La Vie en Bleu (27 page)

Berne bit her lip and stared down at her father. Pippa had made
sure her father had a fighting chance. She’d been through so much all those
years ago that Berne didn’t think it was possible. She smiled. Apparently it
was.

“Berne,” her mother said, making her look up. “Go to her, we will
be here.”

Vivienne got up from her seat. “Why don’t I go with you?”

“It’s not—”

Her mother cast a weary glance at Vivienne. “If today doesn’t
remind you of how important it is to treasure those you love and hold them
close, what will?” Tired but wise, her mother’s eyes filled with love. “Give
her a million
bisous
from me.”

Berne glanced at Erique, who nodded, and got to her feet. “I will.
I’ll do that.” She kissed her father on the forehead, burst out through the
door, and jogged down the corridor.

She needed to find Babs. She needed to get back to Pippa. She
hurried down the stairs not listening to Vivienne’s questions, to her demands.
Pippa had saved him. She’d saved his life. 

“
Merci
, Pepe . . .
merci
.”

Chapter Twenty-four

REBECCA AND I had stared at French television for what felt like
days. It was probably more like an hour and a half but it really did feel like
a lot longer. What was it with time? How could hours feel so massively
different in length?

Desperate to know how Monsieur Chamonix was and if he had made it,
zoning out was the only thing I was truly capable of doing. My arms were so
tired and achy that I could barely lift them to reach for my drink. When I did,
they shook so much that I spilled half of it over myself.

A lot of it was shock.

“Vivienne went with them, didn’t she?” I didn’t know why it popped
into my head or if it should really matter. It was surreal that I
hoped
she was with Berne. I didn’t want her to be alone. I wanted her to have
support. It didn’t matter from whom.

Rebecca pulled out her mobile. “Yeah.”

The television program was dreadful. This one actress was so poor
that she kept doing a flickering look from side to side with her eyes. “Think
she’s forgotten her line again.”

Rebecca sniggered. “Either that or someone has let off a stink.”

“Oh look, she’s after the CEO now.” I snorted. “I mean what woman
really puckers her lips out like that?”

Not normally one for picking holes in people, I put it down to the
fact that I was worried. I wasn’t mean and I never ever wanted to be like
Catherine. My darling sister’s parting e-mail had been so full of anger that
I’d not bothered to read on after the third line.

Sad thing was, she and my mother seemed less of a problem now they
were so far away. I had reached the point that I’d realised how much happier I
was not having to pretend anymore. It made me feel like I’d released a dead
weight.

In other words, good riddance.

The news flicked onto the screen and the reporter cycled through
the events of the day. Apparently lots of drama had happened in a sport, I
presumed football, and lots of suited men were being photographed leaving a
court. It must have been relatively important because Rebecca muttered,
“Terrible,” at the set once or twice.

I didn’t hear it. I was thinking about Monsieur Chamonix and
hoping that he was okay. He loved football, he would have been shaking his head
at the television too if he was here.

Rebecca went to stand then yelped and hopped about. She
frantically rubbed at her calf.

“Come here.” I patted the couch next to me and she plonked down. I
rolled up her trouser leg and manipulated the muscle with my fingers as Rebecca
studied my face. I broke out into a smile. “You haven’t had this since you
stopped training.”

She sported a lovely blush. “Yeah, I know. Should have taken it
more easy.”

“You’re training again?”

Rebecca had retired from triathlons when she had damaged her
ligaments and had to have knee surgery. It had put her off and she’d never
found anything she enjoyed as much to replace it.

“I know, I know. I only got the urge a couple of days ago. Babs
went for a run and . . . I guess I got the urge to do something myself.”

Working the muscle, I kissed her on the kneecap. “Well done. I’m
glad you’re doing something for you.”

“You’re not mad?”

I shook my head. “At least I’ll have company if you compete this
time.” I tried and failed to keep the grin off my face. “You know, because you
love her.”

Rebecca groaned. “You weren’t meant to hear that.”

“Alas, your secret is out.” I met her eyes. “She’s good for you.”

Rebecca grinned. “You really want a laugh?”

Anything not to have to think about waiting, about Monsieur
Chamonix. I prayed he was okay, he had made it.

“Hit me.”

Rebecca turned to the TV and searched until she found what she was
looking for. On came the crazy TV show with the pouty-lipped woman.

I chuckled. “She’s your new embarrassing crush or something?”

Rebecca flashed her grin at me. “Oh no. Pippa Saunders . . . meet
your rival . . . Vivienne.”

I turned to the screen and burst into laughter. What was Berne
thinking? “Was she drunk?”

“Now, now . . . Miss Fish Lips is very charming when her face
moves.”

I’ll bet. Why had Berne put up with her being nasty? “I can be
mean to her on Berne’s behalf, right?”

Mean fish-lips-viper who had hurt Berne so much. Viper who was
with Berne now. Boo.

“Yeah, talk about being in love with yourself. The woman went on
and on.”

“Did Babs ever tell you why she caught Berne’s eye?”

Rebecca nodded. “She’s a legend, I guess. Pictures of her a few
years ago showed that she was far hotter back then too. Maybe she ended up
looking like she was inside.”

“Poor Berne.” I didn’t like to think of her having to suffer the
woman’s wrath. “I don’t think I can cope with her having to put up with it.”

“Then do us all a favour and do something about it?”

I looked at her.

Rebecca shrugged. “Look, I love you, but stop with the drama
already.”

Consider myself told. “You and Babs both feel that way?”

Rebecca nodded. “Tell her, Pip. Tell her.”

The woman, old fish face, on TV made me feel like I might just
have a chance to win Berne back. I mean, the lady was probably saner, richer,
and more well respected than me but I could build stairs and rewire stuff
badly.

“Guess I should listen to you then, huh?”

ANY THOUGHTS OF reconciliation were put to one side as Berne came
through the front door. I scoured her face for signs of hope that her father
had pulled through but she said nothing until Babs . . . and Vivienne . . .
hurried in behind her.

“Did you try to help him?” Berne asked, her voice hoarse, her
exhaustion etched lines on her face.

I shoved my hands in my pockets unsure of her mood, bracing myself
for the worst.
Please let him be okay, let him be alive.
“I tried to.”

“They said you did this for over twenty minutes . . . alone?”

Had it been that long? It didn’t matter. I
would have done it until my arms had fallen off if it had given him a chance.
“Is he . . . did they . . . ?”

The lump in my throat robbed me of my speech, so I gripped my own
neck for support. I must have looked like I was trying to strangle myself.

“He has a pacemaker, they save him. The doctor says you made this
possible.” Berne searched my eyes. I could see Vivienne watching me like a
hawk, watching her. Berne walked to me and wrapped me up in a hug. Her tears
broke free as I held onto her.

“You saved him.
Merci. Merci
.” She sobbed the words into my
shoulder, her body wracked with the tears.

Babs ushered a scowling Viper over to the drinks cabinet.

“Couch,” I murmured to Rebecca, who nodded and helped guide me
towards it. “Thanks.”

I’d never seen Berne emotional. Never had her cling to me for
support. I wanted to cuddle the worry from her. “Did you see him?”

“
Oui
. They say he will wake tomorrow.” She sniffed and
sobbed. I held on, rubbing her back, cuddling her close. “Maman wishes you to
know her gratitude also.”

“You don’t have to thank me for anything. There was no way I was
letting him go.” I nodded up at Babs, who motioned to a whiskey bottle.
Vivienne looked like she may throw her glass at me. “For a start, the Lyon game
is coming up soon, isn’t it?”

Berne chuckled. “No doubt he will be grateful for this.”

“Let’s hope they actually win then.” I took the glass of whiskey
from Babs and handed it to Berne.

Manners told me to let go and remove myself so that Vivienne could
sit beside Berne. It took every ounce of dignity I had to do just that. I took
a glass from Babs. I needed it. In fact, I needed the bottle.

“I’m not sure . . . er . . . Vivienne, isn’t it?” I asked,
pretending like I didn’t know who she was.

“
Oui
.” Vivienne took her seat beside Berne, her hand on
Berne’s knee. A definite “back off,” in her eyes.

“Berne told me you live in Marseille so . . . I guess you wouldn’t
be happy if Lyon won.”

Vivienne had a way about her. Her scarf draped over her shoulders,
her styled hair dyed within an inch of its life. Her lips looked even more
rubber in real life.

“I do not care for such things,” Vivienne said, her eyes on Berne
who knocked back her whiskey.

Babs poked her tongue out at Vivienne behind the couch. Rebecca
stifled a chuckle.

Berne stared off into space. Vivienne glared at me. Rebecca and
Babs glared at her. I stared up at the ceiling. This wasn’t awkward, was it?
Nope.

Whatever I was feeling, Berne needed us all to support her,
whatever we felt about each other. I cleared my throat and turned to Berne. “No
doubt your mother is going to be at the hospital the whole time, right?”

“
Oui
, they are giving her a bed.” Berne sighed and stared
down into the empty glass. “The last time she barely ate.”

“I was thinking we can make up some food for her?” I looked up at
Rebecca who gave me a thumbs up. “That way when your father is up and about, he
can eat something he likes.” Babs took Berne’s empty glass. “Winston can make
it there and back, so I’ll shuttle you when Babs is in work.”

Vivienne cleared her throat. “Why? When she could stay in
Marseille?” She tucked a hair behind Berne’s ear. “She prefers the city. She
can be driven from there.”

Apparently Berne couldn’t speak for herself anymore. “I’m sure
anyone would but Berne’s father was working on the house. So I’m guessing Berne
will be taking over?”

Take that, Viper.

“Ah so you are Rebecca’s mistress?” She smiled the kind of sly
smile that made me want to throw my whiskey at her. “Peggy,
non
?”

“Pippa.” I squeezed the glass. Berne met my eyes. She needed me
not to throw things. I downed the shot instead, then spluttered. 

Babs raised her eyebrows at me.

“Not anymore,” I said with as much confidence as I could. “She
prefers shorter women.”

Rebecca poked her tongue out at me. “I like French women.” Her
eyes lingered on Babs. Babs gave her a flirty wink.

“And what do you prefer?” Vivienne’s voice held a threatening edge
to it. She was oddly terrifying. Maybe it was the unnatural lips, I didn’t
know.

“It’s not a preference.” I put my glass down, feeling buzzed by
the shot. Warm and fuzzy. “I
know
what I want.”

Berne met my eyes.
You listening, you dumb clot.
I hoped
she’d get the message.

“And this is?” Vivienne trailed a long finger over Berne’s jaw.
She leaned in and placed a kiss on Berne’s lips. Her eyes twinkled with malice.
“So, what is it that you want, Pippa?”

I was going to throw my glass at her. I didn’t care. Rubber lips
or not. What did I want? Oh, I’d tell her what I wanted.

Berne met my eyes once more. Her lost look stopped my temper
short. She didn’t need a catfight. “I really, really, really want a—”

“Pip, this is no time for the Spice Girls.” Rebecca was doing her
best to keep a straight face. I was quite sure she knew I wanted to slap fish
lips across the chops with a wet haddock. “Pip and I will shuttle you to the
hospital.”

Berne looked relieved. “You have much work to do—”

“You got a problem with Winston?” I knew that Berne still hadn’t
gotten around to telling Babs about the accident. A lot of that was due to Babs
using her as her chief artisan at times. Berne didn’t want her worrying when
she was up ladders. No one seemed to realise that Berne wasn’t driving. 

She bit her lip. Her eyes searched mine. “No, he is
très beau.
I
do not wish to—”

“There is plenty of room for you at home.” Vivienne met my eyes
with a dangerous smile. “It will be easier for us to make the arrangements,
non
?”

What arrangements? I glanced at Rebecca and Babs who looked as
lost as me.

“You have not told them?” Vivienne held out her hand. It was one
vein-riddled claw. It also had a very shiny ring on it. “Berne asked me to
marry her. I said yes,
naturellement
, non
?”

My stomach lurched. Berne stared at Vivienne, startled . . . and
not the kind of startled like she didn’t want the secret out. Babs looked like
she wanted to impale Vivienne on something. Rebecca caught me by the elbow as I
clattered into the side table.

“Isn’t that nice.” My voice sounded maniacal again. Uh oh. “Very
nice.”

Berne sighed. “I am staying in Ajoux, I would like your help. If
it is still offered?” She rubbed a hand over her face. Tears brimmed in her
eyes. She needed support.