Best Maid Plans Read online

  “I’ll get lemon to send you the list.” I chuckled. Lemon would need to work even harder than we had at Stephanie’s. “You need me to break it to Doug?”

  “Non,” Babs said crunching away again. “It is my place to handle the client, oui?”

  It sounded very seductive.

  “I think Doug may faint if you do that,” I mumbled.

  Babs bellowed out her laugh. “He blushes more than you.”

  ◆◆◆

  Ienlisted Rebecca and we detailed every job, checked every structure, surface and stone for quality. The stonework needed touching up before rendering; we needed to revive the wood features indoors; replace the missing tiles on the roof, sort out the windows... then we’d need a first fix, plastering, painting... then second fix, then more painting, tiling and finishing touches. Not to mention that the grounds outside needed a lot of work, the pathways needed relaying... Not much then.

  Rebecca and I worked hard, making a start over the next few days. We worked through the week even when there was still no workforce turning up to help and we were in desperate need of Berne... or anyone who could render and do the stonework.

  On the Friday, Rebecca had told me she needed to pop to the shops and so I tried to salvage a section of parquet floor. At some point there’d been a leak. I glanced at the buckets placed all around the room. Well, there were still leaks but mansion roofs were not really something I had experience with.

  “Hello?” A man called out.

  I looked up from my task to see a man in overalls. Ooh, maybe Babs had sent in the troops?

  “Hi,” I said with a pleasant smile as he took in the huge room. It had been some kind of reception room in Georgian times.

  The man stared up at the ceiling, clipboard in his hand. Was he the project manager? He looked like he wanted to take pictures.

  “Can I help?” I asked. He looked official.

  He focused on me. “Delivery for Mr Henri?”

  “I’m not quite Mr Henri but I’ll do my best.” I gave him a beaming smile.

  He stumbled over a raised section and handed me an electronic thingy to sign. “Not going there.”

  I laughed. “Sounds like you’ve had trouble before?”

  He stepped around my tools spread out over the floor. “Don’t make that mistake twice.” He took the electronic thingy back. “Gladys is not a bloke’s name. I don’t care what he thought.”

  “Gladys?” I chuckled.

  He grinned back. “Made a quick exit...” He stared up at the ceiling again. “People in the village are chatting about this place being fixed up.”

  “Happy or irritated?” He sounded local. I loved the Welsh accent.

  “Oh happy. Used to look through the bars at the place as a boy but no one’s been able to have a nose.” He shrugged. “Hoping that Mr Henri lets us.”

  “Mr Fletcher might,” I said with a wry smile. “Madame Henri would do too but she doesn’t own it.”

  He frowned. “She doesn’t?”

  “No she’s the architect. Doug Fletcher is the owner.” I wanted Doug’s new neighbours to be glad he was moving into the area. Doug was great with helping the local economy. I was surprised he hadn’t hired the locals. He normally did.

  “But the French lady is moving in?” The man pulled his mouth to the side. “Could have sworn Ivor said it was a woman who bought it.”

  “Doug’s fiancé maybe?” I smiled up at him although I was sure Doug had said the house was a surprise.

  “Ah,” he said with a grin. “Lucky guy.”

  “Really?” I leaned forward. “She’s beautiful?”

  “Oh yeah, at least Ivor said so.” He grinned wider. “She has curves, you know? And... well... she’s French.”

  I nodded. “Quite, they’re all gorgeous.”

  “Anyway. I heard they brought French people in.” He cocked his head at me. “Then they had some kind of a protest and walked off.”

  How did I handle this one? “They hired me,” I said, dusting off my hands and holding one out to him. “But... I brought French people with me... and there’ll be more... at some point.”

  He brightened up. “Any women like you?”

  “Oh yeah, we only hire gorgeous women.” I tried to keep the laughter out of my voice. “In the contract... beautiful.”

  He sucked in his stomach and shoved his electronic thingy in his jacket. “They match you then.”

  I couldn’t keep the chuckle in. “Why thank you...?”

  “Boyce,” he said with a mini-bow.

  “I’m Pip, nice to meet you.” I winked at him and he swaggered off, tripping over the raised floor again on his way.

  I could imagine that the local village was as helpless as Rebecca and I when it came to French people. I scoured the room. What had Boyce dropped off? There didn’t seem to be anything. Had he forgotten?

  I wandered to the window to call him then grinned. Ah, Mr Henri... Wait? Why had he delivered Fabrice’s mini here?

  I cocked my head. Fabrice had left naming his new mini up to me. I knew exactly what would fit.

  “Gladys,” I mumbled to the empty room. “I think she suits Gladys.”

  “Pippa, are you taking to yourself again?” Doug asked from behind me.

  I jumped, squealed and threw my sandpaper at the window.

  I didn’t even know I’d picked it up.

  “Don’t think you can sand glass, Pip.” A chuckle rippled through his voice. “You ready to help me pick out cake?”

  It was best he didn’t know about the fact we had no workforce and now we had Fabrice’s Mini. I sighed. “The duties of a best maid, huh?”

  He nodded. “Rebecca offered to meet us there. I asked her to pick up some groceries for you all.” He had a wry smile on his face. “I sent Fabrice but he was asked to leave the supermarket.”

  “Wait... Fabrice?” What was he on about?

  “Yes, Babs’s youngest brother. He and Stephanie...” He smiled, looking at me from under his eyebrows as if I was dense. “They are here to help... with the work?”

  “Oh.” Was that the only workforce Babs could find? We needed more than an eighteen year old and an ex-gendarme. “Um... why did he have to leave the supermarket?”

  “Something about bread?” He shrugged, pursing his lips at the array of tools on the floor. He liked things tidy.

  “Ah.” I washed up as he waited. I wondered how long it would take him to give in and clean up. “I can imagine he’s a lot like Babs when it comes to what is classed as fresh bread.”

  “It is fresh, isn’t it?” He asked. I peeked around the door. He was putting my tools in the box. He’d held out longer than usual.

  “To us, yes. Fresh is edible, in date, or maybe you could just scrape the green bits off.” I dried off my hands and smiled as he picked fluff off his shoulder. “To Fabrice, or any French person, fresh bread is straight from the baker’s oven, preferably still warm.”

  Doug shook his head at me, picked up a brush from the side and dusted off my jeans. “What is it with them and food?”

  “Isn’t your fiancé French?” I raised my eyebrow.

  “Er... yeah... of course.” He tutted at the buckets of rainwater. “They still haven’t fixed it?”

  “Doug, it’s... er... raining... you can’t fix roofs in the rain?”

  I hopped over the raised floor. Move on, quickly. “So Marie isn’t fussy about food?”

  He stepped around it, pursing his lips at it. “She likes cake... I think.”

  I led him down the long corridor, which was thankfully watertight, and down the grand staircase out through the double entrance doors. I’d managed to hang them but I needed to strip them right back and replace the glass in the centre. They had been painted a yucky green colour which was so thick, it looked like metal. “Doug, if you don’t even know if she likes cake, that’s not very promising, is it?”

  “Love isn’t about knowing everything,” he said like he didn’t believe a word. “I
t’s a learning process.”

  “She tell you that?” I asked as he held the car door open for me.

  “Er... yeah.” He sounded clueless. He’d known me longer before he’d asked to marry me but maybe that was more about me than him.

  “How did you meet?” I relaxed into the deep, warm leather seats and watched the lush green of the mountains, flush with thick forests and sheep. The Welsh landscape bounced with health. It had the shade of green that even the French, with all the vivid colour of France, would have been impressed by. It certainly got enough water.

  “She... um...” He sucked his chin in, pursing his lips. His thinking look. “She yelled at me.” It sounded as if remembering was hard. “Yes, she pulled out in front of me and then told me off for being on the wrong side of the road.”

  “What were you doing driving on the wrong side?” That was unlike Doug. Babs, I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid over, but Doug?

  “I wasn’t,” he said, indignant. “She was. I heard the French accent and we got talking.” He shrugged. “She... had... um... worked on one of the centres.”

  “And now you’re getting married because she’s pregnant?”

  I studied him. He’d thought he’d gotten Brandy, an office girl, pregnant before and he’d been lied to. “Are you sure this time?”

  “I can only go by what she tells me. I’m not demanding a DNA test though if that’s what you mean?” He pulled into a space beside a quaint little cake shop. It had a large window in a Tudor-esque building which still had the wood beams on the outside.

  “She’s marrying me,” he said. “She loves me.”

  “How do you know?” I got out and followed him into the shop. The lady behind the counter beamed at us.

  “Same as you know that Berne loves you.” He ushered me over to the counter. I spotted Rebecca. She eyed a cake with two brides on the top with fascination.

  “She tells me.” I walked over and poked Rebecca in the side. “Who’s daydreaming now?”

  Rebecca sighed. “I was thinking. It wouldn’t be right without the kayak, paddle and helmet.”

  I chuckled. “Mine would need the rugby shirt on.”

  “Or without one.” She laughed her smutty laugh.

  I glanced over my shoulder. The lady behind the counter was, thankfully, engaged by Doug.

  “So, what would you like us to do?” I asked him, dragging Rebecca over with me.

  He nodded. “Right... um...” He looked at the lady. “My... um... well... she telephoned. She wants us to try the cakes?”

  I sighed. It had been a good thing my mother had planned our wedding. If he was this confused about everything, I was going to buy him a notepad.

  “Of course, what’s the name, dear?” The lady’s sing-song Welsh accent made me smile. I’d gone on holiday to Wales a few times growing up. Mostly adventure holidays with school.

  “Fletcher,” I answered for him when he stuttered. Had he forgotten his name too?

  She “ah’d,” tapped her nose and led us over to a table. “She wants you to pick the type of cake.” She motioned to the plates. “Have a nibble and let me know.”

  Rebecca sighed. “Wedding cake is gross,” she whispered as the lady wandered off to answer the phone. “No offence, Dougie.”

  He tutted at her. “Why don’t we ask for another cake then?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “I think you have to have one of those ones.”

  “Why? It’s covered in icing.” He looked confused but I was with him.

  “Chocolate sponge,” I said, meeting Rebecca’s eyes. “With chocolate fudge in the middle.”

  Doug smiled. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He tapped the plate. “Probably better you just stick with those.”

  “A chocolate fudge cake with a kayak, a paddle, a helmet and a French rugby shirt.” Rebecca grinned. “All made out of different types of chocolate. The helmet could be filled with a strawberry flavoured smooth centre.”

  I nodded. “And the kayak could be hazelnut.”

  She leaned closer. “Oh yeah and the paddle filled with caramel.”

  I grinned. “If we ever get married, we’ll have that.”

  Rebecca nodded. “In that case, double chocolate.”

  Doug tapped a text out on his phone, chuckling at us. “She wants scores, if you will?”

  “So why isn’t she doing it?” Rebecca mumbled, shoving a slice in her mouth and grimacing.

  “She’s working away. She has to cover a project.” He smiled. “Plus, if you help, I’ll buy you a box of chocolates... a big one.”

  Rebecca and I grinned and tapped our slices together.

  “You’re on.” I shoved my slice in my mouth. This best maid stuff was fun—Hazelnut kayaks. Yum.

  Chapter 28

  When we’d finished stuffing ourselves on cake we didn’t much like, Doug dropped us back to the house. He’d been peppered with calls from work so I knew from when I’d been with him that he’d be working late.

  Rebecca decided to make us dinner but I went back up to the house to work. I’d try one of the upstairs rooms. I put plastic sheeting down in the hope it would keep the floor dry enough until Babs sent roofers, or any workmen, to fix it.

  I decided to work on the detail above one of the windows. It wasn’t a straight forward way of working but I’d learned that sometimes you had to work around the house. The wind picked up and swept through the cracks in the glass making them rattle.

  As I perched on my ladder, I couldn’t help wander off into my memories. I’d been working with on the gîtes with Berne. I’d lost my shirt on the beach... and I’d been so overwhelmed. My head had been a buzz of thoughts and feelings as Berne walked me home but we’d walked apart, careful to keep our distance. Whereas before it was easy to walk close to her, now it felt like anyone watching would know. Berne had said nothing, I had said nothing. We’d walked home and I’d kissed her on the cheek before hurrying inside.

  Then I’d avoided her for a week. I didn’t know what to think. I was in shock at how I’d acted so I’d hidden away, working with Guy on the reception centre at the front of the park. I just couldn’t understand how Berne could like me. Berne, who could have been with any woman. No, she must have been taken off guard and had been too polite... or worse, drunk... to say no.

  I convinced myself that I was not only a complete idiot but I’d embarrassed us both and Berne must have been cringing. The problem was, I knew from the second I kissed her that it wasn’t like anything I’d known before. I knew no one could match that kiss, that no one could match her.

  The heat baked the stone so the water hissed as I poured it out of the bucket. I’d washed down inside. I needed to get the skirting board on and fix two shutters but then there were no more jobs for me to do. At least not at the centre. I was needed further in on the gîtes but...

  Don’t go there. Think of something else. Guy would let me work with him on something else.

  Yes, if I focused really hard on work, on how most of the park was still bare brick, I wouldn’t go thinking about Berne—

  Ah nuts.

  I sighed and shoved my rag in the bucket. Guy raised his eyebrows at me.

  “You would like to get a drink?” He asked. He’d somehow gotten the idea that I was working with him because I wanted him to chase me around a beach.

  My head swam with Berne’s kiss. Her hands moved down—

  “Pippa?” Guy asked.

  I smiled, hoping my blush didn’t show on my face. “No, thank you.” I wiped my hands on my shorts. It was no good, I couldn’t concentrate. I was sure I hadn’t breathed since... I sighed. “I need to ask Berne something.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I have more experience with wood, non?”

  “Oh, it’s not that. It’s... um... girl stuff.” I didn’t know if that would translate to French but I hoped it terrified French men as much as it did English ones.

  “And you ask her?” He studied me for a moment. His curly black hai
r dropped into his eyes. “Pippa, Berne is not... well... she...” He sighed. “I think she is very beautiful, very talented, she has a good heart.”

  I tensed. Maybe he knew I liked her and would say things like, “she’s not interested in you or unavailable or doesn’t need a child following her around.”

  “She is training for the gendarme, non?” He met my eyes. “It is dangerous. Women...” He sighed. “Many women love her.”

  “Well, she’s a nice person to know.” I got the feeling he hadn’t meant that. Many women?

  “Of course.” He nodded, then sighed. “I mean that she may find you interesting... as I do, oui?” He smiled. “You understand this... oui?”

  “You’re saying she’s... gay?” It felt so exposing to say. Like somehow even saying the word would reveal how I felt inside. When I’d talked to Rebecca, when I’d listened to her confessions about meeting girls, about liking them, it had felt detached. It had been her issue to deal with, her battle, not mine. I loved her for her courage and now I understood how much bravery it took to be herself. If only I could talk to her but I daren’t, she’d think I was doing it for show, like some girls at college were.

  “...Oui,” Guy said with a smile as if I’d missed a whole portion of him talking. Oops. “I worry you are not aware.” He grinned. “Women are very lucky.”

  I chuckled. “Oh, Berne wouldn’t look at me.”

  I smiled, hoping to cover that my hands were trembling so much the handle on the bucket was clattering against the side. She had looked at me, she’d kissed me, she’d...

  “If you are not thinking so, why do you avoid her?” He leaned against the wall. “You are always shy with her.”

  I tensed again. He had noticed? “She’s a gorgeous older woman who is effortlessly cool. I’m more than shy, I’m a gibbering idiot.”

  He dipped his brow, confusion in his eyes.

  I laughed. “I’m... awed by her... you know, she’s hard to... um... compete with?” That sounded right, yes. Berne was cool, I wasn’t. Awed. Not in love, nope. Not completely drawn to her and desperate just to be near her. Nope. I was in awe and needed to compete with her even though I’d never been competitive... ever.