Читать книгу The Traveller’s Daughter - Michelle Vernal - Страница 14

“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, “Tu 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.

Thanking him for the effusive compliments, she sat down gingerly. She wished she’d had time to pick up some antihistamine cream. She’d spotted a pharmacy’s green cross blinking amongst the other shops on the shaded main road as they’d driven through the busy town. She hadn’t dared ask Simone to get Pierre to stop the car again, though, not after the wasp debacle and so had missed her chance. Instead, she’d sat with her nose pressed to the window and gazed at the crowded pavement cafés and pretty shop frontages sheltering beneath their red awnings. She’d tried to imagine her mother as a young girl wandering amongst them. All the while, she kept her hands tightly clasped as she resisted the urge to stick her hand down the back of her pants and scratch the sting. The sensation of which had recently moved from the burning pain phase into the intense itching stage.

Pierre had navigated his way expertly around the ring road surrounding the town before pulling in to park in the gravelled grounds of a Cathedral. Its spire, Kitty thought, resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa rearing up lopsidedly against the bright blue sky. As she got out and pushed the car door shut behind her, she spied an old woman sat on a cushion in the shade of the Cathedral’s grand entranceway. Kitty stared over at her with open curiosity. She was plump and swarthy with grey hair peeking out from under a headscarf. Her skirt was voluminous and black. It was bunched around a stout set of legs she’d crossed at the ankles. Kitty watched for a moment as a group clad in standard-issue cargo pants and comfortable walking shoes with cameras dangling from their necks – to reinforce the fact they were tourists – approached the entrance.

The Gypsy woman picked a bowl up from the ground next to where she was sitting and shook it at them. Kitty saw the spark of hope that had flared in her eyes at their approach die as they ignored her and disappeared inside the realms of the Cathedral. How very Christian of them, she thought, feeling a surge of anger. How dare they treat the poor woman as though she were invisible! She opened her handbag, rifling in it until she produced her purse. Unzipping it, she gazed at its contents in dismay. She’d not had time to change any money into Euro’s, and pound coins would be of no use to the Romany woman. She felt a tap on her shoulder; Pierre had gotten out of the car. She watched as he thrust his hand into his pants pocket to produce a few shiny coins that he held out for her.

“Merci.” Kitty grinned, getting it right this time.

He nodded and slid back behind the driver’s wheel beside Simone, who was finishing a phone call. Kitty strode over to where the woman was sitting and dropped the coins into her bowl; she was rewarded with a toothless grin. She smiled back at her and was about to turn away when something in the old woman’s nut brown eyes made her hesitate. She beckoned for Kitty to come down to her level. So, for the second time that day, Kitty found herself squatting down as she let her take hold of her hand.