La Vie en Bleu (2 page)

“Yes and no.” Rebecca folded her arms. Were there more tattoos?
How much ink did she want to be covered in? “Why won’t you tell me?”

Looking through the stack of papers that all said “urgent” on top,
I tried to mentally calculate how late I was going to be stuck at my desk. “Did
you sign off those invoices I got to you on Friday?”

Rebecca waved a hand. “Of course I did.” She rapped her knuckles
on the desk again. I swore my computer winced, its screen flickering. “You are
not getting away with avoidance.”

“Only if you tell me what happened between you and Miss Evans.”

“Bitch.”

“Me or her?”

“Both of you.” Rebecca got to her feet. “I hate how well you know
me.”

“So you keep telling me.”

She pecked me on the cheek and swaggered off towards her office.
She even walked like a cocky idiot. “Get working. I guess it’s me sticking
dinner on?”

Dinner, oh I was so hungry. “I forgot lunch.”

“Bottom drawer.”

I opened the drawer, pulled out a plastic tub, and yanked it open.
Tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches never looked so good. “I love you!”

Rebecca winked at me before shutting herself in her office. We’d
joined the company together when they were recruiting in our final year of
technical college. They’d offered two doe-eyed idiots a mediocre wage and a
chance to live in the city of London. Naturally, we had both signed up on the
spot. A decade later, I was no closer to my dream of being a master carpenter
and Rebecca was about as close to her dream of being an architect. In short, we
were wonderful underachievers.

The only thing that seemed to redeem me was Doug. I’d met him when
our brilliantly drab firm held a gala for the white-pearled smiles of the rich
and elite. Doug had made a beeline for me which I still believe was down to my
red cocktail gown. It had a halter neck to make anyone drool. Generally
Rebecca, but then she drooled over anything in a dress.

Doug was a master at fairy tale romance. He was great and lovely.
Still, even though I’d promised to be his wife, I was ever so slightly reluctant
to leave my pokey flat and live in a palace with him. Most women would have
thrown themselves into it with gusto. He was the ultimate gentleman. Dirty
blonde hair and blue eyes, chiselled chin and broad shoulders. He looked good
in everything, whether it was a tailor-made suit or a scruffy pair of jeans. In
short, he was prince charming. I just liked him better when I wasn’t living
with him.

Besides, I loved girls’ night with Rebecca. I loved vegging out in
front of endless DVD box sets in my pyjamas. If I moved out, Rebecca would
never make the extortionate rent. This was always my case for holding off
nuptials when Doug probed. Probably best he didn’t know that my father actually
owned the building and we paid next to nothing. I loved Doug to pieces . . . I
just loved space too. There was nothing wrong with that, nothing at all.

“Pip?”

I opened my eyes and looked at the caretaker. Someone had switched
off the lights. “Why is it dark?”

“It’s gone ten,” he said. “I got to kick you out.”

Looking down at my watch, I sighed. The urgent invoices were all
still neatly labelled in my inbox and my computer was still on the log-in
screen. Ah.

“Right . . . sorry . . .” I turned my computer off and stumbled to
my feet, sending the chair clattering as I yanked my coat from it. “Home.”

“You work too hard, Pip,” the caretaker said. “They don’t
appreciate you.”

I smiled at him and wandered down the corridor to the lift. Had
Rebecca seen me sleeping? Had I been dribbling? I took out my phone to text
Rebecca and smiled as I realised the date.

I’d met her on a rainy night just like this, although the summer
was in full swing in France, the heat sizzling off the sun-baked streets—

Ding.

“Crap.” I dashed between the closing doors of the lift and out
into the deluge.

Where had I parked the car? After texting a quick message to
Rebecca beneath my jacket, I dashed across to the car park and spotted my
little banged-up baby at the back. Doug had offered to buy me a brand new shiny
thing with some green badge and heated seats.

Where was the fun in that?

So, I couldn’t see through my windscreen for twenty minutes in the
winter and had to hang out the window like a mutt to get air in summer. My car,
Winston, had character.

As I squelched into the seat and yanked the creaky door shut, I
smiled. Character, I liked character.

Chapter Two

THE WEEK PASSED by in a blur of me trying desperately to claw back
some hours at the end of the month. We worked on a “flexible working scheme”
which meant that I could accrue hours or diminish my working day. It was a lot
like a credit card and I spent most of the latter half of my months making up
for the deficit I’d created at the beginning. Ten years and I still hadn’t
learned.

Friday night finally came and I was sprawled out on the second-hand
squishy sofa as Rebecca set up. We were about to start our DVD fest complete
with crisps, pop, and pyjamas when a knock sounded at the door. An unmistakable
knock, the Doug tap.

“What is he doing here tonight?” Rebecca threw the controls to the
side in a huff. “It’s our night.”

“I don’t know why he’s here.” If I was honest, I was as
disgruntled as she was. He never intruded on girls’ night, ever.

“Tell him he sucks.”

“Tell him yourself.” I opened the door to his best charming grin.
He knew he was trespassing. Cute or not, he was invading.

“Before Rebecca throws knives at me, I have a very good reason.”
He held up a massive box of chocolates.

“He brings chocolate,” I called out to her. “Big, Swiss
chocolate.”

“He’s got five minutes.”

I opened up the door wider, making a show of snatching the prize
from his hands. “Speak fast, Fletcher.”

“See, here’s the thing . . .” He walked to the centre of the
open-plan space to address us both. The man should have been a politician. “I
have this wacky idea that I think you girls are going to love.”

I handed the chocolate box over to Rebecca who examined it like it
was a diamond.

“Expensive . . . hazelnut . . . creamy . . . acceptable.” She
nodded at him and ripped open the box. “Continue.”

Doug grinned. “I want to bring you both dinner.”

“You brought chocolate,” Rebecca mumbled through her munching.
“Same diff.”

“This is better. I brought someone around . . . someone who was in
a meeting with me today.”

Doug was so excited that I felt a warm glow of affection for the
numbskull. He was the sweetest man sometimes.

“Judy?” Rebecca’s face had drained of all colour as she uttered
the name. Our boss, Judy Evans was not a woman with whom I envisaged having a
fun dinner. Rebecca’s reaction however made me cock my head. What was the deal
there?

“Yeah,” he said, ploughing on completely ignorant. “I was saying
how I wanted to take you to the centre opening in France and—”

“Sweetheart,” I whispered. “I’m not sure if Rebecca is feeling all
that well.”

We both looked at her. She sat there frozen, her mouth open,
chocolate stopped half way.

“She’s just outside . . .” Panic filled his eyes. “I thought a bit
of social time with you guys would soften her up. I—”

“It’s okay,” Rebecca managed. “I just need a minute to . . . I
just need a second.” She dashed off towards her bedroom and I went over to
Doug.

“You did a sweet thing,” I told him. “You weren’t to know.”

“So she isn’t okay?” Bless him, he looked so confused.

“Let’s not leave Miss Evans out in the hallway, hmm?”

“Right.” He shook himself out of his daze. “Yes . . .”

He hurried to the door, and the middle-aged, power-suited beauty
sashayed into the apartment, literally, she walked like she was prancing down a
catwalk. She also looked like she was on a mission. The woman terrified me at
the best of times.

“Miss Evans,” I said, extending my hand.
“Nice to see you . .
. again.” Didn’t I see her most days? What kind of hello was that?

“I hope that you don’t mind.” She shrugged.

Tight skirt, fitted blouse, fitted jacket, all in charcoal
matching her auburn hair. Miss Evans was the kind of woman used to getting what
she wanted, when she wanted it.

“I saw Doug and he was insistent that I came.”

No doubt he had been. Doug had a habit of getting what he wanted a
lot too. “Well, come in . . . take a seat.” I pointed to the sofa. She didn’t
really look like the kind of woman who graced second-hand cast-offs. Ah well.
“You in the mood for any food in particular?” Had she liked Chinese or Italian
better? “Doug is paying.”

Doug nodded. He looked so pleased with himself. It was cute.

“I don’t mind.” Her eyes scanned the apartment and I tried to hide
my smile. It was going to be an interesting evening.

“Rebecca will be out in a second. She’s . . .” Think woman, think.
“Changing.” Of course she was. Phew.

Doug opened his mouth. “I thought she was—”

“Changing.”

He caught the warning glint I shot him and went to the kitchen.
“I’ll pull out the menus.”

“So, Miss Evans, I hope that Doug was gentle in the meeting?”

I watched her soak in every detail of the apartment. Her eyes
lingered on the discarded pair of crocodile shoes. A smile danced across her
lips. If I didn’t know any better, I would think
she
was pursuing
Rebecca. Now that was a turn around.

“You have him impeccably trained.” She pulled her eyes back to me.
“It’s good to know that my favourite worker has a handle on the client.”

Her tone was playful enough that Doug laughed. Poor thing didn’t
realise that the woman was deadly serious. Doug was only using my company
because . . . well . . . I was working for them. It was probably the only
reason why my poor-excuse-for-a-performance was tolerated. I was a terrible
administrator. I couldn’t organise myself let alone an entire sales team.

“If you hadn’t been so . . . er . .
. giving, letting me attend that dinner, Doug and I wouldn’t be
where we are.” If Rebecca’s ashen face was anything to go by, Miss Evans was
more giving than I’d realised.

Do not laugh. Do not laugh at your own joke, Saunders
.

“Yes, Pip is right.” Rebecca’s voice held her usual cocky
confidence as she strutted into the room. I didn’t miss the lingering glance of
appreciation Miss Evans gave her. Oh boy, it was like hunting season.

“Italian good?” Rebecca asked us before flashing a confident smile
at Miss Evans. “Do you want that?”

Miss Evans smiled, her lips pursed. “
Si
.”

Doug didn’t seem to understand why Miss Evans stared at Rebecca
for so long and looked to me for some explanation.

I went to him, kissed him on his full lips, and took the menu from
his hand. “I’ll tell you later.”

“So, I didn’t blow it?”

“Not sure yet,” I said, thankful I didn’t have to be hunted by
anyone. “But if the awkward silences continue, you may get to sleep over
tonight.”

Before the promise sunk in, I took the menu and broke up the
staring match. “Italian,” I said as though speaking to toddlers. “Maybe we
could narrow it down?”

“Spinach tagliatelle,” Rebecca said.

“Pasta e fagioli,” Miss Evans shot back as though it were a
competition.

Calm down, woman, it’s food not quiz night
.

“You get that, Doug?” I said loudly enough to snap them out of it.
“You want something to drink?”

“Red,” they said at the same time, then laughed.

Wow, I needed a whistle.

Rebecca mouthed, “Save me,” as Doug drew Miss Evans’s attention by
hurrying to her with a bottle and some glasses.

“You want to give her the tour?” he asked Rebecca as he filled up
their glasses and turned to Miss Evans. “Rebecca has a great view of the . . .
er . . . canal.”

“She does? Now isn’t that nice,” Miss Evans crooned.

No, not really. It was beyond the fence and some stingy nettles
that made me itch just looking at them. Okay, so it was my dad’s responsibility
to maintain the place but he liked to hire people we didn’t really want to let
loose on anything. Cheap didn’t always mean a bargain. Alas, it was only us and
two flats below so no one complained. Probably because our two elderly
neighbours were just happy to pay half rent.

Rebecca put her hand on the back of her neck and smiled. I
narrowed my eyes at Doug.

“Oh . . . it’s, well . . . I . . . You want to see?” Rebecca
looked like she wanted to climb out of the window.

“Why not?”

Rebecca and Miss Evans headed off for the grand tour. It would
take all of seconds. Our place consisted of a living room, a tiny excuse for a
kitchen, a bathroom, and our bedrooms. Rebecca always said it looked like the
apartment in
Friends
. I reminded her that they could fit our place in
the kitchen and that they had an awesome window. It held views of New York and
Central Park, ours held a view of the street outside. If we were really lucky,
misty rain permitting, we could make out the top of the street which held a row
of second hand and charity shops. I watched Rebecca head straight for her room,
getting her bottom pinched for good measure.

I spun around to glower at Doug. “Now why are you trying to get
rid of them?”

He slid his arm around my waist. “If Rebecca is busy entertaining
and boring Evans with stories . . .” His kiss was confident. “I get to keep
you.”

“You get to keep me anyway.” I enjoyed letting his lips linger
over mine. So familiar, so safe. “That’s what the ring is all about.”

“Then come with me,” he said, leaning in and sliding his hand
around to my back.

I tapped him on the nose. “I think they deliver.”

Doug smiled. His lips brushed over mine. He didn’t give up easily.
“Not the Italian. Come with me, Pippa.” He kissed me, gentle, unhurried. “Come
with me to France.”

Ice cold guilt shot up my back. I pulled away and grabbed the menu
from the counter. “If we don’t call them, no one will eat tonight.”

“What does that matter?” He tried to pull me back. “I can just
cook breakfast instead.”

My sweat trickled down from my armpits. My stomach churned.
France? Oh no, not France. “But my boss is our guest.”

Doug went to speak but I stomped over to Rebecca’s room and
slammed open the door. “Need your help.”

Rebecca looked like she wanted to hurl herself at me. Miss Evans
looked like she may fire lasers from her eyes, and I wanted to bolt before
I
climbed out of the window.

“You’re coming with me to pick up dinner,” I said to Rebecca.
“Doug can catch up with business while we’re out.”

“Sure.” Rebecca tried to read me but I grabbed her hand.

“Doug, set the table.”

“But—”

“Set the table.”

I was barking orders at him now? When did that happen? Doug was
polite enough not to argue but I could see the flicker of something in his
eyes. Hurt? Irritation? Shock?

“Okay, I get why I’m freaked but what is going on with you?”
Rebecca asked as we hurried down the staircase like bank robbers fleeing the
scene.

“I’m hungry.”

“And I’m straight.”

I sighed. “You need some time to gather your thoughts.” Not even a
good lie. “Looked like she may pull out a rifle and mount you on her wall.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her.” Rebecca shoved her hands in her
pockets as we power walked down the street. “And you look like I feel. Who
poked your pickles?”

“Where do you get those sayings from?” She drove me crazy. “That
doesn’t even make sense.” The wind whipped up and I shivered, then looked down.
Wonderful, I was still in my pyjamas.

Unfazed by my nightwear, Rebecca nodded. “You understood the
context and stop avoiding the question.”

Oh balls, I’d forgotten my—

Rebecca beeped her car. “You were ready to bolt, thought it would
be more efficient with keys.” She pulled a long coat out of her boot. “And pink
bears are not cool in public.”

“I love you, you know that.”

“Then tell me what rocked your river.”

“Rocked my—” I sighed, pulling on the coat. It didn’t hide my
fluffy slippers but it would have to do. “You talk so much crap. How do so many
women fall for it?”

I climbed in the passenger side as Rebecca started the engine.
“They don’t know me like you do.”

I lay my head back into the heated seats as the car purred through
the city. Rebecca’s company car was a better option than Winston in the rain.
Still, Winston had his own tape deck. How many people still had tape decks,
huh?

As creatures of habit, we only ever went to one Italian, Gino’s.
There was no better place. It was about three miles from our flat, like I had
any clue about distance. Basically with lights, rain, and traffic, it could
take us at least twenty minutes to drive there. It would be far easier and
quicker to actually walk but then my fluffy slippers would get wet. That was my
excuse and I was sticking to it.