Jane had waited anxiously all week for the results of the pregnancy tests, but due to a go-slow at the hospital it was not until the following week that they were posted. They arrived at the clinic on the day after the funeral of the two crashed airmen. By this time Mary McCann was throwing up each morning, and Grainne had fully regained her spirits and was out again with Trish every night, enjoying herself.
Jane read the result of Grainne’s test with dread. So she was pregnant. Her slight hope that it might have been a false alarm withered and died. She sat with her head bowed, swept by waves of hopelessness. Terry’s life was spoiled. If only he had loved the girl, but she knew he did not. She found she was weeping and brushed aside her tears. A child was the sign of life, of hope, Jane reminded herself. Her first grandchild should be an occasion for rejoicing.
She picked up the report again and glanced at the result of Mary McCann’s test. Positive, as she had expected. Running her eye over Mary’s other laboratory tests Jane saw that her condition had worsened. There was a marked increase in coproporphyrin as well as delta-aminolevulinic acid. And this time the report showed that slight leukocytosis was present. Her eye swept further down the page and was arrested by a footnote.
N.B. Accompanying urine specimen corresponds to an amazingly identical degree to McCann specimen, even down to typical colour changes within specified time. Could it be a case of duplication or an error in labelling?
Another symptom of porphyria was the gradual change from normal-coloured urine to dark brown, red or even black. How could Grainne have porphyria? It seemed highly improbable!
Jane tapped the report thoughtfully with her biro. She reached for the telephone and rang the laboratory.
When she put down the phone there was no doubt in her mind that both specimens had been produced by the same woman. She felt a stirring of hope.
She went to the door and called Grainne. When the girl entered Jane told her to sit down, then handed her the report. ‘I would like you to take your time and read this,’ she said. ‘I think you will grasp the significance of two urine specimens testing out identical in every way.’
Grainne saw her face and burst into tears.
‘This is very serious,’ Jane said quietly. ‘I am not sure if interfering with a patient’s specimen and falsifying tests is a criminal offence . If, however, you are still insisting that you are pregnant, I will arrange for you to be admitted to the hospital where full tests and checks can be carried out under supervision.’ She waited. In answer, the girl sobbed louder.
‘But you don’t really want that, do you?’
‘N..no.’
‘Very well then. Of course, there is no question of your staying on here. I would like you to leave the clinic at once.’ Jane crossed to the door and opened it. ‘Whatever is owing to you will be sent on. Goodbye, Grainne.’
The girl went snivelling through the door and Jane closed it after her. Her legs felt suddenly unsteady and she went to sit behind her desk. ‘Thank God,’ she whispered. She had always prayed she would never be required to sanction another abortion and now she was spared this agonising dilemma. The telephone rang. Slowly, she picked it up.
‘Mum! I can’t go on like this.’ Terry’s voice cracked with misery. ‘I’ve got to see you.’
‘Yes, of course, Terry.’ She heard the shaky tone of her voice and firmly cleared her throat. ‘It’s time we had another talk.’
‘See you at the weekend,’ he said, and rang off.
Jane slowly replaced the receiver. Her first instinct had been to give him some indication that he was off the hook, but she decided not to tell him until after they had returned from their trip to Spain. Jane sighed. It seemed cruel to prolong his distress, especially after the tragic death of his friend, but this was one lesson she wished to drive well and truly home.
Claire was a little taken aback when Jane asked her to sleep in the house while she was away in Spain. Her feelings about meeting Terry were very mixed. In a way Claire wished Sheena hadn’t told her about himself and Grainne although it had undoubtedly softened the hurt at not hearing from him. She realised that it was shame, not indifference which prevented him from keeping his promise. Each time their relationship showed signs of developing, she thought, something always happened to drive a wedge between them.
On the day of departure she went over early to the McArdle’s house, knowing from experience that Jane would have lots of instructions to give Sheena and herself. Jane had written everything down on two foolscap sheets and Sellotaped them to the fridge door. But she still took time to go over it all with them again while Terry was out putting their cases in the car.
‘I doubt the telephone in the apartment has been connected yet so I’ll leave the estate agent’s number in case you need to get in touch,’ Jane concluded at last. ‘Liz here will help out in the evenings with Ruthie if you both have to go anywhere.’ She glanced at her receptionist and the girl grinned back.
Liz was the latest of the sprawling Murray family to work for Jane. Her mother and her older sister, Babs, had worked in the surgery way back when the McArdles first moved to the neighbourhood. She was pretty and easygoing and devoted to Ruthie.
Liz said earnestly, ‘Mammy said she’ll be glad to do any shopping while you’re away.’
Jane nodded at her in a distracted fashion and turned to the girls again, ‘Now don’t forget, Spain is one hour ahead of us. If you need to get a message to me be sure and ring before six in the evening.’
‘Mummy,’ sighed Sheena. ‘Please don’t worry. Nothing is going to happen. You’re the one going away, not us. We’ll be fine. Off you go and enjoy yourselves.’
Jane nodded. She supposed she was fussing a bit but if she didn’t get it all off her chest now knew she would spend the entire time away worrying about what she might have omitted.
‘Now you won’t forget to read my instructions?’ she reminded them.
‘No, we’ll throw them in the bin the minute you’re gone,’ Sheena said with a grin. ‘Of course, we’ll read them, Mummy. What do you think! Anyway, you know well that Claire has everything off by heart already. She’ll keep us on the straight and narrow, like she always does.’
Jane chuckled. ‘Thank God for Claire. If I was relying on you, Madam, I don’t know where we’d be.’ But she gazed affectionately at her daughter. She knew that Sheena had matured enough in the past year to take her responsibilities more seriously. She bussed Sheena’s cheek and pulled Ruthie into her arms. ‘Bye, darling.’
Ruthie tightened her arms in stranglehold about her mother’s neck. ‘Tell Adela I was asking for her.’
‘If I see her.’
‘And give Fernando my undying love,’ Sheena said wickedly.
Jane ignored her and kissed Claire. ‘Keep an eye on these monsters,’ she joked, ‘There’s a love.’
Claire smiled back, acutely conscious of Terry watching their farewells. He wore a scowling expression which she correctly divined as embarrassment. She met his eyes but he gave no sign that he was in any way thinking of her. He had made no apologies for not ringing her and she sensed he was tightly holding himself in check, lest he say too much. He strode out to the car without a backward look.
‘Four whole days on our own,’ Sheena gloated. ‘Let’s make the most of them.’
Claire nodded absently, her heart with the disappearing car. She told herself that she was mad to care so much. Terry probably couldn’t help flirting with every girl he dated. It was second nature to him. She swallowed her hurt and turned back into the house.
Terry got his first view of the apartment block, peering out of the rear window of Fernando’s car as it turned into the parking lot in front of Las Cicadas.
The Spaniard had met them because there was a one-day taxi strike at Malaga Airport. Jane was touched by Fernando’s thoughtfulness and doubly glad she had telephoned early in the week to say they were coming. When he warmly inquired about las tres princesas Jane had to smile at this description of the girls and told him they were all well and sent their regards.
He’s a good-looking bastard, Terry thought grudgingly, his eyes fixed on the back of Fernando’s well-shaped head as the Spaniard swung the car into the roundabout and filtered into the flowing traffic. He noted the heavy gold watch on Fernando’s wrist and the way his dark blonde hair fringed the collar of his cream silk shirt. Terry ran his hand defensively over his own freshly cropped army stubble. So this is the guy Claire likes, he thought.
Clearly his mother liked him too, judging by the way she was chatting and laughing. Almost flirting, Terry thought in amazement. He hadn’t seen her so animated in years.
Fernando came with them to the door of the apartment. ‘I think everything is in order,’ he told Jane. ‘I made it my special concern. However, if there are any changes you would like made, please do not hesitate to ask.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Jane said, looking around. ‘I love it.’
‘Then I am satisfied.’ Fernando smiled at her enthusiasm. ‘I wish you many happy moments in Spain, Señora.’ He bowed over her hand.
What a smooth talker, Terry thought in disgust as he carried the cases inside. He really knows how to lay on the syrup. To think women actually fall for that line.
Then suddenly it didn’t matter anymore. Terry had walked through to the balcony and was confronted by the view of the sea. He stared at the pale sands and billowing waves. It was every bit as beautiful as Claire had said.
Next day Jane and Terry went shopping and walked back to the apartment, heavily laden down with carrier bags full of household articles, ranging from crockery and cooking pots to tea towels and electric light bulbs.
It took them the best part of an hour to put everything away and by the time they were finished, the sun was low in the sky.
‘Want a drink, Mum?’ Terry asked, going to the fridge.
‘Mmm... that would be nice.’ Jane lifted a cushioned cane chair on to the balcony and lowered herself into it.
Terry poured chilled orange juice for himself and wine for his mother and they sat sipping their drinks and admiring the view.
Now would be a good time to tell him his worries are over, Jane thought, but something stopped her. Some reluctance perhaps to spoil the afternoon with mention of Grainne. Her mouth twisted in distaste. Not now, Jane decided. She found the whole subject too painful and distressing. Some time before they returned home she would carefully choose her moment. She put the matter out of her mind and gave herself over to enjoying the sun and the wine and the soothing sight of the sea. She began to yawn.
She was awakened by a light tapping on the apartment door and heard Terry get up to open it. There was a murmur of voices in the background and she struggled against the tide of weariness.
‘No, please don’t disturb her,’ she was dimly aware of a voice saying and then the door of the apartment closed.
‘Who was that?’ she asked as Terry came back.
‘That Spanish guy,’ Terry answered shortly.
Jane was awake now. ‘I hope you were polite to him.’
‘Of course, Mum,’ Terry’s expression was scornful. ‘I did everything but kiss
San Fernando’s hand.’
‘Now, Terry,’ Jane warned but she had to smile at his exasperated expression. How painful it can be, when young, to come up against someone so good-looking and well-off as Fernando Gonzalez.
Terry said sulkily. ‘He brought an invitation from his father to have dinner with him tonight.’
That evening Jane dressed with extra care, choosing to wear a filmy blue dress which matched her eyes and fastening about her neck a gold and sapphire pendant, which had been a present from Eddie on their tenth wedding anniversary. She was not a beautiful woman or even a strikingly good-looking one but she had a certain presence and there was about her a glow of goodness and gentle authority that was beautiful in itself.
Terry also dressed with care. He wasn’t going to appear at a disadvantage. He knotted his tie and eased down the collar of his shirt and regarded himself critically in the mirror. Maybe not as flash as pretty boy Gonzalez, he thought sardonically, but at least he was taller than him by an inch or two. As Terry attached his flying emblem to the lapel of his blazer he wished his hair was not cropped quite so close. Short cuts were all very well back at the barracks, he thought. He was unaware how well the military clip suited him, moulding the fine bones of his head and accentuating his cheekbones. He thrust out his jaw at an uncompromising angle and went out to join his mother.
It was only a short walk to the restaurant and they arrived just after eight-thirty. At the sight of them Antonio left the group of people he was with and came forward, his dark sorrowful eyes lit by a welcoming smile. Jane thought that his whole face changed when he smiled and became youthful, less melancholy. She smiled shakily back at him. She involuntarily dug her nails into the palm of her hand.
‘Señora.’ He took the maltreated hand and bent over it. ‘I am very glad you could come. I was afraid you might have to hurry back to your children. Fernando tells me that in your absence they are on their own.’ At the concern in his deep voice Jane quickened with pleasure. She looked up at him and felt herself drowning in his dark eyes. To break the spell she said:
‘My youngest is the only one I worry about but she’s in good hands. Sheena, my older girl, is well able to look after her.’ She studied his appearance and saw that his hair was shorter than it had been in the summer and consequently the grey not so evident. His skin was still fresh and, for a man of his age, he had very few lines. Then she realised with a start that he was still holding her hand. Jane had to ease her hand gently from Antonio’s grip, and to her dismay felt the blood rush to her cheeks.
‘My son speaks often of these young ladies,’ Antonio told her. ‘I can see they have made a big impression on him.’ He turned toward Terry. ‘This young man is another of your children?’
‘He is.’ She realised that her reply was brief almost to the point of gaucheness, but her mind felt like jelly. She was standing there like a teenager, blushing and staring at him. She became suddenly aware that one of Antonio’s party, a rather striking woman with beautiful dark hair coiled on the nape of her neck, had turned her eyes soulfully upon them as if willing him back to the group. His wife? Jane became suddenly self-conscious.
‘Come and join the rest of my party, Señora.’ Antonio placed his hand at her elbow and pressed her forward.
A waiter approached with menus. Jane took one and ran her eye down it as Antonio poured wine into their glasses. There was a ripple of laughter as someone told a joke. All of them, with the exception of Jane and Terry, were Spanish but, out of politeness, some English was being spoken at the table. Jane caught Terry’s eye and he gave her a slow wink. She could see he was entering into the spirit and attempting a conversation in halting Spanish with the lady on his left.
‘You are glad you have come back to Spain?’ Antonio suddenly asked her.
Jane nodded. And you, she wanted to say, are you glad? ‘I look forward to spending a lot of time here,’ she said. ‘You have such a wonderful climate.’
‘Ah, so it is only our climate you are enamoured with,’ a man accused with dolorous inflection. ‘Are you not at all interested in our architecture, Señora? The wonders of Seville or Granada?’ He flung up his hand. ‘Sun is all very well but art considerably more enriching.’
‘But surely one can enjoy both?’ Jane suggested, her droll look invoking sympathetic laughter from her audience. ‘I can only say that if you were forced to endure our wet Irish climate for twelve months of the year, you might not be so high-minded.’ She laughed to take any sting out of her words.
‘I have often thought of making a trip to Ireland,’ Antonio addressed the table thoughtfully, ‘but now I wonder would that be wise... With so much water,’ he gestured in mock dismay, ‘I might well be drowned.’
A burst of laughter greeted this observation.
As the conversation switched into other channels she sipped her muscatel and mused on the fact that she was seeing a side to Antonio she had never seen before. She raised her eyes and found him regarding her intently.
‘I never thought to see you again, Jane,’ he murmured suddenly. It was the first time he had called her by her name and his Spanish inflexion made it sound as Spanish as José or Juan, causing her a sudden sharp pang of recollection.
‘And now there is the miracle of your reappearance,’ Antonio went on in the same low intimate tones as if they were the only ones at the table, ‘and that golden world of which you were the sun, sleeping all this time with my memories, is fully awakened.’
His voice husky with feeling rose the hairs on Jane’s neck. She reached for her glass in defence, needing to occupy her shaking hands with something. She raised her eyes and met his over the rim of the glass. She saw the doubts and fears and the anguish of wanting that seethed behind those dark eyes and she waited with joyful resignation for what else he might say. But before he could speak the door of the restaurant swung open and Fernando entered, his eyes seeking those of his father’s across the width of the room. Antonio rose at once and went to him.
The two men manoeuvreda wheelchair between them through the doorway. Obviously some aunt or close friend, Jane thought as the frail elderly woman put up a hand to pat Fernando’s cheek, and Jane was impressed by his kindness in delaying his meal to bring her.
Jane smiled at the woman as Fernando lifted her on to a chair at the other side of Antonio. Menus were presented but the woman redirected the hovering waiter towards Fernando and accepted a glass of mineral water from Antonio.
‘Nada,’ Jane heard her say in a low voice. She sat hunched in the chair as though her back ached and she was missing the support of the wheelchair. The doctor in Jane felt curious as to her malady and was pondering this when Antonio turned to her and said quietly. ‘Señora, I would like you to meet my wife Elena.’
Jane automatically glanced towards the beautiful woman beside Terry, then seeing that Antonio was indicating the frail woman at his side, felt a flare of amazement. This was his wife! She had to take a deep breath to steady herself.
‘How do you do,’ Jane whispered, and forced herself to extend her hand. The other woman pressed it between thin, wasted fingers.
‘I am very happy to meet you, Dr McArdle. Fernan tells me that you are pleased with your new apartment.’ Elena’s voice was sweet and gentle and very slightly accented.
‘I am thrilled with it, Señora Gonzalez,’ Jane enthused, while inside she was torn by grief and dismay. Oh the poor, sick woman, she thought. Oh it’s not fair. Why does it have to be like this? She remembered how Fernando had hinted something about his mother’s health but none of it had prepared her for this.
Elena Gonzalez lifted a shaking hand to her lips and pressed it there as though troubled by a fleeting spasm of pain. Her eyes were huge and tragic in her sallow face and her body thin and wasted in the velvet dress. Antonio bent towards her and whispered something. Elena shook her head and fluttered her hand at him. When she turned away from him Antonio watched her with such a fond, sorrowing expression that Jane was overwhelmed by a terrible wasting pity. For Antonio’s wife and for herself. She knew she had no choice but to put aside all thoughts of him and to keep well away, lest she be betrayed into an action for which she would never forgive herself.
Thoughts of Eddie and Hugh had somehow returned to haunt Claire since coming to sleep in the McArdle’s house. She seemed to feel them all around her and, at every turn of the stairs, it was as if they had either gone up or down before her and were always just out of sight.
Claire was not upset, merely grieved by these shades from the past. She found herself wondering if, in the weeks following the tragedy, Terry had ever been similarly affected, then rejected the notion. Although not insensitive, Terry did not have a lot of imagination in the way that Ruthie and Hugh had. Perhaps it was why Terry had such an iron nerve when it came to flying. Claire remembered on the two occasions she had gone on board an aeroplane her imagination had run riot, so perhaps there was something to be said for the lack of one.
She was preparing for bed and crossed to the window in her blouse and tights to look out of the window. What was Terry doing right now? she wondered. Somehow staring into the dark, starry heavens made her feel closer to him. The moon hung full and low in the sky and she wished she could use it like a satellite to carry back images of him.
‘What are you doing, Claire?’ Ruthie asked, coming into the room.
Claire turned from the window with a start and laughed a little self-consciously. ‘Just looking at the moon. It’s beautiful tonight, isn’t it? So luminous and full.’
Ruthie came to stand beside her. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘like a huge blob of yoghurt. Do you look at it every night?’
‘You can’t always see it,’ Claire said. ‘But yes,’ she admitted, ‘Certainly, I look for it every night.’
They stood in companionable silence staring out. Of all the McArdles Ruthie was perhaps the most imaginative. Claire had thought Jane was being fussy when she had lined up Liz to sit with the little girl in the hour or two before she and Sheena got in from college but she saw the wisdom of it now. Ruthie was exhibiting signs of stress since Jane’s departure and was nervy and disinclined to sleep on her own.
Claire indulged her, although she did not sleep half so soundly as on her own. But then she had not expected to sleep well. Not here in this house which held such forbidden memories. Across the landing where more than once.... She glanced away, refusing to release that particular dragon.
Ruthie jumped into bed and pulled the duvet snugly around her. Claire finished undressing and went down to the bathroom. On her way back she saw through her open door that Sheena had left on the powerful light over her drawing board. Claire bent to look at the exquisitely detailed sketch. Sheena was really talented, she thought wistfully. She only wished she had been endowed with such a satisfying, tangible gift. She switched off the lamp and returned to her room.
Ruthie was asleep. Claire got into bed, careful not to waken her. She lay listening to the shifting night sounds, the gurgling of pipes, then closed her eyes and allowed herself the luxury of dwelling on Terry, doing so with a mixture of more pain than pleasure and finding it not quite the antidote she had hoped for.
Jane and Terry spent a very leisurely Sunday and were ready to go sight-seeing on their last day. Jane hired a car and rather adventurously decided to make the 170 kilometres trip to Almeira, for the sole reason that she had gone there years before with Antonio. She saw this trip in the nature of a farewell to certain impossible hopes and dreams she had been unconsciously entertaining and which, after meeting Elena, she realised could never be. There had been mention over dinner the previous night of Frigiliana, which was approximately an hour’s drive inland and another example of Moorish village architecture, but Jane was moved by nostalgia to make the longer trip. ‘You’ve been there before Mum?’ Terry asked, looking curiously across at her. He had the road map open on his knee and was plotting their course with moving finger.
‘Yes, I had a romance going with a rather attractive Spaniard and he brought me.’ Jane flashed him a quick smiling glance. ‘Oh, years ago. Long before I met your father.’ Actually, she could recall very little about the place, but as soon as she saw the huge fortress, with turreted ramparts looming high above the city, it all came back to her.
Jane planned to stay in the city just long enough to eat, buy a few souvenirs for the girls, and to visit the Alcazaba. They had the long journey back, and she had already picked out the part of the coast where they would stop and swim.
She went into the cathedral for a quick visit but it was the fortress which exercised the strongest pull on her. She climbed the steep hillside a few yards behind Terry, and reached the top, breathing hard. Looking back down the way they had come she was visited by a flash of memory. Antonio and herself pausing on the hillside to kiss and then later, arms entwined, gazing out over the city and the sea. She remembered him telling her that the Alcazaba was the haunt of thieves and not a safe place for people to come to on their own, especially at night. She shivered and looked about for Terry, her mood suddenly changing. She saw him clamber energetically on top of a ruined wall and balance there, looking downwards, a hand shading his eyes.
‘Let’s go,’ she called, suddenly wanting to be gone from this place, ‘I think we should be moving.’
Jane was glad of his supporting arm as they descended over the sloping, rough ground but, even with it, she stepped incautiously and wrenched her ankle. Her face contorted in pain.
‘No! I’m all right,’ she cut him short when he tried to insist that she sit down and rest. ‘Don’t fuss! I’m not an octogenarian.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Terry said, throwing up his hands. He had been enjoying the protective feeling of helping her. ‘Poor Mum,’ he told himself. ‘After all she’s over forty. This kind of thing is all very well at my age but too much for her.’
They went on down the hill in silence. Jane was annoyed with herself for her irritation and even more for not watching her steps. She had been thinking of the look in Antonio’s eyes when he’d said, ‘That golden world of which you were the sun.’ Oh my God, she thought tiredly. Poetry and romance at my age. What a fool!
She drove fast on the road back to Nerja, taking risks in her determination to cover the distance. In record time she pulled up a few miles short of Motril and parked in sight of the Calahonda beach. With more than half the journey behind them she felt she had earned her swim.
An hour later, feeling much restored, she sat on the beach and combed her damp hair back from her face. Terry patted himself dry and stretched out beside her, letting the sun dry his swimming trunks. They spoke little, content to relax and enjoy the tingling aftermath of their swim. It had been fun, if exhausting, pitting themselves against the high waves.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Terry said suddenly. ‘I mean for bringing me with you on this trip. I was really low after what happened to Con. God, it was awful. I mean, right in front of our eyes.’ His voice shook and he rubbed a hand over his eyes.
Jane watched him sympathetically. As she gave him time to recover his composure she thought how good it was to hear him expressing gratitude for the holiday.
‘I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it,’ she told him now. ‘Having you along makes it a lot more fun for me.’
Terry grinned. ‘Thanks, Mum, you can hardly say anything else.’ But he was pleased. He genuinely wanted to make his mother happy and sometimes wished fiercely there was something he could do to make up for the difficult time she had endured in the years since his father’s death. She had been given a rough deal yet she had managed to survive and make a good living for them all. They had never wanted for anything and now there was this terrific apartment in Spain. He was really proud of her.
He felt sudden shame at what she must have endured as a result of his fling with Grainne and his smile faded at the thought of what might await him on their return.
‘Mum,’ he began tentatively, feeling reluctant to broach the subject but desperately needing to air his fears. ‘About Grainne. Look, I know I was wrong - ‘
‘Terry!’ Jane put a gentle hand on his arm. ‘I have a confession to make. I intended telling you when we got back but now seems as good a time.’
He listened and overwhelming relief showed on his face. ‘I hardly dared to hope,’ he blurted. ‘In fact I was sure there was no way out of it. Oh, Mum, it seems almost too good to be true.’
He is so touchingly young, Jane thought, and he has a conscience and sensitivity. She let him run on before raising her hand and saying seriously.
‘This time it worked out, Terry. But what if it hadn’t or if you had got some teenage girl pregnant and her family insisted you stand by her? You are far too young at nineteen to take on such responsibilities. Apart from anything else you don’t have the money to support a family,’ Jane pointed out. ‘When the time is right let it be with someone you really love and want to spend your life with. Promiscuity does not lead to happiness.’
Terry nodded his head, prepared to believe her.
‘Here endeth the lesson,’ Jane said lightly, but with a tired smile. She squeezed his arm affectionately. ‘Let’s get back on the road while I’m still awake.
‘Mum, why don’t you let me drive,’ Terry suggested. ‘I’m a good driver. You’ve always said so, and you look tired.’
‘But you’re not used to driving on the right hand side of the road and you haven’t got your licence with you,’ Jane said. ‘I mean, what if we are stopped by police? They have a name for being very strict here, you know.’
‘We won’t,’ Terry said firmly. ‘C’mon, Mum, let me. You know you want to.’
Jane was tempted. Perhaps I’m fussing too much, she thought. ‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘But mind you take it easy. No tailgating or overtaking. We’re not in a rush, so just concentrate on keeping on the right hand side of the road.’
‘Sure thing, Mum.’
They walked over the hot sand and climbed the steps to the road. Jane threw their towels in the boot of the car and handed Terry the key. He took it and sat jauntily behind the wheel.
‘Blast off!’ Terry said, and gunned the car down the road.
‘Don’t forget what I said,’ Jane murmured. She opened her mouth and let a yawn take her. It was good to lean against the seat and feel her aching muscles relax.
They were on the narrow winding switchback which followed the shoreline into the thriving port city of Motril. Terry slowed behind a convoy of lorries laden down with the day’s harvest of sugar cane. Beside him, Jane blinked, giving only a fraction of her attention to his chatter about some marvellous girl.
‘She doesn’t know about Grainne of course,’ Terry said.
Who was she? Jane wondered sleepily. He seemed very keen on her. Youth, she thought in resignation. Barely rescued from the perils of one dubious alliance before leaping headlong into another.
‘I can’t wait to get back and make it right with her,’ Terry was saying. ‘But she’s not the kind to hold a grudge. That’s what I like so much about her, Mum. She’s great to talk to. I mean she listens and makes intelligent remarks. Not like some girls with nothing between their shoulders.’
He sounds over the moon about this girl, thought Jane uneasily. She forced herself to listen.
‘I think I always liked her. Even before she came away with us on holidays,’ Terry admitted with a sheepish laugh.
‘Give me my sunglasses, Mum,’ he said suddenly. ‘This sun is getting me right in the eyes. On the back seat,’ he directed her. ‘Under the map.’
Jane unfastened her seat-belt and reached into the back. It was Claire he was talking about. Terry was in love with Claire. Distractedly she handed him the sunglasses, as she tried to grasp the significance of what he was telling her. When had it all started? Jane wondered in dismay. And how far had it gone? She wanted, yet didn’t want to know.
As her son chatted on, Jane told herself it was incredible and yet not so incredible. She was amazed that she hadn’t cottoned on to it earlier. Right there in front of her eyes if only she had seen it. She felt a strong compulsion to let Terry know something about Claire’s past. Perhaps warn him that all wasn’t as uncomplicated as it seemed. But what could she say?
Your father made her pregnant when she was thirteen years old and I destroyed the child in her womb.
Jane shuddered. Who should be warned against whom? Her handsome headstrong son or the girl who had already suffered enough at their hands? Only one thing was clear. Terry should be made fully aware of the situation before he committed himself further. Otherwise, Jane believed there might be even greater difficulties to face in the future. But how to do this without seeming to discredit Claire?
‘Terry,’ Jane began, ‘There is something I feel I must tell you, but I don’t quite know how to say it.’
‘What about, Mum?’ Terry frowned in concentration as he carefully rounded the corner. He had hardly time to straighten out when he was faced with another steep bend. ‘Bloody awful road,’ he muttered, as the lorry in front braked and skidded out of sight on dusty wheels, loose pieces of sugar cane working free of the slackened ropes and littering the road.
Jane began, choosing her words carefully. ‘Claire is a lovely girl - please don’t take amiss what I am about to say - but certain events took place in the past which make it unwise...’
‘Mum!’ Terry interrupted, taking his eyes off the road to glance at her. ‘‘I know all that! Dad fancied Claire’s mother, is that it?’ He shot her a glance that was both pained and defiant. ‘I know all that!’
Jane was taken aback but carried on. ‘I think not,’ she said quietly. ‘There was rather more to it than you imagine.’ She broke off, recollecting where they were, negotiating torturous bends in the shimmering heat. Involuntarily she glanced out the window. The least little distraction, she thought with a shiver.
‘You can’t just leave it like that,’ Terry protested, two bright spots burning in his cheeks. He drove faster, his hands painfully gripping the steering wheel. ‘Come on out with it, Mum. Whatever you have to say won’t make me feel any less for Claire.’ He caught his breath painfully. ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this. I always thought you liked her.’ He was almost panting in his distress. ‘I really did. Now you’re trying to make me think badly of her.’ He choked, unable to go on.
‘No, no that’s the very last thing I want,’ Jane cried, distressed beyond words herself. Hardly aware what she was doing she put out her hand to reassure him that he was wrong. Terry jumped nervily at her touch and swung fast round the narrow bend without slackening speed. As he did so, a huge bale of sugar cane broke free from the lorry in front and somersaulted into his path. Instinctively, Terry swerved to avoid it and his tyres skidded out of control on the loose, sappy canes, sending him speeding into the path of an oncoming car.
‘We’re going to die,’ was Jane’s last horrified thought before the two cars slammed together. She felt agonising pain in her head and chest, then everything was blotted out as she lost consciousness.
The ambulance arrived within a half-hour. Terry heard the wailing siren as he slumped in the seat beside his mother and listened in anguish to her shallow breathing. A highway patrol man stood in his green uniform directing traffic past the two crashed vehicles. The other driver had been wearing a seat-belt like Terry, and was dazed but unharmed.
Why wasn’t Mum wearing hers? Terry wondered, then remembered her reaching into the back for his sunglasses. Damn! She must have forgotten to fasten it again. He averted his eyes from the angry red gash on her forehead, where she had been thrown forward into the windscreen.
Terry felt a deep sense of guilt. Fine fighter pilot he would make if every time the going got rough he allowed himself to be distracted.
He got out of the car, dazed and shocked, but apart from an aching hip and shoulder where the seat-belt had cut into his flesh, he didn’t think he was injured. The ambulance had halted a little way off and the paramedics came with a stretcher. They checked Jane’s pulse and made a quick preliminary examination before carefully lifting her on to the stretcher.
She stirred and moaned softly as the doors slammed shut and the ambulance moved forward.
Terry bent over her. ‘You’re all right, Mum,’ he told her. ‘We’re on our way to the hospital.’
She opened her eyes. They were dazed and unfocused. She rolled her head on the pillow from side to side and muttered his name.
‘Don’t try to speak,’ Terry begged her.
Her lids fluttered closed. As the ambulance swayed and bumped its way over the narrow twisty roads into Motril Terry sat tensed beside her, his eyes trained anxiously on her face.
At about the same time that the ambulance was speeding into Motril, Claire was standing in front of the stove, poking bubbling spaghetti with a fork. Sheena came noisily into the kitchen and flung down her satchel.
‘I’m starving,’ Sheena cried. ‘When will tea be ready?’
‘About ten minutes.’
As Sheena sat down at the table and began pinching pieces out of a loaf and stuffing them into her mouth, as Claire turned back to the stove.
Terry would be home in another few hours, she thought, but he’d be so late she wouldn’t see him. And by the time he got up in the morning she would have already left for college. With Jane due home this was her last night. All too soon she would be back in her own house.
Back to Annette and her endless drinking.
Claire sighed. ‘Sheena!’ she called behind her. ‘Will there be enough in this for three of us?’ holding up the family-size jar of pasta sauce. . ‘Loads,’ Sheena said absently. She had already made herself a cup of tea and was munching her way through cheese and crackers. ‘Bung it in and let’s get started. I’ll die if I don’t eat soon.’
Claire heated the sauce and drained the spaghetti. Another four hours and they’ll be leaving for the airport, she thought. It occurred to her that even if she missed her nine-thirty lecture in the morning and hung about the house she still mightn’t see Terry. Miss a lecture and her exams in less than two months! She must be mad where Terry was concerned.
She hadn’t done much studying over the last few days and rationalised her idleness with the excuse that Ruthie and Sheena needed her. Now she heaped spaghetti on to plates and generously ladled tomato sauce on top.
‘Tea’s ready,’ she called. ‘Come and get it!’
Terry strolled restlessly up and down the hospital corridor, acutely aware that in a matter of hours their flight would be departing from Malaga.
He sighed and rubbed his bruised shoulder, regretting that he had made light of his own injuries when the doctor wished to examine him. His hip too was throbbing just as painfully.
‘Señor McArdle!’ He heard someone calling and swung round. He saw a nurse beckoning to him and followed her eagerly into the curtained cubicle. His mother lay propped up in bed and, to Terry’s relief, her eyes were open.
Jane smiled wanly at him, her face pale under the huge sticking plaster on her forehead, and put out her hand to him. Terry moved close and gently took it.
‘Mum! Thank God.’ He gave a shaky little laugh. ‘You gave me a real fright, you know.’
‘Sorry,’ Jane whispered. ‘I suppose we are lucky to be alive.’ She was in a hospital gown and he saw that under the white material her chest was bulkily bandaged. Terry swallowed hard. He found himself trembling and sank down on the chair beside the bed.
‘Are you all right?’ Jane asked in weak anxiety. ‘You look very pale.’
‘I’m fine, Mum. Just a few bruises, that’s all.’
She nodded in relief and her eye-lids began to droop.
‘The doctor has given her a sedative,’ the nurse told him quietly. ‘She will be very uncomfortable for a while.’
‘But we are flying home in another few hours,’ his voice tailed away. Now what was going to happen?
The nurse suggested that he might like to speak to the doctor and Terry nodded and followed her out of the cubicle.
‘Your mother has suffered three broken ribs and is concussed,’ he told Terry. ‘It will be some time before she will be well enough to leave the hospital.’ He glanced into the young man’s anxious face and decided not to tell him that one rib had pierced a lung.
‘But we are due to fly home tonight.’ Somehow he had been hoping for a miracle to get them to the airport. He saw now that this was out of the question.
The doctor looked at him sympathetically. ‘Your mother needs rest and care,’ he said gently. ‘She will be in good hands here.’
Terry did not doubt it, but how could he go off and leave her on her own like this in a strange country. Yet go he must, Terry realised. He was due back on duty at Baldonnel next day. Then he had an idea. He would ring Antonio Gonzalez. The Spaniard would advise him what to do.
Terry searched in his mother’s bag and found the property developer’s business card. His residence was listed.
Señor Gonzalez responded at once to Terry’s plea for help.
He was really decent, Terry thought as he replaced the receiver, thinking of the Spaniard’s offer drive him to Malaga Airport. He had been very concerned about Jane and was making plans to visit her. As Terry hurried back to where his mother lay, he felt immensely relieved having someone so reliable to take care of her..
An hour later, Terry sat in the front seat of the Mercedes beside Fernando, as the powerful car sped along by the darkened coast. He had been a bit taken aback when he came out of the hospital to find not Antonio but his son waiting at the entrance. The young Spaniard had regarded him unsmiling and clicked open the passenger door, without getting out of the car.
‘Ah, so San Fernando isn’t the paragon Mum thinks,’ Terry told himself, amused He grinned and relaxed back in the seat.
They had less than ninety minutes to get to the airport.
‘Think we’ll make it?’ Terry glanced at the Spaniard’s aloof profile.
‘Naturally,’ Fernando replied haughtily. He rested his hands lightly on the wheel, exerting no more pressure than was needed to keep the powerful car speeding through the night. He drove exceedingly well, Terry grudgingly admitted. The car was a beauty, of course. He would love to drive it himself.
As though tuned into his thoughts Fernando asked, ‘Your mother was driving at the time of the accident?’
‘No... I was,’ Terry admitted reluctantly.
‘Aah, you were.’
Terry felt the blood warm his cheeks. ‘A cargo of sugar cane dropped its load right in our path,’ he said.
‘You swerved to avoid it, eh?’
‘Something like that,’ Terry agreed.
‘You were going too fast?’
Terry frowned. ‘Not really.’
‘Perhaps you are not used to driving?’
‘Yes I am,’ Terry answered shortly, resentful of this interrogation. Who the hell did he think he was!
‘It must have been a great shock,’ Fernando said, suddenly becoming more human. ‘I am sure you are very concerned about your mother.’
‘Naturally!’ Terry sounded every bit as haughty as the Spaniard.
They stopped by the apartment to pick up Terry’s bag and drove swiftly on. No words passed between them on this final lap of the journey, but when Fernando stopped the car before the airport terminal building he turned to Terry and said gently, ‘Please believe we will do everything in our power to ensure that your mother makes a good recovery.’ He smiled warmly and held out his hand. ‘Hasta luego.’
‘So long!’ Terry shook it briefly and smiled in return. ‘Thanks for the lift.’
‘De nada,’ Fernando said graciously.
When he was gone, Terry glanced at his watch and saw that they had made the airport with eight minutes to spare. Naturally! Despite himself he had to grin. He took the remaining few yards at a painful run and arrived panting in front of the check-in desk. As he passed his ticket over the counter his jauntiness left him and he was suddenly hit by a wave of loneliness. How happily he and his mother had arrived into Spain only a few short days ago. He swallowed past the obstruction in his throat, unable to rid himself of the feeling that he had deserted her.
Claire was late going to bed. She wanted everything to look just right when Jane returned and, as soon as the other two had gone yawning up the stairs, began cleaning the kitchen, doing a thorough job of tidying presses and mopping out the floor. One thing seemed to lead to another. The cooker hadn’t been cleaned in weeks and detracted from the overall effect. When at last she turned off the kitchen light and wearily climbed the stairs to bed, it was after one o’clock.
The bath beckoned invitingly and she gave into the temptation to run the hot water and have a long soak. There was never enough hot water at home to do more than just shallow-bathe. She mingled in some of Sheena’s lavender bath essence and lowered herself into the scented water.
She lay there letting the hot water wash over her, drawing the ache from her tired muscles. Her hair spread out like a pale, silken fan, dark gold where it dipped the water. The occasional lazy stirring of her limbs was the only sound to break the silence.
Gradually she became aware of sounds below: a car stopping, doors slamming, footsteps in the hall. Surely they weren’t home already!
She stepped on to the floor, wrung out her wet hair, and wrapped the towel about her damp body. She opened the bathroom door and was about to go quickly to her room when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Claire turned her head and saw Terry step on to the landing.
For a moment she froze, the sight of him seeming to deprive her of all movement.
Terry checked, tiredly, and his bag dropped on the carpet. Framed in the open doorway he saw a slim girl, the snowy whiteness of her cotton towel and the dark gold of her long, wet hair accentuated by the light falling on them. Then the haze of tiredness cleared from his eyes and it was Claire.
They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Terry moved forward as Claire came to meet him. He put out both his arms to her and she felt them going about her and he held her close to him in a desperate grip.
‘Mum’s not with me,’ he spoke against her wet hair, ‘We... she... had an accident.’ His voice shook. ‘She’s back in Spain in a hospital in Motril. I had to come home on my own. Oh Clairey.’ He looked down into her face with such a look of misery that her heart caught in her throat.
Forgetful of her towel, she raised her hand and gently stroked his face. How pale and exhausted he was. His eyes in the dim light had an odd, blind look. She drew him with her through the open door of the nearest bedroom – Jane’s – and his arms lifted her and pushed her down on the bed. He pulled aside the thick cotton towel, and laid his tired face between her small firm breasts. Her skin was fresh from the bath, cool and sweet, and he kissed it lingeringly, moving his tired face and aching neck against it, holding her closer. Then he raised himself up and his mouth burned kisses on hers and his arms about her drove the breath from her body.
‘Oh Clairey,’ he told her softly, his voice breaking huskily in his throat, ‘I’ve missed and wanted you so much.’ When his hands moved again Claire felt a fleeting fear which she quickly banished. But this was not Eddie. This was Terry... Terry...
There was a great physical hunger in Terry’s touches and kisses, as though he were trying to lose himself in her firm, smooth body, to recover from the tremendous strain of the past hours. She was glad to be able to give him that.
Jane was injured - maybe badly. Tomorrow enquiries would have to be made and the others told. But now in the quiet, sleeping house there was only herself and Terry, his hands and his mouth, kissing and caressing her, and needing her. To think he might have been injured. Killed! But he was alive and in her arms. Nothing else mattered.
At last he shuddered and was still, his arm thrown possessively across her body, in a deep sleep. Claire eased the duvet out from under him and drew it snugly about the pair of them. There was a faint light under the bedroom door and the usual shifting, creaking night sounds of the McArdle’s house. Once an ambulance wailed past in the distance and once, close to the house, some feline prowler noisily overturned a refuse bin, but Terry did not stir. Claire held him closer, her cheek against his hair, and was not fearful of anything any more. Presently she grew drowsy herself, lulled by his breathing into a sleep as sound as his own.
Towards morning Claire awoke and felt Terry stir and pull away from her. After a moment she opened her eyes sleepily and turned her head to look at him. He was gazing at her and he smiled and pulled her into his arms. Then he winced and Claire saw his eyes darken with pain.
‘What’s the matter?’ she whispered.
‘My... shoulder... it hurts like hell.’
‘Let me see.’ He was wearing only a shirt and she gently eased it across his chest and bared his shoulder. She drew in her breath sharply. A livid bruise ran from his collar bone down along the left side of his chest and across his right hip bone. With gentle fingers she stroked the bruised area and then stooped her head to brush it with her lips.
Terry felt as if something had flopped in his stomach. His throat tight and dry, he reached for her, desperate to make love to her again. When Claire came readily into his arms he read the same hunger in her eyes.
Later, lying in each other’s arms, with the early morning light creeping into the room, Terry told Claire what had happened on the road to Motril and what the doctor had said about Jane and how Fernando Gonzalez had driven him to the airport.
‘It’s getting late... the others may wake up.’ She sat up hurriedly in the bed then looked in confusion at her naked breasts. Terry laughed at her expression and tenderly wrapped his arms about her, covering her shoulders and breasts with tiny kisses.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he kept telling her.
Weakly, Claire pulled away. ‘I’m afraid Ruthie will come looking for me.’
‘No, she won’t. It’s too early.’ Terry tried to pull her back to him but Claire resisted. She held the duvet against her.
Close your eyes,’ she told him and seeing that she was serious, he reluctantly obeyed. What to cover herself with? There was only the crumpled cotton towel. It lay discarded on the floor. ‘Keep them shut,’ Claire ordered, and reached for the crumpled cotton towel on the floor....
Terry closed his eyes but as soon as she slipped from the bed he opened them again. He watched her bend and pick up the skimpy towel and wrap it about her slim body. He could not get enough of looking.
The days that followed were a mixture of unease and delight. Claire’s anxiety about Jane was compounded by feelings of guilt at having slept with Terry in his mother’s bed. At the same time, she felt loved and cherished as never before.
She came home from college each evening hoping he would be there before her. He always was. He had Jane’s car to travel from the barracks, and a genuine excuse for the late passes on the grounds that he must take care of his sisters in his mother’s absence.
Sometimes he stayed the night and got up very early next morning to drive back to Baldonnel to arrive before the bugle sounded reveille. The long hours before bedtime they spent in the kitchen, sitting apart, touching only fleetingly when she handed him a mug of coffee or he passed behind her chair as she was helping Ruthie with her homework, but stroking each other with their eyes and their thoughts until the tension was almost too much to bear. Later when Ruthie was asleep he would be waiting for her and they would come together in a frenzy of lovemaking. It was as if the accepted standards of behaviour were temporarily suspended and they lived in a curious kind of erotic limbo, enjoying the solace of each other’s bodies with an almost pagan sensuality and deliberately blocking out everything but themselves.
After lovemaking, lying in each other’s arms, they talked about things closest to their hearts. Terry told her how Con had died. ton. He did not go into details about the crash for the memory was still too raw and painful. Claire lay on the pillow watching him and fondling the tendrils of hair on his neck with a gentle hand as he spoke. And then of his own accord Terry brought up the subject of Grainne.
‘When Mum told me I was off the hook I was bowled over,’ Terry confessed. ‘I couldn’t take it in at once. I felt... I dunno... like it must feel before a firing squad and at the last minute someone comes dashing up with a reprieve. Like a bloody miracle!’ He laughed softly. ‘I knew I didn’t deserve it. Oh Claire, the worst part was not being able to see you or ring you like I wanted. You must have wondered.’
‘Yes I did.’
‘I was sure you would despise me. I despised myself. God! I felt so trapped.
I kept worrying about the mess I was in, even when I was flying, and that’s really stupid. You need every bit of concentration or you could end up in bits. I found myself hating Grainne, which was unfair, and myself for mixing Mum up in it and letting her sort out my mess. Squalid!’ His voice shook.
Beside him in the dark, Claire shuddered. She thought she would want to die if Terry ever felt like that about her. Despite herself, her sympathy went out to the unfortunate Grainne. But though she felt her own heart would break if she lost Terry, she knew she would never resort to tricks to keep him. She would rather give him up. Their relationship could only endure, Claire told herself, just as long as he loved and wanted her, not because of any sense of obligation.
Antonio Gonzales rang twice during the week, reporting favourably on Jane’s progress, and then at end of the first week a letter arrived from Jane addressed to them all. Sheena read aloud to the others, her voice quivering with suppressed tears.
“My dear children, I am getting better every day so please do not worry. I think of you all the time and look forward to the moment when we can be together again. I wish you could visit but that is the drawback of having an accident abroad. I should have planned it better! Everyone here is being so kind. Fernando came to see me today. How lucky we are to have such good friends. I know I can trust you to take care of each other. Claire, don’t allow Ruthie to have all her own way and please insist that she takes her vitamins. Mucho amor and a thousand kisses, Mum.’
Sheena laid down the letter. ‘It’s not in her handwriting,’ she said worriedly.
Ruthie had taken the news of her mother’s accident surprisingly well, better than Sheena who had wanted to fly at once to Spain to be with her. Now re-reading the letter, Sheena was not entirely convinced that Jane was recovering.
‘I can’t understand how Mummy couldn’t scrawl even a line,’ she said.
‘Perhaps she didn’t have any note-paper,’ Claire tried to reassure her. ‘Surely the fact she could dictate a letter shows she’s not too bad. Anyway we have Antonio’s word for it that she’s getting better.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Sheena doubtfully. ‘Still, I wish we knew for sure.’
When Terry arrived later in the evening Claire told him how upset Sheena was and he suggested that they ring Antonio and get the number of the hospital from him so that they could ring it directly themselves.
Sheena cheered up at this and they all grouped about Jane’s desk while Terry gave the Nerja number to the operator. Terry was relieved when Antonio rather than Fernando answered.
‘I am happy to say your mother continues to make good progress,’ Antonio’s deep voice resounded in his ear. Terry nodded and glanced encouragingly at the girls to signify the news was good. ‘Today we heard she is being moved to a convalescent hospital in Nerja towards the end of this week. You will find it easier to visit her when you come.’
‘Thank you, Señor,’ Terry said politely. ‘Please give Mum our love and tell her we’re managing fine. I’ll ring again when I know for sure when I’m going.’ His CO held out hopes that he could arrange to get Terry a cockpit seat on a jet carrying diplomats to Spain in another week or two. Literally a flying visit - a couple of hours at the most - but it would be long enough to visit her.
Terry got the number of the hospital and put down the phone feeling a lot happier, as was Sheena when she heard what he had to tell her. She decided to wait until the following evening to ring and find out more about the new hospital her mother was going to. In the meantime she ran upstairs to hunt up some notepaper and, with Ruthie hanging over her shoulders, sat down on her bed to write a long letter back to Jane.
Terry had said they were managing fine in their mother’s absence but secretly he was concerned about their lack of money for day-to-day living expenses. The money he had brought back with him from Spain was almost gone.
Suddenly remembering that Jane always kepy cash in her desk to pay bills, he rooted around in the drawers and was relieved to find almost one hundred pounds. He stuffed the notes in his pocket and went to tell the girls, and then they all drove to the supermarket and bought enough food to last them another week.
Jane was not used to playing the passive role of patient. Except for an occasional bout of flu she had never been sick in her life; like all doctors she was better at administering post-operative advice than taking it herself, and found it hard to accept her dependent condition.
For the first few days she was unable to raise her arms and everything had to be done for her. She was reliant on nurses to wash her and feed her and change her dressings, even cleaned her teeth for her. She was lonely too. The nurses were busy and could not linger to give anything more than nursing care to la médica irlandesa, so Jane was grateful when Fernando came to see her. She was also more receptive to Antonio’s attentions than she might otherwise have been, when he too visited her later that week.
Antonio was shown in after the nurse had settled her down for her nap. Quite unprepared for the sight of him as he came around the door, Jane tried to struggle upright and gasped with pain at the effort it cost her.
‘No... please do not disturb yourself,’ Antonio beseeched, his expression concerned. He took a step forward then stood where he was, helplessly gazing at her.
Jane sank back on the pillow, weak tears stinging her eyes. ‘I’m not as recovered as I thought,’ she whispered forlornly, but even these few words cost her an effort.
Antonio laid the flowers he had brought her on the washstand. He drew the chair to her bed and sat down.
‘Your son telephoned my house last night...’ he began.
‘Terry rang? Tell me how they all are,’ she begged. ‘Are they managing all right? Did they get my letter? Do they know I am being moved to Nerja?’
Antonio laughed. ‘So many questions.’ He crossed his knees and sat back regarding her serenely. ‘Which will I answer first?’
‘My letter, did they get it?’
‘Yes, but they were troubled because it was not in your handwriting.’
‘I could not write myself,’ Jane said simply, relieved that Terry was so practical. Antonio smiled. ‘Terry hopes to fly out and visit you very soon,’ he went on, watching her face. ‘Perhaps next week.’
Jane stared. ‘But how? He has no money.’
Antonio shrugged. ‘I do not know exactly. Perhaps the Air Corps are arranging it for him. He seemed hopeful it could be done and said he will ring me when he has all the details!’
How wonderful to see Terry. My son, she thought with a rush of emotion. They had shared those lovely few days together and then for it to end like it did. Remembering his courageous little farewell wave, tears sprang to her eyes. To her dismay they overflowed and poured down her cheeks. Antonio’s smile faded and his dark eyes brimmed with concern.
‘You are overwrought,’ he said gently. ‘I did not mean to upset you.’ He got to his feet. ‘Forgive me! I have stayed too long.’
‘No, don’t go,’ she wanted to say but only cried all the harder, She felt him stoop over her and his lips brushed fleetingly against her forehead. Then he pressed his handkerchief into her hand and with a murmured, ‘Hasta luego, mi preciosa,’ he was gone.
Jane mopped her eyes with Antonio’s handkerchief and cursed her weakness. Her tears dried and she lay very still. Had he really called her his ‘preciosa’? The crumpled piece of linen lay forgotten in her hand. Oh please God let him come again.
She lay in the sun-filled room and gazed for a long time at the sheaf of crimson carnations he had brought her before pressing the bell for a nurse to come and put them in water.