The Traveller's Daughter Read online

  “Rubbish! I only got busted because I still had caramel dangling from my chin.” There was some truth in what her friend was saying though; Kitty had never been a very good teller of a porky pie. She reckoned it was the pressure of having been an only child because it was very hard not to tell the truth when it was always two big people against one little person.

  “Whatever, now spill, what have you been up to?”

  Kitty squirmed in the leather seat. “You’re not going to like it.”

  Two minutes later she held the phone away from her ear as her friend launched into a tirade that mostly involved her repeatedly yelling, “How could you be so stupid? After the way he hurt you!”

  It was pretty much what she’d expected Yasmin to say. She’d watched her mother get burnt time and time again. The experience meant she was of the firm belief that once a cheater always a cheater, so there wasn’t very much Kitty could say to dissuade her from her point of view. There was no point adding fuel to her friend’s fire either by telling her Damien wanted her back and that he had promised he would never stray again. Part of her wanted to believe him because part of her wanted desperately to return to this world that had once been hers. There was another voice whispering in the background of emotions though, telling her that she couldn’t go back. She was carving a new life of sorts for herself in London. She had her dreams to follow and they were within her grasp now thanks to the sale of Edgewater Lane. But would those dreams be hollow if she didn’t have him by her side?

  He had never been enthused about the idea of her opening her café. He’d felt she would be better sticking to the safe option of working nine to five for a guaranteed wage. It was ironic given the gamble of his stockbroking work. But then he used to say he was gambling other people’s money not his own so it was different. He had never understood that to her baking wasn’t just a hobby and something she enjoyed doing at the weekend. It was her passion and she wanted to turn that passion into a job. She wanted to spend her days doing what she loved, not tapping away at a computer. Perhaps he might feel differently now she had some money behind her. That same little voice whispered that it really shouldn’t matter to her how he felt.

  Oh, she thought, as she bit what was left of her thumbnail down to the quick, she was glad she would be sitting on a plane in just under two hours. She needed to get away from Damien and even Yasmin so she could think about what it was she wanted.

  Damien appeared in the living room doorway looking decidedly delish in a fitted v neck sweater and jeans with his hair still wet from the shower. At the sight of him Kitty was almost tempted to hang up the phone and tell him that she wanted to start again but something stopped her. Instead, she cut her friend off mid-sentence. “Listen Yas I have to get to the airport, my flight leaves at half nine. I promise I will phone you when I get the chance from Uzés.”

  She hung up on her friend who was still in mid-rant.

  Chapter 7

  As you ramble through life, whatever be your goal; Keep your eye on the doughnut, and not upon the hole – Irish Proverb

  Kitty scanned the arrivals hall of Marseille Airport and spotted a little girl jumping up and down holding onto a piece of cardboard with the words Mademoiselle Sorenson printed boldly in black across it. As she weaved her way through the crowd, wheelie case trundling along behind her she realised the little girl wasn’t a child after all. Rather she was a tiny woman even shorter than she was who looked, she saw as she drew nearer to be around her age too. She took a deep breath she couldn’t quite believe she was here on French soil. Her free hand strayed unconsciously to her stomach and rested there for a moment, it was a bundle of knots.

  “Er hello, I’m Kitty,” She ventured stepping into the woman’s line of sight.

  The petite figure lowered her cardboard, and her bold red lipsticked mouth twitched into a tight smile. Her glossy brunette hair was slicked back into a bun, and she was wearing a white trouser suit with the kind of killer heels that would have some women stalking along like an ostrich. Kitty adored them instantly and felt a stab of kinsman ship at the sight of them. She could also sense from the woman’s stance that she meant business and would see an in-depth conversation as to where she had found such gorgeous footwear as a frivolous waste of her time. The hand she held out in greeting was dainty and smooth, free of rings, her nails perfect half-moons painted in a clear, shiny polish. Her whole demeanour oozed with an understated professionalism and Kitty realised she was one of those rare species of women that could wear all white and not get a mark on it.

  “I’m Simone Cazal, Monsieur Beauvau’s Assistant we spoke on the phone. I am so pleased you have come, and I welcome you to France.”

  Geez for a little girl Simone sure had a grip and a half on her Kitty thought, wishing she’d let go of her hand. Her English thankfully was much better than Kitty’s non-existent French. As she released her hand, she was relieved to be able to cross the language barrier off her mental ‘why this trip was madness’ list.

  “The car it is outside.” With that she gave a come, come wave of her hand before turning and gliding in the direction of the nearest exit.

  She was so elegant, so, what was the word she was looking? So French! That was it Kitty thought, watching her in awe before tottering along after her. Not even her beloved Alexander McQueen wannabe’s could stop her feeling like an unglamorous Heffalump clad in jeans in the presence of such effortless style. Not for the first time she cursed the impromptu nature of this trip and wished she’d had the time to head back to London to pack a wardrobe suitable for a trip to France. Instead, she was stuck with the bare necessities she’d stuffed into her wheelie case when she’d headed up to Wigan. Oh well, there was no point worrying about it now she decided. As the glass doors slid open she blinked at the bright blue sky that greeted her.

  The car, a sleek Peugeot pulled up with precision timing as Kitty nearly collided into the back of Simone who had come to a sudden kerbside halt. She barely had time to enjoy the balmy Marseille breeze before a stocky man with a shock of silver hair, dressed in a dark suit got out of the car. With a nod in Simone’s direction, he made his way round to the rear of the car to open the boot then turning his attention to Kitty, he muttered something guttural at her. She smiled blankly back at him in that I haven’t a clue what you just said way, but I guess it was something along the lines of give me your bag as he retrieved her case from her. He placed it in the trunk and closing the boot made his way round to the passenger door. He opened it for Simone. She gave a brief nod of thanks before sliding into the seat and reaching for her seat belt. She was obviously used to being driven around Kitty thought, as he opened the back door for her, and she ducked into the car mindful of not doing something dumb like banging her head. She smiled up at him. “Gracias.”

  A flicker of amusement had flashed across his craggy, clean-shaven features before he closed the door, and she felt her cheeks flame. He’s French Kitty, you idiot not Spanish! She told herself as she buckled in. Settling back in her seat, she decided that from now on her best course of action was not to speak unless spoken to. It was a shame because she had one hundred and one questions she’d like to ask Simone about her Mother and Midsummer Lovers, but she supposed they could wait until she got to Uzés.

  The chauffeur got in and turning to Simone fired something off in French. It elicited both a tsking sound and annoyed expression from her before he started the engine. He pulled away to navigate his way deftly out of the airport. Simone angled her head toward the back seat and Kitty leaned forward to hear what she had to say.

  “We will have to take the erm how you say? Scenic route because there has been an accident on the motorway and the traffic it is very bad. It is a most annoying thing because it means I will have to ring Christian and tell him we will be delayed.” She pursed her lips. “Our schedule is very tight schedule. He won’t be happy.” As she turned away to make the call, Kitty heard her make more of the tut-tutting sounds and thought to hersel
f, that she doubted the people involved in the accident were very happy either.

  She kept her opinion to herself though, offering up somewhat lamely. “Oh dear that’s a shame.” Simone wasn’t listening, and Kitty looked out the window. She was secretly pleased with the turn of events in so much as the scenic route around Provence’s back roads sounded much more exciting than a featureless trip down a motorway.

  She’d only ever been to France once before, and that was for a long weekend in Paris with Damien. It had not been long enough by far. She closed her eyes for a moment recalling how they had left their hotel room in the Latin Quarter to explore the famous area’s winding, cobbled lanes. Damien had set a pace that was far too fast for her liking. She had thought, as she paused to press her nose to the window of a patisserie that surely Paris was a city in which to meander? The patisserie had the most gorgeous array of glossy baby fruit tarts, macarons, éclairs of all colours and flavours as well as other delectable treats that she had ever had the good fortune to lay her eyes upon. How she had wished she could bypass the young girls serving behind the counter and head straight through to the kitchen to watch the artisan bakers’ at work. Damien had pulled her away before she could get a foot in the door though, eager to get to the Louvre and tick off another sight on his Paris in three days list.

  She opened her eyes again; Simone had begun talking into her mobile, and as the car passed over a speed bump, Kitty felt an uncomfortable sensation. Oh bugger it, she should have gone to the loo while she had the chance she thought. She glanced back over her shoulder at the airport terminal watching until it disappeared from view.

  That would teach her for indulging in yet another cup of coffee followed up by a glass of pinot-gris all before ten o’clock just because she could. It wasn’t every day she found herself on a business class flight to France. As she’d sipped on the fruity wine and stretched her legs out, she’d told herself she deserved it. What had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours was enough to drive any girl to drink. And she didn’t need much of a nudge when it came to a glass of vino at the best of times!

  Now, she watched as the urban scenery of terracotta roof tiles gave way to leafy tree lined roads. The shades of green forming an arbor over the car were soft almost as though they’d been brushed with silver Kitty thought. She sat forward in her seat eagerly as she spied the open fields beyond the trees. They were filled with sunflowers beginning to take a cautious peek at the world. The rolling hills in the background were smattered with medieval villages and she wished she had time to go and explore their charms. She wondered if her mother had passed down this road with her boyfriend all those years ago and looked out at the same views she was now soaking up. It was a scene that surely apart from the tar sealing of the roads, would not have changed in the last few hundred years let alone fifty.

  She glanced at Simone toying with the idea of asking her for more information about the history of the photograph that had brought her here. She had put her phone away, but her head was now bent as she tapped away with urgent fingers at her iPad. Not wanting to interrupt her she settled back into her seat trying not to think about the fact that actually, she really did need to go to the loo. She crossed her legs. It was no small feat in the back of a Peugeot, and she jiggled her foot to distract herself, but as the car hit a pothole she realised she had reached the point of no return.

  “Um excuse me, Simone.” She leaned forward and tapped her on her shoulder.

  “Oui.” Her tone was curt as she looked up from whatever it was she doing and twisted round in her seat to see what Kitty wanted.

  “Er is there any chance we could stop at a restroom please?”

  Simone’s expression was blank.

  “Um, loo er you know toilet?” A bog, a crapper she mentally added, desperation making her crass.

  “Er oui, toilette?”

  Yes wee, wee, wee! Kitty nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, toiletty please.”

  “Non sorry.” She turned back to her iPad and began swiping at the screen.

  Kitty was having none of it and she tapped her on the shoulder again. “The thing is Simone I really, really need to go.”

  She paused mid-swipe but didn’t bother to look around this time. “In France Mademoiselle Kitty we do many things well. Amour oui, cuisine oui, histoire oui, public toilettes non.”

  “But I won’t make it to Uzés I have to go!”

  The desperation in her tone must have gotten through to Simone because she leaned across and said something unintelligible to the chauffeur before turning her attention to Kitty.

  “I have asked Pierre to stop up there.” She waved her hand in front of her and Kitty peered through the gap in the seats. At the sight of the shops ahead she found religion. “Thank you Lord,” she whispered silently.

  Pierre indicated left and pulled into the car park coming to a halt in front of a patisserie. A quick sweep of the block confirmed to Kitty that this was her best shot for a loo. The hairdressers at the end of the block was shut, and she didn’t rate her chances of the furniture shop having a public amenity. She flung the back door of the car open half expecting Simone to clap her hands and say. “Chop, chop we haven’t got all day.” She didn’t say a word though, as Kitty knock-kneed headed in the direction of the patisserie. Pushing open the door she saw that there were no other customers in there. Her mind automatically registered that the glass fronted cabinet held a delicious array of baguettes stuffed full of savoury goodies and cream filled cakes. She wondered what would happen to all that gorgeous food at the close of business which going by the ghost town outside wouldn’t be far off. Stop thinking about food Kitty she admonished, arranging her features into a smile, and concentrate on the job at hand.

  “Une toiletty merci?” She asked the woman behind the counter who was wielding a broom hoping her pitiful attempt at French would soften her austere features. Her hair was stretched tightly back and knotted into an unflattering bun. Kitty knew she had read somewhere that the French appreciate tourists making an attempt at speaking their language.

  “Non.” She didn’t stop in her sweeping shaking her head vigorously to emphasise her point.

  Not one single hair on the woman’s head had moved out of place during this exchange much to Kitty’s fascination. Her panic though, was making her feel nasty and she wanted to shout back at the women. “Oh go and eat some cake you skinny old cow.” But she didn’t fancy getting smacked with the broom so instead she bit back the retort, and hobbled out of the shop.

  Pierre was leaning against the car smoking, and Simone was still sitting in the passenger seat doing whatever it was she was doing on her iPad. It was no good Kitty thought, she had to go. There was no way she could be bounced around in the back of that car for the duration of the trip to Uzés even if it were only half an hour up the road. Her eyes strayed over to the scrub filled lot beside the patisserie, and she made her mind up. There was nothing else for it, she’d just have to hope she could find a particularly leafy dandy-lion to hide behind.

  Squatting down and knowing full well she was delusional if she thought she was hidden from view, the relief a split second later was immense. When she’d finally finished and done a little jiggle, she began the task of trying to pull her knickers and jeans back up without actually standing up. Her thigh muscles were getting the best work out of their lives she thought. The job was almost done when she registered an intense burning sensation in the right cheek of her bottom. As her hand automatically flew around to pat the spot she almost lost her balance. “Calm down Kitty,” she muttered, steadying herself. The sight of her rolling around on the ground with both her undergarments and jeans sailing at half-mast would not be a good one. Twisting her head back over her shoulder she was just in time to spy a self-satisfied wasp buzzing toward a little mound on the ground. It was only a short distance from where she was crouched. She realised with some dismay that she’d just squatted beside a wasp nest, been stung for her effort and that it bloody wel
l hurt!

  With one last herculean effort, Kitty eased her pants up over her stinging cheek. As she stood up and glanced back at the little mound, she saw a cluster of the wasp’s humming little buddies emerging. The bastard had told them lunch was served she thought, charging back across the lot toward the car. She ignored the woman in the patisserie window who was busy wagging a finger at her and shouted at Pierre to get back in the car. She couldn’t see his expression as he ground his cigarette out, so intent was she on reaching the sanctity of the back seat. It was with huge relief that a moment later she flung the door open and threw herself into the seat. She slammed the door shut before she could be swarmed.

  Simone turned to look at her and raising one eyebrow asked. “Better?”

  And so it was that thirty minutes later Kitty arrived in the beautiful, historic town of Uzés with a rapidly swelling derriere and a dwindling sense of pride.

  Chapter 8

  Marry a mountain girl and you marry the whole mountain – Irish Proverb

  “I am Christian Beauvau.” A man with an impressive head of silver hair swept back from his face and knotted at the nape of his neck in a low ponytail said. He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. Dark glasses covered his eyes and he was sporting a dodgy tan. It made his teeth that were bared in a wolfish smile appear almost neon in their Hollywood whiteness. His suit, Kitty noticed was white like Simone’s but unlike hers, his had a tell-tale red wine stain on the lapel. The stain’s culprit was in the half drunk wine glass on the table he had gotten up from. It stood next to a little dish filled with olives and an empty bowl of mussel shells. To her surprise, he placed his beringed hands on either side of her face and studied her for a moment before exclaiming. “Tue es tres belle! You are beautiful just like your maman. It is such a treat for me to feast my eyes upon Rosa’s daughter at last.” His breath smelt garlicky, but it wasn’t unpleasant she thought, as he released her face and waved for her to sit down in the empty seat opposite him.