La Vie en Bleu Read online

  Other Books by Jody Klaire . . .

  The Above and Beyond Series

  Book 1: The Empath

  Book 2: Blind Trust

  Book 3: Untrained Eye

  La Vie en Bleu

  Jody Klaire

  © 2015 Jody Klaire

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

  reproduced or transmitted in any means,

  electronic or mechanical, without permission in

  writing from the publisher.

  978-1-939562-98-2 paperback

  978-1-939562-99-9 ebook

  Cover Design

  by

  Bink Books

  a division of

  Bedazzled Ink Publishing, LLC

  Fairfield, California

  http://www.bedazzledink.com

  Pippa Saunders likes her life as it is. Uncomplicated, boring, and underachieving. She's engaged to a Prince Charming (AKA Doug Fletcher) and she and her best friend, Rebecca, share a flat in London. A series of events threatens to shake her neatly packaged life when Doug buys a holiday home for them in the south of France and hires the mysterious Berne Chamonix to help renovate the stonework.

  Pippa finds herself face to face with the woman who has an uncanny knack of tying her up in emotional knots. Now she has to work alongside the beautiful, strong, and enchanting former lover she ran away from when she was nineteen. Her once simple life and well built-up façade is poised to crumble . . . la vie en bleu.

  For,

  Em—because it’s fun to make you smile.

  And,

  For everyone who believes in love.

  Acknowledgments

  La Vie en Bleu has given me the chance to show my love for a country very close to my heart. I wanted to fill it full of light, laughter, and love. Behind every book there’s a network of people that have helped me, inspired me, and cheered me on throughout the journey.

  First of all I would like to thank you, the reader. Whether you have followed my writing so far or are joining me for the first time. Welcome aboard. I hope that you love your time with Pippa and her friends.

  To those on social media who have supported me and continue to do so, thank you. It’s wonderful to know there are so many lovely people out there. A big thanks goes to Georgia Beers and Gerri Hill for the welcome and guidance. Thank you ladies!

  To my fellow Cloudies and Bedazzled Ink family, you inspire me, drive me to improve, and cheer me. It’s a pleasure to write alongside you. Special thanks to John Taylor and Katherine Hetzel, your friendship and camaraderie make a big difference, so thank you. Ann McMan, thank you once again for a wonderful cover and the patience and hard work you put in to each creation. Once again, it’s sublime.

  To the GCLS Writing Academy, you worked incredibly hard and it was heart warming to know how much passion and drive you put in to deliver the course. I learned a lot, laughed a lot, and Saturdays were great fun.

  My fellow students. You’re all inspiring and every one deserved their graduation certificate. I look forward to seeing your stories take flight.

  Liz McMullen. You are as cool as pie. Hard work, patience, hospitality, and a pleasure to know. Thank you for your support.

  Sandra Moran, you know I think you rock. You helped me to bring France to life and your time, energy, and friendship mean a great deal. Thank you.

  MC Henrichon and Pauline Reibell: Alors, Je vous remercie de votre patience avec ma tentative du français. Merci de partager votre langue qui m’inspire. Que ce soit en France ou au Canada, votre accueil signifie beaucoup pour moi. J’espère avoir montré mon amour pour la France et que cela vous fait sourire et rire. Merci!

  To Casey and Claudia at Bedazzled Ink. Thank you for having the faith to let me try romance. Thank you for the patience and gentle guidance to help me make it a book that makes me smile. It’s always a pleasure working with you, a joy to learn from you and what is romance without dangling participles? Thank you both very much.

  To all at the CNB parish, those friends close, whether neighbour or far away, you bring light, love, laughter, and I feel honoured just to be counted one of you. Thank you especially to Moira Spence, Jayne Shaw, Mike Komor, and Sue Beverley (and Mr B) for guidance, for sharing, for making such a difference in my journey. Thank you.

  To my betas: Sarah Green, Mel and Glenda, Moira and Ian and the Team Truth girls: Karen Kormelink, Gena Ratcliff, and Dani Dixon. Thank you for working with me, for your love, support, and all the time you put in. Overworked but loved dearly! Thank you, my friends.

  To Debi Alper for your continued support and red pen when I need it. I love learning from you, so thank you for sharing your knowledge and time.

  Brie Burkeman, when I thought of a city to place Pippa in, your words and guidance drew me to London. When I write, I count on the wisdom you shared. You make me strive to grow, to believe, and to work hard. Your patience helped me lay many solid foundations and I hope that this book gives you a lot of laughter. Thank you very much.

  To my family both near and in the next room. There is nothing like being amongst good company and being reminded that the best family trees are full of nuts.

  Uncle Terry—thank you for sharing your love of language, I hope you chuckle along at my humour.

  Mum, for your help with grammar . . . well actually, your help with pretty much everything. Writing this book reminds me how blessed I am to have a mum like you.

  Little Fergus and friends. Okay, so you can’t read but you play a starring role in my heart and my day. Thank you.

  To Em. What do I say? Other than the fact that you would rock a cherry red helmet and sunblock? The most ardent, most dedicated, and most patient of my supporters. Knowing how much you love this book makes it all the more worthwhile. Home isn’t home without you.

  To THS, a lamp for my feet and a light for my path. You are in all things. You are love, you are light. Thank you for Pippa’s story and for blessing me with your love.

  Jody Klaire

  August 2015

  “My command is this: love each other as

  I have loved you.”

  —John 15:12 [NIV]

  “To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.”

  —Oscar Wilde, An Ideal Husband

  Chapter One

  THE HOT SUMMER air caressed my skin, leaving beads of sweat to trickle down between my shoulder blades. Other people would complain at such an onslaught but just to stand in the fierce heat reminded me of her. If only for a fleeting moment, a secret, unthinking moment, I could close my eyes and feel the touch of her. Warm fingertips, light, teasing, trailing their way up my bare back, her soft laughter in my ear. The sound that had seeped into every breath I had taken since. She was the thudding of my heart, the wriggle in my stomach, the hammering of the pulse in my ear.

  Her soft, knowing lips brushed across my exposed neck. I leaned to the side, baring all to her, even if she only existed in my memory now. Sweet, nipping kisses, the feel of her arms as they slid around my waist. Her mouth moving over my neck, my chin, my cheek, searching, demanding—

  “Pippa?”

  I snapped my eyes open and rubbed my tingling skin, wanting to scratch the very sordid thought from me. “Yes, sweetheart?” Blowing the guilt, the moment away, I turned to Doug and smiled. Why did it still make me so sick to the stomach?

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he said, concern, trust, and love in his eyes. What had I done to deserve him? “Do you want to help me set up the new centre?”

  My conscience screamed no. No, I didn’t want to go anywhere near that country. It was easier to forget this far away, easier to believe it was only a dream.

  “Of course.” I smiled to cover my desperation. “I know how important
it is to you.”

  “I was thinking that you could show me ’round.” His smile was so different from mine, so encouraging, sweet. “You never really talked about your time there.”

  “There isn’t much to talk about.”

  He gave me an ever patient look and took a deep breath. “You were there for a year . . . You lived in the city as a Frenchie . . . Aren’t you aching to get back?”

  Aching yes, but to return, to risk seeing her, no. What if she still lived there? My heart thudded. It was a nightmare. What if she remembered? What if she didn’t? How was I going to get out of this? When Doug got something in his mind . . . This was impossible.

  “I’ll check with Rebecca, okay, check if I can get the time off?” I said.

  Not a chance if Rebecca knew what was good for her.

  “Promise?” He gazed at me with those gentle blue-grey eyes, so much like a puppy dog.

  “Course.” More lies, more guilt. So long ago and yet that madness still haunted my life.

  Doug planted a gentle kiss on my still-tingling lips. My stomach tightened up until I felt sick with guilt. I watched his retreating back. What would he think of me if he knew, if he knew just what a coward I really was?

  I stared out at the weak spring sunshine in a quiet corner of the world. A small Yorkshire hamlet. Miles upon miles of green, cut into fields by armies of wide-crowned trees. Hedges that buzzed with the scents and sounds of spring. Quaint cottages dotted along winding lanes. His house, a converted Tudor mansion, gated off from the sleepy village beyond. His family home. It would be our family home one day, at least when I . . . we . . . found the time to put down roots.

  I picked up my keys from the sideboard and wheeled my suitcase to the car. In a few traffic-riddled hours, I would be back in a place I knew. London, the city of rain, grey, and congestion charges. The best place to block out the noise. The only place I seemed to have half a chance of forgetting her in.

  THE M25 HAD thrown its worst at me. The entire motorway had been backed up. It was nearly the end of the working day when I squeezed into the last space in the cramped NCP car park. I sprinted through the deluge, risking life and limb dashing in front of a bus, and ducked into the three-storey office.

  “Hi, Pip!” the squeaky-voiced receptionist chimed at me as I shook off the rain from my jacket. I never understood how Yorkshire could be sunny and London in the middle of a monsoon. Whatever happened to the grim North?

  “Hey, you seen the boss?” I mumbled, attempting a smile.

  “Lucky for you, she’s been on a course all day.” The receptionist, whose name I could never remember, tapped her nose. “As long as the cat’s away . . .”

  “You’re a Godsend.”

  I couldn’t afford the time off and there was no way I could afford it unpaid. Making a note to send the receptionist—Mary, no, Janet . . . no . . . well, whatever her name was—some chocolates or flowers, I hurried into the lift. Only three floors but it would have been quicker to scale the outside with my tights like Spiderman.

  I stared up at the numbers which seemed to slow down. I hated confined spaces. Why did they make lifts look like something from a tin factory? At least this one didn’t have a mirror. Those were just weird. Who wanted to gawp at their own reflection while dangling from a cheese string? Come on, come on. If it didn’t hurry up I’d start thinking about the film Speed again. No, not good. Hurry up, hurry the—

  The doors dinged open and I toddled down the corridor. Plush was one way of putting the decor. Lots of glass, strange blobs in primary colours that I assumed was art, and closed-off wooden boxes for meeting rooms. No one was around. Thankfully most of them were already on their way home. I wobbled as I turned the corner to an open plan space. Great. One of my shoes had decided to rub a hole in my heel. Doug had offered for me to have tailor-made swish things but I was not going to become some rich, doormat woman who needed her husband for everything. Oh no, if I was marrying Doug, I was staying me.

  “I hate to tell you this but unless they work on California time up in Yorkshire, you’re way late.” Rebecca, my best friend, stood outside my sugar-lump-of-a-cubicle with her arms folded.

  “What did you do to your hair?”

  Rebecca grinned. “You like?” She turned around on the spot for me.

  “You look like a hedgehog had a nasty accident with bleach.” I shook my head. I had never understood Rebecca’s fashion sense, even in college. I doubted I ever would. “Why did they shave only one side?” I decided, and not for the first time, never to use the same hairdresser.

  “It’s cool, fuddy duddy.” She pointed to her feet. “And you didn’t see the shoes.”

  “How could I with the beacon on your head?” Sighing, I looked down. Some sort of loafer shoe, a crocodile skin pattern on them. Hideous beyond words. “Nice, my dad has a pair, I think.” At least he had in the seventies.

  “Who chewed your cheese?”

  Ignoring the man’s shirt, man’s trousers, and her penchant for silver everywhere, I attempted my best smile. It was good to see her. “No one. Traffic. The M25 is backed up—”

  “If you think that will buy you a pardon . . .” Rebecca smiled. “It will. The boss has been out, you’re in the clear. I stuck a meeting in your planner.”

  I dumped my sodden jacket on the back of the chair, then winced as it creaked. Someone had stolen mine again. “How is everything?”

  “You mean how was my hot date on the weekend or how do I feel about the un-British sunshine we’ve been enjoying?”

  There were times when I wondered where my social skills had disappeared to. I was terrified of getting lost in Doug and Pippa but he had to take priority, didn’t he? Sighing, I wondered where had Pippa, the friend, disappeared to? Try again.

  “Yes,” I said, turning to look at her. “How was your weekend?”

  Rebecca raised her unruly eyebrows at me. “You serious?” She took a chair and wheeled it over.

  “Why not. Did this one steal your heart?”

  Rebecca laughed. She had an annoyingly cocky laugh that had always driven me insane. “No, but she was hot. I mean, you should have seen her legs.” She whistled like a heckling builder. “And let me tell you—”

  I held up my hand. Wonderful, I’d chipped my nail polish. “Why do you do that?”

  Rebecca frowned. “Do what?”

  “Act like you’re an ass.” I didn’t get her, I never would. “Why don’t you ever stay around?”

  We’d had this conversation so many times that she almost mimed my question. “Some women don’t want forever, roses and all that crap.”

  The soft laughter in my ear, teasing fingers tickling over my rib cage—

  “Pip?”

  “What?” The panic caught in my throat. Had I been thinking about . . . I couldn’t . . . I was tired, just tired.

  “Where did you go?” Rebecca wiggled her eyebrows. “And you got a place for me in there?”

  “I was thinking about Doug,” I lied. “So no.”

  Rebecca narrowed her eyes, and I could tell that she didn’t buy my excuses but after all these years, I hoped she’d given up trying. I knew she knew I was hiding something. It was better I headed her off before she started probing. “He wants me at his new centre opening next month.”

  “The one in France?” Rebecca leaned back, with a bored expression as her gaze drifted over to the new mail courier. “Why?”

  “To support him.” I tapped her hand as a sly smile drifted across her lips. Letch. “I’ve never been to one before. I guess I owe it to him.”

  “You owe him shit.” Rebecca crossed her leg over her knee, her sleeve of tattoos showing.

  I did not want to get into this argument again. “Either way, I said yes but . . .” I sighed. “I really don’t want to go back to France.”

  “You said yes but you don’t want to go?” Rebecca laughed that cocky laugh again. “Now that isn’t in the little wife of the year book, is it?”

  “Wh
en did the hot date tell you she was married . . . to a man?”

  Rebecca opened and closed her mouth. “I hate that you know me so well.”

  “That makes two of us.” Why did we put up with each other and what were those socks. Neon yellow socks. “So, I need you to find a reason for me not to go.”

  “Wow, where is he opening it, a prison?”

  I didn’t care, but I did, far too much. Anywhere in France was too near, too risky. How much did I say? It wasn’t like Rebecca just couldn’t ask Doug herself.

  “Marseille.” I tried to keep my voice level, my tone neutral but my heart burst into a sprint in response. Even thinking about it made my hands shake.

  “Where you lived in college?” She narrowed her eyes, leaning in. “But they don’t even have one in Paris yet, right?”

  There was no need for me to even shake my head, she seemed to read my eyes.

  “Oh, that’s just wonderful.” She wheezed out her breath, rapping her ring heavy knuckles on the desk. “Can’t he leave one part of you without his stamp on it?”

  The anger in her voice surprised me. “What do you mean?” She’d always liked Doug, he’d always liked her. Where had this come from?

  “Pip, I love the guy but . . . at this rate there will be nothing of you left.”

  “There’s plenty of me. I’m successful in work . . .” I motioned to the office. We both looked at my cramped cubicle, the computer which looked older than me, and the mountain of admin in my inbox. Hmmm, not quite the winning argument I was going for. “I have you . . .”

  “Smooth talker.”

  Thankfully, she seemed appeased. Rebecca went back to shooting bedroom eyes at the flirty vixen of a courier. She wasn’t even attractive.

  “I think you should tell him not to open it there.” Her eyes met mine for a moment. “We both know something happened there that changed you.”