by Klaire, Jody
“I want to surprise her,” Rebecca whispered, pulling open her own chocolate bar and ripping off a piece.
Stephanie and Berne glanced at each other, alarm in their eyes.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit... spontaneous?” I asked. Why were they worried? What weren’t they telling us about Babs?
“Yeah, that’s the point, Pip. I’ve never been to Monaco. I want to support her, to surprise her.” Rebecca shrugged. “It’s Le Pont this weekend anyway.”
The French version of an extra-long weekend. If a holiday landed on a Thursday or Tuesday, the French wrote off the working days in between and took them all off. Another reason I adored them.
“Oui... mais...” Berne hummed, waving the bar around. She looked to Stephanie who shrugged. “There is... er...”
“Etiquette,” I said for her. She’d have a lot of explaining to do... and I wanted the chocolate. I reached out to pinch it off her.
“Oui,” Berne wheezed out, swiping the chocolate away. “Oui, this is so.”
“Well what’s the etiquette for surprising someone?” Rebecca glared from me to Berne. She knew full well something was up, even I did and I was not the sharpest chisel in the chest.
“Er...” Berne looked to Stephanie.
“It is that...” Stephanie was humming too now. They sounded like they were harmonising.
“I love her.” Rebecca slapped her phone to the sofa. “I want... well... I’d marry her if I didn’t think she’d run for it.”
What?
We all stared at her.
“You would?” I mumbled.
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Yeah, I would.” Her blue eyes were so intense with the emotion. She meant it. She actually meant it. “I need your help.”
She needed some kind of help.
Berne opened and closed her mouth; Stephanie beamed with a wistful sigh.
Married? Like frilly dresses? What did I say? Friends stuck by each other even when one of them had clearly lost her marbles.
“You cannot just go there.” Berne’s voice sounded like it was being strangled.
“Why?” Rebecca sighed and held Berne’s gaze. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”
Berne scowled, brandishing what was left of the chocolate bar.
Stephanie waved her hands about. “Non, never. Babs is not like this.”
“She would never do this to you.” Berne shook the bar at Rebecca.
Good to know. Really, really good to know.
Stephanie sighed. “The problem is...” She glanced at Berne and shrugged. “That you will need to fit in.” She smiled at Rebecca. “And Babs does not want you to think she does not love you as you are.”
“But her family will demand you fit in,” I finished. Sounded too familiar.
“If I marry her, I’ll have to, right?” Rebecca met my eyes.
Okay, she was nuts.
“At first,” Stephanie said, raising an eyebrow at me. “When they know you, they will love you for who you are.”
That sounded very tactful.
We all looked at Berne. She ran her gaze over my face. I didn’t know why, I knew Rebecca had lost it. Then she threw her hands in the air. “This is madness.” She blew out a breath, chomping off another piece. “How can we make this possible? Rebecca says how much she loves to be herself, oui?”
“I know I do but I want to try... please.” Rebecca’s plea shone in her eyes. “Whatever you need me to do.”
Stephanie smiled. “I am happy to help.”
Berne narrowed her eyes. She strode to me, placed the bar to my lips. “You think this also?”
“She wants to try.” I didn’t sound very certain. I shrugged, and munched the bar in case she snapped it away.
“Madness!” Berne let out a throaty purr and strode toward the door, whipping her mobile off her belt. She turned. “We will need to take the Land Rover.”
She stalked off.
I chewed on my chocolate. Wow, she was gorgeous when she was fired up.
“She does not wish you to feel hurt,” Stephanie said to Rebecca, her voice soft. “Emilie comes from the same place. I had to fit in also.”
I cocked my head. “You didn’t?”
Stephanie chuckled. “Non, I was poor. I did not enjoy the pretence.”
I liked her more and more.
“Do you really want that?” I asked Rebecca.
“I love her. I really do want to marry her.” She chewed on her lip. “I know you weren’t expecting that.”
I blinked.
“You’d be a big part of my day still.” She wiggled her toes.
I blinked again.
“If she says yes, we’ll give you time to get used to it, okay?” She sighed. “That’s a big if anyway by the sound of it.”
“Non,” Stephanie murmured. “Babs loves you.”
Rebecca was really in love. She meant every word. I couldn’t believe that she had found that place, that happy joy filled place where she could let that big heart of hers be loved. I put my hand over my throat trying to ease the ache. My little Rebecca was all grown up.
“I want you to be happy for me,” Rebecca said, worry in her eyes.
“I’m having a moment.” I fanned myself. “I am happy... I need more chocolate.” I headed to the fridge.
Rebecca caught me by the shoulders and pushed me toward the stairs. “Pip, why are you dressed like Martina Navratilova?”
“I was thinking Amélie,” Stephanie said, catching us up. “Mais she did not have a sweat band.”
I stopped, mid-stair, and put my hands on my hips. “I’m Pat Cash.”
“Ah,” both of them murmured in unison.
“Explains the style,” Rebecca said, pointing to my tight white shorts.
I turned and stomped up the stairs. You didn’t have to be crazy to be me but it helped.
◆◆◆
Berne lay on the bed, hoping that her backache would ease. It was too much to work on the family business, the projects Babs had entrusted her with, and now Stephanie’s house. Her doctor had told her she couldn’t manage all three but she had to.
She dialled Babs’s number and desperation crept over her. Who’d have thought Rebecca would volunteer to follow tradition for Babs? It made everything so much harder.
“Bebe, you miss me so much?” Babs said with a chuckle. She was somewhere busy, clinking plates. Hmm, for sure, it was at a dinner party.
“We have a complication.” Berne didn’t bother trying to hide her sigh.
“She finds out?” Babs’s panic sounded in her voice.
“Non, non, she has no clue...” How, Berne was not sure. “...mais, she knows you are in Monaco.” She rubbed her hand over her stomach. She should eat dinner. Maybe a nice salad, garlic, mayonnaise...
“She does?” Babs’s voice tightened further. “How?”
“You left your location on?” Berne didn’t know what that was. She was happy with her “brick” as Rebecca called it—Hmm, Rebecca... maybe she would need to check if there was mayonnaise left? Did they buy extra?
Babs tutted. “I forget, I use it to navigate a traffic jam.” She drummed her nails on something that chinked, a glass maybe? “So what does she say?”
“That she wishes to surprise you.”
Babs stopped tapping. “Pardon?”
“Oui,” Berne grunted. “Stephanie tells her that this means she will have to follow tradition.” She glanced at the door: Pippa giggling. Stephanie was doing a good job of distracting her. “We thought it would stop her, that it would make her decide it was not a good idea.”
“Et?” Babs’s voice sounded so small.
“And, she wishes to do whatever you need her to.” Berne shook her head. Who could have imagined it? “She wants to marry you.”
Babs giggled. It was a giggle so unguarded and filled with delight that Berne couldn’t help but smile with her even if it did make things so difficult.
“Oh, Bebe, how do we make them like h
er?” It was a plea, a plea from her heart that made Berne groan.
They were all crazy. Stephanie, Rebecca, Babs... How could they make Monsieur and Madame Henri accept Rebecca? They disliked tattoos, they liked tradition. They were versed in etiquette and poise. Why would they be happy their daughter was in love with a penniless Englishwoman with eccentric hair?
They didn’t know Rebecca though. Her heart was exactly what Babs needed: her fire, her strength. How did they make Monsieur and Madame Henri see this? An idea rolled through her mind...
“Stephanie?” She shook her head. Non, it would be hard on her going back to Monaco. Emilie’s friends and family were as unwelcoming as Emilie herself.
“Oui, Stephanie... oui!” Babs hummed. “I have an idea.”
Oh no. “Babs...?”
“Get her to Monaco, let Stephanie take her shopping. Take my card.” Babs was on a mission again. “You and Pepe the same, all of you. Then you come to my parents.”
“Babs...?”
“Bebe, you eat, you drive, I leave my card in the usual place.” She was grinning, Berne could hear it. Her energy, her joy, her vivre pulsed through every word.
“D’accord, I will do this... mais...”
Babs sucked in a breath. “Oui?”
“You protect Stephanie.” It would be hard without Emilie’s family finding ways to taunt her.
Babs wheezed out a breath. “I thought you would never ask. This is my pleasure.”
“What if Pepe finds out?” She whispered, glancing at the door. Pippa was still giggling.
“She should not. Bebe, you cannot tell her.” Babs sighed. “I know you wish to but you cannot.”
“D’accord.” What could she say? Non?
Babs hung up and Berne stared up at the ceiling. She wanted so much to tell Pippa... but Babs was right, if she did, Rebecca would know and get it out of her. Non, it was better to wait.
She sighed and pulled herself off the bed.
Drive to Monaco, keep Stephanie sane, make-over Rebecca, impress the Henri family and not upset Pippa in the process.
Berne hummed to herself.
She’d need more than just salad then.
Chapter 11
Berne ordered us to pack and we bundled into the Land Rover, driving for hours until we reached Monaco. The closer we got to the city, the more we all seemed lost in our own thoughts. Rebecca took in the casinos and the buildings as she navigated us through the traffic; Berne gave directions, her eyes filled with some thought—Maybe memories of when she’d first visited? Stephanie’s eyes glazed over with the ache I knew so well. The ache I’d worn often when in family dinners. She was very brave to come back with us. She caught me looking and I reached across the backseat to give her hand a squeeze. I’d stuck out like a sore thumb too.
“Most are awed by it,” she whispered to me as Berne directed Rebecca. “They love the glamour of it.”
“Yeah, sparkly things catch a lot of people’s eyes.” I’d never really been to Monaco. I knew they had races there, casinos and you needed bundles of money to live there but other than that, I was stumped. “I prefer real things, real people.”
“Me also,” Stephanie whispered, eyes filled with painful memories.
We drove to a buzzing part of the city and Berne tapped a keypad outside a swish looking apartment block. The car park underneath was filled with Ferraris, Porsches, and you name the expensive brand cars. Wow.
It was better I didn’t touch anything. If Winston’s paint cost a lot of money, then “Ferrari red” probably cost as much as a house. I cocked my head at one sleek car without a badge. It had “Babs” as the number plate.
I put my hands over my mouth, No. “Is that?”
I shook my head. Babs had Clio. She loved Clio. Oh poor, Clio.
“Oui,” Stephanie said with a sad smile. “You will see another side here.” She met Rebecca’s alarmed gaze. “Not her. It is a front, oui?”
“The real woman is who you know,” Berne grunted.
Rebecca flicked her gaze over the car like she distrusted it. “Who do I know though?”
“It is expected of her,” Stephanie said. “She has to be presentable, it does not mean she enjoys it.”
I felt a pang of concern for Babs. That couldn’t be fun at all—I glanced back at the shiny car as we followed Berne—Well, I was guessing that part could be a lot of fun.
“Pip, stop drooling. They’ll kick us out.” Rebecca sucked in a breath. “Act like you are used to seeing cars that cost more than a hotel.”
Right, yes. Doug was rich. He had chauffeurs and houses and he did love his luxury cars but he had never been a sports car type of man. I loved him all the more for it.
“It is vintage,” Berne grunted again as she led us into a lift. “Babs may drive what is expected but she has it reconditioned.”
Rebecca exchanged a glance with me.
That was more like Babs but it was hard to take in. Even the lift had marble on the floors and walls. The panels looked like they were actually gold and its doors slid open without me even realising we’d moved.
Rebecca stared back at the doors as we walked down a marble accented hallway. Berne flicked open a box on the wall beside a smooth wooden door and tapped away. She opened the box and pulled out a card then slid it into the reader at the side.
The door slid open just as silent. Wow. I glanced at Rebecca who sucked in a breath. Yeah. We had to slam our door in the summer when it swelled.
I held her hand as we walked inside. The apartment was split level with a circular stairs, you could see the harbour—or port? Whatever the thing was with yachts— you could see the city below. A marble bar, a veranda, a shiny kitchen and a large library space. Sleek, chic, I was scared to touch anything... and I may have been drooling.
“The bedrooms are through there,” Berne led us down a curved corridor. Wood hugged its contours adding warmth to the stone floor. She turned to Rebecca. “Babs’s room is the one in front of us.”
The one with huge wooden doors. I squeezed Rebecca’s hand. She glanced at me, mumbled something under her breath and wandered off. Yeah. This was a whole other side of Babs.
“My room is just here,” Stephanie said with a smile. “I prefer to have a smaller space.”
I stared after her as she pushed the door and it flexed like one of those fan things posh people used.
“Stephanie stays often.” Berne shrugged. “She preferred it here to Emilie’s.”
“Not in the same room... right? You all have separate rooms,” I mumbled as the door flexed back into position.
Berne glared at me.
She could glare all she liked. “Hey, they’re both gorgeous, I’m allowed a wobble.”
“I love you,” she shot at me.
“That sounded like an insult.” I folded my arms, she’d been more and more grumpy the closer we got. “What’s the matter?”
She turned away and stopped outside a room halfway down the corridor. “I worry you will want this.” She shoved open the door which flexed like the other one. “I cannot give you it.”
“I escaped this.” I followed her into a huge bedroom. The bed was up marble steps and on a decking sort of thing which overlooked the harbour, or port—I was so technical—Either way it looked like it was floating on water. A calm feel to it.
I ran my hand over the wood inset in the wall. Perfect workmanship. I could feel Berne looking at me and turned. “What?”
She cocked her head. “Escaped?”
Had she been paying attention?
“Yes, I felt uncomfortable, on show, and you weren’t there.” I wandered over to the bed and tested it. So comfy. “Like Babs, I’d rather drive a hunk of metal.” I stared out at the yachts bobbing away on moonlit waters. “The beauty of the Ardèche, and you, far exceeds all this.”
Berne’s lopsided smile was reward in itself. “I worked on this place.” She ran her hand over the wood inset. “Stephanie delivered it and Babs... this is all f
rom her head.”
Now I was staring. “She’s... wow.” I ran my hand over the marble bedside table. I pictured Berne working the stone, her focus, her hands, her—
“Pepe, I may get jealous, non?” Berne purred into my ear, pulling my hand from the stone. She lifted my chin and pulled me into a kiss.
“Why?” I managed, once again stupefied. “I was thinking of you.”
Berne’s purr sent a ripple up and down. Oh yeah.
“Madame?” a man said behind us.
I jumped, Berne held onto me, stopping me clattering off the bed.
“Oui,” Berne said to the man in the doorway. “Bags are in the Land Rover.”
“Very well, I will put them in your rooms, Madame.” The man nodded, she threw him the keys and he hurried off.
“Please don’t tell me she has servants, Rebecca may cry.” I chewed on my lip.
Berne chuckled. “He is a porter.”
“Okay, I’m having a panic.” Rebecca stood in the doorway with alarm in her eyes. “I’m scared to touch the bed in case I mess it up, some guy just asked me if I wanted him to bring up my bags and have you seen the bathroom.”
Her shallow breaths made her cheeks rosy.
“It is all just stone,” Stephanie called out from the corridor. I could hear her boots tapping the floor as she got closer. “Just stone and wood, the same as your house, oui?”
Berne nodded. “And it is a lot colder.”
Rebecca looked from her to Stephanie and back. “Are you serious?”
“John McEnroe,” I shot at her.
They all stared at me.
“What, I’m still on tennis players. I may know nothing about the sport but I can name who plays it.” I smiled. “You want to see my Rafa impression?”
“I think she’s lost it,” Rebecca mumbled.
I yanked up my eyebrow like Rafael Nadal, picked at my bottom, scratched my nose and tucked my hair behind my ear. Doug didn’t like tennis but my father was a big supporter. I’d have to amuse myself when I was bored stiff with watching the ball ping back and forth. Players were fun to watch.
I dropped to the floor like Rafa did when winning. At least, I hoped it was when he’d won. By that point, I’d drunk myself through the champagne and stuffed myself with strawberries and cream. Sport shouldn’t be allowed to take five hours.
