Best Maid Plans

by Klaire, Jody

  “Nope, just here to bribe him.” I made it sound as though I didn’t know him either.

  “You don’t look like you need to bribe anyone.” He offered me a charming smile. “I’m sure your father would be delighted to help.”

  “This is a big favour,” I said, leaning in.

  My dad thwacked the ball. I stared in the general direction, sort of. I needed glasses, I really did.

  “Fabulous shot, old boy.” Charles chortled, his belly wobbling.

  Doug and I exchanged a glance. Old boy? Seriously? Doug nodded toward my dad. Right. Yes. Speak.

  “Nice one, Dad.” I was nowhere near posh enough for this. Maybe I should have called him “daddy, old boy?”

  Dad turned to me and grinned. “You’re doing my game wonders.” He handed me his club and turned to watch Charles swatting through thin air.

  “On your way to getting your favour,” Doug said, winking at me.

  Dad was too busy watching Charles to hear.

  “Maybe, but even then getting Rebecca’s dad to help will be a nightmare.” I shoved the club back in the bag.

  Doug furrowed his brow with a mock look of confusion—looked more like wind—as Charles continued to swipe away. “Sounds like she may need a good legal team?”

  I grinned at him. “Nope, they already changed that law. She just needs some parental prodding.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  Charles thwacked the ball.

  “Lovely strike, Charles.” Dad sounded genuine. Not a hint of smugness or competitiveness. Maybe that’s where I got it from?

  Doug studied me, questions in his eyes. There’d be no way he could have expected Rebecca to want marriage.

  I nodded in Charles’s direction.

  Doug snapped his attention to him. “Best shot you’ve hit this week.”

  “Suck up,” I shot at him.

  Charles handed the club back and he and my dad strode off down the green. Doug and I trundled along behind. I was glad the bag had a motor thing. I didn’t fancy lugging it for, well, however many goals—No wait, were they goals? It was something like that. Anyway, the thingies they played.

  “You’re marrying Rebecca?” He asked, confusion in his eyes.

  “What?” I chuckled at him. “No, not me, Babs.”

  “You don’t want to get married then?” He asked, stepping around a rake on the ground.

  I frowned back at it. Who’d just left a mini rake lying about?

  “For the bunker,” he said.

  Why did a bunker need a rake? What was a bunker anyway? Maybe they were rain bunkers? I looked up at the sky, overcast, grey, cold, breezy. A fine June day. Hopefully they didn’t play if it bucketed it down.

  “Rebecca wants to marry, really?” He asked, adjusting his stride to avoid walking into Charles’s bag.

  I peeked around my dad. How far did I have to walk? If every goal—I’m sure they weren’t called that—took this long, we’d be out there all day. I was sure sports were eighty minutes, or was that just rugby? As long as they didn’t keep going like tennis. The women, I could cope with but the men, what took so long?

  “Yes, Rebecca wants to marry Babs. We’re hoping my dad will help Mr ‘pompous’ Whitely to give his blessing.” As if he could be happy for anyone. The man wouldn’t know what a smile was if it smacked him with a golf ball.

  “Pippa, how far to the pin?” Dad turned and looked at me.

  Was this an impromptu quiz? How would I know? I didn’t even know what a pin was.

  “Seventy five yards,” Doug whispered to me.

  “Seventy five yards,” I repeated like I had a clue.

  Dad beamed and held out his hand.

  I went to shake it but Doug caught my elbow. “Club, Babe, he wants the club.” He tapped the one I needed. “I’d explain about irons, woods, drivers and wedges but I’m guessing you’d need to lie down.”

  I handed the club over. Dad looked delighted and flexed his back, running his hands up and down like he had braces on. My cheeks prickled with my blush. How could he be so happy with simple things?—actually, on that note, he’d married my mother.

  “You two look like you’re getting on,” Charles said with a hearty chuckle. “Heard she’s free of her fiancé.” He raised his eyebrows at Doug. “This one might not be a skirt chaser.”

  I clamped my mouth shut.

  “I’m just enjoying a pleasant conversation with a beautiful woman,” Doug said with a fake smile.

  Charles eyed him. “Yes, of course.” He elbowed Doug in the ribs. “Play the right play, hmmm?”

  Doug spluttered out his breath as if he’d swallowed the wrong way. Charles turned back to the game. My dad was swiping thin air again.

  Doug caught sight of me sniggering and put his hands on his hips. “Need I tell him that the right play would involve a French accent and some rather large...”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  He grinned. “Baguettes?”

  I winked up at him with a chuckle. “Quite, old bean, quite.”

  Chapter 35

  Berne knocked on the door to the converted stables. She’d been up to the house but had only found Fabrice hard at work so where was everyone?

  She rubbed at her back and stared down at her suitcase. Good thing it had wheels but she could have done without having to drag it down from the house.

  Babs flung open the door, a cheeky grin on her face. “Bebe, you are here!”

  Berne whimpered as she was yanked into the usual enthusiastic greeting.

  “Oui,” she managed between yelps, as Babs planted a kiss on both cheeks. “You are meant to be in bed.”

  “It is no fun alone.” Babs waved her off. “I am bored.” She dragged Berne into another hug. “Pepe works well... mais... the workers chose to follow Emilie.” She coughed, sneezed and stumbled backward. Berne caught hold of her elbow. “Pepe has suggested the local workers.”

  Berne smiled. “Pepe is very hard working, oui.”

  Babs nodded, jutting her bottom lip out. “Fabrice, Stephanie and even my little lemon are so.” She pursed her lips. “Mais, we take the brush off Rebecca, she likes the drips too much.”

  Babs shuffled inside to the sofa and Berne braced herself, taking hold of the case and yanking it up the step. White hot pain shot through the side of her back. She gritted her teeth, hoping she looked like she was smiling not fighting the tears.

  “What happened?” Babs watched her.

  “I just pull something,” she mumbled. “I am being a baby.”

  Babs sighed. “Your parents were not aware I had not been told?”

  Berne clamped her eyes shut with another twinge and the hurt in Babs’s eyes. She sighed. “They tell you?”

  Babs didn’t answer so she peeked open an eyelid only to find Babs watching her, eyes narrowed. “Non, they say nothing but now I know you hide something.”

  Berne blew out a breath and wagged her finger. “That was sneaky.”

  “Oui.” Babs patted the sofa beside her. “Now, come, tell me.”

  Berne tried to slide off her jacket and not wince. It was no use, she had to wince, yelp and groan as she did it. “Only if you do not fuss.”

  “I always fuss.” She smiled. “One of the reasons you adore me.”

  Berne closed the door and limped over. She needed more painkillers. The flight over had been turbulent. She had wondered if the pilot had decided he wanted his latte to be a cappuccino and had thrown them about to make it so.

  “I fall. I am fixed. I pull something.” Not quite the full story but that involved talking about it and she didn’t want to, not to Babs, she would worry.

  “You fall?” Babs cocked her head. “When?”

  “When I was with Vivienne.” She shrugged and lowered herself onto a chair. She must look as though she were pregnant.

  “Was this when I do not hear from you for months?” Babs’s eyes filled with sadness.

  Berne nodded. “Oui. I did not answer because I w
as not conscious.” She leaned back, hoping that the cushions would help and not press too much on the sore spot.

  “Then it was a good thing I was there sitting beside your bed, non?” Babs smiled a sad smile.

  She frowned. “Pardon?”

  “Bebe, Erique calls me. You think he would not?” Babs tucked her legs under her, wrapping her dressing gown around her.

  “He says that you do not know.” She frowned deeper, her forehead aching. She rubbed at it. Why would Erique tell her Babs didn’t know?

  “Do not look so confused.” Babs pulled out a tissue from one of the boxes beside her. “I ask him not to.” She blew her nose, coughed, sneezed then hiccoughed.

  “Why?”

  “Because I pay.” She pulled at another tissue. “I wanted the best for you. Your parents were happy for this.” She sneezed again. “I could help, so I did.” She held up her hand. “As you would for me.”

  Berne rifled through her suitcase and pulled out Babs’s favourite brand of honey and her prescription. “You need to tell her that you have allergies.”

  Babs waved it off. “It is nothing.”

  Berne scoured the room. There were flowers on the window sill: they would have to go. She got up, limped over and put them outside. She walked over to the sofa, pulling off the fluffy cover Babs sat next to. She traced her finger along the coffee table and tutted. The dust would have to go too.

  “I clean, you sit in there.” She motioned to the rooms. Babs wandered into one and she sighed at the woollen throw over the bed. “No wonder you are so sick.”

  Babs shrugged. “Rebecca buys it to keep us warm. She says how much she loves to take care of me.”

  “Mais you are allergic to it.” Berne scowled. She turned and searched until she found the vacuum cleaner. Her back jarred as she pulled it out.

  “That does not make me forget your injuries,” Babs protested from the bedroom. “I am not happy you did not tell me.”

  Berne stuck her head around the door to glare at her. “You did not say you pay. That makes us even.” She was irritated and touched. She didn’t know which made her frown more.

  “Whoa!” Rebecca opened the door, hurried in and took the vacuum cleaner from her. “What are you doing? Think of your back, woman.”

  Berne put her hands on her hips.

  Babs stomped out and did the same. “You tell her and not me?”

  Rebecca’s face paled. “Thought you were asleep.”

  Berne met Babs’s eyes. “She sees the scar.”

  “What scar?” Stephanie asked, wandering in with a grin on her face. “When you fall?”

  “You know too?” Berne wheezed out a breath.

  “Oui,” she said with a shrug. “Erique tells me.” She offered a box of some round desserts. “He says you do not like to talk of it.”

  Berne frowned. “Non, just as Babs does not say she has allergies.”

  Babs wagged her finger. “Bebe—”

  “You have?” Rebecca leaned on the cleaner.

  Babs shrugged, sneezed and coughed.

  Rebecca turned to Berne. “To what?”

  “Flowers, dust, wool, some kinds of fur but not all.” She ticked it out on her fingers. “Cat fur especially, grass pollen, tree pollen.”

  Rebecca rolled her eyes. “This is why you’re rough?” She fixed Babs with a motherly look she used with Pippa a lot. “Why didn’t you just say?”

  Babs shuffled her feet. “I do not like to worry you. I forget my tablets.”

  Rebecca walked over and kissed her. “Right. Berne, take a seat and take some painkillers for your back, you’re making me wince looking at you.” She turned to Stephanie. “You and I are de-sneezing this place.”

  “Oui, Madame.” Stephanie snapped to salute and winked at Berne. “I have had crumpets.”

  Berne and Babs exchanged a glance.

  “And scones,” she said in a funny English accent. “Mais, as we are letting the truth out, I hide that I like tea.”

  Babs raised an eyebrow.

  Stephanie jutted out her lip. “And... I have seen no sheep.”

  “Sheep?” Babs cocked her head.

  Berne took a seat and studied her for a moment. “Erique says that you wish to see these.”

  Stephanie nodded. “I have a friend...” She held up her finger and hurried off.

  Rebecca shrugged. “Hope she isn’t getting an actual sheep.”

  “Oui,” Berne muttered, motioning for Babs to take her medication. “Or she will sneeze through more tissues.”

  Stephanie reappeared. “I have had him since I was small.” It was a toy sheep. It looked battered but loved. “I sleep with him. I have to.”

  “Well, you’re definitely in the right place for sheep.” Rebecca snorted with laughter. “I’ll ask Doug.”

  “Pour quoi?” Her voice was soft, quiet.

  “Oh, Dougie knows his sheep.” Rebecca grinned. “Some relative on his mother’s side was a champion at it or something.” She unwrapped the vacuum cord and threw it to Babs. “Plug me in, gorgeous.”

  Babs giggled and did just that.

  Stephanie kissed her sheep on the head and hurried out, returning without him. “Are you okay with polish, oui?”

  Babs shrugged.

  “We wait in the bedroom. It is better.” Berne groaned to her feet and went to Babs, leading her into the bedroom. She pulled the wool off the bed and handed it to Rebecca who was waiting.

  “But you buy this for me,” Babs said, pouting.

  “And I’ll buy you something better that doesn’t bring you out in a rash.” Rebecca kissed her. “Now, you stay put and let me take care of you.”

  Babs nodded, adoration in her eyes.

  Berne shook her head and closed the door. “Erique talks too much,” she muttered, hobbling over to the bed.

  Babs grinned, taking her nose spray. “What is a brother for?”

  Chapter 36

  We’d trudged all eighteen holes—That’s what Doug called them anyway—without too many hiccoughs. He’d guided me through the course, in true gentlemanly fashion, still maintaining that we didn’t know each other. I knew better than to ask why, so had followed his lead. My dad had a fantastic round, or so I was told, and beamed all the way back to the clubhouse.

  “Pippa Saunders, my little caddie,” Dad had said and swiped an affectionate knuckle across my cheek. “Full of hidden talents.” He had tears in his eyes and he was never emotional. The wonder of carrying metal sticks about and stomping on tufts of grass.

  “Why don’t I drop you home?” Doug offered as we reached his car.

  What could I say? No? He was my lift.

  “I’d be delighted, thank you.” I was a curtsey away from a period romance.

  Charles elbowed him, roared like a motor car and winked. Doug plastered his fake smile in place and held my door for me.

  “Thank you, kind sir,” I said with a curtsey and a wave at Charles.

  “Don’t pander to him,” Doug muttered, starting the car—Nice warm seats. Warmth was good.

  “Why don’t you just tell him that we were engaged?” I asked, clipping in my seatbelt. “He’s teased you the whole of the way around.”

  “You heard him, he called you a skirt chaser.” He scowled. “I did not want you suffering his schoolboy humour.”

  He drove us along the quiet country roads and I studied him. I’d been very blessed to meet him. Although we weren’t in love anymore. I felt as close to him as I did Rebecca in many ways.

  “You know,” I said after a while. “You’re wonderful.”

  “Keep talking.” He lifted his chin in an arrogant way.

  My phone buzzed. I pulled it out and sighed.

  “What?” He glanced at me. “Everything alright?”

  “Yeah, it’s just Rebecca. Checking I didn’t embarrass my dad into disowning me.” I yawned. Caddying was exhausting. My feet ached, my back ached and even with the heated seats, I was freezing. “She wants to introduce
the Frenchies to takeaway.”

  “You think they’d really like rissole?” He asked, not sounding sure.

  “Why, does Marie only do gold plated and three star cuisine?” I batted my eyelids at him.

  He narrowed his eyes and pulled us over beside a fish and chip shop. “She loves them.”

  “Uh huh.” I didn’t believe him for a second. “Do you have any money on you?” What was I going to pay with, sneezes?

  “Pip, it’s me. I’ll buy you the shop if you like,” he said with a charming smile.

  I pursed my lips.

  He rolled his eyes. “You weren’t this difficult when we were together.”

  “I’m independent now.” And broke but I’d worked hard to be penniless.

  “Pip, you’re renovating my house. I’m buying my workforce dinner, how’s that?” He held open the door then frowned as I hesitated. “What’s the issue?”

  I was penniless and had forgotten. I’d been back in Britain five minutes and I was once again being taken care of. I didn’t want Doug to pay me for helping him set up his home. I wanted to do it because I cared.

  “Nothing,” I mumbled. “I’m just being silly.”

  He ushered me through the door as the wind picked up, sending the advertising board clattering over. “Not silly. You have an issue with something though.” He closed the door and straightened himself out. “I love you for who you are. I thought you felt the same about me.”

  I sighed. The man could win most arguments. “It wasn’t about you.”

  He strode up to the counter. “So then stop grumbling and let me treat you.”

  Didn’t this argument feel familiar. “Rebecca wobbles, Berne wobbles too.”

  “Berne, I can’t speak for,” he said, glancing through the door to the back, his tone impatient. “Rebecca and you, however, I can.”

  “Really?” I leaned on the counter, eyeing the array of fat filled food.

  “Yes. You both come from tradition and money. You had it drilled into you that you needed to be taken care of and your job was to look good.” He smiled at the stubbled man who wandered out, in no hurry.