Chapter 29
29
LISA
‘Oh, how did you know I was coming?’ Jayden had let himself in and was sitting in the kitchen, eating the last of the pack of Sorrel’s strawberry yoghurts. ‘Wow, you look absolutely fabulous, Lisa.’ He whistled appreciatively, his eyes taking in the beautiful aubergine midi-dress and the brown suede boots Lisa’d managed to filch back from Robyn.
‘I didn’t,’ Lisa said. ‘Did you tell me? Message me? I don’t recall any such notifications, Jayden.’
‘Ooooh? What’s up with you ?’
‘I thought we’d agreed, last time you were here, that you weren’t just to turn up expecting me to drop everything. Expecting me to welcome you into my house and my bed.’
‘I think you’ll find it’s my house, Lisa.’ Jayden laughed without rancour. ‘Me who has paid the mortgage all these years.’
‘And me who’s brought up your three daughters. Alone. Brought them up by hand.’ Lisa felt no anger, just slight irritation that the man had turned up once again just as she was going out on her first date for over thirty years.
‘Of course. And a fabulous job you’ve done too. You know you and the girls are my life. Even Sorrel appears to have turned a corner. Come on, Lisa…’ Jayden flashed the seductive smile she’d always fallen for, the one she could never resist. Until now. ‘I’m here to take you all out for Sorrel’s birthday.’
‘That’s next week.’
‘ I know that. Thought we could have an early birthday celebration.’
‘Well, you’ll have to celebrate without me. And, if you want a bed for the night, I suggest you try Robyn down in the village, as I can’t see Jess putting you up again.’
‘Robyn’s in the village? With Wotsisname? The lawyer?’
‘He’s called Fabian, and he’s a barrister. And yes, they’re renting a place together.’
‘Serious, then.’
‘Of course it’s serious.’ Lisa tutted, irritation mounting.
‘Where’s Sorrel?’
‘At school, where do you think? And, as far as I know, she’s practising for the Susan Yates audition before going round to Jess’s for tea.’
‘I thought the audition was this week. I sent her a good luck message.’
‘Good, that’s what dads do.’
‘Why hasn’t she had the audition?’ Jayden finished the yoghurt, flinging the carton expertly into the open bin.
‘She’s been a bit off,’ Lisa lied. ‘Covid. The theatre school’s been very good at rearranging the audition.’ She didn’t want Jayden suddenly becoming the righteous, heavy-handed father, blaming Lisa for the mess Sorrel had got herself into. She, Jess and Robyn had dealt with the situation. Well, one particular aspect of it. She knew Sorrel was still in contact with that Joel Sinclair.
When she heard a car on the drive, Lisa’s heart skipped a beat and she felt her face grow pink. The last thing she wanted was Kamran Sattar coming face to face with Jayden.
‘That’s my lift,’ she said, heading for the door. ‘If you want to see Jess, Sorrel and Lola, I suggest you wait here until they’re back from work and school. Then, maybe, as long as it’s OK with Robyn, you pop down there to be with your other girl?’
‘But, Lisa, you’re my girl.’ Jayden tried once again with the seductive smile.
‘Oh, grow up, Jayden,’ she eventually snapped, worried that Kamran would be out of the car and on her doorstep. ‘I’m a grown woman. Make sure you turn the lights out and lock up once you go.’
‘But where are you going?’ Jayden’s voice was plaintive.
‘Paris,’ Lisa said with some degree of triumph. ‘Paris, Jayden.’
* * *
‘You know, I’ve only flown a couple of times before,’ Lisa said as Kamran put the car into gear and headed for the small private airfield just five miles out of the village.
‘Oh?’ Kamran smiled across at her.
‘Any travelling I used to do with my ex-partner was on the road in a huge Transit van. Or on the ferry from Hull to Zeebrugge or from Dover across to Calais. The thing is, I’m a bit nervous of this plane of yours.’ Lisa was beginning to feel totally sick with nerves.
‘Don’t be, really. I’m honestly not a bad pilot.’ He grinned. ‘And, before I joined the family firm, I was a pilot with BA.’
‘Oh, really? Oh, well, if you were able to take a great big jumbo across to Australia…’ Lisa glanced across at Kamran for confirmation ‘…then a little two-seater across to Paris must be chicken feed for you?’
‘Well, they are very different.’ Kamran’s hands, on the steering wheel of the Evoque, were strong, dependable, in control and Lisa began to relax. ‘And actually, the plane we have at the moment is a four-seater.’
‘So, I’m assuming we’ll be strapped into some sort of parachute? You know, just in case?’
‘Er, ’fraid not.’ Kamran smiled.
‘No?’ Lisa exhaled. ‘Lola said there would be.’
‘Lola?’
‘My ten-year-old granddaughter.’
‘If it makes you feel any better, the plane itself does have a sort of parachute.’
‘Really? Goodness.’ That did make her feel – marginally – better. ‘How long’s the flight?’
‘If we can get a good take-off slot, we should be able to land at Orly airport before 6p.m. and then it’s just 25K or so in le taxi to Montmartre. A lovely meal at the restaurant and then I’ll have you safely back on English soil in the early hours. We’re lucky, it’s perfect flying weather – it’s not often we can get up in January.’
‘So, what happens if the weather suddenly changes and we’re buffeted about on clouds?’ Lisa hugged the car’s seat belt. ‘Or it starts snowing…’
‘It’s cold and clear – but not so cold that the wings will ice up and drop off.’
‘Oh, thanks for that.’ Lisa wished she were back on the sofa with Roger Rabbit, watching a catch-up of Coronation Street .
‘I’m sorry, that was just me teasing.’ Kamran smiled across at her. ‘I promise you, Lisa, I wouldn’t be setting off myself if I thought there was any danger. Really. Just relax.’
Twenty minutes later they’d parked the car, walked over to a rather snazzy little plane ( ‘a Cirrus SR 22T’ , Lisa would later report back to the girls) and Kamran was doing the checks in preparation for take-off.
* * *
‘You OK?’ Kamran executed what, even with her eyes closed in terror, Lisa could tell was a perfectly smooth take-off from the tiny airfield. Nothing like the smaller version of the tarmac runway at Manchester airport she’d been expecting. The order from the disembodied woman instructing: ‘Pull up, pull up, terrain, terrain’ had her actually clutching onto Kamran’s arm, but he simply smiled, saying, ‘Sorry, should have warned you she always says that,’ before patting her arm in response. She opened one eye. ‘I need to concentrate,’ he said, ‘so just plug yourself into some music—’ he handed over headphones ‘—and enjoy the flight. Once we get to the restaurant, I want to find out everything about you, Lisa.’
He smiled again and Lisa had a sudden need to lean over and touch his face; trace the contour of his cheek, his mouth. She sat on her hands and as he turned back to the wheel – joystick thingy? – Lisa turned slightly in his direction. From under not fully closed eyes, she took in the rest of the man: tall, but not excessively so, slim, toned (from exercise in whatever form with the pink-leotarded beauty at the gym?) and really quite stunning.
Did finding out about her mean he was interested in her? Or was this a ruse to find out what Fabian’s plans were for the white house?
‘When does the duty free come round?’ Lisa smiled weakly. ‘I’m out of gin at home.’
* * *
Two hours later, and after an experience she’d now decided she’d be happy to repeat on the return journey, Lisa felt her ears pop as Kamran made his descent onto the private tarmac at Orly airport. Fifteen minutes later, they’d made their way through Customs and were in le taxi .
Heading into Montmartre, it soon became obvious to Lisa that Kamran knew the area well and loved the place, waxing lyrical about the buildings and restaurants but particularly its artists. ‘It became a place of refuge for artists such as Van Gogh, Picasso and Dali,’ he explained. ‘And nowadays, the Bohemian neighbourhood is one of the most-visited areas in Paris and home to some of the best restaurants in the capital.’
‘You’re obviously knowledgeable about both art and food.’ Lisa smiled, staring out at the early evening night life.
‘I love both. And Montmartre is one of my favourite places in the whole world.’ He pointed a finger. ‘The Chevalier de la Barre, and the Sacré-Coeur. The Square Nadar offers a great resting place after climbing up those hundreds of steps… and a great view of the Eiffel Tower. There you go, just visible now, see? We couldn’t have picked a better evening.’
‘So, whose restaurant is it we’re going to? In Montmartre?’ Lisa turned back from the window where she’d been taking in the famous landmarks.
‘My cousin Khadija’s. She’s married to a Parisian; lived here for years. It’s their second place: this one is French Asian fusion, reflecting both their heritages… Hang on, we’re here, I think. Yes, this is it.’
There were a good twenty minutes of welcome: introductions all round and handshaking as well as Gallic kissing on both cheeks followed by a tour of the restaurant and the kitchens. Here, many chefs, all dressed in black, heads down and working shoulder to shoulder, were fully occupied with food preparation.
‘I’ve seated you here, Kamran.’ Khadija smiled, leading them back into the restaurant itself. ‘Best table in the house. We need to show you what we can do if Zain is going to have any chance with you back in Yorkshire.’
‘Who’s Zain?’ Lisa asked, once Khadija had moved off to welcome more guests.
‘Khadija’s son,’ Kamran said, but didn’t expand further. ‘Right, glass of champagne?’ he asked. ‘I’m afraid I can’t join you.’
‘Religious reasons?’ Lisa murmured, immediately wondering if it was a polite question to ask someone she’d only just met.
He smiled. ‘No, not at all. I’ve a big bird to get back over the Channel in a few hours. You?’
‘Me what?’ Lisa wasn’t quite sure what he was asking. ‘Would I like champagne?’
‘Well, yes, but I didn’t know if your religion might frown on alcohol. I think maybe you and I have a similar heritage?’
‘I’ve no religious beliefs,’ Lisa said. ‘I had the Bible thrust down my throat at every opportunity when I was a child. It kind of puts you off any religion.’ She hesitated and then bowled straight in, unable not to. ‘The thing is, I’ve just found out my mum – my birth mother – was English. I don’t know any more than that. My father, I believe, was from India.’
‘Similar, then. My mum’s born and bred Yorkshire; her family go back generations in the north, but my father’s family originated from the Mirpur area of Pakistan.’ Kamran paused. ‘What do you mean you’ve only just found out about your mum? And you seem uncertain about your father?’
‘Long story and tonight, I don’t think, is the time for discussion.’ Lisa found tears welling.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve upset you.’ Kamran paused, indicating to the hovering waiter the glass of bubbly was for Lisa, which she sipped at gratefully, concentrating on the menu that had been placed in front of her. She hadn’t realised all this churning up of her history, of her background, was making her feel so emotionally drained.
‘The thing is, Kamran, I don’t know who I am. It’s probably why I insisted on staying with my ex for so long. At least with him, I had an identity – I was Jayden’s partner.’
‘Jayden Allen, the reggae artist?’
‘You know?’
‘Yes, someone told me.’
‘Right.’
‘Sorry, I just wanted to find out more about you.’
‘And you?’ Lisa asked, finding herself grow pink at the compliment. ‘Are you married?’
‘Not any more. Clare and I split up a few years ago. We have a very amicable relationship now.’
‘Children?’
‘Georgia has just finished at Newcastle; Sophie is in her first year at uni in Warwick and Sammy – Samar – is still away at school.’
‘And the pink leotard?’
‘Sorry?’
‘The personal trainer at the gym.’
‘Just that – a personal trainer.’ Kamran smiled. ‘I’m old enough to be her father.’
Lisa grinned at that. ‘And?’
‘And what?’ Kamran laughed, hesitated and then said, ‘Lisa, I’m not in the market for running after young women in pink leotards. I’ve been single now for several years and, although I found it very difficult at first to admit that I’d messed up my own marriage…’
‘You had an affair?’
‘No, not at all.’ Kamran frowned. ‘You seem determined to portray me as some sort of womanising Lothario, Lisa.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Maybe, Lisa thought, she assumed all men were tarred with the same brush as Jayden? ‘But you just said you messed up your marriage?’
‘I was too much in love with my work, constantly missing social occasions my wife had arranged, often working until the early hours; flying back early from family holidays. Determined that Frozen should be up there with Iceland and the other competitors.’
‘In love with your fish fingers?’ Lisa smiled.
‘And our Black Forest gateau and lemon meringue. If you’ve not tried them, you should. Even though I say it myself, they wouldn’t be out of place in a restaurant like this…’ He trailed off as the young waiter arrived back at their table.
‘Bonsoir, monsieur, madame, que souhaitez-vous en entrée?’
The next few minutes were spent in discussion over the menu, Kamran conversing in perfect French. While Lisa herself hadn’t used the language much since schooldays – apart from in Calais many years ago when the exhaust had fallen off the Transit van – she was pleased that she was able to follow what was being said.
‘Asian traditional dishes but adapted with French gastronomy focusing on refining classic flavours,’ Kamran explained. ‘Really exciting stuff.’
Whether it was thanks to the champagne combined with the delicious food – raviolis croustillant crevettes with a sweet and spicy sauce that was placed theatrically in front of them – or Kamran’s apparent genuine interest in her, Lisa began to relax, talk, telling this man just about everything in her life.
‘Gosh,’ she eventually apologised. ‘I’m so sorry, talking so much about myself. That was a bit like This Is Your Life . It was one programme Karen allowed herself to watch. I think she had a thing about Michael Aspel.’
‘Didn’t all mothers?’ Kamran laughed and then took hold of her hand, stroking the wonderfully sensitive spot between finger and thumb until Lisa found herself leaning in to him. ‘Lisa, you must find out about your birth parents. You might have a whole family in India you’ve not met. Mumbai? Delhi? Jaipur?’
‘I’ve really no idea. It’s only this week I’ve found out that it wasn’t my mum who was Indian; that she wasn’t taken out in an honour killing as Karen always used to tell me.’
‘Why on earth did she tell you that if it wasn’t true?’ He frowned. ‘Lisa, you need counselling: I’m a big believer in it.’
‘No, I don’t.’ She laughed. ‘I just need lovely evenings like this and champagne to loosen my tongue and make me talk. This is as good as counselling.’
‘You know, we have met before.’ Kamran drained his glass of water.
‘Oh? I’m sorry, I don’t…’
‘Clare, my wife, came into the little gift shop where you were working a few years ago. I was waiting outside, impatient as always to be off, and eventually I came in to find her and hurry her along. The shop was busy but you were calm, smiling. I know this is utterly stupid, but I felt a connection with you…’ He trailed off, obviously embarrassed.
‘Really? I’m sorry, I don’t remember.’
‘You wouldn’t. You were being so lovely, laughing along with a customer about something. I stood by the door and watched, just taking in everything about you. You were utterly beautiful and I couldn’t get the picture of you out of my head. I actually came back into the shop a few weeks later. I couldn’t not. You weren’t there.’
‘I was probably ill.’ Lisa felt her happiness at being with Kamran begin to evaporate. What right did she have to be flirting and smiling with this gorgeous man when the reality was that she could have another attack of the bloody awful porphyria at any time? That would soon put him off this connection he was apparently feeling. Needing – wanting – only to have a wonderful evening with this heavenly man without the spectre of her condition coming between them, she attempted to change the subject.
‘So, Kamran, are you still going ahead with the plan to knock down Hudson House?’
‘Knock it down?’ Kamran frowned. ‘There was never any intention to knock it down.’
‘Oh!’ For a few seconds, Lisa couldn’t think what to say. ‘Why did you go along with it, then, when I was ranting on at you about turning the oldies out?’
‘We – I – do want to find new homes for the residents. I don’t think that will be too difficult, and we certainly wouldn’t do anything until new homes had been found for them all.’
‘Not difficult?’ Lisa finished her glass of champagne. ‘Not difficult? Of course , it’s difficult to move on, to move into new care facilities, to even find care homes with space.’
‘I accept that, but you know, Lisa, care homes close all the time, some go under…’
‘So, if you’re not going to knock it down, what are you going to do with it? You’re not moving your factory into it, are you?’
‘No, of course not.’ Kamran laughed at the very idea. ‘Hudson House is far too beautiful a house, and in far too beautiful a position, to even think about knocking it down. It’s listed anyway – grade two, I believe.’
‘So what? You’re going to renovate it and live there yourself?’
‘Well, I did think about that. Although, as a single bloke, living by myself, it would be far too big. I’d rattle around playing Lord of the Manor like some saddo.’ He laughed again. ‘I’ve talked to my three kids about living there, but they were all dead set against it. And, by the time I’d taken it back to being a family home, the kids would have fully flown the nest.’ He paused. ‘It’s so interesting, Lisa, I’ve been doing a lot of research about my family – the Sattars – and the Hudson family, who originally built the house. There’s a connection, Lisa.’ Kamran’s face was animated.
‘A connection?’ Lisa frowned. ‘What sort of connection? Oh, you mean your family was employed at Hudson’s Textile Mill?’
‘Well, yes.’ Kamran stared. ‘How did you know that?’
‘I didn’t.’ Lisa smiled. ‘I just remember Jess saying something about the large number of workers who came from the Mirpur area of Pakistan to West Yorkshire after partition. You know, invited here to work in all the mills? I assumed Hudson’s was no different. You do know one of the Hudson family is a resident at the home at the moment?’
‘No! No, I didn’t know.’ Kamran put down his glass of water and stared.
‘Mrs Howard.’
Kamran shook his head. ‘Means nothing.’
‘Why would it? I wouldn’t have thought she’d ever have had anything to do with her family’s mill workers.’ Lisa laughed. ‘She’s very upmarket.’
‘And you’re saying I’m not?’ Kamran grinned, shooting the cuff of his expensive shirt as if to prove a point.
‘You know exactly what I’m saying.’ Lisa smiled. ‘Eloise Howard looks like Grace Kelly. Tall, beautiful and very posh.’
‘Eloise?’ Kamran stared.
‘Yes. Eloise. Eloise Howard. She was Eloise Hudson. Lived at Hudson House as a child, apparently.’
‘Well, well, well.’ Kamran sat back in his chair. ‘Well—’ he gave a bark of laughter ‘—who’d have guessed?’
‘Guessed?’
‘Nothing, nothing.’ He shook his head, obviously lost in thought.
‘It’s clearly something,’ Lisa said encouragingly, but Kamran shook his head.
‘Just some family business that wouldn’t interest you.’ He smiled then, taking her hand, before saying, ‘Listen, I thought you and Jess realised.’
‘Realised? Realised what?’
Kamran smiled again, obviously willing Lisa to understand his intentions for the care home. ‘I’m planning on turning Hudson House into a fabulous restaurant.’