Chapter Twenty-four

 

REBECCA AND I had stared at French television for what felt like days. It was probably more like an hour and a half but it really did feel like a lot longer. What was it with time? How could hours feel so massively different in length?

Desperate to know how Monsieur Chamonix was and if he had made it, zoning out was the only thing I was truly capable of doing. My arms were so tired and achy that I could barely lift them to reach for my drink. When I did, they shook so much that I spilled half of it over myself.

A lot of it was shock.

“Vivienne went with them, didn’t she?” I didn’t know why it popped into my head or if it should really matter. It was surreal that I hoped she was with Berne. I didn’t want her to be alone. I wanted her to have support. It didn’t matter from whom.

Rebecca pulled out her mobile. “Yeah.”

The television program was dreadful. This one actress was so poor that she kept doing a flickering look from side to side with her eyes. “Think she’s forgotten her line again.”

Rebecca sniggered. “Either that or someone has let off a stink.”

“Oh look, she’s after the CEO now.” I snorted. “I mean what woman really puckers her lips out like that?”

Not normally one for picking holes in people, I put it down to the fact that I was worried. I wasn’t mean and I never ever wanted to be like Catherine. My darling sister’s parting e-mail had been so full of anger that I’d not bothered to read on after the third line.

Sad thing was, she and my mother seemed less of a problem now they were so far away. I had reached the point that I’d realised how much happier I was not having to pretend anymore. It made me feel like I’d released a dead weight.

In other words, good riddance.

The news flicked onto the screen and the reporter cycled through the events of the day. Apparently lots of drama had happened in a sport, I presumed football, and lots of suited men were being photographed leaving a court. It must have been relatively important because Rebecca muttered, “Terrible,” at the set once or twice.

I didn’t hear it. I was thinking about Monsieur Chamonix and hoping that he was okay. He loved football, he would have been shaking his head at the television too if he was here.

Rebecca went to stand then yelped and hopped about. She frantically rubbed at her calf.

“Come here.” I patted the couch next to me and she plonked down. I rolled up her trouser leg and manipulated the muscle with my fingers as Rebecca studied my face. I broke out into a smile. “You haven’t had this since you stopped training.”

She sported a lovely blush. “Yeah, I know. Should have taken it more easy.”

“You’re training again?”

Rebecca had retired from triathlons when she had damaged her ligaments and had to have knee surgery. It had put her off and she’d never found anything she enjoyed as much to replace it.

“I know, I know. I only got the urge a couple of days ago. Babs went for a run and . . . I guess I got the urge to do something myself.”

Working the muscle, I kissed her on the kneecap. “Well done. I’m glad you’re doing something for you.”

“You’re not mad?”

I shook my head. “At least I’ll have company if you compete this time.” I tried and failed to keep the grin off my face. “You know, because you love her.”

Rebecca groaned. “You weren’t meant to hear that.”

“Alas, your secret is out.” I met her eyes. “She’s good for you.”

Rebecca grinned. “You really want a laugh?”

Anything not to have to think about waiting, about Monsieur Chamonix. I prayed he was okay, he had made it.

“Hit me.”

Rebecca turned to the TV and searched until she found what she was looking for. On came the crazy TV show with the pouty-lipped woman.

I chuckled. “She’s your new embarrassing crush or something?”

Rebecca flashed her grin at me. “Oh no. Pippa Saunders . . . meet your rival . . . Vivienne.”

I turned to the screen and burst into laughter. What was Berne thinking? “Was she drunk?”

“Now, now . . . Miss Fish Lips is very charming when her face moves.”

I’ll bet. Why had Berne put up with her being nasty? “I can be mean to her on Berne’s behalf, right?”

Mean fish-lips-viper who had hurt Berne so much. Viper who was with Berne now. Boo.

“Yeah, talk about being in love with yourself. The woman went on and on.”

“Did Babs ever tell you why she caught Berne’s eye?”

Rebecca nodded. “She’s a legend, I guess. Pictures of her a few years ago showed that she was far hotter back then too. Maybe she ended up looking like she was inside.”

“Poor Berne.” I didn’t like to think of her having to suffer the woman’s wrath. “I don’t think I can cope with her having to put up with it.”

“Then do us all a favour and do something about it?”

I looked at her.

Rebecca shrugged. “Look, I love you, but stop with the drama already.”

Consider myself told. “You and Babs both feel that way?”

Rebecca nodded. “Tell her, Pip. Tell her.”

The woman, old fish face, on TV made me feel like I might just have a chance to win Berne back. I mean, the lady was probably saner, richer, and more well respected than me but I could build stairs and rewire stuff badly.

“Guess I should listen to you then, huh?”

 

ANY THOUGHTS OF reconciliation were put to one side as Berne came through the front door. I scoured her face for signs of hope that her father had pulled through but she said nothing until Babs . . . and Vivienne . . . hurried in behind her.

“Did you try to help him?” Berne asked, her voice hoarse, her exhaustion etched lines on her face.

I shoved my hands in my pockets unsure of her mood, bracing myself for the worst. Please let him be okay, let him be alive. “I tried to.”

“They said you did this for over twenty minutes . . . alone?”

Had it been that long? It didn’t matter. I would have done it until my arms had fallen off if it had given him a chance. “Is he . . . did they . . . ?”

The lump in my throat robbed me of my speech, so I gripped my own neck for support. I must have looked like I was trying to strangle myself.

“He has a pacemaker, they save him. The doctor says you made this possible.” Berne searched my eyes. I could see Vivienne watching me like a hawk, watching her. Berne walked to me and wrapped me up in a hug. Her tears broke free as I held onto her.

“You saved him. Merci. Merci.” She sobbed the words into my shoulder, her body wracked with the tears.

Babs ushered a scowling Viper over to the drinks cabinet.

“Couch,” I murmured to Rebecca, who nodded and helped guide me towards it. “Thanks.”

I’d never seen Berne emotional. Never had her cling to me for support. I wanted to cuddle the worry from her. “Did you see him?”

“Oui. They say he will wake tomorrow.” She sniffed and sobbed. I held on, rubbing her back, cuddling her close. “Maman wishes you to know her gratitude also.”

“You don’t have to thank me for anything. There was no way I was letting him go.” I nodded up at Babs, who motioned to a whiskey bottle. Vivienne looked like she may throw her glass at me. “For a start, the Lyon game is coming up soon, isn’t it?”

Berne chuckled. “No doubt he will be grateful for this.”

“Let’s hope they actually win then.” I took the glass of whiskey from Babs and handed it to Berne.

Manners told me to let go and remove myself so that Vivienne could sit beside Berne. It took every ounce of dignity I had to do just that. I took a glass from Babs. I needed it. In fact, I needed the bottle.

“I’m not sure . . . er . . . Vivienne, isn’t it?” I asked, pretending like I didn’t know who she was.

“Oui.” Vivienne took her seat beside Berne, her hand on Berne’s knee. A definite “back off,” in her eyes.

“Berne told me you live in Marseille so . . . I guess you wouldn’t be happy if Lyon won.”

Vivienne had a way about her. Her scarf draped over her shoulders, her styled hair dyed within an inch of its life. Her lips looked even more rubber in real life.

“I do not care for such things,” Vivienne said, her eyes on Berne who knocked back her whiskey.

Babs poked her tongue out at Vivienne behind the couch. Rebecca stifled a chuckle.

Berne stared off into space. Vivienne glared at me. Rebecca and Babs glared at her. I stared up at the ceiling. This wasn’t awkward, was it? Nope.

Whatever I was feeling, Berne needed us all to support her, whatever we felt about each other. I cleared my throat and turned to Berne. “No doubt your mother is going to be at the hospital the whole time, right?”

“Oui, they are giving her a bed.” Berne sighed and stared down into the empty glass. “The last time she barely ate.”

“I was thinking we can make up some food for her?” I looked up at Rebecca who gave me a thumbs up. “That way when your father is up and about, he can eat something he likes.” Babs took Berne’s empty glass. “Winston can make it there and back, so I’ll shuttle you when Babs is in work.”

Vivienne cleared her throat. “Why? When she could stay in Marseille?” She tucked a hair behind Berne’s ear. “She prefers the city. She can be driven from there.”

Apparently Berne couldn’t speak for herself anymore. “I’m sure anyone would but Berne’s father was working on the house. So I’m guessing Berne will be taking over?”

Take that, Viper.

“Ah so you are Rebecca’s mistress?” She smiled the kind of sly smile that made me want to throw my whiskey at her. “Peggy, non?”

“Pippa.” I squeezed the glass. Berne met my eyes. She needed me not to throw things. I downed the shot instead, then spluttered. 

Babs raised her eyebrows at me.

“Not anymore,” I said with as much confidence as I could. “She prefers shorter women.”

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.