blessed by sun.
“You were right,” Rebecca said, forcing me to move. “She is French.”
I could only nod, feeling as though I were being led to the
gallows.
“In fact, she’s gorgeous . . . I mean look at those arms.”
The prompt did not help. Berne had spent her life lifting stone
and spent her summers on the Ardèche kayaking. Needless to say, the term buff
should have her as the description in the dictionary.
“Not to mention her as—”
“You’re not helping!” I glared at Rebecca.
She chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this flustered.
There is a woman beneath the lady after all.”
“It’s not funny.” Now I sounded like I was begging. “I can’t do
this . . .”
“Hey.” Rebecca rubbed soothing circles on my back. “You’ll do
great. It’s just the shock of seeing her, that’s all.”
“Right.” I could work with that. “A shock.”
“Besides, Doug is rich and handsome.”
I nodded, puppet-like. “Rich and handsome.”
“And a man,” Rebecca added with a sly smile. “Important for you
being straight and all.”
“Quite.” I turned to walk the rest of the way, ignoring the
teasing in Rebecca’s voice.
“Really, really straight. Not staring at those lips, nuh,
uh.”
Was I?
Balls.
I was trying to read what Berne was saying, that was all. I took a
deep breath. I had absolutely no feelings for her what-so-ever, nope. Not one.
TORTURE WAS A strong word to use but it was the only one that
could describe our little business meeting. Doug and Berne’s father made hard
work of communicating through Doug’s terrible French and Berne’s father’s
broken English.
Rebecca could speak the language as fluently as I could but acted
ignorant, enjoying Doug’s attempts, while I stared straight down at the floor,
trying to avoid Berne’s gaze.
My heart happily pounded away as if I was swimming lengths in the
pool, my brain joining in the torment by replaying every clandestine memory it
could find.
I knew there was talk of me working closely with my old friend, as
Doug kept calling her. I knew the plan was that Rebecca would project manage. I
was sure that Monsieur Chamonix was quite confident that we could have the
project finished by Christmas and from Rebecca’s laughter I knew she thought
that was crazy talk.
Snippets, moments of the afternoon flittered by but what was
noticeable by its absence, was Berne’s voice. Like me, she had not uttered a
word.
As the sun started its evening descent, Doug made the suggestion
to leave us alone while he, Rebecca, and Monsieur Chamonix headed to see a
problem section. Neither of us could really refuse. What possible reason could
there be for two old chums, as Rebecca was calling us, not to catch up?
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Rebecca left hanging in the air
as the three of them abandoned us.
Traitor. That’s what she was. A traitor.
“Pippa?”
I closed my eyes, wondering if I tried really hard like in The
Wizard of Oz , I’d wake up in Kansas or even better, somewhere they didn’t
have rattlesnakes.
“Pippa, you cannot bury your head. I am right here.” The purring
sound of her dropped h’s made my stomach gurgle. I rubbed it.
“Must be hungry.” I didn’t believe my own words for a minute.
“That is because you did not eat.”
The feel of her hand on my arm sent a shivery ripple up my skin.
“Doug,” I said, clearing my throat. “Doug is always hungry.”
Oh nice one, Saunders. Start off by shoving your fiancé in her
face. Bravo, you numbskull.
“He seems like a nice man.” Her tone didn’t seem to agree with
her.
“Wonderful. And rich and handsome.” That was what Rebecca said,
right? Rich, handsome, wonderful, yes.
“He cares for you deeply.”
I nodded and slid my left hand in my pocket as though I’d
committed a crime.
“Pippa, he said you talk of me?”
Well done, Doug, tell her that why don’t you. What kind of a thing
was that to say anyway? “Yes,
“You were right,” Rebecca said, forcing me to move. “She is French.”
I could only nod, feeling as though I were being led to the
gallows.
“In fact, she’s gorgeous . . . I mean look at those arms.”
The prompt did not help. Berne had spent her life lifting stone
and spent her summers on the Ardèche kayaking. Needless to say, the term buff
should have her as the description in the dictionary.
“Not to mention her as—”
“You’re not helping!” I glared at Rebecca.
She chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this flustered.
There is a woman beneath the lady after all.”
“It’s not funny.” Now I sounded like I was begging. “I can’t do
this . . .”
“Hey.” Rebecca rubbed soothing circles on my back. “You’ll do
great. It’s just the shock of seeing her, that’s all.”
“Right.” I could work with that. “A shock.”
“Besides, Doug is rich and handsome.”
I nodded, puppet-like. “Rich and handsome.”
“And a man,” Rebecca added with a sly smile. “Important for you
being straight and all.”
“Quite.” I turned to walk the rest of the way, ignoring the
teasing in Rebecca’s voice.
“Really, really straight. Not staring at those lips, nuh,
uh.”
Was I?
Balls.
I was trying to read what Berne was saying, that was all. I took a
deep breath. I had absolutely no feelings for her what-so-ever, nope. Not one.
TORTURE WAS A strong word to use but it was the only one that
could describe our little business meeting. Doug and Berne’s father made hard
work of communicating through Doug’s terrible French and Berne’s father’s
broken English.
Rebecca could speak the language as fluently as I could but acted
ignorant, enjoying Doug’s attempts, while I stared straight down at the floor,
trying to avoid Berne’s gaze.
My heart happily pounded away as if I was swimming lengths in the
pool, my brain joining in the torment by replaying every clandestine memory it
could find.
I knew there was talk of me working closely with my old friend, as
Doug kept calling her. I knew the plan was that Rebecca would project manage. I
was sure that Monsieur Chamonix was quite confident that we could have the
project finished by Christmas and from Rebecca’s laughter I knew she thought
that was crazy talk.
Snippets, moments of the afternoon flittered by but what was
noticeable by its absence, was Berne’s voice. Like me, she had not uttered a
word.
As the sun started its evening descent, Doug made the suggestion
to leave us alone while he, Rebecca, and Monsieur Chamonix headed to see a
problem section. Neither of us could really refuse. What possible reason could
there be for two old chums, as Rebecca was calling us, not to catch up?
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Rebecca left hanging in the air
as the three of them abandoned us.
Traitor. That’s what she was. A traitor.
“Pippa?”
I closed my eyes, wondering if I tried really hard like in The
Wizard of Oz , I’d wake up in Kansas or even better, somewhere they didn’t
have rattlesnakes.
“Pippa, you cannot bury your head. I am right here.” The purring
sound of her dropped h’s made my stomach gurgle. I rubbed it.
“Must be hungry.” I didn’t believe my own words for a minute.
“That is because you did not eat.”
The feel of her hand on my arm sent a shivery ripple up my skin.
“Doug,” I said, clearing my throat. “Doug is always hungry.”
Oh nice one, Saunders. Start off by shoving your fiancé in her
face. Bravo, you numbskull.
“He seems like a nice man.” Her tone didn’t seem to agree with
her.
“Wonderful. And rich and handsome.” That was what Rebecca said,
right? Rich, handsome, wonderful, yes.
“He cares for you deeply.”
I nodded and slid my left hand in my pocket as though I’d
committed a crime.
“Pippa, he said you talk of me?”
Well done, Doug, tell her that why don’t you. What kind of a thing
was that to say anyway? “Yes,
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