Best Maid Plans

by Klaire, Jody

  “Rebecca agrees to have counselling for her... oddness?” He eyed her tattoos, wrinkling up his nose again. I could see where all his hair had gone, it was clogging up his nostrils... and his ears.

  The crowd murmured, some nodded, most rolled their eyes and one spat out her false teeth—I wasn’t sure if that had anything to do with us. She might have swallowed the wrong way. Dentures could be tricky, or so Berne’s dad had told me.

  Rebecca’s chin wobbled and pain glinted through her eyes.

  “Kick him where it hurts,” I whispered in French. “Or Babs can if you like?”

  Rebecca met my eyes, a twinkle replacing the pain. She nodded and turned back to Mr Monmouth-Whitely. “My dad gives me his blessing to marry the woman I love.”

  “Woman” said very slowly and very loudly so even the elderly lady fiddling with her hearing trumpet gasped—No wait, they weren’t trumpets, were they? They were called something else?—Doug beamed, and I gripped hold of the bag not to launch into a cheer while Mr Monmouth-Whitely went purple in the face.

  “Agreed.” He shoved out his hand again. Even they were hairy.

  “Agreed.” Rebecca gripped him back.

  They turned and marched out of the door. Doug raised his eyebrows as I waved to the old dears watching.

  “Bit intense,” he whispered as we followed them out into the breezy afternoon. It was grey overhead.

  “Got any helmets in your bag?” I asked.

  “Maybe I should have,” he mumbled. We could have done with Stephanie and Erique and maybe some more gendarmes.

  “The battle of the Whitelys,” I said as we joined Rebecca. “Maybe it’ll be a legend in golf club history.”

  Golf clubs at high noon.

  “We’ll be a part of it,” he said as Rebecca strode over to the tee.

  “Hand me the pink,” Rebecca shot at me.

  “Yes, doctor.” I pulled out the pink-stickered club. “For womankind.”

  Rebecca raised her eyebrows, a flash of amusement in her eyes. “You know I love you, right?”

  “Don’t say it too loudly or your dad will have kittens.” I blew out a breath.

  She snorted and strode over with her ball. Doug flashed a smile my way and we huddled close to watch her.

  “Come on, Rebecca,” he whispered so low only I could hear.

  I nodded and squeezed his hand. “You can do it.”

  Chapter 46

  Berne yawned, then winced as her ears popped. She stared out of the plane window at the clouds. Seeing the white fluffy puffs below was peaceful even if her stomach crunched with excitement.

  “How is your back?” Babs whispered, shoving the magazine in the back of the seat in front.

  Berne wiggled her jaw about, everything so much louder. She never understood why that happened when her ears popped. If they could hear that well, why didn’t they do it all the time? “Better than your nerves, oui?”

  She sighed. “I did not need to have the drama with Emilie. Alors, thanks to Doug, Stephanie has her business once more.”

  Babs had demanded she would pay for the repairs and all work to Stephanie’s house to complete it and Berne was happy to forget they had ever known Emilie.

  “We tell her when we arrive?” Berne asked as Babs drummed her nails on the armrest.

  “Oui, there is still much to do at the house, mais, I need her to feel happy.” Babs let out a long sigh. “It will feel good to see her smile.”

  “Ah, Fabrice says that she has much to smile about.” Berne grinned. He hadn’t so much told her, not in so many words but she understood him too well. “Maybe her heart begins to heal, non?”

  Babs tutted. “And how does Fabrice know this?” She drummed her fingernails once more. “He falls in love with Gwen with a smile.”

  “And you did not with Rebecca?” She leaned to the side to take in the blush creeping up Babs cheeks.

  “Perhaps.” Babs waved it off.

  “Then, like you, he likes a woman with passion, oui?” Berne chuckled as Babs scrunched up her mouth.

  “You sound much like Erique.” She leaned out into the aisle as if ready to raid the drinks cart.

  “And like him, I will feel much happiness to see you smile.” Berne squeezed her hand and went back to looking out at the clouds.

  Babs let out a long shuddering breath. “I hope so.”

  Chapter 47

  I wandered closer to Doug as we trundled along behind “the Whitely two.” My feet ached; I’d managed to stand in a water hazard, and my electric club-bag thing made Babs’s driving look conservative. I didn’t know if it had a dodgy wheel or it had been drinking at Doug’s stag do too.

  “Update, Fletcher,” I muttered, squelching along. He’d been engrossed in the battle so much that he made Berne look talkative.

  “You’ve been watching, Babe. Don’t you know?” He chuckled at me, then raised an eyebrow as he caught sight of my sodden trouser leg.

  I shrugged. “Normally sports people cheer or groan or do something to show what is going on.” I nodded over at Rebecca. “These two look like they’re playing poker.”

  He grinned. “It’s fantastic, isn’t it?”

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  He sighed. “It’s a tense contest. No one can match Mr Monmouth-Whitely usually.”

  That didn’t sound helpful.

  “Pippa, he was a pro. You do realise that?” He put his hands on his hips.

  “So he’s not bad.” I waved it off. “She can cope.”

  He leaned closer as Mr Monmouth-Whitely practised his swing. “He was on the Ryder cup team. He had to give it up when Rebecca’s mum passed.”

  “He worked in the bank, that’s all I know.” Professional walks following a tiny white ball. I knew what him being a professional meant. I didn’t want to offend Doug or Rebecca because they loved golf but, to me, it would have been more prestigious if he’d been a good dad.

  “You have no clue, do you?” He asked with a wry smile. “How they ever thought you were a lesbian, I don’t know.”

  I blinked at him, finding a divot and stumbling off to my left, the bag went to the right as if protesting it was stuck with me. “Who thought?”

  “Most of the golf club.” He winked at me. He was being cheeky. “They might take your toaster away.”

  I frowned. “Who? Why would they do that?” Did I even have a toaster? I was sure Rebecca used the grill but still, theft of cooking appliances was low.

  He covered his mouth as I tried manoeuvring my bag back onto the straight only to clip my own foot and stumble, again. I poked him. “It’s not funny.”

  “Stephanie filled me in.” He beamed. “She gave me a somewhat humorous take on her ex-girlfriend.” He shook his head. “It took her years to understand why everyone kept going on about toasters.”

  Maybe she could tell me then? “I’m sure Rebecca would get it. I don’t think she’s convinced I’m gay either.”

  “Because you’re not,” he said to me. “At least you’re not a stereotype. You’re you, and I love you for it.”

  The bag juddered to a halt as I stared at him. “Thank you.” I wagged my finger, trying to cover the lump forming in my throat. “Stephanie is gorgeous and funny, caring and sweet.” I narrowed my eyes. “But, you are getting married, Fletcher, so no breaking Marie’s or Stephanie’s heart.”

  He held up his hands. His bag did as told and stopped nicely. “So, if I wasn’t getting married, you’d be happy for me?”

  “With Stephanie?” I grinned. “I’d love it. She brings you out of yourself, she makes you laugh and smile. I only hope Marie can too.”

  His eyes twinkled and he put a finger over his lips to “shh” me as Mr Monmouth-Whitely thwacked the ball.

  “Berne is lucky to have you,” he whispered. “Who else would traipse around after their best friend?”

  He took the club off Mr Monmouth-Whitely as Rebecca held out her hand. “Hand me the pink.”

  I yanked th
e club out, the bag crashed over, taking me with it and I landed, on my backside with the club. I sighed and held it up.

  Rebecca took it with a contorted smile. What a surprise, she was chuckling at me, again. “Thanks, Pip.”

  “Welcome,” I muttered.

  Doug helped me to my feet, again, not a surprise that his mouth was pulled into funny shapes too.

  “You’re following Mr Monmouth-Whitely around,” I said. “You’re traipsing too.”

  He tried to brush me down.

  I batted him off. “Hands, Fletcher.”

  He cocked his head. “You’ve toned up... a lot.”

  I cleared my throat.

  He shook free whatever smutty thought was going on in his head—I may not have been with him, but I knew that look.

  “I get a free round,” he mumbled.

  Mr Monmouth-Whitely glared at us as Rebecca practiced how to hit the ball.

  “What’s his deal?” I muttered.

  “Right now?” He asked and I nodded. “He drops a shot if I distract her.” He sighed. “I can’t on purpose though or he’ll know and she could lose.”

  Ah, slight drawback.

  Rebecca thwacked the ball. I glanced at Doug who nodded. “Beautiful.”

  “You’re doing great,” I whispered to Rebecca as I took her club. “Toe to toe with an ex-Ryder cup player. Not bad.”

  She stopped and stared at me, then glanced at Doug. “You give her any more information and she’ll be dangerous.”

  I winced as my wet foot squelched. Why did we have to walk? Where were the golf buggies?

  “Pippa is dangerous all by herself,” he said, winked at me and wandered off.

  “So glad you’re here,” Rebecca mumbled to me then smiled as she watched Doug saunter off to Mr Monmouth-Whitely. “Glad Dougie’s here too.”

  “Stop drooling over the men, Whitely, you’ve got balls to bully.” I trudged past, driving the club-bag over a bump. It veered off. Rebecca grabbed for it, stopping it crashing into the sand.

  “Balls to bully?” She asked, a smutty smile on her face.

  I clamped my hand over her mouth. “Don’t go there.”

  Chapter 48

  Berne got out of the car and grinned at Stephanie as she and Fabrice hurried over, smiles in place.

  “You missed us?” Berne asked with a chuckle as they were wrapped up in hugs.

  “Oui, we wish to show you how it looks.” Stephanie took Berne’s hand only to stop and squeal with delight as she spotted Erique getting out of the driver’s side. She ran to him and he wrapped her up. “You could have time off?”

  “Bien sûr, it is a special occasion, oui?” He kissed her on each cheek. “Alors, where is this Doug I hear so much of?”

  Berne and Babs exchanged a smile.

  “He is helping Pepe and Rebecca.” She winked at Babs, a blush tinting her cheeks. “To get Monsieur Monmouth-Whitely’s approval, oui?”

  Babs giggled underneath her breath, then tutted at herself. She rubbed her hand over her stomach. “I am a little nervous.”

  Berne pulled her into a hug and kissed her on the head. “Good nerves, oui?” She smiled at Stephanie. “Erique also found something to bring you as a gift.”

  “Moi?” Stephanie looked from her to Erique.

  He cleared his throat and pulled out papers. “For the business.” He grinned. “Your business.”

  “Non?” Stephanie’s eyes widened. She took the key, tears filling her eyes. “How?”

  Babs beamed at her. “Emilie seemed to lose her workforce.”

  Stephanie dabbed at her mascara. “This could not be so.”

  “You have friends who were happy to return what was yours,” Erique said with a dashing smile. “English ones.”

  “I...” Stephanie’s tears dribbled down her cheeks. “I...”

  Erique pulled her into his arms. “Come, we fill you with grease for all the alcohol I smell, oui?” He nodded to Berne and Babs. “Do you not have things to do?”

  Babs rubbed her stomach again and Berne couldn’t help but smile.

  Fabrice cleared his throat. “Maman is waiting for you.”

  Babs blew out a breath and turned to Berne. “You will keep them busy?”

  Berne nodded. “You have a plan, we follow the plan, oui?”

  Babs blew out another breath. “I am too nervous.”

  Berne extended her hand. “Then, I will walk with you.”

  They wandered toward the house. The sculptures she’d managed to complete were in place; staff buzzed around, completing tasks.

  “Babs,” Stephanie called, running to catch up. “I forget...” she threw herself at them both, squeezing Babs with gusto and being careful with Berne. “I love you... very, very much.”

  Babs kissed her on the cheek. “Do not thank us... We only deliver the papers, oui?”

  “Non, even if you do not do this, you have all stayed at my side.” Stephanie fussed with her mascara. “I love you all for this much more.”

  Berne pulled her into another hug. “We love you also.”

  Stephanie kissed Berne on the cheek and turned to leave, then clicked and turned back around. “Alors, Ivor calls, he says that he finds the perfect fusion of passion for you.”

  Babs grinned. “Parfait.”

  Berne raised her eyebrow as Babs led her into the house. “Passion?”

  Babs winked at her, a cheeky smile on her lips.

  Berne rolled her eyes. It was better she did not ask.

  Chapter 49

  I watched Mr Monmouth-Whitely shoot a smug smile at Rebecca as he lined up his shot. Rebecca didn’t flinch but I was ready to shove the sand wedge up his hairy nostril. What kind of sport made balls that blew off course? Why hadn’t they made provisions for an activity that carried on outdoors?

  “Still a chance,” Doug whispered to me as Mr Monmouth-Whitely practiced his swing.

  There was something about the way Doug stood at an awkward angle, his lips pursed, his eyes flicking to and fro as if he didn’t agree with something... or he was up to something.

  I reached out and held his elbow. “If you distract him, he’ll know and she’ll lose.”

  He flicked his gaze to me, then Rebecca and sighed.

  “I’ll just have to marry her after counselling and without his blessing,” Rebecca said, trying to be brave but her eyes were filling up and her voice wobbled.

  “You are going to win and you are going to get his blessing.” I fixed them both with a glare. “If he smiles that smug smile again, I may bury him in the sand pit.”

  “It’s a bunker,” Doug whispered.

  “Well, that too.”

  Mr Monmouth-Whitely dinked his shot. It rolled into the hole. Rebecca hung her head and I pulled her into a hug. “You can still do this.”

  “Pip, I can’t,” she whispered, voice hoarse with tears.

  “Yes, you can.” I looked at Doug. “You have another hole to go, right?”

  He nodded. “Right, still in it.”

  Rebecca looked up from my shoulder as Mr Monmouth-Whitely strode past, snapping his fingers at Doug. In return, Doug flashed a fake smile only for his eyes to narrow when Mr Monmouth-Whitely had walked by.

  “Pip, the next hole is a three par,” Rebecca mumbled to me as if it would make any sense. “My dad is six under par and I’m on five under par. Even though I eagled this hole, I’m still a shot down.”

  One word: Confused.

  She gripped my shoulders. “Either he needs to bogey this next hole, which he has never done, or I need to get at least a birdie.”

  I gripped her shoulders back. “None of that made sense.”

  She sighed. “I have to hit the next hole in two shots, not three, to draw.” She chewed on her lip. “And he only needs to get it in three. If he gets it in two, he’ll have won.”

  “What does a draw mean then?” I asked. It sounded fair. They’d taken far less time than my dad had and I’d only been in the rough, not the sand, once.
Well, at least on Rebecca’s behalf. I’d personally been in the rough, the water hazard, the sand, the trees and been run over by the stupid club-bag for good measure. It was drunk or I needed lessons in how to drive it, or both.

  “Nothing really. We shake hands on a well-fought tie.” She rubbed her hand over the back of her neck. “But he won’t give me his blessing to marry Babs.” Tears twinkled in her eyes. “And I really want him to. I want him to know her, I want him to love her.”

  “So hit it for a draw. Doug and I will threaten to bury him in the sand pit—”

  “Bunker,” she muttered.

  “Whatever. He’ll give you his blessing, or get sand in his ears and then we can go and find food.” My stomach rumbled in agreement.

  “Only one golfer has ever hit this hole under par, Pip, and he was my grandfather.” She smiled a dazed smile. “A birdie.”

  “So do that then. If he can do it, so can you.” And what was with the wildlife names?

  Rebecca put her hands on her hips and stared at me. “Pip, he was one of the greatest British golfers... ever.”

  Ah, made things a bit tougher. “What’s the issue?” I asked as we reached the tee. “It doesn’t look that far, even I can see the hole.” Well the red flag at least.

  She looked from me to her dad and sighed. “It’s a skill shot. Hit it too hard and the ball sails into the water.” She held up her finger. “Which means I drop a shot.”

  I opened my mouth. She put her hand over it.

  “Under-hit it and I bogey the hole because each shot gets more and more difficult.” She glanced down the course. “And I always bogey it.”

  “Sounds like a bravery shot to me.” I felt inspired like I had on the driving range.

  She scowled. “What do you mean?”

  “Your grandfather made it in two because he trusted himself to hit the green.” Ooh, that sounded so wise. I needed to take notes when I said these things. Something to remind me that I had a brain... somewhere... when I did something like sew my button and myself to my shirt. It happened. A lot.