The Fortune Teller's Daughter

by Diane Wood

  “I must say, Nathalie,” said her mother, moving to one of the lounge chairs, “you always seem to be looking under the weather these days. Perhaps you need more vitamins…or perhaps an easier lifestyle?”

  Looking around the room, Nathalie compared this house to Alex’s home and that of Alex’s mother. This place was luxurious with all the right furniture, floor coverings and decoration, but it wasn’t warm or inviting. It wasn’t a home. The only part of the house that seemed anything more than a show home was the section the children stayed in.

  “Where are Jeremy and Samantha?” she asked, not sure if she hoped they were there or not.

  “Samantha’s at her grandmother’s and Jeremy is spending time with his mother again. If you ask me, George is being very stupid allowing so much contact. He could have a fight on his hands when he wants to leave the country.”

  “But I doubt that will stop you, will it, Mother?” she answered sarcastically.

  “Well, it never has in past, has it, my dear? You have to know by now that what Mother wants, Mother gets. But that’s not a bad thing for you and George because I love my children and I can be very generous, as you know.” Getting up to pour a drink for them both, she continued, “Then again, I can also get very mean when I’m crossed.”

  The conversation was making Nathalie’s skin crawl, but in a perverse way that was good. It was what she deserved. It was letting her know that this was where she belonged.

  Fifteen minutes later, George strode into the room, looking flushed and surprised. “I’m glad you came,” he said as he bent down to kiss Nathalie on the lips. “We were hoping you would.”

  “Sit down, son,” Mother demanded. “We have family business to discuss.”

  “And what business would that be, Mother,” she asked flatly. “My business?”

  “Nat, I—” began George, before Mother raised her hand, dismissing him.

  “Yes, Nathalie darling, your business. You see the problem is that I can’t help getting the feeling that you’re plotting against me…against us. So I had to insure against it.”

  “Because I didn’t want to participate in your sexual plans the last time I was here?”

  “No. Because you’re fucking the sister of Christine Martin, and because Christine Martin was an ungrateful little bitch who would have harmed this family if she could.”

  “What’s that got to do with her sister? And for that matter, how did you know Alex was Christine Martin’s sister? Because I didn’t.”

  “I met her once,” George answered, his face pale and tense. “We didn’t talk, but she came to the flat looking for Chris, and I was there. She demanded that Chris leave with her and go into rehab—said that their mother was worried out of her mind. It was about six months before Chris died. I think the sister was home from university. I knew Chris and the sister had met once or twice for meals, but nobody expected her to turn up on the doorstep. Anyway, Chris was off her face and told her to leave—told her that she didn’t want their straight, conservative lives and that she wanted to stay with us.”

  “So why didn’t Alex recognize you when you came to the house?”

  “It took me a while to remember where I’d seen her before, and she’d never spoken to me. She and Chris argued in the lounge and I stayed mostly in the kitchen, except for when I answered the door. But of course I was watching her through the door, so I was more likely to remember her.”

  “And you just had to tell Mother?”

  His face blanched, but he didn’t reply.

  “But you see my dilemma, Nathalie,” interjected Mother. “Here we have this woman who blames us for her sister’s death, who suddenly turns up in your life and seduces you into her bed. Then you lie to us about having some male partner named Josh. I already knew that was a lie, by the way. I’d had you followed. I just didn’t know who the female was that you were courting so lovingly. If you didn’t know who she was and if you weren’t part of some sordid plan to hurt us, why would you lie to us about who you were seeing? It’s not as if we’d disapprove if you chose to sleep with a woman.”

  “Josh was my partner five years ago, and he’s a good friend. I wasn’t sleeping with Alex when I told you that. I just wanted you to think I had someone.” It sounded pathetic and she was ashamed that she was even trying to explain. But if she wanted to return to them, then bridges had to be mended.

  The knock on the door made her jump and made her realize how tense she was. It was Belinda, asking everyone if they wanted coffee. Mother decided they did.

  “So are you trying to tell me that this woman—Christine Martin’s sister—hasn’t mentioned Christine to you once throughout this passionate affair?” Charlotte asked after the coffee had been delivered and served.

  The anger was a painful knot now, burning viciously in her stomach. Discussing Alex with Mother was going to kill her, but she had no choice. It was her punishment.

  “Alex told me she had a sister who’d died years ago,” she answered, trying to control her voice. “But I don’t remember her ever saying her name, and I had no reason to suspect anything because she doesn’t have the same surname.”

  “Which also applies to you, I suppose,” Charlotte mused. “If she knew George’s surname, she would assume all his family would carry the Silver name. That’s also possibly why she wouldn’t have been able to place George when he came to your flat. She probably assumed he was George Duncan, if, of course, you are to be believed.”

  “Christine’s mother knew my surname,” George volunteered. “She was the one who lodged the complaint to the police about Christine’s death. She even came to the flat once, just after Chris died, ranting and raving and crying, trying to blame us. I heard she had a breakdown after that.”

  Nat stumbled toward the bathroom, the nausea sweeping over her in waves. This was why she was here—Chris’s mother’s pain, Alex’s pain. If she hadn’t met Christine Martin at school, if she hadn’t let Mother convince her to seduce her…But she had. And she’d killed her lover’s sister and she had to pay.

  It took a while to stop dry retching. Her stomach had been emptied too many times today, and there was nothing left. Just as there was nothing left emotionally.

  George looked genuinely worried when she returned, but Mother looked triumphant.

  “Of course, I’m still not totally convinced that this woman didn’t come to you with a plan,” Mother said, staring her in the face. “Christine Martin would have destroyed us if she could. Why would her sister be any different? But you’re my daughter and I have to trust you. Of course we’d feel much happier if you moved back here for a while or at the very least stayed on your days off. And of course we assume you won’t be seeing the Martin bitch anymore.”

  The invitation had been made, the olive branch extended.

  “I want to do that, Mother,” she replied. “I want to be here with you and George, but I need to be at my flat for work, so I’ll stay on days off…if you’ll have me. And I’ve already stopped seeing Alex. She was fun in bed, but she meant nothing to me.”

  They talked briefly about the children and Nathalie’s work, and Mother did the Tarot endlessly, but it was tense and Nat felt ill. Then at ten o’clock, Mother indicated that she would like to retire. “I think we should celebrate Nathalie’s return,” she said to George. “I shall expect you in my room when you’ve had a chance to shower,” she added, addressing Nathalie. “And of course you too, George.”

  * * *

  The phone went unanswered all Sunday morning, the recorded voice inviting her to leave a message. It was the same when she tried the mobile. The first couple of times she spoke to the machine, but by lunchtime, Alex was getting desperate. The boys had done what they promised and kept her busy, but all she could think about was Nathalie—about what it was that had happened to so drastically change their relationship. It had only been a short time, and she knew that Nat had a lot in her life to sort out, but she’d believed Nat had come to love her, and she�
��d seemed happy and relaxed.

  The ache in her heart vied for precedence over the pain and terrible fear that gnawed at her stomach. It couldn’t be happening again. She couldn’t lose another person she loved—and certainly not without a reason. But her intellect told her that Nathalie had backed away, and the unanswered phone calls told her that she would not be back. Yet she couldn’t accept it.

  Grabbing her bag and keys, Alex left the house. She would force Nathalie to face her. Force her to reveal what had caused her sudden change of heart. She had a right to know.

  Nat’s apartment was in a small, but luxurious block with a security intercom system that remained unanswered when she pressed it. Waiting patiently for someone to arrive or leave, Alex finally made her entrance when an elderly gentleman came out.

  But Nathalie obviously wasn’t home. There were no sounds from the flat even before she began pounding on the door. By now Alex was beginning to feel stupid and worried. What if this was all in her mind? What if Nathalie really had been too ill to want her company and was lying in a hospital bed somewhere while Alex was concentrating on her hurt feelings. This time her concern turned to panic.

  Returning to the house, she phoned the local hospital, then two more within a reasonable distance. When Nathalie wasn’t there, Alex wasn’t sure if she was glad or not. How nice it would have been if there was a simple explanation.

  The boys phoned in the evening and Michael hated hearing the pain in Alex’s voice when she told him she’d heard nothing. At first, when he’d recognized Nathalie at the party, he’d believed that Alex didn’t need someone with Nat’s bad history in her life. He thought she deserved a lot better. But then over the weeks, he’d seen his friend come to life, watched as joy and laughter replaced the ever-present sadness in her eyes and listened to her speak of their relationship in a way that told him that Nathalie was making her happy.

  Alex had spoken of Nathalie’s nightmares and mentioned she and her family seemed to have some sort of unhappy history, but she’d been positive about it—the psychologist in her sure that in time Nathalie would sort it out. Michael wasn’t so sure, but he couldn’t say anything without risking his own past being known. Besides, he’d moved forward and so it would appear had Nathalie.

  On Monday, Alex took time that was owed from work. She hadn’t slept properly since Friday night and couldn’t bring herself to eat. A terrible sadness filled her, and she felt a lot like she had after losing Louise. Work would have been a distraction, but she couldn’t possibly concentrate on other people’s problems right now. She had to know what was happening and why. Until then she clung to the slimmest hope that there was a reasonable explanation for Nathalie’s lack of contact.

  * * *

  When Mother appeared at breakfast, she was buoyant, reliving the satisfaction she’d derived from asserting her authority over George and Nathalie the previous night—just as she had years ago. She’d particularly enjoyed exacting Nathalie’s humiliation—no less than she deserved for her disloyalty.

  George, on the other hand, appeared morose and depressed at breakfast, and this annoyed Mother. “What on earth are you sulking about?” she asked, before Nathalie arrived in the dining room. “I would have thought you’d be pleased your sister was back with the family.”

  “You didn’t have to hurt her so much,” he mumbled, rubbing his hands through his hair and avoiding her eyes. “She did what you wanted and came home.”

  “You disloyal little shit,” she snarled. “Don’t tell me my own son is plotting against me now? Your sister turned on us years ago by refusing to run the business with you, and now you defend her? She deserved to feel the pain of Mother’s wrath.”

  “Like she did when she was little?” he muttered miserably. “I remember what you used to do to her. She couldn’t have been any older than Samantha. What on earth could she have done to deserve that?”

  “She defied me and questioned me and made me angry. Just like you’re doing now,” she retorted viciously, her euphoric mood disappearing instantly. “She needed to be shown who was in charge; she needed to learn obedience. I was protecting us both. But I must say, George, while your stand on Nathalie’s behalf is very admirable, it’s a little late don’t you think?”

  When she appeared a few minutes later, Nathalie looked pale and tired and distant. Seating herself at the table, she didn’t even notice the tension between mother and son. Her body was tender and sore and her mind numb—and that was how she wanted it.

  “Do you have a key to the Martin woman’s house?” Mother asked suddenly at the end of breakfast.

  “Messner…her name is Alex Messner. Martin was her stepfather’s name.” Then seeing Mother’s glare, “No, I don’t have a key. Why?”

  But the woman didn’t answer and George gave her a look that said, “Don’t pursue it. You’re supposed to not care.”

  “I want your work and mobile phone numbers before you go home,” Charlotte demanded. “A mother likes to know where her daughter is at all hours of the day and night. After all, it can be dangerous out there—especially for a police officer.”

  It was a threat to remain in line and it was hardly veiled.

  Mother insisted she stay another night. She wanted to do Nathalie’s cards again and she wanted them to have a meal out together. “As a celebration of Nathalie’s return,” she triumphed.

  It didn’t come as a surprise, and Nat knew what to expect again that night.

  * * *

  The messages queued up on the answer machine when Nathalie finally got home sounded desperate, and they brought with them a wave of anguish. Erasing them anyway, she made her way to the bar. That was another life, another Nathalie. Alex had to be relegated to the past like everyone else she’d slept with during her lifetime. But she’d have to finish it properly, otherwise Alex would keep persisting, keep hoping. And that wasn’t fair. She’d do it this evening, so she could clear her mind for her job. It was the only thing she had left that didn’t belong to Mother.

  At four o’clock there was another phone call, and this time Nathalie answered it. The relief in Alex’s voice was obvious and made her wince.

  “Thank God,” Alex muttered, “I thought something might have happened to you.”

  “I was out,” she answered coolly. “You shouldn’t have worried.”

  “Are you all right? Have you been sick? Tell me what’s going on, Nat, please.”

  “I need to see you,” Nat stated, trying to sound businesslike. “We need to talk. I’ll come around now.”

  It sounded ominous, but this time Alex was prepared. Nathalie’s voice had lost its warmth—that wonderful timbre that lifted her spirits. It could have been the voice of a telephone salesperson.

  Just as the person standing at her door twenty minutes later, looking at her through flat, lifeless eyes, could have been someone she’d never met before.

  “Would you like a drink?” she offered nervously, when Nathalie stepped into the lounge room. “I think I need one…or four.”

  “No, thank you,” she replied politely. “I’m not staying.”

  “No, I didn’t think you would…be staying, that is.”

  “So you know why I’m here?” she asked, wanting desperately to reach out and take away Alex’s pain. But no matter how much pain she caused her now, it couldn’t compare to what Alex would feel if she found out that her lover had slept with and ultimately been responsible for the death of her sister. And no matter how sadly, bitterly or angrily Alex looked at her now, that wouldn’t compare to the expression she’d see in those eyes if she knew the truth.

  “I imagine it’s to tell me you don’t intend seeing me again,” she answered, her eyes defiant and tearful at the same time. “But I won’t accept that without a reason…an explanation.”

  “Don’t do this, Alex,” she begged. “It’s over. It just didn’t work out. I told you, I’m no good at relationships.”

  “Not good enough,” she stated angrily. “Not an
ywhere near good enough. Friday you make love to me, Saturday morning you’re warm and kind and loving. Then on Saturday afternoon you’re sick and suddenly you don’t want to be with me again. It doesn’t make sense. Are you ill? Is that it? Do you have some illness you don’t want me to know about? Tell me, I’m not a child.”

  “It’s nothing like that, I promise you—”

  “Then what?” she shouted angrily, slamming her drink down on the cabinet. “What have I done to make you like this?”

  “God, Alex, it’s not you,” she exclaimed gently, wanting to fall to her knees and have Alex hold her and never let her go. But all she could think of was the photo at Alex’s mother’s house and Norma’s face when she spoke of Christine and how it would be if Alex found out the truth. “The truth is,” she said, bracing herself, “I’m not comfortable having an affair with a woman, and I came to realize that the reason I feel this way is because I simply don’t love you.”

  Alex looked as if someone had stabbed her, but her shoulders remained straight and her head high. “Then you’re right,” she said quietly, after a moment’s silence. “There’s nowhere to go from there. I’m just sorry that you didn’t come to that conclusion sooner. It might have made it easier on both of us.” Walking to the door and opening it, she said, “I’d like you to leave now.”

  The need to vomit had returned, and Nat wasn’t sure if she could make it to the car, but she had to, had to walk straight and tall and convince this woman she didn’t care.

  Only when she got home and inside the door, did she let the emotions roll over her, and then she just sat in the chair, her head pounding, struggling with every ounce of energy not to set her emotions free. If she allowed that, she would never move again.