The Traveller's Daughter Read online

  Damien spluttered into his beer. “How much?”

  She repeated herself and Damien morphed before her very eyes into the business mode as befitted his job in the Share Market. “You should get your solicitor to look over any paperwork you are going to sign you know. I mean if they are prepared to fly you over to France and pay you that much it is obviously a pretty lucrative job for this Christian Beauvau fellow. There could be a lot more in it for you in the way of royalties. I’d be interested to know if your mother has received hers over the years too. Do you know how much they are paying the bloke’s nephew?”

  Kitty felt her back stiffen there was no way she was giving a penny more to her mum’s solicitors. “No! Stop Damien the money will be nice but that is not what this is about. You know my mother never talked about where she came from, and this is my chance to find out about a side of her that I never knew.”

  Damien knew how Rosa’s refusal to talk about her past had eaten away at her. “You’re right. Sorry, it’s the stockbroker in me I can’t help myself.”

  “It’s okay.” She relaxed and sat back in her chair drinking her wine a little too quickly.

  “Watch it you’ll get tipsy.” He smiled. “So where are you staying tonight?”

  “I’m not sure I was going to find a B&B.”

  “You can stay at mine, I can drop you at the airport in the morning.”

  Kitty’s eyes widened.

  “I’ll behave myself I promise, but I can’t leave you to wander around Wigan looking for a Bed and Breakfast. It will be getting dark soon out there. Besides you’d have to get up at a ridiculous time to get your flight.”

  Kitty knew it wouldn’t be dark for at least another hour. There was nothing to stop him offering to drive her around Manchester looking for a B&B if he was worried about the distance from the airport. For some reason though, she couldn’t summon either the strength or the willpower to contradict him.

  Chapter 6

  God is good but never dance in a small boat – Irish Proverb

  Kitty lay on her side in Damien’s bed with the sheets pulled up under her chin staring at the window. The sheets felt crisp and cool against her bare skin, Egyptian cotton she guessed because Damien had always been partial to the finer things in life. It had caused a few arguments between them during their time together with her having a thriftier nature. Opposites were supposed to attract though, and she had reigned him in and he had loosened her up so that they met somewhere in the middle. Egyptian cotton sheets hadn’t featured in that middle ground though because she had won that particular battle. The sheets they’d once shared together had come from Tesco.

  There was a gap where the blinds didn’t quite meet the sill. She could tell by the greyish light seeping in under them and the faint shushing sound of cars far below that it was early morning. It must be some time just after five a.m. she guessed before shifting her hip slightly. It was going numb thanks to Damien’s hideously uncomfortable Futon. Another post break-up purchase he had said, although he hadn’t worded it quite like that, to help with his back. He’d been in a minor car accident before she’d met him and had suffered from back pain for as long as Kitty had known him. It was beyond her though how sleeping on what equated to an oversized rectangular rock could benefit your back but when she’d questioned him on this, Damien was adamant it was working wonders on his.

  His leg strayed over to her side of the bed; he had obviously gotten used to starfishing she thought, as he let rip with an ungentlemanly snort. She’d forgotten he always snored when he’d had a few to drink and they’d both had more than a few before they’d wound up skipping the light fandango on the Futon. She hadn’t been complaining it was uncomfortable then though, she thought ruefully. The sex had been good because they already knew each other’s bodies intimately, so there were none of those embarrassing fumbling, clumsy moments. They were like a well-oiled machine in that respect. As Damien erupted once more, she felt her foot twitch under the sheets. Six months ago she’d have given him a swift kick to startle him into rolling over. Now that he was technically a one night stand she didn’t feel it appropriate to put the boot in so to speak. Besides she knew she’d never get back to sleep now snoring or no snoring.

  God, she was hungry too she thought, wrapping her arms around her tummy in an attempt to stave off the pangs. Again, she realised that if this had been six months ago she’d have been in their old apartment, and were she lying wide awake like this she’d have gotten up. She pictured herself tiptoeing into the kitchen the way she’d done hundreds of time when she’d woken up peckish to stuff her face with whatever leftovers she could find lurking in the fridge. This wasn’t her apartment though, and it didn’t feel right to sneak into the kitchen for a rummage in Damien’s fridge. What if he woke up and busted her sneaking about, he’d think she was snooping around the place or something. No, she’d just have to wait for his alarm to go off. The room got lighter and her tummy rumbled louder. She couldn’t help but think as she rolled away from the window, how had it come to this? Where once in the not so distant past she’d shared her life with the man lying flat on his back next to her now she felt like a prisoner in his futon.

  They’d had no dinner the night before that was the problem. She hadn’t been hungry when they left the pub, enjoying the warm slightly addled feeling from the three glasses of wine she’d ended up downing. It had been such a strange day. She didn’t feel like being sensible, and of course had she been sober then common sense might have won out. Damien as though sensing this had been in far too much of a hurry to get her back to his apartment. He wasn’t going to risk suggesting they stop off for something to eat in case she changed her mind about staying.

  She’d sat with her head leaning back on the plush headrest of his new black Audi as he drove them to his apartment. It was another post break-up splurge. He’d looked like a little boy as he told her that not only was it turbocharged – whatever that meant, but the roof was retractable too. She’d refrained from remarking on how useful that would be living in Manchester because not only could you get soaked through to the skin, you also got to breath in traffic fumes. She shook her head trying not to listen to him telling her again how much he’d missed her since she’d left, and how sorry he was for what he’d done. It was as though he thought the more he repeated these sentiments, the more chance there was of her saying all is forgiven I’ll come back.

  The Bitch, she registered him saying although he hadn’t used that terminology had moved to Glasgow after they’d split. She had taken a new job there so Kitty wouldn’t have to worry about ever bumping into her were she to come back. He’d do anything to get her back he stressed as the lights of Greater Manchester twinkled in the distance. Part of Kitty wanted to believe him even as she wondered idly if his version of anything stretched to selling the ridiculous sports car she currently found herself sitting in.

  His hand had snaked over to rest on her leg. She could feel the heat of it through the denim fabric of her jeans as he steered them deftly around the achingly familiar streets of Manchester’s trendy Northern Quarter. It was where they’d lived together, enjoying the regeneration it had undergone along with all the other twenty and thirty something’s that had gravitated to the area. Turning her head she’d stared out the window at all the restaurants they’d dined in. They passed by cafes they’d met friends for coffee in, pubs they’d drunk in and clubs they’d gone on to dance the night away in. The streets they were passing were streets they’d once strolled hand in hand down. It was all so comfortingly familiar when everything around her at the moment was so bewildering.

  Damien had opted to stay in the Northern Quarter; he told her driving into the underground car park of an apartment complex. He could have stayed on at their flat had he got someone else in to share, but he didn’t want to do that. The memories were too painful he said. For you and me both she’d thought recalling her Mother having uttered the same sentiment when she sold Rose Cottage.

  He
r phone had rung once as they rode the lift up to his apartment on the fifth floor, and a quick glance at the screen told her that Yasmin was wanting a word. She’d flushed guiltily knowing full well what her friend would have to say to her if she knew what she was about to do. Switching off her phone, she stuffed it as far down in the depths of her handbag as she could manage.

  His apartment although small was shiny and new, and Kitty had thought, with a glance around, rather impersonal. She’d stopped thinking altogether though when he put Adele on. It was their favourite CD, the one they’d always had sex too. She’d sunk into his open arms and raised her mouth to meet his as they began a slow, remembered dance.

  She startled back to the present as the alarm beeped signalling it was at last time to rise and shine. Damien stirred for a moment before reaching over with a practised hand to bang the snooze button snuggling back under the bedding, but Kitty sat up gratefully. Her hand went to her hair and she sighed, it was mussed beyond redemption. She knew too that her mascara was probably down to her chin by now, and her mouth felt dry and stale. Had Damien been someone new that she had staggered home with last night then she’d have been desperate to get into the bathroom to tidy her act up before he got a good look at her. As it was, she knew the sight of her with her hair standing on end, and the remnants of the previous day’s makeup was one he had been treated to on many occasions. He would not be phased.

  Sensing her eyes on him, he opened his and blinked a couple of times before his mouth curved into a slow, lazy smile. He reached up and stroked her cheek.

  “Morning gorgeous.”

  “Gorgeous is a stretch! I’m a fright.”

  He grinned. “Well the Robbie William’s ‘Let Me Entertain You’ eye makeup isn’t your best look I agree, but other than that you look pretty darn tasty to me.” He reared up to pull her back down beside him, but she broke free.

  “No way don’t even think about it. I’ve got to get to the airport, and I need to have a shower and tidy myself up. I can’t get off the plane looking like –”

  “The wanton woman you are.”

  She leaned over and smacked him lightly before swinging her legs over the side of the bed vaguely self-conscious about being naked. She stood up and made her way quickly to the en-suite hearing a wolf whistle from the bed before he called out. “Towels are in the cupboard. Shall I join you?”

  “No! Make yourself useful and get some breakfast organised. I am starving,” she called back. Her casual bantering belying the tumult of emotions vying to make themselves heard as she locked the door behind her, and leaned her head against it for a moment. She didn’t trust him not to come in remembering full well that he was a morning man.

  A few moments later she was standing under the jets of water enjoying the feel of the hot needles hitting her skin, sluicing away the morning after fog. She picked up the bottle of shampoo from the ledge and peered at the label. It was a salon brand she didn’t recognize and opening the lid, she sniffed its contents. Coconut she thought, envisaging palm trees swaying in the breeze as she squeezed a dollop into the palm of her hand and began massaging it into her scalp. Damien had always been a bit of a metro man when it came to his grooming, and she used to find it amusing that he spent more on his hair products than she did.

  Oh God she thought, letting the water run over her head with her eyes squeezed shut so as not to get shampoo in them, what on earth was she doing here? Did she think she could go back and that they could just pick up as though the Bitch had never happened? Common sense told her that no it would never work. The part of her that still loved Damien wanted to kick common sense right up the backside though, forget all about this mad trip to France and unpack her bags.

  By the time she emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later with her hair towel dried and a fresh layer of war paint on her face, she was feeling more composed. She’d dressed once more in her jeans having packed lightly under the assumption she’d be back in London by now. As she zipped up her case, she made a mental note to self to wash her smalls by hand when she got to Uzés or she’d be in bother.

  Right Kitty my girl you are ready to face the day, she told herself straightening up and preparing to venture forth. Well almost ready she thought, sniffing the air and catching a whiff of coffee mingling with frying bacon. Good Damien had taken her literally she thought, walking through to the small living area where she found him stationed at the hob of the open plan kitchen with the frypan in hand. Her stomach did a little dance as he grinned at her, and she pinched her forearm to make sure this whole surreal scene was unfolding.

  “Good shower?”

  She glanced down at the red welt on her forearm. “Um yes, great shower thanks. Those power shower thingies are amazing. I feel human again, or I will do when you make me a cup of that coffee.” She eyed the fancy looking machine taking up half the bench space. Back when they’d lived together it had only ever been instant on offer because they’d preferred to go out for coffee. He had certainly gone to town since she’d left. “Do you need a licence to operate that thing?”

  Damien left the sizzling pan and fetched a mug down from the shelf overhead. “It brews a mean espresso, and you won’t be making snide remarks when you taste it.”

  He was right she thought, taking a sip from the mug he’d slid down the counter top toward her a moment later. Licking the froth from her upper lip, she watched him from underneath her eyelashes as he dished up the bacon and eggs. A strong sense of deja vu assailed her, they had played this scene out so many times before. Damien had loved his Sunday fry-ups. It was like they had hit the rewind button and everything was the way it had been. Then as she glanced around and realised she was in an unfamiliar flat surrounded by things she didn’t recognize, the hurt began to seep in around the edges again.

  Damien pushed her plate toward her and came round to sit on the bar stool next to where she was perched at the breakfast bar. “I meant every word I said to you last night Kitty you know that don’t you?”

  Kitty picked up her knife and fork not wanting to meet his gaze. “I know you did.”

  “Will you promise me you’ll think about coming back? Please.”

  “I will.” Her voice cracked. “I promise.” As he laid his hand on hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, she wanted to cry. Thank goodness she was leaving today, she needed to put some distance between them so she could think clearly.

  He let go of her hand. “Right well tuck in, and then I suppose we better get you to the airport.” He picked up a toast triangle and dunked it in his egg. “I have to say though Kitty I don’t feel entirely comfortable with this whole France scenario.”

  “It will be fine.” She muttered hearing her mother’s voice telling her not to talk with her mouth full but being too famished to care as she shovelled in a forkful of bacon. “Don’t worry.”

  In record time she’d cleaned her plate and with caffeine coursing through her veins and a full belly she felt much improved. Damien announced he’d better go shower and so seeking distraction from dwelling on the night before, she began stacking the dishwasher as he disappeared back into his bedroom. Popping her mug in the rack she remembered Yasmin’s call last night and felt guilty at not only having ignored it, but at switching her phone off too. Setting the dishwasher to run she went and fished her mobile out of her bag and a moment later her inbox filled with missed calls and texts from her friend. She’d better ring her she thought, flopping down on the couch with a heavy sigh. Staring out the window at the adjacent high rise she took a deep breath, knowing she was in for a rightly deserved drilling. Yasmin answered after two rings.

  “Thank God Kitty! I was worried about you. I imagined all sorts of things, and none of it was good.” The relief in her voice flooded down the line.

  “I’m fine Yas; I am so sorry! I know I should have called you back and let you know where I was staying last night.”

  “Yeah you should have and what’s with switching your phone off? What were you up to? I ha
ve hardly slept a wink. It didn’t help that piggy and slimy were at it all night again. Honestly, I thought the headboard was going to come through the flipping wall at one point.”

  Kitty shuddered watching the morning light play on the glass panels of the building opposite. “Oh poor you, nobody deserves that.”

  “I know! It was horrific and it’s quite possible that I might have been scarred for life. If I were religious last night’s antics would have been enough to convince me to join a convent but I am not and couldn’t possibly be with Mr Amatriciana on the loose. I can’t stop thinking about him by the way, it’s a shame he’s taken. Never mind all that though, did you find yourself a nice B&B in the end?”

  “Um no I stayed at an old friend’s place actually. I bumped into uh, her in Wigan, and she invited me back to her new flat for a bit of a catch-up. That’s why I turned my phone off because we were so um busy chatting.” Kitty studied a fingernail. She eyed its chipped polish with distaste. Her story sounded perfectly plausible, and it was almost true she’d just swapped genders and left out all the juicy details that was all.

  Yasmin wasn’t buying it though. “Kitty I don’t need to be one of those FBI behavioural analyst’s like off the tele to tell that you are lying. It’s in the funny pitch of your voice. Remember that time I was desperate for a chocolate fix? I knew I had a Mars bar stashed in the fridge but when I went to get it you were lurking there looking guilty.”

  “Yes, I remember.” Stealing her best mate’s chocolate bar hadn’t been her finest moment but it had been that time of the month and needs must. That was her story, and she was sticking to it.

  “You tried to play the innocent with me then too by making out it must have been Paula, but I could tell by the way your voice went all high and weird that you were fibbing.”