Chapter Seven

 

WE GOT TO the site only to find that the local men that Doug hired had all but stripped the place already. I had been expecting a slow, leisurely pace that with a little dragging out, could give Rebecca and I time to come to terms with all the grown-up stuff. At this rate, I’d be married and pregnant by the end of the month.

In a word, merde.

“Berne, Pip, you want to come over here a minute.” Rebecca had her work clothes on, complete with a checked shirt and white vest.

I hadn’t missed Berne smile at the fashion statement. Berne had her work jeans on, which wrapped snug against her powerful legs. Still, they weren’t so powerful that you could mistake she was a slender, gorgeous walking work of—

“Pip, quit drooling and focus.”

I heard my own gasp and my neck itched with the ensuing blush. “I hate you.”

Berne laughed as we huddled around Rebecca’s little gas stove.

“And you, Bebe.”

Rebecca frowned. “Did you just call her baby?”

Berne laughed again as I felt myself blush, again.

“Non. It is my nickname. Here, in France, you take the first part of your name and répété?” She smiled. “It can be your prénom or your . . .” She made the delightful humming sound when thinking. I leaned on my fist, enjoying it. Goodness she enchanted me.

“Surname?” Rebecca asked, prodding me.

Right, focus. Yes, where were we?

“Oui. Par example, my brother is Erique and so it would not work . . .”

I wondered how Erique was. I’d only met him once. He was as charming as she was.

“ . . . Alors they call him Cha-cha.”

“That sounds kinda camp,” Rebecca said.

I poked her in the back. She shrugged.

“There is nothing camp about Erique Chamonix, believe me,” I said. “He has enough charisma to make even you take notice.”

Berne smiled at my defence of her brother or maybe it was Rebecca’s look of mild disgust.

“Well, funny things do happen to go on in this country. Your sexuality seems void here, right?” Rebecca folded her ink-covered arms across her bust. I decided to ignore one tattoo that I hadn’t noticed of a rather . . . well . . . curvaceous woman. She was an anchor away from joining the Navy.

“So, why are we huddled, Ree-Ree?” I said, sticking my tongue out for good measure.

“I have a plan.” Her eyes lit up as she formulated my name into the mould. Hear it came. I folded my arms, waiting for it. Yup, cue adolescent mirth.

“PeePee!” She gripped her stomach as she howled like the adolescent teenage boy she was inside.

I knew her far too well. “It’s Pep-pee actually.”

Berne nodded in firm agreement.

“Like the cartoon skunk?” Off she howled again.

I sighed at Berne. “You can’t take her anywhere,” I said in French. “If there’s anything remotely gross or any innuendo, she is your girl.”

At the sound of my rusty French, Berne beamed. “Very good,” she whispered back. “You still remember much.”

“I had a good teacher.”

The twinkle in her eyes pretty much rooted me to the spot. I was aware that the builders were casting glances at us. Quite possibly, leaning towards her as I was, may suggest to some that I was about to throw myself into her arms. They were strong arms. I had no doubt she’d be able to catch me. In fact once, she’d carried me down a set of stairs. And was it me or was I close enough to just reach out and—

“So, plan, focus on the plan, ladies.” Rebecca recovered from her hysterics and cleared her throat.

“You speak French too?” Berne was very impressed. In fact, I could almost see her deciding that she liked Rebecca. A twinkle filled her eyes in such a way that I had only seen when she looked at her family or her beloved best friend, Babs.

“A-level . . . and my tenses suck but I try.” Rebecca looked very much as if she was coming to the same conclusion about Berne. What a regular love-fest.

“So are you going to get on with it or swap numbers?” Ooh, didn’t that sound less like the joke I’d intended and more . . . well . . . jealous.

“Cool it, bride to be,” Rebecca said, eyeing me like I’d sprout tentacles. “I worked out a way to lengthen things out for you. You want to get married next week?”

She waved her thumb at the efficient team buzzing in and out of the building. Some were grinning at Berne like they were in love. I didn’t blame them.

Rebecca prodded me, again. Oh right, wedding. “You have?” I knew there was a reason I loved her. “Don’t stall, out with it!”

I made a point not to look at Berne whose eyes seemed to burn my cheek. Yes, I wasn’t a willing bride. It was nerves. That was all.

“Okay. Now every planning permission and plan has been passed. Our boy is hot on his legal bows.” Rebecca nodded as though she were leading the troops in battle. “The way to counter his plans is to drag out stabilising the foundations of the place.”

It sounded like a logical step to me but what did I know? Solid foundations sounded a good idea.

“Now, ’cause there’s that little river trickling away near you, it stands to reason that in the winter, that could rise.” Rebecca leaned in, hovering over the gas stove.

Berne nodded. A grave look in her eyes. “Oui. It almost reaches the top of the bank.”

We all looked at the area in question. That was a pathetic attempt at flooding. “Seriously?”

“Oui. This is not far enough downstream to hold much water. Besides, it is only really a stream.” She flashed a smile at me. “It is not like the Ardèche, non?”

Images of giggling while Berne navigated us in a kayak down the rapids burst into my mind. I hadn’t laughed like that before. I wasn’t sure if I had since. “Doug doesn’t know that though, does he?”

Rebecca chuckled a mischievous chuckle. “Are you seriously considering lying to your future husband, Miss Saunders?”

“You want me to have a rugby team?” I nodded at her as she paled even more than the milk bottle she normally was. “You want me to talk about baby clothes?”

I thought she was going to dive onto her knees and beg me not to for the frown on her face. “The river rises really high, Berne, really, really high.”

“I cannot say this.” Berne’s brow crinkled in disgust. She was always someone who felt truth was paramount. “He is paying good money. It would not be fair.”

Rebecca turned to her and I wasn’t sure if she was going to rugby tackle her. “He wants Pippa to shop for wedding dresses this weekend.”

Berne looked at Rebecca who nodded gravely. She looked at me and I did the very same. She rubbed her hand over the back of her neck, something I knew she did when anxious. “It will take a conversation with my father.”

Rebecca smiled, punching her on the bicep. “I knew you’d get it.”

 

OVER THE NEXT few days, we worked on breaking the news to Doug. Monsieur Chamonix had been as onside as Berne. I had no idea exactly what she had told him but I was glad of his support.

In normal circumstances, Rebecca had told us all that the basement, which would act as Doug’s den, would need to be tanked. She had droned on in great detail about the intricacies but in short it was like making the outside of the basement like the inside of a bath, i.e. waterproof.

I wasn’t comfortable with making Doug spend unnecessary money or messing around with the beautiful river. So Rebecca came up with some ingenious solution that involved some kind of sandbag type system that would soak up any water then dry back out. Being mischievous seemed to become her.

Doug had offered to move in the heavy equipment to speed up the process but Berne and her father had told him that they would need a gentle approach. Monsieur Chamonix had even compared the stone to a woman’s curves, saying that it needed caressing not bulldozing. Now, I knew were the Chamonix children got their charm. Even Rebecca blushed.

Doug went along with the advice but I could see him fuming at the delay behind polite smiles. He was not a patient man in business, and come to think of it, I wasn’t sure why he’d been so with me.

With our cunning plan in action, we started to dig down the eight feet we would need in order to fulfil our flood-proofing. At least it was a great plan until half way through the Friday afternoon when it started to rain.

“Tell me again why we thought this was a good idea,” I mumbled as my back protested at the constant digging.

I was out of shape to say the very least. My gym membership had concluded sometime in my mid-twenties. Apparently years without any exercise could possibly make you unfit. Who knew?

“You needed time to build your energy before you start breeding.” Rebecca had forgone her builder’s attire for shorts and t-shirt.

She hadn’t begun inking up her legs yet, thank goodness. I was starting to wonder if she would start playing football for all the tattoos. Either that or join a gang.

“Right,” I said and glanced at Berne.

She was far fitter and stronger than the pair of us and seemed as unflappable as ever. I wondered if her skin even knew what sweat was . . . prompting me to get a very vivid reminder of just when she did. Oh boy.

“Staring again.” Rebecca threw dirt in my direction. “You know, if you marry her already, we can stop digging.”

The thought of such a thing made me giggle and not just a soft one. Nope, a teenage girl giggle that made me want to hide my head in the muck.

Berne looked up in response and raised an eyebrow.

“Cut it out.” I shoved the spade into the mud. “It’s not as if she would want that anyway.”

“Want me to ask her?”

Yes. Wait, no, no . . . marrying Doug. Doug, nice manly Doug with fluff on his chin and a milk bottle for a chest. Doug. “What are you going to do this weekend?” I asked, to try and throw her off. “You know, while I’m with mother.” I knew the last word was through gritted teeth.

“Berne is heading back to Marseille for a few days,” Rebecca said, cocking her head at me. “Thought I’d tag along.”

The spade narrowly missed my foot as I rammed it into the dirt. “Really?”

Uh oh, that tone sounded unnaturally high pitched.

“You’re shopping for wedding dresses, Pip. Give her a break.”

“Whose side are you on?”

The sky opened up with rain as though it understood exactly how I felt. Marseille meant Vivi-vixen time. Stupid name.

“Traitor.”

Rebecca held up her hands, her spade clattering into her knee. “I’m on yours, as always.” She sighed and held my gaze. “You know, if you talked to her—”

“Marrying Doug.” I slammed the spade into the dirt again. Berne turned and looked. “Happy, wonderful fabulous Doug.”

So she was going back to Marseille and the old crow waiting for her. I mean, what did she see in the rich old cradle-snatcher anyway? In my mind, Vivienne was old, ugly, and needed dental work. Wait, no . . . she didn’t even have her own teeth. Yeah.

“Do I need to hide the sharp objects?” Rebecca did look genuinely concerned. Berne looked slightly amused and I was sick and tired of digging.

“No.” I saw Doug pull up and threw the spade into the dirt. Fine. If Berne wanted to run off to some old letch then what did I care?

I stomped up to Doug, launched myself into his arms, and put every ounce of confusion and irritation into it. Rebecca was right, I was unhinged. Maybe it was hormones. What was wrong with me?

“Hey, babe.” He gripped hold of my waist. “You miss me, huh?”

“Yes.” I buried my head in his shoulder. The familiar smell, the scent of his presence. Aftershave. Strong. It made my nose twitch. “You were away too long.”

He pulled me to arms-length and then sighed at the dirt on his shoulder. “Pippa, look at this shirt. It was clean on today.”

Way to fizzle the moment. “It’s just a stupid piece of cloth.”

I could feel Berne and Rebecca watching me while Doug put his hands on his hips. “It’s handmade and tailored. You know how expensive it is.”

Part of me wanted to grip a handful of mud and smother it over his shirt in protest. Of course, that would be the height of bad manners and I was polite. Mud fights were something other people did. Fun people.

The sudden sorrow of that made me burst into tears and I was certain that I may need to be committed for my own safety.

Doug didn’t seem to notice, he was too busy walking over to Monsieur Chamonix.

“Shush now. What makes you feel so lost?” Berne’s voice beside me made me cry even harder. Her hand on my back made me shudder.

“You are going to Marseille, he is worried about his shirt, and I’m fed up of digging.”

The rain, which had started as drizzle, grew heavier.

“I need to see Vivienne. It is our weekend.”

Short of saying, “I don’t care. Why aren’t you pining for me?” there was not a lot I could say to that. I turned away from her and from Doug and trudged up the stone bridge.

“Pepe, where are you going?” Berne, not Doug, Berne was the one following me. Her voice, not his, hers called out to me. She wasn’t even supposed to care and she was the one who came after me. There was something very skewed about that. “You must let these things out or they will drive you crazy.”

“You drive me crazy,” was what I wanted to say. Instead I kept walking, Berne catching up.

“What did he do that was so bad?” I could hear that she didn’t even want to utter his name. It didn’t make me feel better, it just made the tears flow faster. “You looked pleased to see him.”

How could I tell her that the only reason I’d thrown myself at him was the desperation to rid her from my thoughts? “I got mud on his shirt.”

“I can think of nothing better.”

“That’s because you love me.” I clamped my hand over my mouth but the words hung there between us, in our breathing as we started down the hill towards the town.

“Oui,” Berne whispered. “This will always be true.”

I didn’t know if that made the aching more prominent or if it made it more bearable. My heart did a happy dance just to confirm it. She still loved me.

“He doesn’t understand me.” I ran my hands through my mud-soaked hair and sighed. “He doesn’t even notice who I am.”

“Sometimes we do not see the value in what we assume will forever be ours.”

I glared at her. “You did.”

“Look where it got me.” Her voice was filled with defeat. She stared out at the misty rain clouds.

“You think I don’t love you?” Anger mixed with confusion and jealousy. “You think I want you to go sauntering off to the city to be with her?”

Berne blinked a few times as she took in what I had said. “You love me still?”

“Of course I do!” I put my hands on my hips. I clung on to stop from closing the gap between us. “You think these tears were for him?”

Oh, that sounded cold. That sounded terrible. I was a terrible person.

“Now I am not certain.” Berne’s eyes searched mine. Her rain-soaked hair dripped water down her strong cheek bones. “You left . . . Pepe . . . I do not understand.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I closed my eyes for a moment. I couldn’t do this. There was no choice in the matter. I couldn’t explain and I couldn’t argue. It was done. I was marrying Doug. I had to. Still, I wanted her to know one thing. “I love you. I hate that you are with someone else and I hate that I left you.” I sighed. “I’m so sorry I did that to you. I’m sorry I never called . . . I’m . . . sorry.”

I wished I could tell her why. She’d make it all okay, she always did but I couldn’t risk it.

Berne’s lips slid into a smile. “That is something I have longed to hear. Thank you.” She looked up the road the way we’d walked. “What do you wish to do?”

“What I want and what I have to do are two different things. I promised to marry him. He’s not you but I haven’t wasted eight years of his time not to go through with it.”

Wow, wonderful reason to get married. Well done, Saunders.

Berne stood closer. “I meant about the fact we stand in the street . . . we walk far from the house.”

To any British person, her proximity was within the massive personal space zone. A place that only people who you really wanted to be there could stand. It felt intimate and made my body fizz with excitement. She was standing there, all nonchalant, mud-soaked and beyond tempting.

“Oh,” was about the only thing I could squeeze out.

Her laughter and the twinkle in her eyes undid me. I hurled myself at her and wrapped my arms around her. I’d never wanted to hug anyone so much before. Okay, so I wanted more, I needed more but it would have to do now.

“I make a promise to Vivienne also. It is not a ceremony but I am loyal to her.” Berne held me tight. The rain dribbled over us. “Alors I do not like that you are with him, I hate this. Je t’aime tout les temps.” She took my hand and led me up a very familiar side street. “You have not seen my mother in some time. You come, clean, eat.”

“What do we do?” I clung to her hand like she could hold me steady in the storm of my own making. “Tell me how to do this?”

“We will do it as we always did.” She guided me towards the door. “Together.”