The Fortune Teller's Daughter

by Diane Wood

  * * *

  Sunday was spent listening to music, talking, laughingly playing Scrabble and Yahtzee and enjoying being together.

  When they made love, it was slow and sensuous and satisfying, but afterward, Nathalie became depressed. What if tomorrow she woke up to find it was all a dream?

  “You’re becoming my world,” Nat had whispered as their bodies moved against one another and their gentle affection turned to aching desire. “I can’t imagine my life without you.”

  “And you never will,” Alex had answered in short excited gasps while Nathalie probed and touched and stroked, turning desire into a desperate clinging need, destined to end in shuddering satisfaction.

  But the darkness stayed with Nathalie, causing her stomach to knot, her heart to ache and a terrible fear to invade her soul.

  * * *

  Dieter, the psychologist, couldn’t have been less like Nathalie expected. Instead of a chubby, wrinkled old gentleman in tweeds and spectacles, she found a slim, fit-looking man in his mid-forties who wore jeans and running shoes and a brightly colored vest over his denim shirt. His hair was short-cropped, almost military style, but he sported an earring in his left ear and wore a rope bracelet and wide homemade wedding band. His unlined, olive skin and clear blue eyes made him very attractive, and his smile would have melted an igloo.

  The office was inviting and comfortable, and they were seated in lounge chairs facing each other. Dieter spoke first, introducing himself and telling her that Alex had spoken to him but that they hadn’t discussed any issues relating to Nathalie’s visit. Nathalie believed him.

  “We’ll begin by talking about your life in general, what you do for a living, the lifestyle you enjoy…and your views on psychology,” he finished with a smile.

  Nathalie warmed to him immediately.

  “Then we’ll get straight into the hard part—ascertaining the problem and probing those issues in ways that will very likely be uncomfortable. In fact, for a while you may feel worse than you do now, and that means you are going to have to learn to trust me.”

  The hour and a half flashed by, and Nat left with mixed feelings. On the one hand, she was comfortable talking to Dieter and she believed she could come to trust him, but on the other they had only just touched on her issues and that protective voice inside her head was telling her that she should be careful what she told him—careful that she didn’t put them all in danger.

  It was a frustrating week at work, but the team had three days off over the weekend and Nathalie was looking forward to being at the center on Friday evening, followed by a whole weekend with Alex.

  On Saturday morning they bought groceries together. Later they planned to have coffee with Alex’s mother. It would be her first visit to her mother’s home.

  The answer machine was flashing when they arrived at Nat’s house, but she didn’t check it straight away, choosing to unpack the groceries first instead. Just as they finished, the phone rang again. It was Mother.

  “I rang earlier,” she accused coldly. “I want to see you, Nathalie. George and I will be waiting for you.”

  Stunned, Nathalie flared. “I’m sorry, but I’m busy this weekend. Monday would be the earliest I could get over, but I’d need to know what it was about.”

  “Too busy for your own mother?” she mused. “Now what could possibly be more important than your family? Oh yes,” she stated, answering her own question. “Perhaps your latest lover—a woman, I understand?”

  “That’s none of your business,” snapped Nathalie. “And George had no business telling you anything about my life.”

  “Actually, I already knew,” she gloated. “I know everything about you. Admittedly I didn’t know who this woman was, but you’re so wrong about it being none of my business. You see, George is convinced you really don’t know who she is. But I don’t believe that, and I’m not happy with you.”

  “What…what are you talking about?” stuttered Nathalie, scared by Mother’s intensity and confused by her words.

  “We shall expect you tomorrow, for lunch.” The phone went dead.

  “Not a good call?” asked Alex, as Nat slowly put the receiver back on the cradle.

  The knot in her stomach tightened painfully. “My mother,” she muttered eventually. “She wants to see me.”

  “Isn’t that good?” Alex asked, concerned at the fear reflected in Nathalie’s face.

  She couldn’t explain. All she could do was nod weakly, her mind spinning while a dark foreboding filled her. What did Mother mean about not knowing who Alex was? Nothing made sense, except her overwhelming urge to avoid seeing Mother at all cost.

  Chapter Eight

  The Awful Truth

  The house was small and neat and welcoming. The lounge flowed out through double doors onto a paved patio and rear garden. It was the home of a gardener, with beautifully tended flowerbeds and bushes and neatly cut grass. Nat knew immediately that Alex’s mother loved her home.

  “I thought we might have Devonshire tea on the patio so that we can enjoy the warmth,” her mother suggested, after welcoming them both with a kiss on the cheek. “I love the winter sun.”

  As they drank freshly brewed coffee and tucked into the lightest, most delicious scones, Nat complimented her on the food.

  “Thank you, Nathalie, but it’s not a chore. I love having time to spend in my garden and cooking up treats. Anyone who says they’re bored in retirement mustn’t have much imagination.”

  “What did you do when you worked, Mrs. Messner?” Nathalie asked, trying to imagine her in an office setting.

  “Oh, that brings back memories,” she laughed. “I haven’t been Mrs. Messner since Alex was a baby. Norma, please,” she insisted. “I remarried when Alex was tiny, but somehow we never got around to changing her name before my second husband died. We always thought we’d have plenty of time, and then life catches you out.” Her voice reflected deep sadness.

  After that they spoke about Norma’s work as a bank teller and her retirement and the retired builder from the neighborhood center she’d had been out with a couple of times. It was light, easy conversation, and Norma was welcoming and inclusive.

  It wasn’t until they were about to leave that Nathalie spotted the photo. Alex had gone to the bathroom, and Norma was hunting for some magazines she wanted to give Alex. That was when Nathalie started looking at the collection of photos arranged on the telephone table.

  It was between a wedding photo of Norma and a photo of Alex, and at first she didn’t notice it. When she did, she was struck by an overwhelming feeling of unreality, followed by nausea and the burning desire to turn and run.

  Looking out from an expensive gold frame was a picture of Christine Martin. It had been taken when she was about fourteen, and she was laughing and beautiful and innocent.

  Snatching at the photo, Nathalie stared in disbelief, trying desperately to make it be someone else—someone who just looked like Christine.

  “That was my beautiful daughter, Christine,” Norma said from beside her. “We lost her only a few years after that photo was taken. It was a long time ago, but sometimes it seems like yesterday. She’d have been thirty now.”

  It was impossible to speak or swallow or take her eyes from the photo, and all the time a voice in her head was screaming in denial, telling her that this was impossible, that the implications would be too horrific. Then they were saying goodbye and climbing into the car and she knew she was talking, sounding perfectly normal, but the real Nathalie was somewhere else—somewhere in hell.

  “Do you fancy a movie?” Alex asked as they drove back toward the city. “There’s a good one in about an hour.”

  But Nathalie hadn’t heard her. “What’s your mother’s surname?” she asked suddenly.

  “Martin,” replied Alex, concentrating on negotiating a right-hand turn. “Why?”

  Again she didn’t answer.

  Looking at her carefully, Alex said, “Nat, what’s wrong? Are you ok
ay? You look awful.”

  “Stop the car,” she gasped. “I’m going to be sick.”

  As the spasms wracked her body, her head spun and she kneeled on the grass verge clutching her stomach, unable to think a single coherent thought.

  “My God, Nat, you need a doctor,” said Alex, trying to support her lover, stunned by the sudden onset and violence of the illness.

  Then, as suddenly as the sickness started it stopped and the emotional pain began to clear, allowing her brain to regain rational thought. “I’m okay,” Nat said, wiping her mouth on the tissues Alex had given her. “It was just something I ate, I promise. I just need to go home.” She felt empty and cold and alone.

  “Sure,” said Alex anxiously. “But it might be an idea to at least get something from the chemist on the way.”

  “No.” It came out sharply and made Alex take a second look. But she said nothing and continued driving toward Nathalie’s apartment.

  By now Nathalie’s head was pounding, her throat was sore from vomiting and she desperately craved a place to hide. Glancing at Alex, she saw that she appeared worried and upset, but there was nothing she could say. When she found out the truth, and she eventually would, Nathalie didn’t want to imagine the look that would replace the warmth and love in this beautiful woman’s eyes.

  “I need to go to bed when I get home,” she said coolly. “So there’s no point in you coming in. There’s no point you wasting your day.”

  “I’m not going to leave you while you’re sick,” Alex replied with a laugh, thinking that Nathalie was joking. But seeing the hard lines of her face and the cold glint in her eyes, her heart sank.

  “I just want to sleep,” she said flatly. “And I don’t need you holding my hand to do that.”

  “I don’t understand!” Nat’s words were like a slap, and there was no getting her head around her sudden change of mood. “Have I done something to upset you? Did Mum say something?”

  “Neither,” she answered truthfully. “I don’t feel well and I just want some time to myself. I’m sorry, but I did tell you from the start that I need my space and that I’m hard to live with.”

  “Yes, you did,” replied Alex sadly. “And I’m sorry if I’ve moved too fast and made you feel pressured.”

  The silence that followed made Alex want to cry out. Made her want to grab Nathalie and force her to explain, but her training as a psychologist told her that if she backed off now and allowed Nat room, this coldness might only be temporary.

  “Ring me later?” she asked desperately as Nat climbed out of the car. “When you wake up—just to let me know that you’re okay.”

  Reaching back to touch Alex’s face for what she assumed would be the last time, Nathalie nodded and without speaking left the car.

  By the time she let herself into the apartment, the pain had taken over completely, causing her to sink to the carpet and curl into a ball—deep, heaving sobs crushing her chest and escaping her lips.

  Pulling over to the side of the road in the next street, Alex began to shake. She had no idea what had just happened, but she knew it was serious. If she didn’t know better, she’d suspect that Nathalie had a mental illness. That was how quickly her personality had changed. Everything had seemed okay until they got into the car. And no matter how hard she tried to understand, Alex couldn’t relate that change to anything that had happened. There’d been the phone call from Nathalie’s mother. She’d been a little quiet and distracted after that, yet she’d seemed fine at her mother’s.

  There was no point in going home. If she did that, Alex knew she’d end up returning within the hour. Instead she pulled out her mobile phone and dialed a number. A few minutes later she was back on the road.

  * * *

  The inner city house was small but luxurious and overlooked the water. Everything in it was classy and elegant and neat. She hadn’t explained anything on the phone, only asked to come over, and the response had been instantaneous. Now as she stood looking out from the patio she felt a little foolish. Perhaps she was overreacting. Perhaps Nathalie really was just too sick to see her, too sick to want company.

  “You look awful, girlfriend,” Michael said as he walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “What’s happened?”

  Turning and clinging to his strong, lean body, she lifted her head and said, “I think I’ve fucked up, Michael. I think I’ve fallen in love with someone who’s terrified of the idea.”

  “Nathalie!” he stated flatly, continuing to hold her. “Have a stiff drink and tell us all about it.”

  Taking a seat opposite the two men who sat at either end of the huge modern couch, Alex took a sip of her drink. For some reason it tasted sour.

  “I think I might have gone too quickly for her,” she said sadly, looking down into her drink.

  “So has she called it off?” asked James, dreading the answer. “Has she told you it’s finished?”

  Looking up with misty eyes, she replied, “Not exactly. But all the signs are there. It’s just something I know.”

  Neither man argued with her. It would have been insulting. They’d known her for years and it had been Alex and Lou they’d turned to when James had been diagnosed HIV positive. Later they’d become firm friends and they’d never known her intuition about people to be wrong.

  “Perhaps she’s just not good at accepting help when she’s sick,” said Michael a little lamely, after Alex had explained what happened. “She’s not exactly your run-of-the-mill girlfriend, is she?”

  “No, she’s not, but how do you know that? You only spoke to her for a few minutes at the party.”

  “Then I guess you’ll have to put it down to my intuition,” he said, regretting the comment.

  “Are you telling me you didn’t like Nathalie?” she asked quietly.

  “Not at all, my darling,” he said truthfully. It was their mutual past that was disturbing, not the woman herself. “But I didn’t get the impression that being in a relationship with her would be very straightforward,” he continued, glancing at James, who seemed to be looking at him strangely. “I just figured that if anyone could work it out, you could.”

  “Perhaps not,” she sighed. “It’s just that these last weeks have been wonderful and I really thought that she’d enjoyed them too. I don’t know what I did.”

  The tears were welling in her eyes again, and Michael could feel his anger rising. They’d watched Alex go through the trauma of losing her partner through death and they’d seen her rebuild her life again. And now they were being forced to watch another unhappiness subverting all that effort.

  “I’m being silly,” she said, trying to put on a brave face. “All that’s really happened is that she’s told me she didn’t want me to look after her while she was unwell. That’s not exactly a sad farewell. I’m probably making a mountain out of a molehill.”

  “That’s exactly what you’re doing,” replied James with an encouraging smile. Then, rising from his seat, “And you’re not going to be allowed to dwell on it. We were talking of going to the movies, so that’s exactly what we’re going to do, and then we’re going out for dinner.”

  “And if you’re very lucky, Ms. Messner,” Michael continued, “we’ll succeed in getting you so stoned or drunk that by tomorrow you won’t care if Nathalie’s having a shitty, so long as someone takes away your hangover.”

  * * *

  The apartment was dark by the time Nat got off the floor. Physically, she felt like she’d been hit by a truck. Emotionally she was drained and numb. Walking to the drink cabinet and pouring a bourbon, she threw it down her throat and refilled instantly. The flat seemed empty, bare and cold, and her mind told her that this is how it would remain.

  Slowly her mother’s words came back to her. “George is convinced you don’t know who she is,” she’d said during the phone call. So how did George know who Alex was? Presumably that was what Mother had meant? Or was it?

  Stripping off her clothes and leaving the
m where they lay, she turned the shower to cold and then to full and climbed in. The icy water felt like needles ripping into her skin, but the pain wasn’t enough to cleanse the disgust and guilt at what she and her family had done to Alex and her mother. Even the pain of losing Alex didn’t override her self-hatred, and she knew exactly what her punishment should be.

  * * *

  Two cars were in the driveway when she pulled up the next day, and as usual Belinda opened the door. She looked surprised to see Nat and unsure what to do, but by the time she’d thought about it, Nat was inside and heading for the lounge.

  Mother was at the dining table, her cards spread out in front of her. “So you decided to come, child,” she said coolly, glancing up. “The cards told me you would.”

  “Then the cards win again,” she retorted bitterly. “What do you want, Mother? I thought you didn’t want to see me again.”

  “Now you’re being silly, child,” the beautiful woman replied with a cold smile. “What mother doesn’t want to see her daughter? I was just a little angry at you last time, but I’m sure we can make things right.”

  “Where’s George?” she demanded. “I want to know what he told you about my personal life.”

  “You mean your sex life,” she retorted with a tilt of her head.

  “Where is he, Mother?”

  “You know, that job of yours really has turned you into an aggressive personality, Nathalie. You were raised to be a lover, not a fighter.” Standing up, she moved toward the phone and, picking it up, dialed a number. “George,” she said into the mouthpiece, “Your sister has decided to pay us a visit after all. I think perhaps you need to come home now.”

  Hanging up, she said, “He’s not far away. He was just trying on a new suit I’m buying him.”

  There was a rage burning inside her, a bitter hatred that she desperately wanted to direct toward her mother, but she couldn’t. Only cowards and those who couldn’t face the truth blamed others for their own failings. The hatred was all hers. She was who she was, and it was what she did that invariably caused others pain. That was why Mother couldn’t love her and it was why she had to return to the people who would at least tolerate her.