The Traveller’s Daughter. Michelle Vernal

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 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 kinship 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 realized 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.”

      Jeez, 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 for? So French! That was it, Kitty thought, watching her in awe before tottering along after her. Not even her beloved Alexander McQueen wannabes 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 around 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, but I guess it was something along the lines of give me your bag way as he retrieved her case from her. He placed it in the trunk and closing the boot made his way around 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 bang her head. She smiled up at him. “Gracias.”

      A flicker of amusement 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 hundreds of 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 an 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 scenic route because there has been an accident on the motorway and the traffic it is very bad. It is most annoying 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. He won’t be happy.” As she turned away to make the call, Kitty heard her make more of the tut-tutting sounds. 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 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 arbour over the car were soft, almost as though they’d been brushed with silver. 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. Simone 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, Kitty 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 realized 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 was 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 СКАЧАТЬ