Chapter Twenty-five

 

MONSIEUR CHAMONIX WAS awake and in good spirits. Berne had taken on her role in helping me restore the house once more. We hadn’t talked about Vivienne’s announcement. The only thing I wanted to do was to help her take her mind off her father. 

We worked in silence a few days later, late into the barmy summer afternoon. We were in one of the bedrooms upstairs. So far they were shells. Drafty shells with flapping sheet windows.

I wanted to be a part of Berne’s day and Viper was everywhere. The only place she left Berne alone was here. Still, she was marrying her. It wasn’t as if Berne had protested. She could have stopped me leaving, told Vivienne to go but she hadn’t. 

There were so many confusing emotions rocketing around me that I wasn’t sure what to think anymore. Only a cryptic visit from Madame Chamonix had helped to steel me.

She’d brought bread, which we had. That was her reason for taking time out of her busy day to traipse down to the house. She’d talked about the decor and about how she and Monsieur Chamonix had been married over fifty years. Then she’d told me that he’d needed openness. He’d always been the same. He needed to understand her love was whole by her sharing her every day.

“He and Berne are much the same,” she had said with a chuckle and left.

If that wasn’t a hint, I didn’t know what was. I felt quite chuffed that Madame Chamonix was on my side.

It wasn’t helping me find the right words. At least none that didn’t sound like I was in competition with Vivienne. No matter how I tried to place the right meaning, it wouldn’t come. So I concentrated on trying to fix the floorboard I was working on. My thoughts kept going back to Berne and back to when we met. That summer, that storm. If “I love you” hadn’t told her, if leaving Doug hadn’t shown her, how else could I prove it?

“How long did you know you liked me before . . . ?” I heard myself asking the question out loud. I was speaking out loud. Oh no.

Berne stopped her task of re-pointing the stone work. “Pardon?”

“You were older than me. You knew that you were . . . well . . . you know . . .” I scratched my head, getting dust in my eye. Ouch. I winked to try and get it out. Ow, ow. Suave, Saunders, really suave. That’ll woo her, won’t it.

“That I loved you?”

I sat down on the floor beside her. “Yes and well . . . that you were okay with that.” I bit my lip. “And how did you know, about me?”

Berne swivelled around on her stool to face me. “This is what bothers you?”

“Yes . . . no . . .” I stared down at my dusty hands. “Will you humour me?” 

“Bien sur,” Berne said with a smile. “It was not about if you were or were not attracted to other women.” She chose her words, her careful tone full of the humming sound I adored. “I was only trying to understand if you feel this way about me.”

“I did.” I took her hand. I wanted to say I still do. Pick me! but couldn’t find the courage.

Berne stroked my cheek with her thumb. “You were young and you were vulnerable. You look at me with such desire without realising. It was hard not to notice.”

“I’ve always loved you.” Hint, hint. As in always.

Her eyes twinkled but she didn’t take the bait. “Then that is all that matters, non?”

I shook my head. Try again. Think of something else. Openness. “Vivienne makes you hide away.” Great. State the obvious. Pick on Viper. That will win her confidence, won’t it? I took hold of her hand once more and placed mine in it. “I mean . . . why doesn’t she celebrate you . . . Why does she force you inside?”

“That takes us both to do this.” She lifted my chin and captured me with gentle eyes.

Tell her, you numbskull. “You deserve better than the way she treats you.”

Berne leaned in closer, her breath misted in the space between our lips. “You have a better way?”

I glanced down at her lips and up to her eyes. I could feel the heat radiating from her as I inched closer. “She never asks you how you feel, what you want.”

Berne placed her finger over my lips. “Ask me, Pepe.”

“You’re marrying her.” I felt her breath mingle with mine. “It’s not polite for . . . me . . . to—”

Bang.

I jumped, ducked, and head-butted Berne’s chin. She grunted as I clamped my hands over my head.

Ow, ow, ow.

Berne sighed and picked up the screwdriver that had clattered out of my pocket. I was too busy rubbing my head to care. She had a hard chin.

“You are right. It is unfair to act this way.” She placed the screwdriver in my hand. “It is not fair on any of us.”

“You didn’t really ask her to marry you, did you?” I swallowed, trying to clear my throat. Time to face the truth.

“Even if I did not, why shouldn’t I marry her?” Berne went back to her work. Her frown line prominent.

Ouch. I sucked in my breaths. “It’s not fair.”

Openness. Feeling. I could do this. Oh how did I say it? Berne lifted her eyes from her task. 

“I mean . . . um . . . Does she know how talented you are?” I needed Rebecca to swoop in and speak for me. Why couldn’t I say it? She could only say no and break my heart, which I doubted would ever heal. Where was the worry in that?

Berne raised her eyebrows at me. “Moi?”

“How you work the stone. I’ve always wondered how . . . what goes through your mind.” I threw my screwdriver on the floor. I was useless at this. “I loved being taught by you. I loved listening to you.”

All in past tense.

She held my gaze for a moment and her eyes softened. “It was mutual.”

Again in past tense.

My eyes misted up. She could leave. She could marry the woman even though she knew I’d given up Doug. Even after all we’d been through. “I want you to teach me. You know, for when you leave.”

She motioned for me to scoot over to her and handed me the pointed tool thingy that she always used. “When you re-point the stone, it is an art. You take the bare stone and strengthen it.”

It sounded familiar. I felt like I’d been stripped back to the bare stone. Right now I felt like my whole heart was crumbling.

“Each stroke, each loving touch fills in another hole.” She held my hand and moved the tool to the stone. “The more care you take not to rush, not to skim the surface, the more certain that the renovation will last, oui.”

I loved the way she talked. “All it needs is a master craftsman to show you the way?” I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

Oops.

“I . . . um . . .”

Berne tutted and tapped the wall with the tool. “Would you kiss your teacher?” Her face was stern but her eyes twinkled. I knew full well she loved it when I did that.

“If she made it sound as romantic as you do, pretty much.” I met her eyes. Pleading with her. Don’t marry her. Don’t run off with Fish Lips.

Berne smiled a sad smile and tapped the tool to the wall. “Concentrate.”

“I can’t.” I kissed her cheek again.

She pulled my mouth to hers. Energy fired through me. She ran her fingers through my hair. The kiss grew. I had no idea how I’d ended up on the floor but I didn’t care.

Berne murmured. Her hands roamed over my stomach, up my sides. I realised my hands were as busy as hers.

She pulled back. Her breath ragged against my mouth. “Pepe—”

I kissed her with every ounce of passion I felt. If I couldn’t say it, I was going to show it. Berne groaned and her body responded. Her hands pulled at my top. I helped her.

“Berne?”

She froze. Her hands on my bra fastener. I peeked open an eye just to confirm it was Vivienne. Yup. One really livid rubber-lipped Viper.

Oops.

Vivienne spun on her heel.

“Vivienne . . .” Berne sighed and met my eyes. “I have to go after her.”

I nodded. What could I say to that?

She put her hands in her hair as I pulled my top back down. “It is such a mess.”

She shook the dust off her jeans and looked over her shoulder at me. Her eyes filled with desire, love, regret. I wasn’t sure which of those was the strongest. Without another word she hurried off. I stared at her tools, groaned, and flopped back down with a thud.

What did I do now? I pulled out my mobile and tried to ring Rebecca but there was no answer. A cheery bonjour told me Julian had arrived. I got up, brushed myself off, and went to find him. Something, anything, not to think about the fact Berne had left me to go to her, again.