La Vie en Bleu (15 page)

“I know what you’re thinking,” Rebecca said.

Babs sat upright.

Berne shook free thoughts of Pippa from her mind.

“You do?” they said in unison.

“Yeah.” Rebecca put cream on her face. “Surely he must have
known, right? Surely we all must have noticed that
Pippa was . .
. well . . . gay.”

Berne and Babs exchanged guilty glances.

“But you did not?” Berne asked, covering Babs who looked slightly
warmer than could be accounted for this early.

“No,” Rebecca said. “I mean, I never twigged but then she never
looked at anyone like that . . . ever.”

Again Berne smiled.

“I used to think the ring was an heirloom or something, that the
French shirt was her favourite because it was comfy or something.” Rebecca
smiled at Berne. “Why
did
she get your rugby shirt?”

“You need cream on your back too,
non
?” Babs cut in to save
Berne although it had nothing to do with loyalty and more to do with
opportunity.

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Berne focused on making the
rolls up and placing them into foil and boxes to be ready for the morning
break.

The school trips and pleasure excursions were not in full swing as
yet. The river would be quieter and there was no need to rush. Most tourists
paddled down the river section in two days, starting at Vallon Pont D’Arc and
finishing at Saint Martin. Berne intended for them to make a more leisurely
trip. The schedule was dictated by Pippa. How long Berne could keep her on the
water to give her the time to think was the important mission. They would take
in some adventure activities along the way if need be—anything to give Pippa
the chance to figure out her own desires.

Berne sighed.

Anything to help Pippa come back to her.

“I heard there’s a nudist beach,” Rebecca said. “Seriously?”

“
Oui
,” Berne said. “Not long after we go under Pont D’Arc.”

“You will pass them on the way through. You wish to stop there?”
Babs sounded far too hopeful for Berne’s liking.

The only thing that would achieve was the poor woman getting
sunburn in places that she doubted saw strong sunlight. Judging by how very
white Rebecca’s stomach was, Berne wouldn’t like to take the risk either.

“You have a rash vest?”

Rebecca looked at Berne blankly.

It was not something Berne could think of the English for. Her
mind ran through the alternative ways to explain in French. “It is a top you
wear. It looks tight. It is worn by surfers.” What was the English for it?

Again Rebecca looked lost.

“I have one. You are bigger than me but I like them to be loose,”
Babs said, taking over. “You can borrow it.”

“Um . . . great?”

Before Berne could explain, a loud string of expletives filled the
air. She looked at Pippa’s tent in time to see the shape of her through the
fabric. She laughed before she could stop herself.

“What is she doing now?” Rebecca went to go to her but Babs placed
a hand on her arm.

“It is part of the camping experience to learn not to touch the
canvas,
oui
?”

Rebecca nodded. “Yeah, condensation is a bitch.”

Berne smiled. When she’d brought Pippa to the Ardèche all those
years ago, Pippa had done the exact same thing. The memory of that howling and
the fit of giggles her face had provoked seemed as vivid now as it had then.

“Oh she’s going for the zip.” Rebecca gripped hold of Babs’s arm.
“This could be brutal.”

Much swearing and yanking made the tent rock violently from side
to side as Pippa tried to negotiate the double zip.

“I locked myself in!”

Berne carried on with the lunches, anything not to run and help.
Rebecca chose to hold onto Babs’s offered hand.

“Hello?”

Babs shook her head and placed a finger to her lips.

“Anyone?”

More grunting, more tent rocking and the sound of a zip moving.

“Perhaps it is better you are not gawping when she releases
herself,
non
?” Berne raised an eyebrow at them.

Babs and Rebecca nodded and hurried to Babs’s tent in search of a
rash vest.

Pippa’s head popped out into the sunlight, hair wild as it always
was in the morning. “You been there the whole time?”

Berne nodded. “I could not help you. I would burn the food,
non
?”

Pippa rubbed at her stomach. “I’m starving.”

“I have your breakfast ready when you would like it.” Pippa
groaned in such a way that Berne’s heart increased its heavy thudding beats. “I
thought you would appreciate this.”

Pippa went to walk out of the tent, not seeing that the zip didn’t
go all the way to the floor and promptly tripped over the remaining fabric.
Berne was already there, waiting with her arms open, as Pippa tumbled at her.

“Guess I never learn.” Pippa sighed. “You would think three
stitches would have etched that part in my memory.”

“If it helps,” Berne said, trying to look anywhere but Pippa’s
captivating eyes. She looked so sensual in the morning, so wild, so untamed,
and carefree. “
I
remembered it.”

Pippa’s cheeks coloured as she relaxed in Berne’s arms. “I’m glad
you did.”

The warmth of Pippa’s body made it hard not to feel how close she
was. Close enough to smell the fruity scent of sun cream and shampoo. Close
enough to brush the hair from her eyes, to trace her finger down the smooth
cheek—

“I . . . we . . . breakfast,” Pippa mumbled but she didn’t move.

“
Oui
.”

Closer, Pippa’s eyes dropped to Berne’s lips and she licked them
in response. “Berne, I—”

“Hey there, bush woman, what are you doing?”

Berne sighed and relinquished her hold on Pippa and strode back to
the breakfast. Rebecca was right to stop them but it still didn’t make the
interruption welcome.

She was surprised that Pippa was still so . . . responsive . . .
even when she thought Berne had betrayed her.

“Falling flat on my face,” Pippa shot back. “Lucky for me, my
trusty French guide was at hand.”

Berne bowed her head in acknowledgement, not daring to look up and
run her eyes over the pyjama shorts with faded hearts on them. Cute and sexy
all at once.

“Yes, well, if you keep throwing yourself at women, I may pout.”
Rebecca poked out her bottom lip. “I never got so much as a lingering look.”

Pippa poked out her tongue at Rebecca’s teasing. Berne was glad to
see that Rebecca now had on a tight rash vest.

Pippa noticed too and grinned. “Good idea. I don’t know if I
brought mine.”

Berne would not stand back on this one. “I have one in my bag for
you.”

A quiet smile played across Pippa’s lips. Berne’s body responded
to the look, memories swirled inside her mind. How she was going to stay
distant from Pippa, she didn’t know. Pippa finding herself seemed to make her
even more attractive.

“As if it wasn’t already hard enough,” Berne muttered under her
breath. Not being with Pippa was difficult enough when her own head kept
betraying her.

When Pippa looked at her as she was now, with eyes full of hunger,
it was almost impossible.

Chapter Thirteen

I WAS GLAD of the rash vest when we carried the kayaks down to the
river. You could never be too careful with the sun, in my view. Okay, so I
wasn’t the snowdrop that Rebecca was but under the intense heat that wouldn’t
matter. I had a bit of an obsession with making sure I had enough cream on.

“Howzat!” I grinned at Rebecca as she smothered sunblock on her
nose and cheeks. “Where’s the wicket?”

“You may laugh at my war paint, Saunders, but white cheeks are
better than pink stinging ones.” She shrugged. “Besides, I’ll come out in
freckles anyhow.”

“I like your freckles. They’re cute.”

Rebecca raised her eyebrows and put her hands on her hips. She was
a picture with her long board shorts and white legs. Her vest was too small but
her float-vest was a little too big, and all in bright colours. To top it off
nicely, she had a lovely cherry red helmet on and all the sun block. “Are you
flirting with me?”

Trying to suppress the giggles, I nodded. “Of course . . . who
wouldn’t . . . hot is not the word.”

Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “I’ll tell Berne. How quickly you turn
when faced with my war paint.”

“I know, it’s terrible, isn’t it,” I said, getting into the back
of the kayak. “But who could resist such a sight?”

Rebecca blew out a breath. Babs and Berne looked over from their
boat. “Well, you’ll have to try. You’re not my type.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really,” Rebecca said as she stepped in.

“And there was me thinking that
female
was your type.” I
pushed off from the shore and swung us around. The sound of the strokes through
the water calmed me. “Guess I should break the news to Babs, huh?”

Rebecca spun around, making the kayak wobble. “What?”

I grinned. “You heard . . . Oh, you need cream on your back too,
non
?”

Rebecca’s blush shone through her block. “She was trying to help
me, thank you very much. At least someone wanted to make sure I was protected.”

“Nothing to do with lathering your back then.”

Rebecca’s mock expression of shock drew raised eyebrows from the
others.

“There is a problem?” Berne’s sly smile told me that she knew I
was teasing.

“Yes. It seems that because Pippa is a floozy, she has labelled me
. . .” Rebecca clutched her chest. “Me, such an innocent, with her loose
morals.”

“You should have taken drama, you know that?” I flicked water at
her with my paddle.

“Berne, could you please tell this floozy that I’m as pure as the
sunblock on my face.”

Berne raised her eyebrows as Babs shot her a wicked smile. I
didn’t miss the second grin shot Rebecca’s way. Hmm, Babs looked a wee bit
smitten.

“I am afraid this may be so,” Berne said to me. “Her English
manners have her strung tightly,
non
?”

This time Rebecca’s shock was genuine. “Did she just call me
frigid?”

“In a polite French way, but yeah.” Oh, I loved seeing her squirm.

Rebecca slammed her paddle onto her lap. “I demand a retrial!”

I flicked more water her way. The two boats bobbed side by side
and I gave into the temptation. “Well, now, maybe I should call in an expert
witness?”

“And who would that be?”

I smiled at Babs. “What do you think? Is Rebecca here tied up
tighter than her float vest?”

Babs anchored their boat to ours as she made a show of examining
Rebecca closely.

I smiled at Berne who nudged my shoulder with hers. She looked
tense today, like she had a lot on her mind. What was going on behind her hazel
eyes? Sometimes, I wished I had some kind of device so I could know.

Babs wriggled her fingers up Rebecca’s side. Rebecca flinched and
slapped Babs’s hand.

“Hmmm . . . It seems Berne could be correct in her thoughts.” Babs
winked at me. She was enjoying herself, a lot.

Rebecca wagged her finger. “Uh huh, no way. That just means I’m
ticklish.”

All eyes turned to me and I shook my head and adopted the best
forlorn and serious expression I could muster. “I dunno . . .”

“Try again.” Rebecca took an exaggerated breath, rubbing her hands
together like they did in Olympic gymnastics. “I’m ready for you.”

Babs wiggled her eyebrows.

Berne smirked. She was enjoying the show as much as me. It was
nice to see how much she liked Rebecca. Berne had always been incredibly
protective over Babs, scaring most of those she deemed unsuitable. It was the
way she carried herself. Even without intending to, she dominated the space
around her. The way she walked oozed alpha female. From the outside, she could
appear cold and arrogant but I knew better. Berne was shy, a deep thinker.
Someone who said a lot without needing words
if
you could read her.

“Hey, cold hands, cold hands!”

Rebecca slapped at a giggling Babs, rocking the boats in the
process.

“Steady, you’ll tip us,
nitwit
.”

“Less of the insults,
dreamy
.”

Babs shook her head. “I think that is conclusive evide—”

Rebecca planted an enthusiastic kiss on her lips. “See, no prude
would do that, my little French delight.” She folded her arms as if that
settled the whole thing.

I kept an eye on Berne but she seemed delighted.

Phew.

Babs sat in a daze, touching her fingers to her lips.

“I would say advantage England,” I whispered to Berne.

“Don’t count her out of the race yet, Pepe.” Berne nodded towards
Babs who dragged Rebecca into an enthusiastic response.

She pushed the stunned Rebecca back and nodded smugly. “If you are
going to kiss, do it properly, my little English
belle
.”

Rebecca blinked a few times, her blush a lovely colour against the
white cream.

“First set to France,
oui
?” Berne whispered back.

“Undoubtedly.”

Before the match could continue, we rounded the bend in the river
and the gorgeous wonder of Pont D’Arc came into sight.

It looked like a giant had once had a doorway there. Its
green-covered top gave it the look of a Roman ruin. A very tall Roman with the
need for Rebecca’s tanking method. It stretched over the river that flowed
underneath it.

Rebecca saw it too, her eyes drifting over the natural arch. “Man,
that’s stunning.”

“About sixty metres wide and fifty-four metres tall. It is a
wonder of nature,
non
?” Berne’s eyes lit up at the sight. I loved
hearing her talk about the Ardèche.

“That’s a lot of Babs piled on top of each other,” Rebecca
mumbled. “And you guys stick the Eiffel Tower on your postcards.”

“
Oui
, there is nothing more pleasing than nature’s work.
Human hand does not compare.” Berne tapped the boat. “There is a beach not far
ahead. We shall stop for a break? It is a good spot to find inspiration.”

I knew that she was addressing Babs who was the most incredible
artist I had ever seen. Not that I would know a Matisse from a Chagall, I was
surprised I even remembered the names.

“Inspiration?” Rebecca asked.

Why she was looking at me I didn’t know. She’d
seen
me
draw. Matchstick men were not art no matter how cute I made them look.

Berne nodded at Rebecca. “You will need it if you are to negotiate
the rapids,
non
?”

Rebecca’s eyes flew to mine. “You didn’t say anything about
rapids.”

“Do not worry, Madame, I will be steering you.” Babs flashed her a
debonair grin.

“These two need their own court,” I muttered. People would want
tickets. It would be a sellout.

Berne landed her kayak and extended her hand to help me out of the
boat. “I think you may be right about this,
mais
, it means I am with you
in the rapids.”

“Which means it’s me getting soaked then.”

I looked up at Rebecca. Should I tell her that the front was the
raw deal? I watched Babs nudge her hip as they walked up the beach and thought
better of it. Why spoil her fun?

FED, WATERED, AND back out on the river, Berne slowed the kayaks.
“Your helmets are all fastened?”

We all nodded.

“Your vests, they are secure?”

A few yanks and tugs and we nodded again.

“
Alors
, Babs and I know the route and so I wish you to
enjoy the journey, keep your arms inside the boat . . . and try not to fall
out,
oui
?”

We murmured agreement as Berne and Babs set off at a pace and
manoeuvred to the side of the river they needed to follow.

“We will go first. That way Pepe will be ready with the camera,
non
?”
Berne said.

Babs chuckled.

Rebecca gripped onto the front. “Why couldn’t I be with Berne
again?” She leaned over towards me. “I’ve seen her
drive
, remember.”

“You are in erratic hands,” I said, plonking her on the helmet.
“Enjoy it.”

“Some friend you are.”

I blew her a kiss as Berne set off. “See you in a minute!”

I pulled my paddle in and allowed Berne to take over. She’d asked
me on the beach if I wanted to be in charge and paddle us through but I felt
happier with her at the helm, or rear . . . Stern? Could you have a stern on a
kayak? No . . . port was left . . . or was that right . . . Oh well, whatever
the bit at the back was called.

“Do you remember the first time?” Berne asked as we entered the
rapids, the swirling water speeding us forward.

“I was terrified, I remember that much.”

Berne’s laughter echoed over the roaring white waters. We swept
past a rock. I held onto the front, glancing back at her. Her strong arms were
hard at work to manoeuvre us into the right position.

Not a great time to start drooling.

“You were so glad that we made it through,
oui
?”

I had forgotten my very ardent response to making it through the
rapids and the recollection burst through my mind and every single inch of me.
Good thing we’d been alone that day.

“Now, is that why you’re in my boat?” Was I flirting? What was I
doing? That was not concentrating on finding myself or being mad at her, was
it? No, that was completely letting the side down.

“It was to protect Babs,
non
?”

I doubted Babs needed much protection. If Rebecca was the same as
me, she would delight in the reward.

“So you
wouldn’t
want me to thank you?” Flirty, Saunders.
What was I doing now? I was supposed to be mad. Berne was mean . . . she sucked
. . . I needed to focus. Mean Berne, mean, mean Berne.

Water crashed over me as the boat dipped down a level. I whooped
with the tickle it shot through my stomach.

“That depends how relieved I can get you to feel,
non
?” The
tone sent more tickly wriggles up and down my body.

Focus, woman . . . focus. Mean, mean . . .

“Oh, that’s a big dro—”

Another wave of water crashed over us. I clung on, my bottom
leaving the seat and clattering back down as we burst out through the water.

“Good thing I still have my own teeth, right?”

Berne’s lively smile made my heart thud. Her mouth open, her arms
pumping, her hair dripping, she was incredible. I turned back around, knowing I
was sporting the same grin. It was just the rapids, just the fun of it all. It
was a simple memory. I didn’t really want to thank her, nope, not one bit. Uh,
huh. Not focusing on very strong, very toned arms or the way the water dripped
off—

“Nearly to the finish line, you wish to paddle?”

I grabbed my paddle and drove through the water at her command.
Sun beat down on us, the water wild, the beauty of the sheer cliff faces on
either side. I was giggling like a fool by the time we hit the chequered flag
or more realistically, a load of branches stretching their knobby fingers
across the water.

“That was not bad,” Berne said, turning around to look upstream.
“I think you may even have time to take a picture of her.”

Without thinking, I leaned forward and brushed my lips against
hers.

“
Merci beaucoup
.” Before logic caught up with me and spoke
sense into my giddy mind, I pulled out my camera.

“Do you think she’s still on board?” I asked, trying to ignore the
intensity of Berne’s gaze.

“
Oui
, Babs is far better on the water.” Her answer was
quiet, her voice deeper. My legs felt wobbly at the hum of her tone. “There
they are.”

I put the camera to my eye, trying to calm my breathing. I needed
some kind of aversion therapy. What was I doing kissing her in broad daylight
on a river? What if someone Doug knew had seen?