La Vie en Bleu (20 page)

“Fine.”

Rebecca folded her arms, that smug grin back in place. “Cough up.”

With an exaggerated “urgh” to voice my disgust, I kept my eyes on
Berne as I spoke. “The night we first . . . got together . . . I . . .” Here
came the heat in my face again. People must think I had intermittent sunburn.
“It was the six-nations rugby. Guy, who was one of the contractors, dared me
that if the French beat us, I would run down to the beach at midnight
forfeiting the loser’s shirt.”

Rebecca sucked in the air through her cheeks. “
Allez les Bleus
that year?”

Nodding, I kept staring at Berne who was now staring back with
curiosity.

“It was so close. France scored in the seventy-ninth minute . . .
and I had to do the forfeit.”

Rebecca again sucked in the air. Me and nudity were not normally
acquainted.

“Guy was, shall we say, interested in me and demanded I have a
referee to prove I’d done it.”

“Poor guy.” Rebecca folded her tattooed arms.

“Yes, well . . . I said Berne.”

I could still see her shocked expression. She had told me she was
gay, I’d never said a word back. It was a split second decision which led to
lingering looks. Just like she was now, back then Berne was trying to
understand what was on my mind. I was trying to read what was on hers.
Terrifying, exhilarating, and etched in my mind.

“So she walked me down to the beach front and told me that I
didn’t have to do it. She would stick up for me.” Always the champion. “Instead
of answering, I kissed her on the lips, pulled off my top, and ran like an
idiot.”

Rebecca chuckled. “I bet she loved that.”

My laughter had filled the cold night air, soft sand under my
trainers. Berne caught me, conveniently, next to a set of rocks. My shirt had
dropped somewhere during my sprint. I had no idea where.

“I asked her if I could have her shirt. She had a vest on
underneath and I was terrified I’d be locked in a French police cell.”

“Yes?” Rebecca was now well and truly loving the story, eyes
glinting. If I was honest, it felt good to share it.

“She told me that I could earn it if I kissed her again.” Her
husky voice, stars up above, that hunger in her eyes. She knew she had me
defenceless. Nowhere to run and happy to give in.

“Oh, I like her more and more by the minute.”

Turning to smile at Rebecca, I lowered my voice. “No way was I
losing twice in one night.” I wagged my finger. “Oh no. I wanted to win back
some dignity for us.”

“Atta girl,” Rebecca said, leaning closer. We must have looked
like we were in a scrum. “So, what did you do?”

“I made sure that
she
was asking me to take her top off . .
. very sure.” I shook my head at the memory, must have been the wine. “And . .
. well . . . she gave it to me.”

“The top or—”

“Both.” I cleared my throat, ignoring Rebecca’s open-mouthed
expression. “I was nineteen and slightly tipsy. Now, so who kissed who?”

Rebecca closed her mouth, then opened it, then closed it again.

“You asked for it. Where Berne’s concerned I’m without restraint.”
I sighed, seeing Berne saunter towards us, her hips swinging to and fro. She
walked like a sprinter in the Olympics, which explained why I seemed quite
drawn to the event. “So, who kissed who first?”

Rebecca shook her head. “One, stop gawping and two, wow. Where has
this side been and why wasn’t it in my bed?”

“Funny.” I poked her in the arm. “Spill it.”

“I kissed her.” She grinned my way. “But not before she kissed
me.”

I hugged Rebecca like we’d won a match and gave her a big squeeze.
“That’s my floozy.”

“Thanks, hussy. I take inspiration from you.”

“Are you ready to leave?” Berne asked, hovering nearby. “I can
wait if you wish to . . . er . . .”

I wandered to her and kissed her cheek. “It’s okay. I was just
telling Rebecca about my French shirt.”

A large smile crossed Berne’s lips which told me that I may have
just earned that shirt after all.

Chapter Seventeen

THE GENTLE CHATTER of birds in the trees filled the barmy air. Le
Vent was behaving for the morning as Berne watched her brother Erique pull into
the campsite in her truck.

He’d been working overtime to earn his promotion and it felt like
months since she’d seen him. He cocked his head as he came to a stop. She knew
she must look different to him. She felt different. Terrified but hopeful.
After Vivienne had told her she didn’t need her, Berne had not felt the sting
she’d expected. She felt free. Last night, this morning, Pippa’s words all made
her feel as though there was a true possibility now. Maybe. 

“
Ça va
?” Erique pulled her into a hug, his strong arms squeezing her
with such care. She relished it. “You look happy?”

Berne shrugged but she knew her eyes twinkled. She knew by the
suspicion in his that he could tell.

“If I did not know better, I would
say—ah.” The answer to his questions wandered out with Babs and Rebecca.
“So she returns!”

Berne smiled, following his gaze. Erique had always liked Pippa.
It probably helped that she was incredibly attractive but then, who wouldn’t be
attracted to her. Pippa’s dark tousled hair flopped into her eyes, her toned
legs, and a—

“Cha-cha, who are you drooling at now, hmmm?” Babs said with a
scowl.

Berne snapped her gaze up from where it had rested and met Pippa’s
eyes. Amusement filled her smile and Berne cleared her throat as she focused on
Erique.

Erique grinned down at Babs as she launched herself into his arms.
“Always you, you know this.”

Babs kissed him on the cheeks and jumped back down. “Look who
sailed down the river. Seems her heart paddled her back home,
non
?”

Erique flashed his best grin at Pippa. “
Oui, oui
. . . and
she has grown some womanly wiles . . .” He wolf-whistled, earning a laugh from
Berne. “
Bonjour
, Mademoiselle Saunders,” he purred, bowing low.

Pippa giggled and gave a curtsey. “
Bonjour
, monsieur, you
are looking as handsome as always.”

Erique stood up straight and proud, then gripped her into a hug.
“You are staying for a while?”

Berne saw a flicker of panic in Pippa’s eyes. “I have to go back
and talk to someone . . . but I hope so.”

Erique smiled with true warmth at her. He wouldn’t ask her too
many questions. He seemed content that she was here. His gaze moved to Rebecca
who loitered at the back. 

“
Bonjour
,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Hi, I’m Rebecca . . . Pippa’s long-suffering friend.”

She clasped his hand instead of offering a kiss and her French
screamed Englishwoman. Erique’s eyes twinkled as he gave her hand a squeeze.

“It is terrible to suffer such beauty,” he said with his best
charming grin.

Even Rebecca seemed won over by his words. Her laugh rumbled out
of her lips and she kissed him on the cheek. “For that you get one.” She held
up a finger. “Only one or Babs will pout.”

Babs nodded. 

Erique shook his head at Babs and turned to Berne. “Maman wants
you to help with the table. Most of the decorations are up already.”

“Ah
oui
,” Berne answered. “We go now?”

Erique motioned to his truck and Babs, Pippa, and Rebecca climbed
inside. Berne helped him to stow the boats on the trailer. She knew he was
watching her. 

“So she returns?”

Berne smiled but kept silent.

“For you?”

Wasn’t that the answer she would love to be sure of? “That remains
to be seen . . .
mais
. . . she says so.”

Erique cocked his head. “You do not believe her?”

Berne walked around to his side and lowered her voice. “She
returned with a fiancé, a man. She tells me that she loves me still but there
were many scars when she left.” She sighed. “I have no doubt in her love. It is
whether it will overcome her fears.”

“What happened to her?” Erique frowned, his eyes filled with
concern. “You were so happy.”

“Her sister.” She could hear the venom in her voice. “She made
Pippa believe that a complaint would be made to the police about me. That the
contract would be cancelled.”

“They would not have believed it.”

Berne yanked at the strap in her hands, the boat groaned under it.
“
We
know that but a nineteen-year-old girl did not.” Meeting his eyes,
she blew out a breath. “And she confirmed that she was there . . . at the
roadside.”

“So it was her?” Erique looked up to the truck. His eyes filled with
loss, with pain. “It . . . it . . . must have been hard for her to process.”

“I do not think she has.” She held onto his arm and squeezed it.
“I think she has mixed it up with leaving me.”

Erique rolled his large shoulders back. His usual way of trying to
shake off emotion. “I can get a number, a good one. He helps many of the
officers. He helped me.”

Berne smiled at him. “If she stays for long enough, I would be
thankful for the help.”

They finished securing the straps and checked the boats over.
Berne hesitated as she looked at the passenger side door. Fear rippled through
her. 

“
Ça va
?”

“What if she does not leave this man?” Berne shoved her hands in
her shorts’ pockets. “What if she goes back to him when we arrive in Ajoux.”

“He is there?” Erique’s eyebrows shot up.

She felt a swirl of excitement, nerves, worry, fear. “They bought
the old cottage.”

Erique slunk to one side, his hand rested on his hip. Normally it
would be resting on his gun. Her main vision of him was in uniform. She’d
wanted to be just like him. “You and Papa are working on that house?”

“
Oui
.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “
Merde
. You
know how to tangle the webs,
non
?”

Berne laughed and she hopped into the passenger side as Erique
jumped in and started the engine.

“I am not a lunatic like Babs . . .
mais
. . . I will try
not to be too boring for you,” he said over his shoulder to Rebecca.

“I’ll take safe and seat belts,” Rebecca answered with a curt nod.
“Safe, slow, with seat belts.”

Babs’s “
Non
?” made everyone laugh as they made their way
through the gorgeous landscape.

Berne watched Erique drink in the scenery. He spent so much time
in the city, working long, long hours, that it was a pleasure to see him come
home. No matter where he was stationed, the Ardèche was in his heart just as it
was hers.

“Oh, wow!”

Rebecca’s awe energised them all as they pulled into the town. It
was some event this year. There may have been only a handful of aging residents
living in Ajoux but they knew how to put on a show. Every building in the
square was decked with lights, flowers, and banners. Paper decorations hung
from strings tacked between buildings. Tables were spread out, gazebos over for
shade, and a large pile of firewood was stacked in the middle for the evening.

“How is work?” Berne whispered to Erique as they got out of the
truck next to the house.

“I got the promotion.” He smiled. “I have not told them yet. Leave
it to dinner,
oui
?”

Berne squeezed him. “You deserve it. I had no doubt.”

She knew that she said such things often to him, but the smile
from him told her it never grew old. “
Merci
, it will be nice to move off
the front line now.”

An understatement, but nevertheless.

“Berne,” he said before she went to join Pippa who leaned against
the wall watching. “Does she know?”

Berne shook her head. Her hand ran over the small of her back. “I
am not sure what to say.”

Erique’s unimpressed look made her flinch. “The truth, Bebe.”

“Not even Babs knows.” She glanced at Babs who gazed up into
Rebecca’s eyes as she waved her arms about with enthusiasm. “She thinks I
travelled with Vivienne.”

“Well, it is a time for celebration. Let them celebrate your
triumph over the odds,
non
?”

Berne shrugged. He knew her far too well. She had managed to keep
it from Pippa last night but should it . . . whatever it was between them . . .
continue, the truth would come out. She’d hated the way Vivienne had recoiled
from her the first time she saw it. It had reduced her to tears. It had
shattered her confidence. She wasn’t foolish. Pippa may have the same reaction.
She tensed. She didn’t think she could bear that same look in Pippa’s eyes.

Berne found those bright, twinkling eyes on her. A smile on
Pippa’s lips. Pippa wasn’t Vivienne. It would feel good to let it out. She
rubbed her back again. At least she hoped. 

I WATCHED ERIQUE stare after Berne as she rejoined us and caught a
glimmer of sadness in his eyes. Wanting to ask him what had caused such a
thought, I went to go to him only for him to shake his head and turn away.

“Is Erique okay?”

Berne must have been daydreaming as she offered a blank look and a
smile.

“What is going on in that head?” I asked, brushing her hair away.
“Is Erique alright?”

“Hmmm?” Berne focused on me, breaking from her thoughts. “
Oui
,
he is well. He has gotten promoted. He wishes to surprise my parents.”

“But?”

Berne squinted. Where was she off in her thoughts?

“Berne . . . is something wrong?” That familiar spike of fear
panged through my stomach. “What’s the matter?”

She led me away from Babs and Rebecca, who had been roped in by an
elderly neighbour to hang his lights. She took my hand. “May I tell you
something?”

“Of course. You can tell me anything . . . anything at all.” I
squeezed her hand, my words whooshing out.

We rounded the back of her house and Berne lifted up her shirt.

“Um . . . are we going for exhibitionism?”

Her chuckle lightened my panic but the solemn look in her eyes
brought it straight back. She took my fingers and held them over her spine. I’d
felt a ridged smooth section in the night but had been quickly distracted. It
was a long ridge.

“At the beginning of the year, I work with my father on an old
chateau,” she said. “He was on a scaffold and he had . . . well . . . a
moment.”

“Another stroke?”

Berne shook her head. “No, the doctors said it was not so but he
stumbled. I pulled him away from the ledge but my foot slipped.” She met my
eyes. “I fell. I was in hospital for a while.”

Cold sweat soaked right through my t-shirt. “You fell? How far?
How long were you in hospital?” More to the point, why had I been hiding in
England and not with her? Why hadn’t I been there?

“Three months.”

Nearly choking on thin air, I fought to swallow. “Three months?” I
needed to sit down, my legs were trembling like a violin string.

“I was . . . I was unconscious.”

Now I did sit down, thank goodness for the patio chairs. “Are you
alright?” Stupid question because she sat right in front of me and I was pretty
sure I’d given her an intense physical examination. “Long term?”

“
Oui
, the scar was from the glass
mais
it missed everything . .
. and I have had more scans . . . nothing permanent.” She smiled,
sitting next to me. “Only, I can’t write or drive anymore.”

“Why those two?”

Berne shrugged. “They think that it will come back in time. For
now, I do not feel safe to be in charge of a vehicle.”

I grabbed her and held her to me, wanting to fix it all for her
somehow. Why hadn’t she said something? “Is that why you wanted the lights
off?”

Berne nodded.

“You think I would find any part of you unattractive?”

She flicked her eyes away.

I scowled. “But someone else said something . . . right?”

Her silence said more than enough.

“She’s wrong. Whatever that poor-excuse-for-an-actress said, she’s
wrong.” I felt the stress turn to irritation, more sweat stuck my t-shirt to
me. “You’re gorgeous, Berne Chamonix.”

I made her turn around and lifted up her t-shirt. Oh wow, that was
one big scar. How had I missed that?

It was still pinky-white like scars often are and stretched most
of the way up her back, up her neck and into her hair.

It looked mean.

The thought of her landing on glass, lying there hurt made my
heartbeat accelerate.

Flashes of the man on the road took over. His eyes locked on mine.
The blood pulsing from his neck. His quiet, calm reaction to the fact he was
lying there, dying. It terrified me. I’d kept talking to him. Stupid things in
French, I talked about how much I loved the city, how much I loved Berne.
Anything not to actually bring attention to the fact that I was pressing my
shirt to his neck as he bled to death.