The Merchant's Daughter by M J Lee

Author:M J Lee [Lee, M J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-25T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter TWENTY-Six

Tuesday, August 20, 2019

Manchester

Jayne drove into the city centre along the A56, heading towards Deansgate where she could pick Rachel up from her hotel.

She had stayed awake since earlier that morning, fortified by coffee, the inanities of early morning radio and baking some bread. It was time to relax a little and let her subconscious mind think about Rachel’s problem. There was a wonderful release in kneading the dough for the bread. She found it tactile and tiring, just what she needed. But inevitably, questions flooded her mind.

Where had Rachel’s Ghanaian ancestry come from?

Which ancestor was it?

And who had been outside Jayne’s door?

What did they want?

She had no answers at the moment, but she knew they would come eventually. At nine in the morning she had showered and then dressed in a very conservative outfit of jeans and a sensible jacket, adding just a dash of eyeliner and lipstick to give herself a natural look.

Jayne knew she was not a beauty in the conventional sense, but she made the best use of what she had; sparkling eyes and pronounced cheekbones. And she did it to make herself happy and feel good. Nothing else mattered.

Rachel was outside the hotel, smoking a cigarette and looking amazing; tall, elegant, beautifully made-up and as thin as a stick insect.

As soon as she saw Jayne, she stubbed her cigarette out in a plant pot and rushed over to get in the car.

‘A ridiculous habit, I know, but one I picked up at my expensive boarding school. It was our one revolt against authority. Now I can’t start my day without a coffin nail, it sort of jolts me awake.’

Jayne had never been a smoker and could not see the attraction. Paying some company a lot of money to fill your lungs with tar-soaked smoke? No thank you.

She put the car in gear and headed back the way she had come, looking for the signs to the M56 to take them into deepest, darkest Cheshire.

‘I called the vicar last night and have arranged an appointment for eleven fifteen. We should arrive in plenty of time.’

‘I’m looking forward to seeing old Arbuthnot again. Did I tell you he baptised me? Apparently, even then he was a bit unsteady on his feet and managed to dunk my head in the font. No wonder I’m scared of water, it’s all his fault.’

‘You’re scared of water?’

‘Aquaphobia. I turn to jelly when I see the sea or a lake. Can’t help it. Probably why I love the mountains and skiing.’

They chatted for the next fifty minutes. Or rather, Jayne concentrated on driving while Rachel told her about work, gossiping mercilessly about the eccentricities and foibles of Britain’s most famous people. This man wears a hair piece. Another wears make-up. A third can’t ever remember his lines, so they hold up cards with the words written on them for him just off camera.

Jayne found herself laughing uncontrollably until Rachel asked, ‘And what about you? Who’s the real Jayne Sinclair?’

‘You’re looking at her.

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