The Traveller’s Daughter. Michelle Vernal

have gotten through to Simone because she leaned across and said something unintelligible to the chauffeur before turning her attention to Kitty.

      “I have asked Pierre to stop up there.” She waved her hand in front of her and Kitty peered through the gap in the seats. At the sight of the shops ahead, she found religion. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered silently.

      Pierre indicated left and pulled into the car park coming to a halt in front of a patisserie. A quick sweep of the block confirmed to Kitty that this was her best shot for a loo. The hairdressers at the end of the block was shut, and she didn’t rate her chances of the furniture shop having a public amenity. She flung the back door of the car open half expecting Simone to clap her hands and say. “Chop, chop we haven’t got all day.” She didn’t say a word, though, as Kitty knock-kneed headed in the direction of the patisserie. Pushing open the door she saw that there were no other customers in there. Her mind automatically registered that the glass-fronted cabinet held a delicious array of baguettes stuffed full of savoury goodies and cream filled cakes. She wondered what would happen to all that gorgeous food at the close of business which going by the ghost town outside wouldn’t be far off. Stop thinking about food, Kitty she admonished, arranging her features into a smile, and concentrate on the job at hand.

      “Une toilette, merci?” she asked the woman behind the counter who was wielding a broom, hoping her pitiful attempt at French would soften her austere features. Her hair was stretched tightly back and knotted into an unflattering bun. Kitty knew she had read somewhere that the French appreciate tourists making an attempt at speaking their language.

      “Non.” She didn’t stop in her sweeping shaking her head vigorously to emphasise her point.

      Not one single hair on the woman’s head had moved out of place during this exchange much to Kitty’s fascination. Her panic, though, was making her feel nasty and she wanted to shout back at the women. “Oh go and eat some cake you skinny old cow.” But she didn’t fancy getting smacked with the broom, so instead, she bit back the retort and hobbled out of the shop.

      Pierre was leaning against the car smoking, and Simone was still sitting in the passenger seat doing whatever it was she was doing on her iPad. It was no good, Kitty thought; she had to go. There was no way she could be bounced around in the back of that car for the duration of the trip to Uzés even if it were only half an hour up the road. Her eyes strayed over to the scrub filled lot beside the patisserie, and she made her mind up. There was nothing else for it; she’d just have to hope she could find a particularly leafy dandelion to hide behind.

      Squatting down and knowing full well she was delusional if she thought she was hidden from view, the relief a split second later was immense. When she’d finally finished and done a little jiggle, she began the task of trying to pull her knickers and jeans back up without actually standing up. Her thigh muscles were getting the best workout of their lives. The job was almost done when she registered an intense burning sensation in the right cheek of her bottom. As her hand automatically flew around to pat the spot she almost lost her balance. “Calm down, Kitty,” she muttered, steadying herself. The sight of her rolling around on the ground with both her undergarments and jeans sailing at half-mast would not be a good one. Twisting her head back over her shoulder, she was just in time to spy a self-satisfied wasp buzzing toward a little mound on the ground. It was only a short distance from where she was crouched. She realized with some dismay that she’d just squatted beside a wasp nest, been stung for her effort and that it bloody well hurt!

      With one last herculean effort, Kitty eased her pants up over her stinging cheek. As she stood up and glanced back at the little mound, she saw a cluster of the wasp’s humming little buddies emerging. The bastard had told them lunch was served she thought, charging back across the lot toward the car. She ignored the woman in the patisserie window who was busy wagging a finger at her and shouted at Pierre to get back in the car. She couldn’t see his expression as he ground his cigarette out, so intent was she on reaching the sanctity of the back seat. It was with huge relief that a moment later she flung the door open and threw herself into the seat. She slammed the door shut before she could be swarmed.

      Simone turned to look at her and raising one eyebrow asked. “Better?”

      And so it was that thirty minutes later Kitty arrived in the beautiful, historic town of Uzés with a rapidly swelling derriere and a dwindling sense of pride.