скачать книгу бесплатно
With every fibre of her being telling her not to, she sat down again and watched warily as he sat down opposite her. “Thank you, I know you have every right to walk away. It’s just that it’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you so bloody much.”
Don’t say that! She picked up her glass taking a large swallow, not wanting to meet his gaze over its rim. To look anywhere other than at him, she put her glass down and fished around in her handbag for her phone. The French women had said she would confirm her travel arrangements within the hour and hoping for the distraction her call would bring, she placed her phone down on the table.
She caught Damien’s raised eyebrow and launched into her reasons for being back in the North and why this time tomorrow she would be in the small Provencal town of Uzés.
When she’d finished, Damien stared at her, his pint glass paused halfway to his mouth.
“That’s pretty much it in a nutshell.” It sounded mental saying it all out loud, and it was all down to her mother and her bloody secrets.
“Life’s never dull when you’re around Kitty, that’s for sure.”
She bit back the retort that it wasn’t exactly dull when he was around either, and for all the wrong reasons but he didn’t miss the look that flashed across her face.
“Believe me, I have had plenty of time to think about what I did, how I ruined everything.”
“Why did you do it?” she asked softly.
“I was scared.” He shrugged.
“Of what? I thought we were doing okay?” She was clutching the stem of her glass so tightly she was surprised it didn’t snap. It was a conversation she’d never expected to have.
“We were. We were better than okay; we were great. I wanted to marry you more than anything, and believe me I have thought about what went wrong. I’ve thought about nothing else, and the only explanation I can come up with is that I was frightened of making that final commitment and Leanne was my subconscious way of sabotaging our relationship.”
Kitty drained her glass, in her opinion, there wasn’t anything subconscious about shagging someone else, you either were or you weren’t, simple. “So you were a commitment-phobe, is that what you are trying to say?”
He had the grace to look sheepish. “It sounds stupid I know, but that’s what it boils down to. You know the crap Sam and I went through with our parents when they split up.”
She nodded, she had known his parents’ ugly divorce had left its scars, but then nobody got through life without accumulating baggage along the way, it was just the way of the world. She’d had to deal with her mother’s past being a closed book all her life. The scenarios she had conjured up to fill in the blanks had been endless. On top of that, she’d found herself orphaned at thirty-one years of age. So yes, she knew better than most that life sucked sometimes, but that didn’t mean you had to go around bonking someone behind your fiancée’s back.
Her phone shrilled, and she was grateful for the interruption, but her hand hovered over the phone not wanting to be rude. Damien leaned back into his chair and waved his hand toward it. “You’d better take it.”
The lads who were glued to the match let out a roar and Kitty frowned holding the phone up to her ear. “Can you wait just a moment, please?” she shouted into the mouthpiece before covering it and looking at Damien. “I’m just going to pop into the Ladies. I can’t hear a thing with that lot carrying on.”
Damien nodded, and she felt his eyes on her back like twin laser beams as she walked off. Closing the washroom door, she was grateful for a few moments to compose herself. “Sorry about that I’m in a pub, and it’s very noisy.” She peered into the smeared mirror at her flushed face and dishevelled hair and shook her head. God, she looked a mess.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Kitty, it is Simone Cazal, Monsieur Beauvau’s assistant calling you.”
“Hello, Miss Cazal.”
“It is Simone, please.”
“Er okay, then Simone.” Kitty turned away from her reflection and leaned against the sink. She listened as the woman told her that her tickets for a ten a.m. flight would be waiting for her to collect at the Lufthansa desk at Manchester Airport in the morning. She would be there to meet her upon her arrival in Marseille. Her return flight would be booked at the end of the photo shoot. If Kitty was happy to sign the contract upon her arrival and provide her bank account details the sum of five thousand euros would be deposited into her account. It would be a one-off, full and final payment for her participation in the photo shoot.
Kitty just about dropped her phone “Er pardon me, Simone, did you just say five thousand euros?”
“Yes, this amount is not up for negotiation – you are happy with it, oui?”
“Oui, yes thanks.”
Simone said goodbye, reiterating that she would meet Kitty at Marseille Airport in the morning. Kitty barely heard, she was reeling. All that money, just for posing for a picture! She wondered what this Christian Beauvau chap was being paid by Tres Belle if he could afford to pay her that amount. It was dawning on her ever so slowly that this print her mother had featured in all those years ago was indeed a big deal. She turned back to the mirror and smoothed her hair wishing she’d bought her handbag in with her so she could have at least run a comb through it and put a bit of lippy on. She sighed deeply, what an afternoon this was turning out to be. She needed another drink.
Making her way out of the bathroom, she saw that Damien, as though having read her mind, had purchased another glass of wine and a fresh beer sat in front of him. She sat down and took a big swig of her glass. “Oh, I needed that.”
Damien looked at her concerned. “Kitty, listen I was thinking, are you sure this photo thing is all legit? You know you read about this kind of thing in the papers, young women being lured overseas. You might get there and find yourself part of some French slavery ring.”
“I don’t know what papers you read, but it’s a very elaborate con if it isn’t legit, look.” She pulled the photo up on her phone, and Damien took it from her staring at the picture for a moment. “Gosh! Wow, that’s Rosa? Seeing her young like that’s so weird. She’s just like you if you were in the same outfit with a different hairstyle. I wonder if the bloke’s nephew looks anything like him.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know a thing about him.”
“It’s a bit of a creepy idea if you ask me. Do you know anything about the backstory around the photograph?”
“No, and that’s why I have to go. Simone, that’s the photographer’s assistant, just told me they are paying me a one-off fee of five thousand euros for agreeing to pose for the new photograph.”
Damien spluttered into his beer. “How much?”
She repeated herself and Damien morphed before her very eyes into the business mode that 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 (#ulink_e06a1b81-e47f-566a-b350-c1f05cc09e14)
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 reined 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 drinks 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 realized 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 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 breathe 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 somethings’ that had gravitated to the area. She’d stared out the window at all the restaurants they’d dined in. They passed by cafés 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.
Her 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’d put Adele on. It was their favourite CD, the one they’d always had sex to. She’d sunk into his open arms and raised her mouth to meet his as they began a slow, remembered dance.
The beeping alarm brought her back to the present, 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 and 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 fazed.
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 organized. I am starving,” she called back. Her casual banter belied 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 warpaint 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 wash her smalls by hand when she got to Uzés or she’d be in a bother.
Ready to face the day, she straightened up and prepared 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. Walking through to the small living area, she found him stationed at the hob of the open-plan kitchen with the frying pan 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 countertop towards 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 sensedéjà 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 realized 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 towards 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’d 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 them were 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 have 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.
Yasmin wasn’t buying it, though. “Kitty, I don’t need to be one of those FBI behavioural analyst’s like off the telly to tell that you are lying. It’s in the funny pitch of your voice.”
Kitty had never been a very good liar. 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 (#ulink_8d0aeec7-c290-57d3-a0ce-1aa0053cb8eb)
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 realized the little girl wasn’t a child after all. Rather, she was a tiny woman who looked 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.
