by Klaire, Jody
She pulled me back and continued. I dropped my head back as she slid her hands through my hair. “I want you... to know... I’m coming home.”
Berne rolled her hands up. Pulled my face to hers. Hovered inches from my lips. Her breath hot and heavy. “This is so?”
I met her eyes, gripping onto her shoulders. I didn’t know if I wanted to push her away to make sure she knew, or yank her to me and show her. “If you want that?”
“Oui,” she murmured against my lips. “Je t’adore.”
Her breathy purr slid up and down like a caress. “You make it really hard to resist you.”
Berne inched closer, then pulled away as I went to kiss her. “Why do you resist?”
“You’re hurt. I’m supposed to be supportive.” I held her gaze, trying not to lean closer. Her lips, her eyes, her kiss. “How can you want more if I can’t keep my hands off you?”
“We work around this.” Berne lay back and pulled me on top of her. “You do not touch me when you feel I am hurt?” She dropped her hands to my back. She slid down, down, until she squeezed my cheeks. A cheeky smile crossed her lips. “I do not think you want this.”
I laughed, groaned and whimpered all at once. “Oh, I want it but you’re hurt. You don’t need me—”
She slid into a kiss, rolling her tongue through my objections and her hands through any resistance I’d had. “Your hands agree that you do, oui?”
I glanced down. “I...” Berne had somehow lost her dressing gown and I was half naked. Hmm. She had a point. “We...” My hands were back on her stomach again. “How...?”
“Oui?” Her lips glistened in gentle bluey glow from the streetlights outside the window. I hoped they couldn’t see us from the road here. “You want me to continue?”
She beckoned me in with her eyes, her smile and I sighed.
My hands did what they liked, why argue?
“Oui,” I sank into her kiss, losing myself in the warmth, the ache. “Oui.”
Chapter 26
British summer was in full swing as Rebecca and I arrived at Doug’s; In other words, it was belting with rain. We were driven up to a converted stable block in the taxi and I got out to take in the stonework. I was certain Berne would have been impressed with it. Most conversions I had seen were nice but Berne always made art of the imperfections in stone. The story remained in place. It wasn’t covered just strengthened, shined up and given a lot of love.
Rebecca wheeled the first of our cases from the taxi. Rain had flattened her hair so it flopped into her eyes. I sniggered from under my umbrella as I watched her. You’d think she would have let us in first.
She glared at me through the gel running down her nose. “It stings, Pip. Get the key already.”
“Key?”
She sighed. “Yeah, the thing that opens the door.”
Uh oh. I’d tried the door and it was locked. Doug hadn’t mentioned a key.
Rebecca rolled the suitcases up to me. “On the wall,” she grunted, pointing at it.
I followed her finger: A very noticeable green box on the wall. Ah.
“Well, that’s not very security conscious, is it?” I frowned at it.
“Pip, you have to get through an electric gate and the warden to get here. Think you’re okay.” She nodded to the box, flicking gel infused rain at me. “Hurry up.”
“Right.” I balanced my brolly between ear and shoulder—always a tricky manoeuvre—as I reached for the box. Rebecca disappeared back to the taxi.
I tried to pull the door on the box toward me: It wouldn’t budge.
I tried again.
Nope.
“It’s not opening,” I grunted. Was it stuck?
Rebecca dragged more cases up. I’d no idea why Berne had packed so much stuff for me. I could only think it was for working. At least when Rebecca packed, I travelled light.
“You’re an expert with wood, it’s a wooden box. You can do it,” she muttered. She shoved a suitcase at me and I grabbed for it to stop it thwacking into my knee.
“Right.”
I turned back to the box on the wall and tried again... Brolly cradled once more, one hand holding the suitcase, I leaned out... gave it a tug: Nope. It didn’t move a sausage. “Come on.”
My brolly flopped to the side and rain dribbled down my neck. I squealed.
“Pip, it’s a box, not a spider,” Rebecca shot my way.
I glared over at Rebecca, who emptied the backseat of the taxi. How much stuff did Berne think I needed? Yes, British weather was unpredictable and as stable as me but five suitcases?
“Box, Saunders. Get the key!”
“Right.” I faced my opponent. I could do this. One little box. Maybe it needed a two-handed approach like Winston? I peered up around my brolly.
“Key!”
I scowled at Rebecca who huffed the suitcases around the corner. I let go of the handle on my suitcase; tucked the brolly back between ear and shoulder once more, and reached forward, giving it a yank.
Not even a centimetre of movement. “It’s stuck. I can’t—”
Rebecca trudged past, lifted up the lid, dipped her hand in and retrieved the key. She unlocked the door and hauled the cases into the cottage.
Oh. I glared at the box. Why make a cute front door if you were going to use the lid? Sneaky, just sneaky. I reached to pull the lid up in protest. My hood slipped over my eyes and my brolly clonked me on the head. I grabbed for it, trying to fend off the ambush. My brolly dropped to my left. I swung out to grab for it. No muddy brolly for me, hah!
Uh oh.
I stuck my foot out as I overbalanced and avoided a muddy patch only my shoe squelched into the gooey muck beside it and slid.
Shit.
I flapped my brolly like Mary Poppins and grabbed out for the only handle I could see—My suitcase—which toppled and I lurched forward—brolly still flapping—and squelched face first, into a large muddy puddle.
Clonk.
My suitcase handle thwacked me on the head. Smashing.
“I wonder about you sometimes,” Rebecca said from somewhere above me. “What are you doing?”
I yanked my head out of the puddle. “I missed sodden soil so thought I’d kiss it.”
She chuckled and lifted me to my feet. “So I see.”
I gripped her into a muddy, wet hug. “So great to be home, isn’t it?”
“Can’t keep your hands off me, can you?” She said with a smirk. She shook her head, plastering me with gel again. “Let’s have a cuppa.”
I sighed and followed her inside. I peeled myself out of the mudpack coat and trousers, trudging to the bathroom to try the shower.
Rebecca fired up the boiler which made the pipes rattle and groan. She was switching on the radiators by the clanking sound too.
It was June.
I shivered. France was warm, sunny and Berne was there. Berne who’d spent most of the night and morning making sure I remembered exactly why I adored France... Berne who was going to move into our house and I wasn’t even going to be there. I poked my head around the door. “Why are we here again?”
Rebecca looked up from putting on the kettle. “Supporting Doug; Not being bums.”
She sounded as pleased about it as me.
“I thought people were supposed to miss home,” I muttered, leaving the shower running in the hope that it would heat up the room. I didn’t want to do the “I’m freezing,” shower dash.
Rebecca pulled the cups out of the cupboard, washing them off as I wrapped myself in the woolly bathrobe from the back of the door.
“Home isn’t here though, is it?” She asked, wandering about, stowing things from the cases away. Gel still covered her face. “Home is two gorgeous French women.”
“Three, don’t forget Stephanie.” I rubbed my hands over my face, then winced. I opened my eyes to see my mud covered hands. Great.
“Yeah, she’s fitted in nicely,” Rebecca smiled and handed me a wet wipe. “You and Berne seemed o
kay... considering.”
“I... um... well... She’s moving in... if that’s okay?” I asked. The wipes smelled of cucumber which just made me think of Berne and her salads. She loved her salads. You could eat them in France. It was warm enough to in France.
“Took you long enough,” Rebecca whispered, eyeing me. “You aren’t worried about Vivienne?”
“I will admit that the picture message was as appealing as this fetching centrepiece.” We both looked at the statuette of a nude golfer and club. Why nude, I was unsure but either the sculptor had gotten confused or he really thought a lot of himself. “I trust her. I miss her.”
“I know.” Rebecca pulled out a wipe, scrubbing at the gel on her face. “I went to see Babs’s parents...”
I shuddered. I vaguely remembered calling Madame Henri a snob? Had I? “And?”
“They really like me. They think I could make her happy... But...” Rebecca wandered over to her case and pulled out a pair of socks. She changed out of her sodden ones, then winced. “They don’t think it’s right if my dad hasn’t given his blessing too.”
“What?”
She looked down and sighed. The bottom of her trousers were sopping too. She pulled off her jeans, stowing her wallet and phone next to the statuette and dug in her case. “Yeah, that was my reaction.”
“They do know she’s forty, right?” I folded my arms. “And not wearing corsets?”
Rebecca fished out her comfy joggers and yanked them on. “Tell me about it but Babs will want their blessing and I can’t get it without my dad...” She chewed her lip, slid her slippers on, and marched back into the kitchen.
“They get he’s an idiot, right?” What were they playing at? If he’d kicked her out because Rebecca was gay then he was hardly going to give his blessing to her marrying a woman, was he? Maybe that’s what they were up to? A polite way of making the marriage impossible?
“Your dad is friends with him.” She glanced at me from the kettle. “Maybe we could ask for his help?” She held up her hand. “Doug said there’s a senior’s golf tournament... might be a way to get him on his own?”
“Me at a golf tournament?” Golf, rain, cold and trudging about after old men in chequered trousers?
“Yeah you. Maybe you could caddy for him? He’d love it. I think you would too,” she mumbled.
I raised my eyebrows. Really? Would I really enjoy that?
She shrugged. “Anyway, the competition isn’t for a while so let’s just sort Doug out.” She shook her head. “Let’s hope she’s hot.”
I frowned. “Who?”
“Marie.” Rebecca stirred the cups, staring out at the rain dribbling down the window. “If she’s trapped him already, let’s hope she doesn’t look like Fish-Lips.”
I wrapped my hands around my mug, desperate to warm my numb fingers. Following my dad playing golf when I needed glasses to see the ball was one thing; watching Doug steamroller into marriage made me feel dizzy.
“How can we be sure she’s good for him?” I sipped at the sugary warmth and groaned.
“We can’t. It’s not our place.” She leaned against the counter. Her red hair caught the dull light from the window. It really did make her eyes sparkle.
“It is,” I mumbled when she cleared her throat. “I’m his best maid.”
“You what?” She snorted, wrinkling up her freckled nose.
“Don’t ask. I had to traipse around when I was marrying him. Now I have to do it again.” I was sick of dress shops and wedding fayres. I didn’t even like wedding cake. Why spoil perfectly good cake with yucky icing?
“You’ll love helping him, same as you’ll love spending time with your dad.” She nodded when I scowled. “He stuck up for you when your mother and...” She gritted her teeth. “...Sister, had a go at you. He’s the family sticking by you.”
“But what will we talk about?” I don’t think I’d really had a conversation with my dad, alone. I think the most we’d spoken was when he stuck up for me.
“That’s the point of caddying.” Rebecca focused on me, auburn eyebrows dipped. “You don’t talk much. You watch, you cheer, you fix the course and you have lunch.” She smiled. “And he’s happy.”
Why anyone, crazy or not, would watch golf voluntarily, I didn’t know. “Can I take my Kindle?”
“No.”
I scowled and stood up, draining my cup. I thunked it down onto the countertop in protest, ready to march off in a sulk.
Rebecca coughed.
I glanced down. My dressing gown had flapped open. “What? You’ve seen me flash before.”
She coughed again and stared past me.
“What?” I frowned. “It’s not like you don’t flash at me. I’ve seen your white derriere more than is normal.”
She stared up at the ceiling and muttered to herself.
Another cough sounded.
I grinned. I knew exactly who that belonged to. I turned to see Doug in the doorway. His dirty blond hair; neat, cropped, respectable; his broad shoulders; his wide chin sporting reddish-brown stubble, and his grey-blue eyes, so piercingly clear, that had made him difficult to resist.
I hurried over to him and launched into a hug. I’d missed him. I’d missed how he smelled, how he felt. He was so much a part of who I was. Like Rebecca. They were so good to be around.
Doug squeezed back then pulled my dressing gown closed. “I see you and Rebecca have decided on that affair then?”
I chuckled. “Oh, she can’t keep her hands off me.” Look at me being all jokey. Impressive.
Rebecca’s smutty chuckle sounded.
I frowned. Typical. “I’d say it kept her quiet,” I shot at her. “But I need earplugs.”
Doug’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth, then closed it.
Rebecca snorted out a laugh. “Not me, Pip.”
I cleared my throat. “I am quite aware which one of you sounds like you’re in copious amounts of pain, thank you.”
Doug opened and closed his mouth again.
“Don’t picture it,” I said, tapping him on the nose. “It’s not pleasant.”
He tilted his head, an odd glimmer in his eyes.
“It isn’t.” I put my hands on my hips.
“He’s dribbling because you’re gaping, Pip,” Rebecca said with a chuckle.
I looked down. I was.
“Caught the sun,” Doug managed. “Suits you.”
I smiled, glad he thought so. I pulled my gown about me and strode toward the bathroom as if I wasn’t chuffed. “Focus, Fletcher. If you’re getting women pregnant, it’s not polite to gawp.”
He shrugged and Rebecca laughed her irritating cocky laugh.
I sighed. Welcome home, Saunders.
Chapter 27
The extensive grounds were a deep lush green—and overgrown—with smooth mountains easing up toward the cloudy grey sky. Mist glided over the tips of the trees and drifted over the ground; rich scents of dew; misty rain and a strong breeze accompanied us to the house.
Not that it was really a house, more a Georgian style mansion that had seen better days. The stone work looked good but scaffolding covered one side with stonework busts and detail that had been eroded to almost nothing; most, if not every, window was smashed... and the front door was hanging off its hinges.
My stomach lurched and I hoped Doug wasn’t hoping for it to be finished soon.
“Has anyone started?” Rebecca whispered to me and headed off to a white gazebo that had been erected on, what should have been a gravel driveway. In reality, it was thick mud with gravel in bags at the side.
I wandered to the wall next to the scaffolding—I was sure it had been reworked. I stared up at the top of the building, then walked to the other side—I wasn’t a stonemason but it looked good to me.
“There’s no one here.” Rebecca trudged out from the tent. “I’ll go ask the warden.”
I nodded and went inside. The stench of damp hit me.
I wrinkled up my nostrils and
wandered through, crunching on broken pieces of twigs and stone. My footsteps echoed as I moved from room to room. Faded parquet floors upstairs, a grand ballroom, smashed windows in the doors which would open to the incredible expanse of lush lawns. Well, if they’d been mown.
The ceilings needed work but, wow, it could be everything a manor house should be.
“Pip,” Rebecca muttered, stomping in. “Warden said no one has been here for a few days. He said they all packed up and left.” She took in the space, closing her eyes. “It feels so sad in here now.”
I nodded. “So we’ll give it the love it needs to cheer up.”
Rebecca ran her fingers over the cracks in the wall. “You want me to tell Babs?”
I shook my head. “Just go get us a notepad or something so we can figure out how to make this liveable for Doug and brood.”
Rebecca trudged off and I pulled out my phone—Babs must deal with this kind of thing a lot. Maybe she’d tell me they were on holiday and we’d have help?
“Bonjour!” Babs was munching on something: Crisps? Hmm... I fancied a packet.
“Hi, um...” I glanced around at the empty house. I didn’t want to freak Doug out by telling him Rebecca and I were the only workforce. I knew Doug, and I knew he’d pass out. “Do you think your team will be here soon?”
“They like to start a little later at times...” She chuckled. “They will arrive soon.”
“Oh, so they will be working with us?” That was a relief. Maybe they’d just had a holiday or something.
“Have they not introduced themselves yet?” She sounded confused—Glad it wasn’t just me.
“They haven’t been here yet,” I said.
Babs muttered something in French. I couldn’t catch it but I didn’t need to—She was not amused in the slightest. “They turn their back on Stephanie it seems. Very well... Pepe, you and my lemon need to tell me what needs to be done... et... if you could make sure the work before was sound, oui?”
No pressure then. “Of course. We’ll crack on with the jobs we can until...?”
“I will find you better artisans, ones who know loyalty.” She muttered under her breath again. Whoever was in charge of the selected group was going to get an earful by the sound of it.
