Girls Who Travel (18 page)

38

W
HEN
THE
DOORBELL
rang, both Mina and I looked at each other with brave faces.

I had scheduled the playdate through Peaches' au pair. I knew I had to move fast, so we planned to have Peaches come over right after Mina's Mandarin lesson the following night. (I know, don't get me started.)

I reached for the doorknob.

“Hey, Peaches,” Mina said like the good sport she promised me she'd be.

I waved hello to Peaches. Next to her stood a girl around my age. “Oh, hey, are you Peaches' au pair?”

The girl crumbled her features together. “Oh God no,” she trilled. She quickly added, “No offense intended, of course. It's just that I'm Peaches'
sister
. Chantelle Benson-Westwood, lovely to meet you. I thought I'd pop over for a little chat.”

Both Peaches and Chantelle pranced their way into the foyer without waiting for an invitation.

Peaches looped a strand of hair around her finger, looking bored—you could tell her parents made her come. Chantelle inventoried the room. She had the same English-rose complexion and that whole dark-hair-and-green-eyes combo as her sister, which made them look witchy and tubercular.

“I'm Kika,” I announced with a charmed smile. I promised Mina (and myself) that I would play nicely.

“I'll let you get the girls sorted and then I'll take some tea.” Chantelle dumped her coat on a decorative armchair in the foyer (located directly next to a coatrack) and swanned waifishly into the sitting room.

So if Peaches was the junior bitch, this must be the senior one
, I thought to myself with an inner eye roll.

I trailed Mina and Peaches down the hall.

Peaches eyed me suspiciously. “You're the terrible lady who shouted at us.”

“Guilty,” I said with a psychotic smile frozen on my face.
Shit, she remembers me.

“So you're the nanny, then?”

“I'm Mina's
sister's
nanny,” I lied. “Mina and I are just good friends.” Mina looked pleased at this.

“I see. I'd like a glass of orange juice now,” said the demanding mini-monster. “Fresh squeezed.” She had already mastered that face of professional champagne-coolness that expensive restaurant hostesses give you when you ask to use the bathroom in your grubby backpacker gear.

“I'll get it,” said Mina sportingly.

“No. Make her. I'll want to see your room now, won't I? I'd like to see your American clothing.”

“You guys go on. I'll set up some snacks,” I said in an upbeat fashion. I knew what the junior bitch was playing at, and I would not let her get to me. There was still a real chance that she and Mina could become friends.

After setting up some snacks for the girls, I shelved my bitch face and grabbed two iced teas from the fridge knowing perfectly well it was not what Chantelle wanted. I joined her in the sitting room.

When I entered, Chantelle immediately started prattling on: “When Mummy said Peaches was coming over here for a playdate, I just said to myself, I must stop by and see Aston. Aston Hyde Bettencourt, just next door? We're quite good friends, you know. Since primary school, really, though I went to Harrington Gardens—same as Peaches and Willamina.”

“Oh, cool.” I picked a bit of lint off my sweater. I gave her a faraway smile and wondered how long she planned on staying. Celestynka would be over soon. Things were going well with her English lessons. (I recently taught her what “crunching numbers” meant.) And today we were going to do some mock interviews, and she had some questions for me about the budget she was making for my website.

I handed Chantelle the iced tea, but she held it away from her person with two fingers. I took an unladylike guzzle of mine and flopped my jean-clad legs inelegantly over the side of the stuffy armchair.

“He is an absolute delight. Isn't he?”

“Who?”

“Aston Hyde Bettencourt! You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have you?” she tsk-tsked in a cutesy voice.

“No, I was. Sorry.” I actually hadn't been. “You were talking about Aston.”

I was relieved not to have run into Aston since our night at the Arts Club. And I did my best to keep it that way. The hot water wasn't working in my room, and since Aston was in effect our landlord, Elsbeth told me to call him to have it sorted. But I wouldn't. Cold showers weren't so bad; they were sort of invigorating first thing in the morning.

I wanted to keep my mind on Lochlon and only Lochlon. Plus, I was going straight on our “no technology” vacation once Lochlon left. I hoped that enough distance and time would make everything normal again between Aston and me . . . whatever “normal” meant.

Chantelle made a stifled, contrived sound from the back of her throat.

“So you and Aston are friends, then? I'm certain I saw you speaking with him at the Wolseley party. That was you, wasn't it?”

“Oh yeah. You were there?” I asked, peering out the window in distraction.
Where is Celestynka?

Chantelle looked affronted. “I'd be mad to miss it. It was marvelous fun.”

“Yeah. Marvelous.”
Who speaks like that?

“Yes, yes, wasn't it? So are you all sorted in London? Do you have many friends here?”

Happy she changed the topic, I made an effort to be friendlier. After all, I had just heard a burst of singsong giggles coming from Mina's room. If she could play nice, so could I.
“London is really great. And no, I don't have many friends here, but it's cool. I make friends quickly.”

She gave me a rapid-fire once-over in a single blink, which I didn't miss. “Have you been to Shoreditch yet? I'm a member of Shoreditch House, so I could take you one day, I suppose.” She draped her arm over the back of the couch and reclined.

“One day,” I said, knowing that it was an empty invite.

“But you're very naturally pretty,” she said as a sort of pesky afterthought. “I'm sure you
do
make friends quickly.”

“Um, thanks.” I was unsure if etiquette required me to return the compliment. I wasn't sure it was a compliment.

Just then, we both looked toward the foyer at the sound of jingling keys. I felt a draft hurry into the room like a late guest.

“Celestynka,” I called out, thrilled with the disruption.

Celestynka tip-tapped down the hallway and entered the sitting room. “Good evening, Kika,” she said before noticing that I wasn't alone. “Oh, hello.” She nodded to Chantelle.

Chantelle immediately looked Celestynka up and down in an undisguised evaluation.

Celestynka noticed and tugged her faux animal print coat tightly around herself. I made the introductions, but Celestynka quickly excused herself to go to work, the cheer gone from her face.

“She cleans the house dressed like
that
?” Chantelle asked loud enough for Celestynka to hear in the kitchen. She started cackling and covered her mouth.

“Don't be ridiculous.” I shook my head. “She takes off her high heels first,” I said in Celestynka's defense.

Chantelle bowled over. “Oh, come now, Kiki, she rather
does look like a stripper tragedy. She was wearing silver trousers!” She made no effort to lower her voice.

I didn't bother correcting her about my name. I stood. “You need to go now, Chantelle.”
How dare she make fun of Celestynka?

“I'm sure Aston will just be over the moon to see you,” I said with overdone sweetness, beckoning her out of the house.

“Oh, come now, I was just having a bit of a laugh. She seems rather sweet. I'm sure she is an excellent scrubber,” she said, dissolving into another eruption of self-satisfied giggles.

I desperately wanted to run my mouth at her, but thoughts of Mina stopped me. “Why don't you go over to Aston's and I'll call you when the girls are done playing?” I walked into the foyer and swung the front door inward on its hinges.

Chantelle composed herself and stroked down her hair, which was still magazine perfect. “Right. Well, Aston will try and keep me there
forever
, so do ring when you need me. Lovely meeting you,” she said with well-bred, forged enthusiasm.

I slammed the door behind her and watched through the window as she went next door. When Aston opened his door, they clasped their arms around each other like best friends forever. My breath fogged up the cold glass, and I yanked the curtains closed.

39

“S
O
,
HAVE
YOU
had a bit of time to read the pages I've sent you?”

I got up from my velvet chair and looked out the window. It was way past midnight, and it felt as if the rest of the world was in bed. Unpredicted early-spring flurries twirled in the glow of the streetlamps, cocooning the South Kensington streets in a silver-white silence. This cold spell would freeze the overeager crocuses and daffodils that were starting to peek out.

“Aren't you needy? I told you in the email that I loved those pages. Are you fishing for more compliments, Lochlon?” I rubbed my hands over my skin, soothing down the goose bumps.

“'Course. It gets me hot and bothered when you tell me you like my writing. Go on, then.”

Lochlon sent me snippets of stories he wrote while we were traveling together. He was writing his own version of
The Sun Also Rises
meets
The Rum Diary
(read: a book about traveling while drunk).

Unfortunately, he hadn't written since getting home to Ireland, but he promised me that he'd start again soon. “As soon as I get back on the road. I can't write here. No inspiration in Ireland,” he'd like to tell me.

“I wrote that bit when we were in India. Got some brilliant work done there. Do you remember how lovely it was?”

“I think about it all the time,” I said truthfully.

“And I.” Lochlon made an irresistible smirking sound. “I still go mad thinking about you in that bikini. By the end of that trip, it was so worn that it was just falling off you.” Lochlon was horny. That made two of us.

“So has everyone gone to bed over there?” I questioned.

“That's right, I'm just here all on me lonesome. Why so?”

“Just curious. It's snowing here. Well, flurries, really, but it's the first time I've seen snow here. It's very romantic.” A passing car beamed fast-moving, buttery shadows over the blackened room.

“I wish I were there with you,” he said quietly.

I sighed. “I have a fireplace in my room. We could make a fire and snuggle under the covers and watch the snow.”

“You know if I were under the sheets with you, I'd not be watching the snow.”

“So,” I started overly innocently, “what would you be doing?” I was well aware of what I was starting. But I missed him. And I needed a way to keep my mind from wandering.

“Your clothes would be gone. That'd be the first thing.”

“But wouldn't I be cold?” I teased the skin of my inner forearm with my fingertips.

“I'd keep you warm,” he rumbled softly into the phone.

“Would you, now?”

“'Course I would. Now you got me thinking about you naked. Look what you've done.”

“What have I done?” I naively asked.

But I just heard ragged breathing in my ear. “You're going to get it if you keep going on like this. God, is it Saturday yet?”

“I know. I can't stop thinking about seeing you again,” I told him. I paced around the room. I was desperate to feel him again. The need ached inside me since India; it was like a broken bone that hadn't healed properly. I never told Lochlon that I hadn't been with anyone since him.

“Lochlon?”

I wanted to ask him if he had been with anyone, but then I stopped myself. We said in India that there was no point in discussing exclusivity. Still, I wondered . . . I
hoped
that he hadn't been with anyone else, even though I didn't really have the right to ask that of him.

“Yes, Kika?” he asked. I could tell by his slowed breathing that he was lying down flat on his back.

“I'm going to go to bed,” I said.

“Are you sure? All right. Wish I could kiss you good night, at least.”

“You can in a few days,” I promised, confident that everything would fall into place soon.