The Traveller's Daughter Read online

  His laugh was throaty. “Oh aye I still see them they’re part of me, always will be. I just wanted to go a different way for a while.” He shifted on his feet, leather boots peeking out of the frayed bottoms of jeans. “My gran and grandda are long gone and after my mam and da passed on it fell to me to clear their wagon and that was the first I heard of any of this photograph business. I found all the cheques that Da had never cashed. They were in an envelope along with a letter your man Christian had sent to him with the first payment explaining what the money was for. That was the first Da knew of his brother having died.”

  He shook his head, and Kitty could see the frustration this memory evoked in the frown lines that appeared between his eyebrows. “If he had cashed those cheques he could have made our lives so much easier, but he didn’t. He chose not to because he felt Michael had abandoned him, left him with a da who was too handy with his fists by far. He was only eight when Michael left, and he never let go of it that hurt. I reckon it was that what made him sick in the end. Of course not having a grave to visit didn’t help him with the grieving process, and that was down to your mam.”

  “I’m sorry and I know my mum was sorry.” Kitty wanted to reach out and touch him, but something in his posture stopped her.

  “Don’t be I cashed those cheques in as soon as I could.” He looked down at her then with a challenging expression, but Kitty wasn’t about to protest, he had every right to that money it was what Michael and Rosa would have wanted.

  “Do you know I think stubbornness must be a Traveller’s trait? I knew nothing about my mother’s life before she turned nineteen until today. She refused point blank to discuss anything that happened in her life before then so I had no idea where she grew up or anything about - well any of this. I thought when she died that that was it, I would never know.”

  “I didn’t know your mam had passed on until Christian filled me in this afternoon. I wouldn’t have said what I said to you earlier if I had.” His face seemed to soften as he spoke.

  It was as close as she was likely to get to an apology Kitty decided instinctively knowing saying sorry would not come easily to this man. “Jonny, I don’t blame you for feeling angry with the way things turned out, but my mum told me that Michael never wanted to leave your dad. They had no choice, Rosa and Michael, and he never stopped missing Tyson.”

  Jonny didn’t show any sign of acknowledging what she’d just said as he stared blankly at the empty shelf in the window in front of him, so she carried on. “I’d never heard of the photograph either until Christian contacted me asking me to come to Uzés to do the recreation picture. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the original for the first time it was like looking at a photograph of a person who was part of me but who I had never known.”

  “You look just like her.”

  Kitty raised a smile. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black because you could be your uncle’s double too.”

  “Aye, he and Da were the spit of each other and I look like Da so there you go.” He rubbed at the stubble on his chin and she wondered what it would be like to feel the roughness of it against the smoothness of her skin. She blinked, where had that come from? She was shocked at her reaction to his physical presence. At the same time as she told herself not to go there she registered that there was no gold band or tell-tale white mark of there once having been one on his ring finger. She remembered the ring on her finger and held her hand out. “This was the ring Michael gave my mother the day they married. My mum left a journal explaining her story to me with Christian, and this was taped to the back of it.”

  Jonny gave it a cursory glance, but she could see his mind was elsewhere. “I think that was the problem with my da. Every time he looked at me he saw his brother and the old hurts could never heal.”

  It would not help Jonny to know that it was also guilt Tyson had felt each time he looked at his son. Guilt for leading his mammy to the tin hut where Rosa and Michael had met that afternoon, and in doing so setting in motion a chain of events that could not be stopped. “It wasn’t your fault Jonny or your dad’s.” She said softly, “Michael and Rosa’s running away was nothing to do with either of us. I don’t think you can blame them either because it was just life. They fell in love and wanted to be together, but those around them weren’t prepared to tolerate that.”

  “Is that so?”

  She could see the mix of annoyance and amusement at her declarations of her mother and his uncle’s grand love affair, but she needed to make him understand the way it had been. “It is, mum’s journal explained it all and I know that Michael never wanted to leave Tyson or your gran. It ate away at him. He was given no choice but to go, they couldn’t stay.”

  She’d overstepped the mark it was too much too soon. Kitty could see it in the way something in his eyes seemed to shut down, and his body straightened. “And tell me who made you the expert? You know nothing about what Da went through after Michael left. He had a choice alright, and he made it the day he walked away from Cherry Orchard with your mam and left his little brother to fend for himself.”

  Kitty opened her mouth, she needed to make him understand the way things had played out for Rosa and Michael. He had already turned his back on her though, and she watched as he strode off in the direction in which she had just come.

  Chapter 21

  A hen is heavy when carried far – Irish Proverb

  Kitty stood there illuminated in the fading light by the patisserie’s flickering sign and felt strangely bereft as she watched Jonny get further and further away from her. More than anything she wanted to run after him, stand on tippy toes and throw her arms around his neck before pressing her lips to his. She pinched her arm hard leaving a red welt behind as she whispered, “Stop it, Kitty Sorenson, just you stop it.” She didn’t see the look of bemusement on the face of the elderly man who walked past her at that moment. His fluffy ankle biter of a dog straining at the lead unsure of who was supposed to be taking who for a walk.

  Her mother had written that she was sure Kitty had been born like her maternal grandmother and like Rosa herself, with the sight, and reading those words had been a light bulb moment for Kitty. It had explained to her why she always knew who was on the phone before she answered it, or who it was standing on the other side of a door before she opened it. She knew for instance that Yasmin would go on to become a successful fashion designer. It was more than a belief in her friend’s talent it was something she knew with an absolute certainty. Sometimes too, she’d sense when someone was ill, like her friend Chloe who she had worked with at the architect’s firm. Chloe had passed Kitty a tissue one day, and as their fingers touched she had known there was something far more seriously wrong than ‘a cold I can’t shake’ with her friend. She’d suggested she go to see a doctor, but Chloe had looked at her like she was mad until two months later she was diagnosed with a form of leukaemia. She had pulled through thank goodness, but for Kitty it had been a terrible thing to know. She’d been unable to do anything about her friend’s illness because how could she convince somebody of something she couldn’t understand herself?

  When it came to what was going on in her own life she wouldn’t have a clue. Okay yes, sometimes there would be that sensation of darkness approaching like spilt paint spreading or a shadowy hand about to clutch at her ankle, but she never knew what it meant. Apart from that she’d had no inkling that Damien was cheating on her. Then again perhaps she had her blinkers on so tight where he was concerned that she wouldn’t have acknowledged it even if she had.

  Right now she didn’t need the hit and miss sight to explain why she had just felt the urge to snog a virtual stranger. A man who had been undeniably unpleasant to her on two occasions now, and to do so while she was stone cold sober too. It was because Jonny was a tangible part of her mother’s past. He was a living and breathing link to what had gone before. He was evoking memories in her that weren’t her own, but those that had once belonged to her mum. Together sh
e and Jonny shared the bond not only of an entwined history, but of the ripple effects Rosa and Michael’s running away together had created. Tonight, as they had talked she had felt that bond pull and tighten between them, and she only hoped in saying what she had said it had just frayed that bond, not snapped it all together. Jonny had made it pretty clear by walking off the way he had, that he did not like what she represented to him.

  Kitty stayed where she was rooted to the spot until he disappeared from her line of sight. She was guessing from the direction he was headed that he was going back to the house. She had missed her chance to go after him and try to talk further, but perhaps it was for the best. He might need time to think about what she had said. She sighed, and fished her phone out of her bag to check the time, seeing that she better get a move on. If she didn’t show up when they’d arranged, Damien would panic and think that something had happened to her. The last thing she wanted was for him to storm round to the house all pumped up and filled with testosterone ready to accuse Christian and Simone of being human traffickers. Despite her earlier misgivings she realised she was looking forward to seeing someone who knew her well. She needed to tell him about her mum and all that she had learned because it was fizzing up inside of her. She didn’t think she would tell him what Rosa had, had to say where he was concerned though. He might not like being referred to as a dog with fleas!

  ***

  The square Kitty thought, as she entered it looked magical in the fading evening light. It had been washed clean, and the air was fresh from the rain of earlier. Twinkling fairy lights were strewn around the trees dotted about it lending an enchanted feel to the lively atmosphere. The café tables where she had sat earlier with Christian were now filled with candlelight diners, and she didn’t have to scan them for long before she spied Damien waving out and gesturing her over.

  Her stomach did that thing that she had no control over at the sight of him, and she realised that her mother’s words had done nothing to quell the effect he had on her. Kitty wondered how it was that he could still make her knees go weak despite everything that had happened. She hadn’t wanted him here in Uzés, she’d needed the space to think, but he had cared enough to follow her here, so that had to count for something surely? She wound her way through the tables toward him.

  He stood up to greet her, placing his hands either side of her upper arms before he pulled her close and inclined his head as he made to kiss her. Kitty turned her face at the last moment, so his lips grazed her cheek instead not wanting him to think that it was a given that they were back together, and all was forgiven. He didn’t seem phased by her subtle rejection as he murmured. “You look so lovely Kitty. Thanks for meeting me.”

  She didn’t have a choice with regards to meeting him she thought, glancing down at her t-shirt and jeans before looking back at him. He had always liked it when she made an effort when they went out. He was much more of a little black dress kind of a guy than the casual look she had donned tonight, so she was surprised by the compliment. Of course with her limited wardrobe, a little black dress had not been an option.

  Damien released her arms, and went around to the other side of the table to pull her seat out for her. She sat down thinking that he was pulling all the stops out tonight, and as he sat down opposite her, she noticed his hair was still damp from having showered. Her eyes travelled down to his chest; he was wearing a cobalt blue shirt with black pinstripes running through it. She’d always loved him in that shade of blue, the colour did something amazing to his eyes, and she wondered if his choice of shirt was deliberate.

  She pulled her eyes away and looked at the tabletop between them. It was covered with a white cloth and laid with polished silver cutlery. A stubby candle flickered in a glass, and there was a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket in the middle of the table. She wondered what he’d chosen for them, he’d always fancied himself a bit of connoisseur ever since he’d done a wine appreciation course a few years ago. Mind you she’d never been able to fault his wine choices in the past. It was just that she didn’t care if the buttery richness of the Chardonnay was the perfect partner to her fish dish. Or for that matter, whether the tart crispness of the Sauvignon Blanc would set off her choice of chicken to perfection. All she cared about was if it was white then it better be cold, crisp and taste good.

  As it turned out it was neither white nor red, Damien had chosen a strong pink Rosé for them to share. Kitty knew what it was before he said the words, and her heart skipped a beat at the coincidence of his choice. The wine came from a place where her mother and Michael had discovered the true meaning of happiness.

  “It’s a Gigondas.” He said pulling it from the bucket and inspecting the label. “I’m not familiar with it, but the waiter assured me it was the perfect aperitif drink. I sampled it before deciding on a bottle. It’s a generous wine with undertones of almonds and cooked fruit. I thought that since we were here in France it was only right that we drink a local wine.”

  Kitty was grateful she had missed the whole wine swishing about the mouth before he spat it out debacle. It was a tasting ritual that always made her cringe. “It’s made from grapes that have ripened on the same vines my mother and Michael once picked together.” She said softly watching the pink and purple-hued wine fill her glass.

  Damien paused mid-pour. “What did you just say?”

  “I think we should try it before I tell you.”

  “Okay.” He looked bemused she noticed as he finished pouring her glass. “But I propose a toast first.”

  Kitty did not feel like raising her glass she wanted to sample the wine, and her mouth watered in anticipation of it. She would humor him so she decided to wait while he filled his glass before raising hers.

  “To you Kitty Sorenson. To finding the answers you have been seeking and,” he looked at her hopefully. “To us.” He had the grace not to sound quite as self-assured as he waited for her to reiterate his words.

  Kitty hesitated; she wasn’t ready to say that there was an ‘us’, and so instead she murmured, “To finding the answers I have been seeking.” She clinked her glass to his and avoided his eyes as she closed her own and took a sip of the cool liquid. She let its flavour sit in her mouth for a moment savouring it before swallowing. It was gorgeous, she decided picturing her mother and Michael picnicking under a tree by a babbling brook. They would have sipped on the very same wine they were helping to produce, and felt oh so avant-guard as they fed each strong, smelly cheese and crackers.

  “So are you going to tell me what you have found out?”

  Kitty’s eyes flew open at the sound of his voice banishing the image of Rosa and Michael as she looked at Damien’s handsome, expectant face opposite her.

  “You had better make yourself comfortable.” she told him. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got all night.” He said raising his glass to his mouth once more.

  She told him of Rosa’s earlier life from start to finish only pausing once to glance at the menu as the waiter came with pen and paper at the ready. Kitty noticed he had a much more amenable expression on his face than his earlier counterpart had possessed. She had spied an impressive pasta dish being carried past, and so had ordered the pasta of the day. Damien opted for veal, and after some deliberation and questions as to the suitability of its pairing, ordered another bottle of wine. She hadn’t realised he had refilled her glass more than once, and that the bottle of Rosé was nearly empty as she relayed Rosa’s story.

  By the time their plates were deposited with a flourish and a grind of black pepper in front of them, Kitty had finished talking. She watched the waiter disappear to return a moment later with a bottle of white this time and fresh glasses. She drained her glass and handed it to him with a smile of thanks.

  “I trust mademoiselle enjoyed the wine oui?”

  It was fairly obvious she had, given the empty bottle. “I did merci it was very special.”

  She smiled, and he gave her a little
nod before moving to the next table to add its empty glasses to his tray. Damien poured them both a glass of the white, and she hoped he wouldn’t launch into another monologue about the wine he had chosen to accompany their main. All she wanted to know was what he thought about everything she had just told him. Her stomach was in knots as she picked up her fork and toyed with the penne coated in a creamy sauce.

  Damien began to slice into his veal scaloppini, and as he held it up to check that it was cooked medium rare the way he had requested it, Kitty felt a spark of irritation. She’d always hated the way in which he could never just sit and enjoy a meal. It was as though he was looking for elements that weren’t right. A speck on the plate, or his food not being hot enough so that he could exercise his right to complain as a paying customer. Thankfully his veal must have been just the right shade of pink in the middle because he popped it in his mouth, chewing and looking at her thoughtfully before he finally swallowed and spoke.

  “Do you remember our trip to Paris?”

  Kitty nodded wondering where he was going with this, and why the change of topic.

  “We ate in that charming little Bistro with the chequered red and white tablecloths and were served by the waiter that you reckoned looked like George Clooney.”

  “He looked exactly like him, he could have been his double. I decided that he must be a struggling actor trying to make ends meet by waiting tables.” She’d conjured up a romantic tale around him as she’d gotten caught up in the excitement of dining in Paris.

  “Yes, you thought he was wonderful until he bought you out a plate of chicken livers instead of the cassoulet you ordered.” He laughed, and Kitty shuddered at the memory. “Your face was a picture.”