La Vie en Bleu (10 page)

Was I?

Oh no . . . no, no, no . . . no . . .

I wasn’t . . . was I?

In panic I started cycling through my memory. When was the last
onslaught from period purgatory?

Was it two . . . ?

Wait . . .

Had I had it that month?

The new car smell made me realise we must be in the car. My father
was chatting to Doug happily in the front about stocks and shares. My mother
rubbed my arm.

Had I had my period?

I needed to call Rebecca . . .

She’d know . . . She was good with these things.

Why didn’t I write the stupid things down like she’d told me to?

“Slow breaths,” my mother said. “I’ll get you some ginger tea when
we get back. Was a lifesaver for me.”

I’d kissed Berne.

I could be having Doug’s child.

He wanted to get married.

I wanted to go back to London, to Winston, and beg for my old job
back. I also wanted to take Winston, drive to Marseille, and beg Berne to take
me back.

Uh oh. That was
really
not good.

My chest tensed up so tight it was painful to breathe.

“Calm,” my mother urged. “It’ll pass over.”

My shoulders decided I wasn’t getting enough air and joined in,
moving forward and back in support. The food continued its little revolution
inside, charging to and fro with wild abandon.

“Come on now. We’re at the hotel.” My mother guided me out of the
car, Doug’s hand was on my back. The sweet reception girl waved hello.

“Hold onto me now.” My mother cooed like she had when I was a
small child. The lift slid into motion.

“You know what it is yet?” my father asked.

“Bound to be a boy first time, don’t you think?” Doug said. “I
mean, I’d love a girl too but be good to have an heir to hold the name steady.”

“Best way,” my father said. “We did the same.”

My own heartbeat thumped in my ears. Why had they turned into
something from
Pride and Prejudice
? An heir? Doug wasn’t the king of
England.

Unable to hurl a tirade of abuse, I let my mother lead me from the
lift and hurried into our penthouse rooms. It was less like a usual hotel suite
and more like a large apartment.

I staggered up the steps, into the bedroom, and shut the door
behind me.

“Be fine . . .” I managed. “Bathroom.”

I could hear them all laughing in delight, more baby talk ensuing.
I scrambled for my mobile and dialled Rebecca.

Ring, ring . . . ring, ring.

I could visualise the awful ringtone in my ears. Why she thought
that TV theme tune was cool, I couldn’t fathom. The show had finished well over
a decade ago.

Ring, ring . . . ring, ring.

“Pick up!”

Where was she? I slumped down onto the bed. The realisation
buckled my legs.

She was in Marseille.

With Berne.

Berne and Viper-Vivienne, the creepy, toothless, old bat.

Ring, ring . . . ring, ring.

“I need you . . . Pick up the phone.” I held my forehead with my
palm, hoping it would calm the pounding behind my eyes.

“Pip?”

Relief washed over me, then tears. “You sober enough to be
trusted?”

“Pip, it’s ten o’clock and I had a glass with dinner.”

Oh, so the bat cooked. Bet she
was
like Mary Berry—focus!

“When was my last red mark?”

“Are you seriously—?”

“Please.” I sounded like I was appealing for help on a desert
island. I was half ready to unfold my clothes in the shape of letters and flag
a passing helicopter.

“Last week,” Rebecca said. “Yeah, you ate us out of Carte Dor,
remember?”

“So I’m
not
pregnant?”

Rebecca sucked in her breath. “Not since last Tuesday. What is
going on?”

Relief flooded through every pore I had. Oh thank you, thank you,
thank you. “Doug said I was.”

“He what?” The anger in her voice made me smile, ever my hero.
“What did he do . . . ? When—?”

“Wait.” I knew what her next question was. “We haven’t . . . not
since . . .”

I didn’t remember when I’d last let Doug stay over. I’d been in
flux since I’d left work.

“Why did he tell my parents?”

“He
told
your parents?” I could hear her explaining to
someone, the muffled tones as she covered the mouthpiece.

Berne’s voice in the background made me sigh in relief then tense
that she wasn’t alone. Another voice, a sultry voice. My stomach revolted at
the sound of the toothless cradle-snatcher’s soft tones.

I dived for the bathroom. “I need to go.”

“Wait . . . Pip . . . I’m here . . . talk to me.”

I shook my head, stupid because she couldn’t see me, but it made
me feel better.

“It’s Pip,” Rebecca said to someone in the background. “Doug told
her parents she was pregnant.”

“She is?” Berne’s voice sounded like she wanted to strangle
someone.

“Who is Pip
encore?
” The third voice.
Her
voice.
“She is your girlfriend, Rebecca?”

“Er . . . yeah. She’s . . . er . . . my girlfriend.”

Way to sound convincing Rebecca.

“No, she’s not pregnant. He’s wrong. He’s also an idiot.”

It had to be
her
if Rebecca was lying. Oh that hurt. My
heart skipped several beats in response as if it wanted to stop then and there.

Vivienne didn’t sound old, she sounded like she probably looked,
gorgeous.

“I have to go.”

I disconnected the call and turned the phone off. I hadn’t even
bothered to switch on the lights in my haste to slam out reality.

I rolled off the bed and walked to the un-shuttered window. Paris
carried on below, the lights of the city a stream of reds and whites. Summer in
the air and the smell of possibility, of dust, and fragrant sweetness. Sounds
of mopeds and distant life buzzed on. I’d always adored France, adored the
history, adored the people and the flow of life.

Berne had brought me here that summer weekend. We’d travelled up
on the TGV train and stayed near to the Champs D’Élysées. Berne had shown me
the city, every quiet forgotten corner that hid from the tourists’ eyes. A
little café which made the best pizza that I’ve ever tasted.

The owner was from Portugal. His laugh had filled the small place.
His wife bounced their baby boy on her lap as she chatted with another woman.
Berne’s hand in mine beneath the silvery-shined table. Her whispered purrs in
my ear as she challenged me to order. I’d been so terrified to speak the
language, so worried I’d get it wrong.

A stroll along the moonlit Seine. Her gentle hum as the tourist
boats swished by. Water lapped against the wall below us. I was due to go home
for a week after our time there. I hadn’t wanted to go back, to leave but she
wrapped me in her arms.

“We’re only a moon away,
non
?”

I looked up now, tonight, at the same full-beaming face high in
the clear night sky. We couldn’t have been the first to use her quiet smile as
a messenger while two hearts beat apart.

Somewhere out there, I kept the comfort that Berne was gazing up
in wonder too.

THE MOON SHONE in glorious wonder over the Mediterranean. It was
still tonight, the heat building as it always did this time of year. Marseille
was an eclectic city, one Berne both loved and loathed. In her heart, she was
as much part of the Ardèche as the rocks themselves. City life had never been
for her but it had been too lonely in Ajoux-Sur-Rhône. She had great friends in
the city and it was where Vivienne lived but it was nothing without Pippa.

“You are quiet tonight.”

Berne turned and smiled at Vivienne, taking the offered glass of
champagne. “It is a beautiful night, there is nothing like a full moon.”

Vivienne placed a kiss on her neck and Berne relaxed into it but
her thoughts strayed far from the lips she could feel to the lips she desired.

“This has much to do with your new colleague?” Vivienne smiled and
touched the back of her hand to Berne’s cheek. “I know you too well. I know
when you worry.”

Sighing, Berne turned back to the room. Rebecca had left not long
after the phone call to drive back to Ajoux-Sur-Rhône. It had taken every ounce
of self-control for her not to go too. If Rebecca was worried, then no doubt
she had good cause.

“This man who her girlfriend marries, he is a bad man?”

Was he? Was there any sign that Doug had done anything but adore
Pippa?

“
Non
, he is just. He does not always think before he acts.”

Vivienne chuckled and held out a hand. “What lover ever does?”

Berne knew what the gesture was, where Vivienne was going with the
look in her eyes. It had always been enough, enough to make her feel something.
Not a fiery burning need like she’d known before. No, not a soul-soothing
relief, not even close to the emotion she had once felt and yet it had been
sufficient.

That was before she had kissed Pippa again. What was meant to be a
moment of memory and nothing more had reignited every flame she’d spent so long
fighting to extinguish.

Foolish to think that any caress of Pippa’s could be resigned to a
single second. It was so foolish to have given in. They had been in each
other’s presence a week and already they had come undone. Already they had
betrayed the people who loved and trusted them. Never before had Berne lied to
Vivienne but to speak the truth about Pippa was madness. She would never allow
her to work alongside Pippa. Regardless of their arrangement, Vivienne expected
faithfulness and Berne just wasn’t the kind to be anything but.

Yet, she’d kissed her. She’d already been unfaithful. Why did it
feel as though being here was the crime?

All that deceit seemed to be worthwhile, for the sound of those
words, “I love you,” echoed in every thudding of her heart.

Pippa still loved her.

“You must not fret so.” Vivienne’s voice grew more insistent. “She
will only break Rebecca’s heart anyway,
non
?”

“What do you mean?” The instinct to leap to Pippa’s defence only
barely restrained, Berne tried to cover her frown as though she were
contemplating Vivienne’s words.

“If she loved her so much, she would leave this man. She would not
play games.”

“Like we do not?” A hint of bitterness seeped in. Years of
frustration, heartbreak, and molten pain fuelled her grumpy mood.

“Neither of us is married, Berne.” The bored tone irritated her
further as Vivienne sipped on her champagne. “What games are there?”

A dramatic sigh made Berne’s stomach clench. She hated it when
Vivienne did this. What did she know? “The ones where you hide me from your
life like a lover hiding from a spouse.”

Having never complained of the situation before, it seemed so
hypocritical for her to do so now. Still, the knowledge that she was nothing
more than a sordid secret sparked a sudden need to get away, to run, to be free
of the chains.

To run to Pippa. She loved her. So why weren’t they together? Why
had she left? Why had they wasted so many years?

“You know why, Berne. I cannot do my job if my private life is
questioned.” Vivienne narrowed her eyes. “And, I don’t like people thinking I’m
like your new
friend
or the one you insist on keeping close.”

“What are they?” Berne’s anger bristled. “What makes them so bad?”

“I need men to find me attractive, you know that.” Vivienne rolled
her eyes. “They need to think they can capture my heart.” A slow smile played
across her lips. “But they are not the one I wish to seduce,
non
?”

Berne’s mobile buzzed in her pocket. She yanked it out and read
the text.

“It is Rebecca. She has managed to talk to her. She is okay.”

How true that was she didn’t know but it wasn’t her concern
anymore. Pippa was not hers to worry over. The pain made it hard to swallow.
Pippa wasn’t hers but she still loved her.

“You wish to waste the evening thinking of some stranger?”
Vivienne’s voice oozed with impatience. She’d never needed to wait for
anything. With her looks, her status, everything fell into her lap with a
simple smile. Berne, much to her own disgust, had been much the same.

How could she not have been flattered that this actress wanted
her? It beat brooding over Pippa, it dulled the ache.

It was only to be a brief affair but that had stretched out into nine
long years and she was still at Vivienne’s beck and call. She was still no
closer to being treated as someone Vivienne truly loved and respected.