn’t teasing me. I’d done mine in a factory sealing envelopes. I’d been so bored that I’d planned out an entire escape route involving the use of safety pins, some Sellotape and my own bobble. Would have been more practical if I hadn’t been three floors up.
“... and he married my aunt. She’s Spanish,” Gwen said. I’d missed half the conversation again. “I loved it, especially having a break in the middle of the day.”
“Yes,” I said, hoping she hadn’t noticed me daydreaming. “They definitely have the right idea.” I smiled at her. I assumed this work experience had been recent because she had a glow to her milky skin. She was as tall as me with long straight hair but she reminded me of Rebecca with her blue eyes.
“You live in France, don’t you?” She asked, picking up a paintbrush. At great speed and accuracy, she covered the edges of the wall without once hitting skirting board.
“Yes. I live in the South.” How did she not hit the skirting board? I always did. Even when I cheated and put masking tape on it, I still managed to cover it.
“Did you get married to a Frenchman then?” She swished away. She wasn’t being nosy, I wasn’t even sure if she was really listening. It was just pleasant conversation with a stranger.
“Um... yes?” Sort of, if you didn’t count the fact I was with a woman and we weren’t married.
“Must be nice.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “What’s his name?”
Berne’s phone rang. I wandered over to it. Should I answer?
“Berne,” I mumbled. I picked it up and read the caller ID.
“Nice name,” Gwen said between swishes.
I grinned at the name on the screen: Cha-cha, it was Erique. “Bonjour?”
Erique purred with delight. “Ah, my gorgeous sister-to-be, is Bebe asleep?”
I touched my hands to my cheeks. They were warm, yet again.
“No, it’s very unfair but she’s working,” I answered in French, hoping that Gwen couldn’t understand me.
Erique tutted. “Her torn muscle will not heal if she does this.”
“Her what?” I frowned. Berne was getting a poke on the nose.
“Oui, she tears the muscle in her back.” He sighed. “She does not tell you?”
“No.” I’d poke her in the eye. She was outside training one of the locals how she wanted him to fix a problem with one of the half-walls in the grounds. I didn’t know how she did it but I could always see her touch compared to another artisan. She managed an extra finesse? Was that even the right word? Anyway, it looked better.
“I think it heals?” Erique sounded like he was backtracking. “She rests at home, all the time. I work, she orders me around, oui?”
“Was that before or after your texts?” I asked.
He chuckled.
“So, can I give her a message or were you calling to tease her?” I glanced over at Gwen and jumped. She’d finished one side of the hallway. It was a short-ish hallway, but still.
“Oui, tell her that I follow Natalie. That I learn she had a very good motive to persuade the workers to leave Stephanie.” He sounded very much a gendarme. “Only she does not know she is not the only one.”
I pulled my mouth to the side. “Will it help Stephanie with the business?” And more to the point, should he be following women around?
Erique laughed. “Non, mais it will help Stephanie to know that they do not leave because she does something wrong.” Someone called out his name in the background. “Pepe, I have to go. I have to take a call. Many bisous to you, oui?”
I nodded, confused. What was new?
He hung up and I turned back to Gwen who smiled at me. “I’ll come back to this wall.”
I cocked my head at the bare plaster one side of the hallway. “Why, do you have homework?”
She laughed. “No, the plaster isn’t dry.” She tapped her brush when she’d washed it out. “Need a list of rooms and what you want.”
“Are you sure you’re sixteen?” I’d been shy at that age and dense.
“Nearly seventeen if it helps?” She sounded like she was used to being asked that.
“Um... yes?” I led her through the house, pointing out what Babs had asked for. Gwen wrote them on her phone with a pen that detached from it and then pencilled them on the wall too.
She was far too organised.
We walked into one room and found Babs on her phone, back to us, staring out of the window.
“Non, I want it to fuse with the passion for both skills, oui?” She had her charm on full. I could imagine whomever she was talking to blushing as much as I did. “It has to sing with it, to inspire me. I know you can get me what I want, oui?”
She was speaking in English so there was a good chance it was something to do with the house. I couldn’t see what would “fuse with passion for both skills” though. We needed the electrician in for second fix, so maybe plugs and switches fused with passion? Who knew.
“Very well,” she said in a sultry tone. “I look forward to your call.”
She hung up. I tensed, it was impolite to listen to conversations. Move. I backed up and turned to scuttle out of the room but Babs’s chuckle stopped me from dragging Gwen out. Maybe I could hide behind Gwen?
“Ah, our new artisan, oui?” Babs strolled over, a twinkle in her eye and a charming smile on her lips. “I hear much of you.”
Gwen gave her a confident smile. “Mrs Saunders has been showing me around the house. I think I have what I need to get the right colours and shades. I just need to know what type.”
Babs eyed her, then flicked her gaze over me. “You mean Madame Chamonix?” She winked at me. “She has been busy showing you the house?”
Gwen nodded, her hair falling free from her bobble. “Yeah, she’s great. I have to wait for the plaster to dry in some places though.”
Babs’s eyes filled with a twinkle. “I have the design plan here. You wish to take a look?” She sounded impressed.
“Yes, please. If I can have some idea when the plasterers will be finished, I can give you timescales on my jobs then.” She peered down at the plan and screwed up her mouth. “I can speak Spanish but not French. Can you translate?”
I put my hands on my hips. She was so not sixteen. Teenagers were awkward, under-confident, they stayed in bed all day, grunted and shuffled about. At least I had. I still did. So unfair.
“A la derecha en español, si?” Babs said, oozing into the accent. “Sur la droite en Français, oui?”
Gwen pulled her pen thing off her phone again and noted it down. “A la izquierda en español est sur la gauche en Français.”
“Derecha, droite, is right,” Gwen said with a smile. “Izquierda, gauche, is left, right?”
Babs chuckled. “Oui.”
I was confused already.
Gwen launched into Spanish and Babs responded. Cue waving of arms and excited chattering.
I wandered off. The only thing I knew in Spanish was “no hablo español.”
Was that right? Ooh, yay me.
“Pepe?” Ber
ne limped her way up the stairs and smiled at me.
“How’s the torn muscle going?” I asked, folding my arms.
She sighed. “Erique?”
I nodded. “Who else?” I couldn’t stay angry at her wincing like she was, so went over and kissed her. The dull light of the grey cloudy day shone through the window and chiselled her high cheekbones and made her eyes seem deeper.
She cocked her head. “I am missed?”
I cuddled into her. She smelled of adventure and render mix. “Very much so.”
“Alors, Erique has text you?” She wagged her finger. “I will have to watch him, oui?”
“Yes, we’re planning a steamy affair once I’m done with Rebecca.” I pulled back, savouring another kiss. She’d had orange juice, the taste of it on her lips made me smile. “He said something about following Natalie and she and other people left Stephanie for a reason.”
At least, I was sure that’s what Erique had said.
Berne’s brow dipped. She muttered something too fast for me to catch. I grasped enough that it was far from polite.
“He follows women around a lot?” I asked, trying to read her eyes. Her long eyelashes fluttered as she processed some thought.
“Ah, Bebe, this is Gwen,” Babs said from behind me.
I jumped and darted away from Berne only for her to clasp my hand and tut.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Habit.”
Berne motioned with her finger for me to go to her. “You run from me?” She pulled me until I slid my arms around her waist. “It is worth a massage, oui?”
Babs laughed a laugh that Rebecca would high-five her for and I turned to see Gwen peeking around her. Her blonde eyebrows shot up and I tensed again.
“But, Madame Chamonix, what about your husband?” She sounded very concerned for me.
Babs raised an eyebrow. “Husband?” She turned to me. “Pepe, you forget to tell us something?”
Berne tensed.
“Mr Chamonix. Um...” Gwen chewed on her lip, looking from Babs to me and back. “His name is Berne?” She sighed. “If you’re gay, surely it’s only fair he knows.”
Not a flicker of anything other than concern. I really liked her. Babs beamed like she did too and Berne chuckled.
“Ah, mais, this is Berne,” Babs said with a cheeky smile. “Pepe does not explain this?”
Gwen’s relief twinkled through her eyes. “Phew, ‘cause it’s really obvious you’re in love.” She wheezed out a breath. “Anyway, it’s lovely to meet you, Madame Chamonix.”
Berne smiled, her eyes twinkled as they did when she was charmed. She let go of me and placed a kiss on each of Gwen’s cheeks, earning a lovely rosy blush. “Madame Chamonix is my mother, oui? Please call me Berne.”
Babs smiled and touched her hands to Gwen’s cheeks. I got the feeling Gwen was about to be taken under their wing. “You can call me Babs.”
Gwen cleared her throat, tucking her hair behind her ears. “So are you married to a woman too because I’ll have to break my dad in slowly. He’s a bit dense sometimes and... well... all the men in the village are a bit smitten.”
“Not yet.” Babs winked at me. “Mais, my...” She hummed and I knew she was trying to think of a word other than lover.
“Girlfriend,” I piped up. Gwen would be glowing if she did call Rebecca her lover.
“Oui,” Babs purred. “You will see her as you work. She has beautiful hair like yours.”
Gwen’s expression turned into the typical teenage unimpressed look. So she was sixteen sometimes. “I’ve been called ‘ginge, jaffa,’ you name it because of my hair.” She shoved it out of her eyes. “I’ve never heard it called beautiful.”
Babs raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
It was an honest question, neither Berne or Babs really understood the attitude to redheads in Britain.
“Because I’m ginger.” She stared at Babs as if expecting her to catch on. “You know, not blonde.”
“Oui?” Babs looked to me.
“Rebecca got taunted for it too. Don’t ask me why they bothered, all it did was stir her temper.” I smiled as the same flash of “redhead” rippled through Gwen’s eyes. “Like that.”
She furrowed her auburn eyebrows.
I grinned at her. “To us, redheads are gorgeous, loveable, loyal and a pain in my backside. We’re very, very fond of them.”
Gwen’s eyes softened. “Really?”
I grinned. “Wait until you meet Rebecca. It’s hard not to love her.” I shrugged. “Just don’t tell her I said that because she’s cocky enough as it is.”
Babs nodded. “It is true. She knows she has charm.”
Gwen looked at Babs with curiosity. “Maybe I should study French too?”
I chuckled and kissed Berne on the cheek. “It is a wonderful country.”
Berne beamed at me, Babs too and Gwen pulled out her phone. “Français est bon,” she said in a very passable French accent.
Berne and Babs grinned.
Charm?
Maybe it was a redhead thing?
Chapter 40
Rebecca watched Doug let the sheep out from the pen and smiled, her competitive instinct kicking in. Fabrice had been steady with the collies, slow and steady—She narrowed her eyes—But then Stephanie had whipped through the course like some kind of sheep herding pro.
Doug had been delighted, of course. Yes, Rebecca had clapped; Yes, she’d smiled and given encouragement but now she had to do better. She couldn’t let a Frenchwoman beat her at sheep. Sheep were British; sheep were compatriots; sheep would trot around the course with her in charge because they understood. They were on her side. It was bad enough that Pippa couldn’t hold her own against France; that Rebecca was wobbling, but the sheep, no, the sheep would stay strong.
“Now, Rebecca, just remember that they respond to your tone of voice,” Doug said with a pleasant smile. “Calm and clear.”
She nodded. Whatever, the sheep were getting herded. She patted the collie on the head as she got to the start. Around a couple of cones, through a gate thing, over a mini wooden bridge and through some kind of cone chicane to the pen. Easy.
“We got this,” she whispered to the collie.
Doug nodded and checked his watch.
Rebecca raised her arm and the collie shot off.
“Walk on,” she said as Doug had instructed. Calm. Clear. She had this.
The collie crept along like the smooth herding sheepdog it was—Slinky, silent. Fierce eyes locked on the sheep, head dipped as it prowled. The sheep scuttled away from it, heading toward the cones.
“Come-by,” she called, waving her stick thing to direct the sheep to go clockwise.
The collie drove them up to the cone.
“Come-by.”
The collie inched forward. The sheep hurried around the cone.
“Careful,” Doug said, his tone calm like he was enjoying watching. “She’ll hear your tension.”
What was he being all jolly for? This was serious.
She took a deep breath. Calm. Focus. The sheep rounded the corner. “Walk on.”
The collie moved behind the flock, slow, sure. Too slow. Stephanie had swept around this bit. “Walk on.”
The collie’s ears picked up and it dashed forward. The sheep scattered in all directions; half headed toward her.
“Lie down!” she yelped. It was supposed to stop the collie but the collie just glared at her and shot off after two sheep running for Stephanie and Fabrice.
“Lie down!”
The sheep thundered at her. She dodged. One split from the flock, clipped her leg.
Shit.
Her stick clattered to the floor. She toppled into the squelchy mud, hands sinking into the goop.
“Come.” Doug’s voice was clear, calm and full of amusement. The collie sprinted back to him and sat to attention at his feet. “Not to worry.” he smiled at her. “They can split like that sometimes.” He opened the pen and ushered in the sheep Stephanie w
as feeding grass to.
“They didn’t with those two,” she grunted. She pulled herself to her feet then shut her eyes as the breeze hit the wet on her mud plastered trousers.
“They were calm.” Doug gave her a reassuring smile.
Stephanie and Fabrice chatted to the sheep, taking pictures of it.
“Don’t think they speak French,” she shot at them as she stomped over.
Doug strode off, collies to heel.
“We keep her company, oui?” Stephanie said with a smile.
“Do sheep get lonely?” Rebecca muttered. She eyed it. Sheep looked dumb to her. It stared back, not rising to it, chomping on the grass.
“You do not like them?” Fabrice asked, cooing to the sheep.
“I don’t have strong feelings either way.” She shrugged. “They’re woolly and like grass. That’s it really.”
Stephanie took another picture of the sheep. “They are wonderful. They have such funny expressions, oui?”
Rebecca cocked her head. The sheep just looked like sheep normally did: vacant.
Doug came back, sheep and collies trotting in harmony to the pen. Swot.
She put her hands on her hips.
“Want to try again?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He raised his eyebrows as Stephanie and Fabrice clapped. Doug set up the sheep and gave her a rusty and white coloured collie this time.
“He’s a Welsh collie,” Doug said. “Collie coming from the old Gallic word ‘useful.’” He smiled at Stephanie who looked at him with wonder.
“Only useful when they work with you,” she muttered under her breath. “So why the Welsh one?”
He smiled as if pleased she’d asked. “He’s from a line of champions. He’s older and seems to respond to a firm tone.” He shrugged when she folded her arms.
“In English,” she muttered.
He sighed. “He’s less likely to get over-excited when you yell at him.” He shrugged again. “In theory.”
The collie joined her at the start, Doug nodded and she raised her arm. “Walk on.”
The collie slinked up to the sheep. They moved into a trot.
“Come-by,” she tried to put on an accent like Doug had. He had a particular tone. The collie urged the sheep around the cone, fast, efficient. Stephanie hadn’t been that quick. Hah.