Best Maid Plans Page 14

  Rebecca wobbled as she stared up at the building.

  “Could do with a hand,” I muttered, tightening my grip on Rebecca’s elbow.

  Berne strode over and helped me ease Rebecca forward by the elbows. Stephanie cut off Madame Henri before she could turn and see us, launching into some conversation.

  “She is smiling. This is good, non?” Berne whispered to me as we manoeuvred Rebecca through the front door into a hallway: wood, marble, leather and fused to perfection.

  “You left us, abandoned us. Don’t think I won’t pout,”

  I muttered. “Rebecca’s in a stupor about Babs being a genius of some kind and Madame Henri having five children.”

  “Oui, her brother, George, is a surgeon, very well respected; her sister Juliette works with Monsieur Henri as a partner.” Berne smiled a proud smile. “Babs leads the way with architecture.”

  “What about the other two?” A surgeon and a partner in a mega-business empire didn’t make me feel any less of a bum.

  “They are not old enough to work yet. Fabrice is eighteen. He is much like Babs and Dede is—”

  A squeal cut through the air, a flash of blonde, and Berne hurtled backwards as someone wrapped themselves around her.

  Ouch. I winced, squeezing Rebecca’s arm. Berne would need another massage, maybe an ice pack, painkillers...

  “Bebe!” The blonde girl covered her in kisses and thrust her back. “You do not come here in a while.” She jutted out her bottom lip. “I am not happy.”

  I was guessing she was related to Babs. She was gorgeous and a limpet.

  “This is Dede,” Berne said with an exasperated smile, rubbing at her back. “She’s fourteen.”

  “And a half.” Dede folded her arms. “Nearly old enough I can marry you.”

  Berne chuckled. “You would have to grow much quicker for this, non?”

  I glanced at Rebecca who shrugged.

  “You wouldn’t marry me?” Dede pouted again.

  “I am already married, I tell you this.” Berne kissed Dede on the cheek. “But you are very close to my heart.”

  I rolled my eyes at the charming line and looked over at Madame Henri and Stephanie deep in conversation. Maybe they could get Berne ice if I pretended I... um... had a headache? Only how did I explain it when I stuck the pack on Berne’s back?

  “Where is this Pepe?” Dede put her hands on her hips. “You talk about her, you cry over her, yet I do not see her.”

  I cleared my throat. “That would be me.”

  Dede’s brown eyes met mine. They flicked over my face, up and down me and she sighed. “I do not like that you are beautiful.”

  She needed glasses then. “I feel the same way. You’re some competition.”

  Dede smiled, a sweet smile. “Maybe she loves us both?”

  I nodded. “How could she not?”

  Dede giggled.

  Go me. I didn’t have a clue what I was talking about, yet again.

  Dede turned to look at Rebecca and cocked her head. “You are a lot like she says.”

  Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “Who?”

  She tutted. “My sister. Who else?”

  “She talks about me?” Rebecca cleared her throat.

  “Oui, she says that you are...” Bless her she was trying to speak English to us. “She says you are a really good ride.”

  Rebecca’s eyebrows looked like they were making a break for her scalp; I choked on fresh air, and Berne cleared her throat.

  “What do you mean?” Berne asked.

  Rebecca and I exchanged a glance.

  “That. She says she has much fun in the boats, oui?” Dede nodded like we shouldn’t be gawping at her. “She rides well in the boat.”

  Rebecca and I exchanged another glance.

  “Ça va?” Dede looked from Berne to me and back.

  Berne rubbed the back of her neck. “I think she means the kayak. That she is good at kayaking.”

  “I say this.” Dede said in French, poking Berne in the shoulder. “I think I say this?”

  Stephanie wandered over and Dede batted her eyelashes at her. Ah, so Berne wasn’t the only one she liked. “Bonjour, Stephanie.”

  Stephanie smiled and pulled her into a hug. “You grow more beautiful everytime I come here.”

  Dede giggled. “Berne is married but you’re not, oui?”

  Stephanie met Berne’s gaze, amusement in both their eyes. “Oh, I am in reserve?”

  “Non, I marry you both.” Dede nodded. “That way neither of you has to be a mistress.”

  She had sound reasoning. I liked her style.

  “So why do you make Pepe and Rebecca blush?” Stephanie asked with a charming smile.

  “I say that Barbara says Rebecca is good in the boats. She is a good ride.” She shrugged. “I think I say it wrong.”

  Stephanie chuckled. “It is like when your aunty tells us she is pregnant at dinner once, oui?”

  Dede snorted out her laughter. “Papa only asked if she wanted more dessert.”

  “Don’t get it,” Rebecca whispered to me.

  “If you say you’re full in French the wrong way, you sound like you’re telling them you’re pregnant.” I sighed. I’d walked into that little faux pas. Monsieur Chamonix had been very gracious about it.

  “Oh.” She pulled her lip to the side. “Explained why Madame Chamonix found me so funny the other day.”

  I chuckled. “You too?”

  She nodded. “Glad we’re not the only ones who do it.”

  Berne chuckled. “This is nothing. I once try to say to Pepe that I wish for her to help me with the stone. I try to say it as one of the English workers say it.” She shook her head. “Only I think it is reflexive.”

  “I don’t follow?” Rebecca glanced at Stephanie who winked, leading Dede off toward Madame Henri who had brought a tray of drinks in and was placing them on the coffee table.

  “It made Pepe blush for hours. I think I know then that she may like me as I liked her.” Berne’s gaze tracked over my face. “Especially as I try to get her to explain.”

  I smiled. Berne had been trying to make me feel less shy. “Bryan, my fellow British worker on site, always said that he needed to ‘get on top of things.’” I shook my head. “Normally his next cup of tea.”

  “Oui. Pepe was very quiet. I am concerned that she is feeling unhappy so I want to make her smile. I try his accent.” She shrugged.

  Rebecca laughed a smutty laugh. “Please tell me she was bright red.”

  Berne nodded. “I think I offend her.”

  I frowned. “You asked for me to get on top of you... Even Bryan blushed.” I didn’t know what it was about the way Berne said it but it had sounded far more seductive than I knew she’d intended and I’d had to wander off for ten minutes before I could even look at her.

  “And you actually got her to explain?” Rebecca’s cocky grin was back in place. I knew what Berne was up to and loved her for it.

  “I find her working alone. I sit beside her and ask for her not to be angry.” She smiled at me, brushing the hair out of my face. “Her hands tremble. I worry she is upset.”

  I smiled. I could feel Berne’s warm hands still mine as I jittered. “She turned me to face her and asked me to explain why she’d hurt me.”

  Her eyes had searched mine. I’d ached to kiss her. Her lips parted, her hair falling into her face.

  “What do I say?” She whispered, her voice seeping into my heart and making it thud faster. I’d never felt anything as potent as her touch. They were just her hands, just her callused hands, yet energy felt like it throbbed from her, that every part of my being throbbed in response. I couldn’t breathe for it.

  “I do not wish to make you sad.” She squeezed my hands.

  “You didn’t.” I could hear the wobble in my voice, the panic, the excitement, the buzz of her nearness. “It’s not reflexive.” I cleared my throat. “You get on top of something, an object, a task.”

  Berne
cocked her head. “I say it wrong?”

  I nodded. I couldn’t meet her eyes. She always explained when I got things wrong. She was a kind teacher. I wanted to do the same but my body wouldn’t stop fizzing with her touch.

  “What do I say?” She asked.

  I cleared my throat. “It’s a bit... um... naughty.” I shrugged, my blush flaring into life once more. Why did I keep replaying her words? Why did my mind want to place it into another context? Why did I really want... I shook the thought away.

  Did I really want that?

  “Naughty?” Her tone held amusement. “I do not understand.”

  “Like you’d be... you know... like with a boyfriend.” Which is what Berne must have. What man could resist her?

  “Pepe, I do not feel this way for men.” She lifted my chin with her finger so I couldn’t escape her gaze. “It would be a woman, oui?”

  “Oh.” My stomach did a backflip.

  “This is a problem?” she asked like she was trying to read me.

  I shook my head. Only it was. It was a big problem because it made her even more compelling. It made my entire body quiver.

  “So what I say is how I would speak to a lover, oui?” It was the first time I heard her say the word lover. The way her tongue, her lips caressed it, the way her eyes oozed with unspoken words... the touch of a smile on her lips.

  I nodded.

  “It makes you uncomfortable?” She smiled at me, gentle, affectionate. “I do not mean for this.”

  She dropped her gaze to my lips and the energy crackled into life. I wanted to kiss her... I wanted to kiss her? Uh oh... I really wanted to kiss her.

  “Then Bryan walked in and stopped me from doing just that.”

  I blinked away the memory, seeing it shimmer in Berne’s eyes.

  “I thought you wished for this,” Berne whispered. “I hoped.”

  “You two were just mush for each other.” Rebecca shook her head. “You’re still mush.”

  Berne took my hand and we joined Madame Henri, Dede and Stephanie in the seating area.

  “I hope so,” I whispered into Berne’s ear as we sat down.

  She met my eyes. “Pepe, I—”

  “What do you whisper of?” Madame Henri tutted. “You drink, we eat. Barbara will be home with her father.”

  I leaned into Berne’s arm as Madame Henri handed us our drinks. The memory of Berne’s hands on mine, of her words, of being sure that I wanted to kiss her flowed through me as the conversation turned to buildings.

  Berne ran her finger over the ring she’d given me and smiled.

  I loved that we shared memories. I loved that she felt them as deeply as me.

  Three cheers for faux pas.

  Chapter 17

  Berne watched Madame Henri try to give Rebecca more refreshments and looked for any flicker that Madame Henri approved. Madame Henri would always be polite and welcoming to any of Babs’s friends but neither Madame or Monsieur Henri had ever been content with Babs’s previous lovers.

  “So you are artisans also?” Madame Henri asked Rebecca, urging the tray of Baklava treats toward her. Not a French delicacy but one loved in the Henri household.

  “Um…” Pippa mumbled. She exchanged a glance with Rebecca. “Yes?”

  Madame Henri cocked her head. “You are not sure?”

  Pippa took a treat and smiled. “I suppose it’s more that a true artisan is someone like Berne to me. Someone who can turn rock into a Renoir.”

  Berne felt such a glow of affection. It was always a joy to hear Pippa say such things. “You are as talented. It is a pleasure to watch you work.”

  Madame Henri studied Berne for a moment. Yes, Pippa was the one she had longed for; the one that Babs and her family had helped to console her over; Pippa had always had what she needed, been what she wanted.

  “You were in England for many years?” Madame Henri asked.

  Pippa glanced out of the window to where Stephanie stood chatting on her phone. “Yes.”

  The word filled with regret or longing?

  “You miss it?” Madame Henri looked to Berne.

  “Sometimes,” Pippa said, her voice quiet. “Then I realise how much happier I am in Ajoux.”

  “And you were an artisan there also?” Madame Henri flicked her gaze over Rebecca.

  “No,” Rebecca said, fiddling with her jacket. “I was the senior sales lead for a promotions and marketing firm.”

  Berne raised her eyebrows. Pippa had said that they were underachievers.

  “That is quite the switch to become an artisan?” Madame Henri had a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. This was good.

  “I’m no artisan, Madame Henri.” Rebecca held up her hands. “I just do what Pip tells me to.”

  “You are not?” Madame Henri’s brow flicked. Not so good.

  “No. I was set to study as an architect before...” Rebecca glanced at Pippa. “A change in circumstance.”

  “But,” Pippa piped up. “Rebecca project managed our house, working alongside Babs.”

  Rebecca laughed. “If you call holding the clipboard while she fires off materials?”

  “And you tiled the floor.” Pippa nodded. “You’re working with us on Stephanie’s house.”

  Madame Henri’s brow flicked again. “There was a problem when you were to study?”

  Berne clenched her jaw.

  “Yes.” Rebecca raised her chin. “My father requested I no longer live with him.”

  “Because you were gay,” Pippa muttered.

  “So you do not speak with him?” Madame Henri’s lips twitched. A sure sign she was unimpressed. “He still treats you this way?”

  “I haven’t spoken to him since I was nineteen.” Rebecca stared at her hands. “It’s better that way.”

  “And your mother?” Madame Henri furrowed her brow.

  Pippa shook her head. Pain in her eyes.

  Madame Henri straightened up. “I am sorry they treat you this way.” She glanced out at Stephanie who slumped onto a lounger next to the pool. “Babs knows of this?”

  More a question: Babs knew of your past and yet still wished you to meet us?

  Berne tensed. Pippa looked to her as if asking for support but what could she say?

  “Er...Rebecca is loved very much by my parents. They feel very honoured that she likes to visit them,” Berne said. Rebecca was so very kind to them both. Berne often came home to find her helping her mother cook or watching football with her father. There was no reason for it other than Rebecca cared for them.

  “They are a pleasure to have as company,” Madame Henri said, waving it off. “Your mother’s cooking makes any conversation worthwhile alone.”

  “She fixed my dad’s car,” Pippa mumbled. “He likes her too.”

  “You also like to play with cars?” Madame Henri sounded unimpressed.

  “It’s necessary when you have Winston around,” Rebecca muttered, an irritated glint in her eyes.

  Madame Henri flicked her eyebrow. “Winston?”

  “My car,” Pippa said, shooting a warning glance at Rebecca.

  “Ah...” Madame Henri looked out at Stephanie again: she stared at the pool, heartbreak in her eyes. What had Emilie done now?

  “Barbara does not often bring her women home,” Madame Henri said. Was it to herself more? “It is hard for someone in her position to find a suitable partner.”

  Here came the polite dismissal. Berne tensed for it.

  “When she comes in, she sees that they do not...” Madame Henri hummed. “...match her own surroundings.”

  “Then I should be fine,” Rebecca said, defiance in her eyes. “Because she could match just about anywhere and add a sparkle.”

  Madame Henri raised her eyebrows. “You believe this?”

  Rebecca nodded. “I have a crap track record; My dad kicked me out and if it wasn’t for Pip, I’d have been on the street; I couldn’t afford to go to college, I couldn’t afford to do anything other than work in a crum
by job but I don’t regret a second of it.” She jutted out her chin. “I’m who you see, I love Pip, I love Babs and I couldn’t care if she was the Queen of England or a pauper on the street. I love her. If she loves me... properly, then what does it matter where I’m from?”

  Berne bit back her smile. Rebecca’s tone had been respectful, yes, but it was good to hear someone state just how she felt herself.

  “You look after me just as much,” Pippa mumbled, rubbing at her throat.

  “Yeah, because that’s the only thing that’s important: Love.” Rebecca met Madame Henri’s eyes. “It makes all masks, barriers and prejudices fade away.”

  Berne fought the urge to murmur her hearty agreement.

  “This is very romantic,” Madame Henri said, her lips twitching but as if she wished to smile this time. “But it is hard to be happy when there is no money to buy food or shelter.”

  “Been there, Madame Henri,” Rebecca said with a nod. “...and I still adore Pip just as much.”

  Pippa sniffed. “I love you too, you numbskull.”

  “Either way, Barbara follows her heart more than her intellect,” Madame Henri said. “And her heart often finds that what she loves in one place, she finds jarring in others.”

  Pippa and Rebecca looked to Berne but she could offer no reassurance. Every lover before had been dismissed. Babs would walk in, track her eyes over them, and the ache of knowing they were not right would fill her eyes.

  Berne didn’t know how she would cope if Babs did the same now, let alone how Rebecca would cope.

  “Babs is... her own woman,” Berne mumbled, shrugging.

  Pippa cleared her throat and turned to Rebecca. “Well, I know her enough to be certain that when she walks through that door, she’ll grin from ear to ear and then throw herself at you.” She nodded. “She loves you. Full stop.”

  Berne smiled. Pippa was so strong, so steadfast as a friend.

  “You know what,” Rebecca nodded and turned to Madame Henri. “Pip is right. Babs loves me. I know she loves me and if I have to stick her over my shoulder and dunk her in the pool to get it out of her, I will.”