Beautiful Beast (Gypsy Heroes #3)(11)

‘Yes, every time I have been here. Most of their business is at night. But, to be honest, I like it like this. It’s got vellichor.’

He takes a pull of his beer. ‘Vellichor?’

‘A place that is usually busy but is now deserted. You know, like that strange wistfulness you get in used bookshops. The dusty cries of all those forsaken books waiting for new owners.’

His lips twist. ‘And you like that?’

I shrug. ‘It suits me—my frame of mind.’

‘You’re a very strange girl, Snow Dilshaw. But I like you.’

God knows why, but I flush all over.

‘Tell me about yourself,’ he invites, finishing the first plate and pulling the second plate toward him.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Everything. Start with where you are from.’

‘I grew up in India. My mother is English and my father is Eurasian.’

He makes a rolling gesture with his left hand. ‘Must have been an amazing childhood.’

I shrug. ‘It was different.’

‘Tell me what it was like,’ he asks.

‘My father was an industrialist, a very successful one. He traveled a lot, and since my mother insisted on accompanying him everywhere, my two older siblings and I were left in the care of our many servants. Until I was almost five years old I actually thought my nanny, Chitra, was my mother. She did everything for me. I even crept into her room and slept in her bed when my parents were away.’

He raises his eyebrows in shocked disbelief. ‘Wow, you thought your nanny was your mother?’

‘Yes, I did. I loved her deeply.’

Shane stares at me with such shock and curiosity it is obvious that he must come from a very close-knit family where there is no doubt who the mother is.

‘That’s sad,’ he says.

‘Yes, finding out that the beautiful, perfumed, blonde woman with the chilly eyes and milky pearls that whispered against her silk blouses was my real mother was very confusing. Of course, I was in awe of her. Everybody was. In a land where everyone was dark-haired and mostly dark-skinned, she seemed to be very special. No matter where we went everybody stared at her.

‘I remember once the two of us were waiting to be picked up by our driver outside a shop and there was a street procession passing in front of us. Basically all manner of society was being presented, schoolchildren, teachers, soldiers ... One of the groups was singing, blind beggars holding onto each other for support. But as they passed us one of them broke years of professional disguise to swivel his supposedly blind eyes and stare at my mother.’

Shane frowns.

‘So even though I could see clearly that she was very special, I never took pride in being her daughter. I guess even as a small child I already perceived a lack of love in her. Sometimes it even seemed she could hardly bear to be in the same room as me.’

‘I’m sorry. That must have been terrible,’ Shane says softly.

‘I don’t know that it was. I think growing up in a fatalistic society just makes you accept the unacceptable more easily. Once I asked Chitra why my mother loved me so little. She looked at me with her great, big, sad eyes and said, ‘She might be an enemy from a past birth.’

Shane’s eyes fly open. ‘Wow! That’s some heavy shit.’

‘Not really. Chitra is a Hindu and she believes in reincarnation. According to her even though you have no recollection of your past lives, your spirit recognizes your enemies and your lovers from other lifetimes, and reacts accordingly.’

‘What about your siblings though? Was it the same for them?’

‘If I was my mother’s enemy from a past life then my brother, Josh, was a great love. When I was six I heard her tell him, “I dreamt of you every night when you were inside me.” There was just nothing he could do wrong. Once he stood on the dining table and holding his little penis sprayed the whole room with his pee. It even hit our cook and she had to run to her quarters and bathe. But when my mother was told about it, she only pretended to scold him. He ran off to his bedroom to sulk. I still remember how my mother had gone upstairs and sat in his room for ages to cajole him into coming downstairs for dinner.’

‘Let me guess, he turned into a nasty little boy who pulled your hair and made you cry.’

I smiled. ‘Pulled my hair? He took it a few steps further. He set it on fire. It was the only time I saw my father lose control. He put the fire out with his bare hands and afterwards he tore a branch from a tree and whipped my brother with it until my mother came running out of the house screaming hysterically and threw herself over my brother’s body. I can still picture my father standing over them panting and wild-eyed. But enough about me, what about you? Tell me about you,’ I urge.


‘We are gypsies. My mother is from a Romany gypsy family and my father is an Irish traveler.’

‘Oh wow! That’s really interesting. You must have had some childhood too.’

‘I did. I had a wonderful childhood. At least, until my father died. Then it all kind of fell apart for a while.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

‘It was a long time ago,’ he says, and quickly changes the subject back to me. ‘So, when and how did you end up in England?’

‘I ran away from home when I was nineteen,’ I say shortly.