Best Maid Plans

by Klaire, Jody

  Right. Make fun of me then.

  The door opened and Madame Henri got in with grace—I’d fallen into the limo, literally, but I’d been awake all morning, what were they expecting?

  “Roger cannot make this evening,” Madame Henri purred. “His meeting overruns.”

  I chewed on my lip. Right. How did we impress both parents if only one was present? “He can’t get away at all?”

  She shook her head. “He leaves me in your capable hands.”

  Mine? Really? Was he that unobservant?

  “So, where are we going?” Rebecca asked, poking me in the arm. She nodded toward the driver who smiled like he was awaiting instructions.

  “Here.” I rubbed the sides of my mouth in case I’d dribbled and pulled out a leaflet that had been on the table.

  Stephanie took it from me to hand it over. “Indoor golf,” she said with a smile. “Win five hundred thousand euros if you... hit the wall?”

  Madame Henri laughed. “Ah, oui. It is a new place.”

  Rebecca looked at me, narrowing her eyes.

  “It is very popular,” Madame Henri said like she was trying to convince us. “A lot of fun.” She shook her head with a chuckle. “Indoor golf.”

  “Why would you wish to play it indoors?” Stephanie frowned. “It makes no sense.”

  “The owner’s probably British,” Rebecca muttered, glaring at me. “Golf.”

  I nodded. “Golf.”

  ◆◆◆

  Berne stretched out her back as she climbed out of Babs’s sports car. Would Babs notice her wincing? Hopefully the buzzing restaurant would keep her too busy. Cars lined up with guests getting out, the cameras flashed, the buzz filled the air and Berne shoved her hands in her pockets. Glitzy openings were not her idea of amusement but it was for one of Babs’s projects—She’d provided sculptures that was all. Babs had done the hard work and Stephanie. Only, Emilie may be there and so Berne had to go. It was better that Stephanie was unaware, that she didn’t have to think about it.

  “Bebe, remind me why I did not bring my lemon?” Babs fiddled with her handbag.

  “Because you were worried that she would run.” Berne strode forward and took Babs’s hand. She ignored the curious looks from those gathered. They had always been gossiped about, she doubted that would ever change.

  “You must think me weak for this.” Babs flashed a trademark smile for the cameras.

  “I think your heart has found what makes it beat.” Berne smiled for the photos, nodding to the waving camera crews. “You wish to protect that.”

  “So why does it feel like I am being...” Babs sighed. She waved as someone called her name. “Deceitful.”

  “Love is not easy. You know this.” Berne slid her arm around Babs’s shoulder as they greeted a group of staff. “It makes you battle with yourself.”

  Babs looked up at her. “It does. It makes me think that she could never love me for who I am.” She took a pen from one of the staff and started to sign autographs.

  “She loves you... mais... it is better you introduce her slowly.” Berne smiled as the staff member asked her to take a photo. “Rebecca will do this with you when you are both ready.”

  “I am not sure I want this.” Babs posed for countless photos, selfies and signed more autographs. She did it all with ease but she’d been doing it since she could walk. It had been for her parents’ success then but now it was for her own.

  “You do not want this with Rebecca?” Berne cocked her head, not believing it.

  “Non... oui... I want her to and I want to keep her for myself.” Babs flashed yet another charming smile. “I am torn.”

  “You will know what is right when you feel it.” Berne led her away from the staff and over to the construction team. Berne had accompanied her to so many openings that she knew every move, when to lead her to the next greeting, when to stand back and when to smile.

  “She would not be content to act as you do.” Babs took the badges from the box and handed them out. Something she always did for her team. It would have the project and their names. On a wall in the building there would be a badge much like it. Babs believed that the artisans were as much a part of the history of a building as the stone and Berne adored her for it.

  “I am sure she would help any way she could.” Berne tutted as Babs handed her a badge. She already had a full box at home. “I did not help.”

  “Oui, you finish the outside wall and do not think I miss that you help with the detail in the entrance.” She tutted at her, closing Berne’s hand around the box.

  Berne waved it off. She’d always loved teaching. “Do you think Fabrice would enjoy this?”

  Babs posed for a photo with the team, dragging Berne in to stand beside her. “I would like this. He talks of architecture. I think it would be good for him to learn the skills, non?”

  “Stephanie will need the help.” Berne clamped her mouth shut and closed her eyes.

  “She helps when she finishes her house, non?” Babs looked at her, expectant.

  “We need to greet the business partners, oui?” Berne led her away but Babs stopped and raised an eyebrow.

  “Bebe, what do you hide?”

  Berne glanced over at Emilie, the owner and... Vivienne? An added complication. “It is something I tell you when we get home.”

  Babs put her hands on her hips.

  Berne sighed. “Emilie and Natalie, they pull up the floors, smash the plaster off the walls.”

  “Pardon?” Her tone cut over the buzz of the crowd.

  Berne pulled her to the side. “They did this and sent pictures saying that Stephanie had paid Pepe with... favours.”

  “They will pay for the damage. My lawyers will make sure.” Babs’s tone was as sharp as the glint in her eyes. “No arguments.”

  “Babs—”

  “Non, I have heard enough.” Babs stomped over to Emilie and Berne sighed, following on.

  “You look beautiful, as always.” Emilie’s tone showed her intent as did the charm in her eyes.

  Berne slid her arm around Babs’s shoulder, hoping to divert the attention away. “Oui, she always glows with beauty.”

  “You look well,” Babs muttered. Her tone was tight, laced with her anger.

  “Bebe,” Emilie purred at Berne with charm. “Where is this artisan you drool over?” She smiled a smug smile at Vivienne and then turned to the owner. “You should hear her French.”

  Vivienne offered a tight smile. The owner looked from Emilie to her with confusion.

  “I did not think you would be here,” Berne managed. Could stress make her back ache more?

  Vivienne ran her hand over the owner’s arm. “I like to be supportive.”

  The owner smiled up at her with adoration. “It is a pleasure to meet such a talented artist.” She held out her hand to Berne.

  Berne smiled. “You are too kind.”

  “Non, Madame Henri says how talented you are,” She said, beamed at Babs and motioned to the sculptures.

  “Madame Henri knows her far too well,” Emilie snapped.

  Babs tensed.

  “I think Rebecca would object to this,” Berne said. Not letting Babs go. If she did, she knew Babs would flatten her.

  “The builder?” Emilie snorted with laughter.

  Babs pursed her lips, her eyes glinting with anger.

  “She is very pleasant.” Vivienne leaned in. She nodded to Berne. “I believe she is very kind, very intelligent and talented also.”

  Berne felt a swell of affection. She didn’t have to be so kind. Babs and her had never been warm to each other. “Merci.”

  Emilie turned to glare at Vivienne. “And how would you know this?”

  “I have met her.” Vivienne’s tone was pleasant on the surface but held a hint how little she thought of Emilie underneath. Berne knew the tone. No doubt it was Emilie’s desire to “parade herself,” as Vivienne would call it.

  “She is nothing, a mistress like Stephanie. You c
annot seriously think she is worthy of anything more?” Emilie demanded, eyes locked on Babs. “She does not fit here.”

  “She is...” Babs’s voice was quiet, trembling.

  “Oui?” Emilie’s tone grew harder, her smile smug.

  “She fills my heart with love.” Babs whispered it like she found it hard to put words to her feelings. “She makes me feel beautiful, loved. She brings out my laughter and showers me with happiness.” She sighed a wistful sigh. “She stirs me... and she fits... for me.”

  Berne gave Babs a squeeze.

  “Then you are a fool.” Emilie’s smile vanished.

  Babs shook her head. “The only thing I was a fool for was thinking you had a good heart.” She fixed Emilie with a glare. “We no longer have a contract... any contract.”

  Emilie opened her mouth but Babs put her hand up. “I have guests to meet.” She smiled at the owner. “Shall we?”

  The owner nodded, strolled off and Emilie followed on. Babs slipped from Berne and gave her hand a quick squeeze as Berne fought the urge to smile—She’d never seen Emilie so quiet.

  “She is bitter?” Vivienne asked.

  Berne leaned against the wall, hoping taking her weight off one foot would ease her back. “I do not know why she is so angry.”

  “I would say she wishes you to be desperately in love with her.” Vivienne swept her hair back from her face. “She does not appreciate that you love only one, non?”

  Berne smiled. “You sound wise to this.”

  “I have been her.” She met Berne’s gaze. “It did not get me happiness.”

  “You start anew, oui?” Berne motioned to the owner. Vivienne seemed comfortable around her.

  “Oui.” She smiled again. “Some women do not mind a washed up actress.”

  “You are not this.” Berne frowned. It was not true, she was the star of TV.

  “They wrote me out of the show, so oui.” Vivienne waved off Berne’s scowl. “I am happy to try something new. Do not look so angry.”

  Berne studied her for a moment. When they had met, Vivienne had been calm, interesting and respectful. That side seemed to have re-emerged. “Be careful that she respects you.”

  “Pardon?” Vivienne raised an eyebrow.

  “You see Emilie. Women can be hard to understand.” She sighed. It felt strange to speak this way to Vivienne. “I worry she may take advantage.”

  “You say this as if I am an innocent child.” She laughed. “It is unlike you.”

  “I care.” Berne hoped she knew that. “I may not be your lover but that does not change my respect for you.” They hadn’t been together for nine years for her to dismiss it. “If you need to talk, I will listen.”

  Vivienne squeezed her hand and kissed her on the cheek. “I hope you know I will do the same.” She raised her hand, her jewellery clunking down her arm. “Mais not about the crazy English girl.”

  Berne smiled. “Emilie does not love from the heart I do not think.” She wasn’t sure why she needed to say it but... She felt protective.

  “Emilie?” Vivienne raised an eyebrow. “What would I want with her?” She touched Berne’s cheeks with laughter in her eyes. “You are handsome... you have a good heart and you understood what discretion was. Emilie looks like something I step in, oui?” She shook her head, tapping Berne on the chin. “I prefer someone with more maturity.”

  “You feel your lover is this?” Berne watched the owner. She’d seemed nice. She’d taken great care of Babs’s team and was jolly. Jolly and interested in the process.

  “She wished me to open it.” Vivienne nodded when Berne stared at her. “This is how we meet. She hopes it will be for a more mature clientele, oui?” Her smiled turned cheeky. “I had to tell her who Emilie was.”

  Shock and amusement wriggled up until she chuckled. “I will be sure to tell Babs this.”

  “D’accord.” Vivienne kissed her on the cheek. “Go rescue her before they ask for more autographs.” She stifled a yawn. “I am too old for late nights, non?”

  “I doubt this.” Berne kissed her on the hand.

  She left Vivienne and wandered over to Babs, guiding her away and out to the waiting car.

  “Fish lips have much to say?” Babs’s temper rippled through her words. She yanked open the door.

  “Vivienne was very good to talk to.” Berne tried not to wince as she put the seatbelt on. “She is happier now.”

  Babs rolled her eyes and roared the car down the road.

  “She says her lover wished her to open the restaurant,” Berne said, gripping onto the door handle.

  Babs nodded, drumming her nails on the wheel. “She is a big fan.”

  “Vivienne has to...” Berne’s laughter bubbled over and she wiped at her eyes. Emilie was from a family as prestigious as Babs’s. It was funny enough that neither Pippa or Rebecca had a clue who she was.

  “Why do you smile?” Babs shot a glare at her. “Emilie is as irritating as always. She thinks that because of her name, she can be cold.”

  “I smile because the owner...” they whizzed past a poster with Emilie advertising some product. “She did not know who she was.”

  “Non?” Babs glanced at her again, shock in her voice, in her eyes.

  Berne nodded. “Oui.”

  Babs bellowed out her laughter.

  Emilie may have been a name but it seemed not as much as Fish Lips. Berne chuckled again. Pippa was right, it did sound funny with a French accent.

  Chapter 22

  Indoor golf wasn’t really my idea of entertainment but I was a genius. This was guaranteed to make Madame Henri love Rebecca even if Rebecca was scowling like I’d taken her chocolate away. We arrived at the centre, dressed for the part—thanks to more of Caroline’s assaults—and Madame Henri booked a court, pitch, or whatever golfers played on indoors.

  “Lead the way,” she said to me like I was some kind of golfing boffin.

  Er no.

  “Right. Do we have cues?” Wait, was that badminton?

  Rebecca glared at me. “Follow me, Saunders.”

  Stephanie giggled as Rebecca led us, like naughty children, to the... um... well... the bit where they hit balls.

  “It’s a driving range,” Rebecca muttered through gritted teeth. “It’s about practicing your swing.”

  They were words my dad often used. I didn’t have a clue. I usually switched off at golf.

  “You stick the ball on the tee,” Rebecca shot at me in English. “And you hit it.” She smiled a pleasant smile at both Madame Henri and Stephanie.

  “If it’s that easy,” I said back in French. “Why would you need to practice, hmm?” I knew enough about golf to grasp that it was very hard. “Where’s your kneecap?”

  Stephanie pointed to hers and giggled; Madame Henri chuckled her soft chuckle, and Rebecca narrowed her eyes.

  “Not kneecap, you dense clothhead,” she snapped. “Handicap. What’s your handicap.”

  “Ah,” I shrugged, ignoring the glare.

  Rebecca strode off, redhead mode peeking through; Madame Henri raised an eyebrow at me, a twinkle in her eyes and turned to follow.

  Stephanie linked arms with me, trying to stifle her chuckle with her hand. “She is très serious about the golf, non?” She whispered.

  “Definitely. Coming from her pedigree, she has to.” I leaned in. “Golf is in the genes.”

  “It is?” Stephanie raised her eyebrows. They were perfectly shaped. How did she do that? I either went a bit too crazy and looked like I was frowning and raising them at the same time or I didn’t do enough and they looked joined together.

  Rebecca turned at a patch of green and pointed to a metal or plastic thing jutting out of the plastic grass. Maybe they couldn’t have real grass indoors or the clients had hay fever. Doug was like me, both of us would have to take nose spray on real grass.

  “Ball goes on that, you give it a smack and try not to let go of the club.” She fixed me with an “especially you” glare.
r />   Madame Henri raised an eyebrow. “Would it not help to show them the correct technique?”

  Rebecca raised her eyebrows and turned to her. “You sound like you know about it.”

  “Oui, my handicap is ten.” She flicked a ball out of the basket thing they gave us.

  Rebecca caught it, a look of respect in her eyes.

  Stephanie bumped my shoulder, pointing to the printed letter on the wall. “They choose the right spot, non?” She glanced around. “Perhaps Caroline will help with our collars.”

  I followed her finger and sniggered—We were on lane H.

  Rebecca and Madame Henri gave us a pointed look.

  Right, yes, decorum.

  “Rebecca doesn’t even have a handicap and she didn’t get a lane.” I was calling them lanes. I didn’t know what they were. Technical terms were not a forte.

  “You have no handicap?” Madame Henri stared at her.

  “No,” I said. “Her grandfather captained the um... team... group thing that plays America... um... for something.” Davies cup? My dad went on about that a lot or was that tennis? Ryder cup? No, couldn’t be. It sounded like racing to me. Who knew.

  “He did?” She sounded very impressed. “What was his name?”

  I smiled. Yes, Rebecca was very clever and great for Babs. “Sir Gerald Monmouth.” I couldn’t remember if he’d been a brigadier or in a brigade? He’d been very posh anyway.

  Madame Henri smiled at Rebecca. “So George Monmouth-Whitely, he is your—”

  “Dad, yeah.” She placed the ball on the tee.

  I was shocked Madame Henri knew the names. She’d be handy on a quiz night.

  “You were so very young to lose her,” she whispered, compassion in her eyes.

  I winced; Rebecca’s eyes glinted with pain and Stephanie squeezed my arm.

  “Her mother,” I whispered to Stephanie.

  “Yeah, well.” Rebecca cleared her throat. “We hitting or what?”

  Said more to me.

  I felt the pain in my own chest for her. I hadn’t thought Madame Henri would have a clue. I’d just thought she’d be impressed Rebecca was good at a posh sport.

  “She used to have big bushy red hair,” I blurted out.