Jane came home the following weekend. Terry met her at the airport and drove her to the house where the others were waiting. Claire stayed long enough to greet her and then slipped quietly back to her own house. She did not speak to Terry more than to nod hello, and though he stared at her as she turned away, he did not come after her.
Claire felt battered and dejected, her spirit bruised beyond healing. Now beyond tears, she felt as though every drop of moisture had been squeezed out of her. How could Jane have done what she did? She felt she could never trust another human being again. If Jane had set out to do it she could not have more effectively blighted her hopes of happiness. In all the years of her association with the McArdles, Claire had never blamed them for any of the misfortunes that befell her. Now for the first time she felt sorrowing resentment.
Claire kept herself busy. She had more than enough work to get through for her June exams. She was aiming for a first-class honour in English, but because of the extra reading her migraine had returned. She was eventually forced to cross the street and ask Jane to renew her prescription. In her present state begging favours from Terry’s mother was the last thing she wished.
‘Of course, Claire. Nothing simpler,’ Jane smiled at her earnest request. ‘But where have you been hiding all these weeks. I really wanted to thank you for staying here while I was away. You’ll never know how much it meant to me.’
‘I was glad to,’ Claire said woodenly. ‘You were always good to me.’ Until you betrayed me. Oh how could you, how could you? Jane had been closer to her than her own mother.
‘Are you all right?’ Jane’s concerned voice reached Claire through the fog of misery surrounding her.
Claire nodded, unable to speak.
‘Oh you poor thing. Let me get you something.’ She gently drew Claire towards her surgery. Claire wanted to throw off the encircling arm and at the same time, cling to the comfort it offered. All the misery she had felt on the night that she and Terry had broken up, returned to swamp her and she had difficulty keeping back the treacherous sobs gathering in her chest.
‘You are in a bad way, aren’t you?’ Jane said gently, and sat down with relief behind her desk to write the prescription. ‘This bandage I’m wearing makes me walk like a robot,’ she joked. Claire tried to smile but failed miserably. She wished she hadn’t come.
‘I suppose now is as good a time as any to talk about our plans for the summer,’ Jane said, when she had handed Claire the slip of paper. ‘I can’t get away to Spain until August but when I explained my dilemma to my cousin Anne she kindly agreed to go with you all. So there’s really no reason why I shouldn’t book the tickets now and then you and the others can head off the minute the exams end.’
Claire stared blindly at her hands, not knowing what to say.
As the silence lengthened Jane added, ‘That is, of course, if you still want to share our summer holidays, Claire... but we consider you one of our family and really want ...’
‘I wonder you can say that after what happened,’ Claire cried in a strangled voice.
Jane looked startled. ‘My dear, what do you mean?’
Now the tears could no longer be held back. ‘You know what you did. ‘Claire...sit down.’ Jane came round the desk and gently pushed her on to a chair. ‘Perhaps we had better clear the air. There was no way of avoiding a confrontation now.
‘Terry hates me after what you told him.’
Jane was too honest to prevaricate. ‘Oh, my dear. I never meant to betray you,’ she cried in distress. ‘But when Terry said you’d told him everything I assumed ...’
‘You didn’t set out to tell him?’ Claire asked uncertainly.
‘Of course not!’ Jane was vehement. ‘Why would I try and discredit you, love? You know I’ve always cared for you like one of my own.’
It was true.
‘You believe me, don’t you?’
Claire blinked away tears, convinced by her evident distress. Jane had shown her more kindness and understanding that anyone else, even her own parents. She nodded.
‘Well, thank goodness for that,’ Jane said in relief. She looked at Claire gravely. ‘I’ve never talked about what happened before, not because of any bad feeling towards you, merely because I believed it was best to try and put it behind us.’’
Claire silently assessed her words. It was true that by her continued friendship Jane had clearly demonstrated the lack of any ill-will towards her.
‘You must remember it came as a great shock to Terry,’ Jane was saying. ‘He obviously cares very deeply for you. In the beginning I was inclined to think it was just a teenage thing but I see now that it goes far deeper. For you both. Try and give him time to adjust, my dear. It may sound like a cliché but time does sort most things out.’ Jane looked suddenly tired. She came closer to Claire and put her arms gently about her. ‘It will all work out for the best, believe me.’
No, it won’t, Claire thought. How could it? She shuddered when she remembered the horror and revulsion in his eyes. He would never come back to her.
‘Claire... Claire,’ Jane called her attention back from the dark pit she was wandering and gazed at her in concern. ‘You mustn’t allow yourself to brood. Right now the most important thing is to put it out of your mind and finish your exams.’ She hugged her gently. ‘I’m so glad we’re friends again. I care far too much ever to allow anything to come between us.’
Claire felt like crying again. For weeks she had been existing in a cold, loveless vacuum. Now by some miracle she had been drawn back into the warmth and magic of the McArdle’s circle. She pressed Jane’s arm shyly. It was a moment before she said with a little catch in her voice, ‘You don’t know how much it means to hear you say all this. I thought... I believed...’
‘Enough confessions for one day,’ Jane said briskly, but kindly
Claire smiled tremulously. She went home, feeling reassured that the misunderstanding between them had been cleared. While the loss of Terry’s love and respect was devastating, there was consolation in knowing none of it had been deliberate on Jane’s part. Claire blamed it upon the nemesis which had shadowed her from early childhood and from which she believed there was no real escape.
Jane was relieved too that the misunderstanding was cleared up. In Spain she had resolved to have a chat with Claire just as soon as she returned home, but she had been caught up in her work straight away. Even now was spending long hours at the clinic, trying to make up for her weeks of absence.
Jane had been genuine when she’d said that she did not harbour any bad feelings towards Claire, not since the first irrational madness had passed in the troubled weeks after the tragedy. Now she was only sorry for the distress she had caused the girl. She would really try and make it up to her.
Jane was surprised at how exhausted she felt since returning to work, even though her physical injuries were nearly healed. Somehow she did not seem to have much energy to tope with anything but the most straightforward of cases. Even routine examinations and the necessary follow-ups to clinical tests seemed to take her an inordinate amount of time and effort. Now there was an extra problem to sort out.
Soon Sheena and Ruthie would be going away to Spain for the summer and there were still all the arrangements to be made. Jane at last stirred herself to ring the travel agent and book their tickets. Once it was done she felt better. Next thing she would start shopping for their clothes. There was so much they needed. But before she could even begin she received a letter from her cousin saying that she was really sorry, she knew just how much Jane was depending on her but she could not, after all, accompany the girls to Spain.
Jane bit her lip in dismay and read on with sinking heart. In her thin upright script Anne explained that she had been admitted to hospital for tests and it now appeared that she would have to undergo a hysterectomy at once. What a time she had to go and pick, was Jane’s first unfeeling thought. Poor Anne, she thought contritely, but there was no denying it left her in a spot. She couldn’t go herself and she couldn’t let the girls go on their own either, so what on earth was she to do?
It was the Murray family as usual who came to her rescue. When Liz heard how Jane had been let down, she offered to ask her mother’s advice. ‘Mammy might know someone,’ adding with a laugh, ‘I wouldn’t mind volunteering for the job myself if you didn’t need me here. What I’d do for a few weeks in the sun!’ she laughed.
Jane grinned in sympathy. Actually, she thought, there were very few people she would be happy to let chaperone her young family and they away in another country. . But when Liz returned after her lunch break happily she was the bearer of good news.
‘Mammy says if you’re stuck she could go with the girls herself. She’ll be dropping in later to see you and when does it suit?’
‘Tell her I’ll be here all evening.’ Thank God for Teresa. Jane would never forget how supportive her former receptionist had been when Eddie and Hugh died. She would be just right to go with the girls, and what was so important, Ruthie liked her.
When Teresa arrived it was clear from her manner that she was delighted at the prospect of a few weeks in the sun. ‘Not often I get away, I don’t mind telling you,’ she admitted cheerfully. Jane could well believe it. Teresa’s own brood numbered eight, the youngest of which was not yet twelve years old. In addition she had a steadily increasing number of grandchildren whose young parents made constant demands upon ‘Granny’s’ time and energy.
‘The only thing is, I’ve promised to mind the kids for Babs when she goes in to have her baby. If she was to come before time... Ah forget it!’ Teresa dismissed the possibility with a wave of her plump hand. ‘That’ll be the day. The other three had to be coaxed out into the world and do yeh think they’ve changed,’ she snorted in derision, ‘If they were any more laid back they’d be horizontal, just like their mother. That one is never on time for anything.’
Jane smiled in sympathy.
‘If she’s right with her dates Babs isn’t due till the middle of August, so we’re away in a hack.’
‘By then I’ll be able to get away myself,’ Jane assured her.
‘So it’s all settled then.’
Next day Jane rang the travel agent and changed the fourth ticket to Teresa’s name. At the same time she took out travel insurance for all of them, Claire included. She did not imagine that Annette would think to make provision for her daughter.
Since returning home Jane had valiantly tried to put him out of her mind but despite her efforts, he continued to dominate her thoughts. As she packed the girls’ cases, she often caught herself with a half-folded garment on her lap, dreamily remembering, especially that last evening when he had called to the apartment to say goodbye. They had sat on the balcony in the evening sunshine, the air about them scented with the fragrance of datura. She had found herself telling him about the years since Eddie’s death and how she had been driven by the need to work long hours at the clinic to support her small family.
‘It was a tough and lonely time,’ Jane said, without self pity. ‘When my husband and son so tragically died, I learned there was no-one I could rely upon but myself, that if we were to survive it would be through my own efforts. I suppose I have become used to the battle.’
‘Ah, Jane. I only wish it were different.’
She gazed at him candidly. ‘I wish it too.’
In her mind’s eye Jane saw again the great dangling trumpet flowers behind his head as Antonio took her in his arms. She had tightened her own arms about his neck and fervently returned his kisses, but all the time, like an unseen watcher, was the ailing shadow of Elena. When she had drawn back and looked into his eyes and seen the urgent need in them, Jane had ached to give him what he so clearly desired, but felt she would be dishonouring herself and him too. She had, besides, a superstitious conviction that by selfishly brushing aside all thoughts of the sick woman and giving in to their passions, they would forfeit each other for ever.
In the following weeks Jane often wondered if she shouldn’t have loved Antonio when she had the opportunity. In her lonelier moments she sometimes bitterly regretted depriving herself of the solace of his body, but then she remembered the strength of her feeling at the time and knew she had made the right choice. Jane had come to know and love Antonio again in those leisurely afternoon visits to the hospital when they spoke freely of the years they had been apart, and now she was conscious of an aching loss that had not been there before.
Sometimes Jane felt there was a fairy tale quality about her finding him again after so many years. Now like Sleeping Beauty she was hungry, not just for food but for life and love, and in a way she had not been for most of her married life. With each letter that arrived, she experienced a sensation of excitement followed by depression, for it only served to increase her feelings of frustration and guilt which the memory of Elena’s gentle goodness had left with her.
Sarah Lewis also communicated frequently with her. ‘Don’t forget there’s a shortage of good doctors here should you ever decide to work in Spain,’ she wrote half in jest, but Jane found herself seriously considering the idea. The women’s clinics had a great need for qualified doctors and Jane had to admit that she was greatly drawn to the notion of working in sunny Spain. And to being near Antonio? She quickly banished the thought, knowing that while Elena lived she would not even contemplate such a step.
Another person Jane badly missed was Terry. He had been home only twice since completing his initial thirty-seven hours training to become a rotary pilot. Now he was engaged in further emergency training in troop carrying into confined areas and low-level tactical flying .
As Jane packed beach towels on top of her daughters’ summer clothing and closed the lids of the cases, she found herself dwelling on Terry’s last visit. It had been brief, less than two hours, and barely time for him to do more than outline his activities. When she had steeled herself to ask how things were between Claire and himself, he had frowned and turned away without replying.
‘Terry, it wasn’t her fault,’ Jane felt constrained to say. ‘She couldn’t help what happened, you know.’
‘Don’t say any more, Mum, or I’m going,’ Terry warned her, his voice thickened by disgust and outrage. Jane realised in dismay that he saw himself as the injured party and, in his blind, unreasoning pain, was unable to summon up any pity for the true victim of the unhappy affair.
Remembering, Jane sighed with regret and her heart grieved for the pair of them. But perhaps it was better, she told herself. They were both so young and still had their careers to make. Maybe time would prove kind to them both and they would come together again. She genuinely hoped so.
The afternoon post brought her weekly letter from Antonio and she had just finished reading it and was feeling lonely and dispirited, when the phone rang. Jane picked it up and found her son at the other end. He told her with an underlying current of excitement in his voice that he had an overnight pass and would be home later in the day.
Jane looked up expectantly from her desk when she heard Terry’s key in the lock. He was in uniform with the airman’s peaked cap set at a jaunty angle and he was carrying his army kitbag. He dropped it with a thud in a corner of her surgery and came round the desk to kiss her.
‘Hi, Mum. What do you know? I’m on my way to Shannon to do my ship-borne conversion in the Atlantic.’ His golden eyes sparkled. ‘We’ll be involved in sea and air rescue. Might even pick up a D.S.M.’ He was more animated than she had seen him since his break-up with Claire and she guessed he welcomed the change of scene as well as the chance to see some action.
‘For how long?’ Jane asked, her heart sinking. Helicopters really scared her. Unlike planes, helicopters were only kept in the air by forces and controls working against one another. If anything went wrong they could not gracefully glide to earth but just fell out of the sky. She wouldn’t have a peaceful moment while he was away.
‘About three months,’ Terry said.
‘When are you going?
‘A detachment from the Air Corps leave Baldonnel in the morning. Pete will be with me. You remember him?’
‘Yes, I remember.’ Jane felt an icy foreboding. Oh God, she thought, please bring him back to me. Don’t let him be taken too. She stayed awake most of the night praying and bargaining with God to spare her only son, but none of it showed in her face when she held Terry in her arms next day and kissed him goodbye. ‘Take care, love,’ she said, and kept her tears until he had gone.
That same weekend Claire went to stay with her father and so knew nothing about Terry’s departure for Shannon, not until it was too late. On the night before he had gone away she had been sitting on the bed, sorting through the books she would need for college in October, when she thought she heard a ring at the front door. She had waited, not wanting to go down herself because she was in her night things. After a moment, she heard Christopher going heavily along the hall and absently listened to the rumble of voices in the distance. When the front door closed curiosity compelled her to glance out of the window and, with a painful lurch of her heart, she recognised Terry’s tall figure crossing back over the road. She hadn’t seen him since the day Jane had returned from Spain. She hurried downstairs to find that Terry hadn’t left any message.
‘Why didn’t you call me, Chris?’ she asked, her voice rough with disappointment and the longing the sight of Terry had inspired.
‘Didn’t think you were in,’ Christopher was watching sport on television and barely turned his head to answer.
‘You could have called me...’ What was the use? He wasn’t even listening.
She had gone back up to her room and stood looking out her window. The McArdle’s door was just visible through the branches of the silver birch. Perhaps he would call over again later. But she had known in her heart that he wouldn’t.
She quite enjoyed her weekend away. At sixteen months baby David was a chubby little boy, taking his first unsteady steps. Marissa said he was slow to walk because everything was given to him before he cried for it. Claire had brought him a wind-up bear with a tin drum slung about its neck. David squealed with pleasure and loved it to death. Although she feared it would not outlast her visit, the bear was stronger than it looked and was still beating its drum when she left two mornings later. She was on the point of departure when her father told her that Marissa was expecting another baby.
‘We’re delighted,’ Jim beamed all over his face. ‘And glad for David’s sake too. We can’t seem to help it but we’re spoiling the little chap rotten.’ Claire, remembering how badly her mother had taken the news of Marissa’s first pregnancy, resolved to keep the news to herself.
But when she arrived home it was to find that her mother already knew and had another cause for grievance. Jim had applied for an annulment and in that morning’s post she had received notification of the date they were both due to attend a hearing in the Bishop’s Palace.
‘How could he?’ Annette sobbed, showing Claire the letter. ‘Denying his own children as though they’d never been born.’ Claire glanced quickly at it, unable to take it in. She felt embarrassed and saddened to see her mother so reduced.
A week later, her mother’s new lodger moved into the house. Claire did not like this new man any more than she had liked Austin or Thomas. He went out of his way to pay her fulsome compliments, and whenever he tried to detain her as she passed through the living-room, Annette always found some excuse to send her out again. Claire found her mother’s insecurity embarrassing and pitiful. She could not know the mental anguish Annette suffered on seeing herself alongside her daughter’s delicate beauty. It was no longer an equal competition. Annette had once been a good-looking woman and still dressed smartly, but she had not worn well. Since turning forty her skin had taken on the texture of coarse orange peel and had a faded, patchy look. In her obsession with remaining youthful, she slavishly adopted special diets and health fads. She could not hide her relief at the end of June when Claire kissed her goodbye and flew off to Spain with Sheena and Ruthie for the whole summer.
Fernando Gonzalez stood at the window watching Pepe, his father’s chauffeur, hose down the Mercedes. Since receiving news that the family of la médica irlandesa would be flying into Spain that afternoon, Fernando had cleared all appointments in order to leave himself free to meet the girls and their chaperone at the airport. Anxious to make a better impression on them than was possible in his small Seat, he had instructed Pepe to prepare the Mercedes.
The water gushed in a silver jet, drumming on the glass and fountaining over the curved fenders. When, at last, Pepe stepped back to survey his handiwork, the black saloon car gleamed like anthracite in the sunshine. Fernando nodded approval. It was fitting that the car should look its best when he picked up Señora McArdle’s daughters and their so beautiful friend, Claire.
Fernando was equally concerned about his own appearance and had already changed his shirt three times that morning and discarded as many ties, before selecting the navy silk with the emblem of the exclusive Andelucian golf club, of which he and his father were members. He was contemplating dashing up to his room to try yet another ensemble when Pepe raised his hand to signify that he was almost finished.
Fernando nodded at him and turned back into the room. ‘Another five minutes, Mother, and we’ll be on our way.’
‘Thank you, Fernan.’ Elena Gonzalez gently smiled at her son as she sat in her wheelchair, rosary beads in her hands, her mantilla covering her greying auburn hair. She had grown very frail over the months, but despite the disease that was slowly ravaging her nervous system her spirit remained as indomitable as ever. Each morning she struggled out of bed and, with the help of her maid, Christina, washed and dressed herself. Then, after breakfasting lightly on coffee and a fragment of her favourite powdery almond croissant, she allowed an hour to elapse before attending mass at the local church of Santo Tomas.
Fernando knew how much these daily visits meant to his mother but, lately, he had found himself wondering about the wisdom of leaving her there on her own. It was true that Don Jaime, the parish priest, was not very far away but, by the time the missal was removed from the altar and the candles extinguished, it was close on siesta time and if Elena were suddenly taken ill... Fernando frowned and decided that this time he would bring Christina with them. Elena would consider he was fussing but better safe than sorry.
He placed his hands on his mother’s wheelchair, smoothly turning it in the direction of the cool, tiled hallway, and parked her within sight, smell and touching distance of the potted azaleas, her favourite plant. Elena smiled and gently caressed the glossy leaves between the fingertips of her left hand, her useless right one lying bunched and knotted in her lap.
‘One moment, Mother,’ Fernando whirled about as though just getting the notion, ‘I will see if Christina can accompany us.’
‘There is no need,’ Elena protested, preferring the quiet and peace of the cool church on her own, without the distraction of Christina’s fidgeting and barely suppressed sighs. Then seeing the anxiety in her son’s eyes, she closed her lips again, knowing how he worried about her.
Fernando ran up the stairs in search of Christina, glancing hurriedly at his watch as he went. The Iberia flight was due to land at Malaga Airport in another forty-five minutes and he aimed to be there, waiting for the girls when they disembarked, as they were not expecting him.
He strode along the landing and rapped briskly on Christina’s door, a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he pictured the girls’ surprise at seeing him or, more particularly, Claire’s surprise, for she was the one who primarily interested him. Since meeting her the previous summer Fernando had been unable to get her out of his mind. He wasn’t sure but he thought it was a case of love at first sight..
Fernando Gonzalez, good-looking and assured, was in his twenty-sixth year and had often been in love before. Since completing his first term at the University of Malaga there had been a succession of affairs with pretty Spanish girls of good family. Although not as instantly successful with the female sex as his younger brother Alejandro, who possessed the kind of dashing good looks associated with romantic nineteenth century novels of duels and love trysts, Fernando’s good bearing and impeccable manners were enough to attract the interest of the most discerning of young Spanish ladies. In addition to his personable appearance there was his extreme wealth. The marriage of Antonio, the only son of Ferdinand Gonzalez, to Elena, the only daughter of Manuel Lopez, had resulted in the amalgamation of their vast vineyards in the Jerez region to the north of Cadiz, where the fertile alberiza soil of their combined crops produced a plentiful supply of the fine Palomino grape. Besides this, there was Antonio’s investment in real estate and the successful and rapidly spreading number of their Las Cicadas apartment blocks, which stretched as far east along the coast as Almeria and as far west as Marbella. As eldest son Fernando stood to inherit the greatest share of this accumulated wealth. Given the prospect of such an inheritance it was greatly to the young Spaniard’s credit that he was virtually unspoiled.
He went downstairs again to begin the process of transferring Elena and her wheelchair to the car. By the time Christina came panting out the door and heaved her cumbersome bulk into the rear of the Mercedes, beside her mistress, Fernando was seated in the driver’s seat, drumming his well-manicured fingernails on the steering wheel.
Fernando slipped the car into gear and drove rapidly between the ornate gates bearing the Gonzalez crest and down the twisty road to the church. There he deposited his mother with a dutiful kiss and a promise to return for her within the hour, before speeding off again along the road to Malaga.
An Iberian DC9 aircraft, with its distinctive red and gold colouring, was coming in low on the skyline as Fernando drove into the airport. As he paced up and down in the arrivals area, his gaze trained expectantly on the narrow exit channel, Fernando was shaken by a sudden presentiment that the young girl, soon to emerge, would some day come to mean more to him than any other woman he would ever meet.
They came quickly through the customs area and their mood was light-hearted and gay with anticipation of the months that lay ahead.
Sheena came first, easily pulling her soft-topped leather case on its trolley behind her. She wore faded blue jeans and a striped navy and white poplin waistcoat over a white cotton shirt. There was a pair of sunglasses shoved high on her forehead, and a sparkle in her eyes.
Claire wore jeans too and a blue denim shirt open at the neck. Her fair hair was tied back in two pigtails and she looked no more than seventeen. She held Ruthie’s hand and bent her head to chat encouragingly to the little girl, while guiding her own case on its nose-wheel. Ruthie pulled a slightly smaller version of her older sister’s case, which was also supported by a luggage trolley. Two steps behind her charges, breathing hard, Teresa Murray struggled to correct her case’s tendency to overturn while all the time puffing encouragement after their disappearing backs.
Fernando stepped forward into Claire’s path and relieved her of her case.
‘It’s Fernando,’ Ruthie cried in recognition.
‘Buenos días.’ Fernando’s wide welcoming smile lit his rather sombre features and he held out his hand to Claire. As she shyly shook it, Sheena noisily came back inside to find out what was keeping them and broke into exclamations of delight at the sight of the Spaniard.
‘Hey, this is great. Mum never said a word.’ She led the way outside, chatting confidently. Fernando looked back at Claire with a helpless shrug before strolling on with Sheena to where he had parked the Mercedes.
‘Isn’t it great Fernando came to meet us,’ Ruthie said enthusiastically.
Claire nodded, still a little overwhelmed by the welcome he had given her. He was such a good-looking, sophisticated man, she thought, feeling clumsy in his company.
‘Look at Shee flirting like mad with him. Bet she means to add him to her list.’ Ruthie gave Claire a wise look.
Claire sat into the back of the gleaming black Mercedes with Teresa and Ruthie. Fernando had motioned her towards the front seat but Sheena got there first. The Spaniard, too polite to show his feelings, listened with a slightly bewildered smile to Sheena’s chatter, straining to hear what was being said behind him. Sheena noticed nothing. Sheena who could not envisage a situation where a young man might possibly prefer anyone else to her, gaily chattered on, confident that she was making a hit, as the big car easily covered the miles to Nerja.
When Fernando had deposited them at the apartment block he placed their cases on the ground and turned and shook hands with each of them, politely bestowing a smile on Teresa, who was plainly bedazzled by the assured young Spaniard.
‘I hope you will not hesitate to call upon my family if you are ever in need,’ he told them formally. He looked at Claire as he spoke and she felt that he was somehow singling her out and felt sudden disquiet. Oh God, Claire thought in despair, why must she always be so melancholy?. She was here to enjoy herself. Didn’t she deserve to like anyone else?
Soberly, she returned the Spaniard’s farewell and turned away. She was very quiet as she went in out of the sun and lifted her case up the stone steps.
‘What a hunk,’ Sheena said, taking the steps at a run and carelessly bumping her trollied case after her. She passed them all out and arrived breathlessly at the apartment door, minutes before them. She delved in her bag for the key and went ahead of them inside.
‘Wow!’ her voice floated back to them. ‘This is great... really something.’
Although Jane and Terry had enthusiastically, and at length, described the furniture and decor, none of them were prepared for the sumptuousness of the apartment, from the richness of the glowing teak in the living-room and bedrooms to the tiled perfection of the bathroom. They clattered about looking into the presses and exclaiming over everything. Teresa just stood inside the door and looked about her with her mouth dropped open. ‘Never in all my life!’ she kept repeating. ‘By God! This is better than the Gresham Hotel.’
Sheena laid immediate claim to the biggest bedroom, Teresa having assured her that she was just as happy to sleep in the small room, and plonked her case on the woven matting before bouncing boisterously on the wide bed. ‘Who knows?’ she joked. ‘I might get lucky.’
Claire grinned dutifully with a desolate, hollow feeling inside. Would she never stop aching for Terry? Even now the thought of him brought a lump to her throat.
‘That reminds me,’ Sheena looked at her thoughtfully. She snapped open her case and burrowed beneath her underclothes. When she turned around she was holding an envelope in her hand. ‘Terry asked me to give you this. Never thought of it till now.’
The letter lay in Claire’s hip pocket until she had unpacked her clothes and put them away in the louvered press. While Sheena and Ruthie went out to buy milk, Teresa bustled about the kitchen, exploring her territory. After the girls had returned and boiled water in a saucepan for coffee and the four of them sat on the balcony sipping the hot liquid and nibbling crusty rolls, Claire was conscious of it all the time against her hip.
She toyed with the idea of never opening it, because then she would be no better off but certainly no worse. When she had given full rein to her imagination and exhausted every possibility, both good and bad, she went into her room and extracted the letter from the envelope. It was written on a piece of jotter paper and folded in half. ‘Dear Claire, I’m off to Shannon tomorrow where I’ll be stationed for the next couple of months. I called the other night but you were out. You can contact me for the first week in the evenings between 7 and 8 o’clock at Crowley’s pub. Number below. I know what you said the last time we met...’
She heard Ruthie calling her name and quickly turned over the paper. Halfway down the page it was signed, ‘Love, Terry.’
She felt herself growing dizzy and light-headed. She thought it was the combination of the heat and the strong coffee.
She glanced back and read,’...but I hope you’ll ring. Otherwise, I’ll believe you really meant it when you said you didn’t ever want to see me again.’
Had she really said that?
Ruthie came in the door and Claire saw that she was wearing her swimsuit and carrying a shrimp net she had bought earlier. Sheena must have received this precious letter over a week ago and left it all this time, lying in her half-packed case. She felt herself getting dizzier and sicker.
‘Clairey,’ Ruthie cried. ‘You’re not listening! We’re all going down to the beach for a swim and would you please hurry up and get a move on.’
The clattering roar of the Dauphin filled Terry’s head and he moved his left hand up and down, twisting it to control the collective and throttle, while his right hand moved in small circles, controlling the cyclic. Below, the slaty waves of the Atlantic lashed the bow of the patrol ship, and above the sky was equally grey and ferocious.
For a moment it was like his first time in a helicopter and all parts wanted to go their own way but gradually Terry got control, and the machine gently rose and fell in the same spot. He pressed his feet on the spongy pedals, turning the machine back towards the patrol ship and held it in a hover fifty feet above the main deck.
‘Okay, bring us down lower and keep us pointed at the main mast,’ the instructor’s nasal voice sounded in his headphones.
‘Yes, sir.’ Terry grabbed the collective stick in his left hand and at once the helicopter shot up to sixty feet. He knew he was making a poor showing but his concentration kept wandering. Claire hadn’t even bothered to answer his letter or make contact with him. Every night in Crowley’s waiting like a dope, Terry thought, feeling his anger swelling again.
He panicked and overcontrolled as the deck of the ship rushed up. Damn! He had pulled up too hard, causing them to pop back up in the air.
‘Try and keep us over the same spot, laddie.’
‘Sorry!’ Terry grunted, the sweat running down his neck.
The instructor took over the controls. ‘I’ve got it,’ he said. The machine drifted down twenty feet and pointed towards the mast of the ship again. Terry felt a fool.
‘Okay, it’s all yours. Think you can take us down?’
Terry nodded grimly. He would or die in the attempt. He looked for a place to approach, then aimed the machine into the wind, to reduce groundspeed on touchdown. When they were thirty feet from the chosen spot on the main deck and the instructor had not taken over the controls, Terry knew he was going to let him go the whole way. He glided down in autorotation and concentrated on landing straight ahead, into the wind. He hit the deck, skidded a few yards and came to a halt.
‘Great bloody man, McArdle,’ the instructor was smiling openly.
‘What do you mean, sir?’
‘I thought you handled that like an ace.’
‘But I was all over the place, sir.’
‘That’s what I mean... an ace arsehole.’
Terry flushed and turned his head away to complete his Landing Checks.
Claire walked up and down the cool aisles of the supermercado carefully selecting items from the well-stocked shelves and placing them in her trolley. It was a job that invariably fell to her in the fortnight since they had arrived in Spain and one she secretly relished. Sometimes Teresa Murray went shopping with her and, for the sake of politeness, Claire pretended to be glad of her company, but really she preferred to be on her own. Teresa was kindness itself but she was gregarious by nature and kept up a continuous flow of conversation, mostly about her extended family and the amazing doings of her grandchildren. Claire found it exhausting and was just as glad whenever Teresa admitted to feeling ‘a bit lazy, love.’ There was no denying her presence saved Claire a lot. Normallyin Jane’s absence she was lumbered with most of the housekeeping chores but with Teresa doing the cooking and cleaning Claire’s only duty on this holiday was the difficult task of budgeting their allowance to pay for their food. She had even managed to make it stretch to a train trip to Barcelona on the previous weekend to see the Picasso exhibition and was hoping that soon they might all attend a bullfight in Malaga. This was something she had taken responsibility for since the days of their summer holidays in the seaside cottage. Claire told herself she didn’t really mind and accepted that in Spain Sheena’s prime consideration was to achieve an all-over tan. Her bottom was already ‘muy tostado’, and when she was not on the balcony sunbathing nude, she spent her time on the beach in a skimpy sun-dress, lazily sketching or making pastel studies of children and animals. Teresa was fond of sunbathing too and she often shared the balcony with Sheena. With the two of them spread out there was not much room for anyone else but Claire did not grudge the older woman her relaxation. Some days Claire and Ruthie would leave Teresa to her sunning and stroll down to join Sheena on the beach. When the sand became too hot to sit on, the three of them would climb the stone steps to sit under the coloured awnings of a beach front cafe and sip naranjada or cafe con leche.
Now as Claire popped a jar of apricot preserve into the trolley, she reflected that she had got out of the habit of counting on Sheena to do anything other than eat the food she bought. She was the one who accompanied Ruthie to visit their old friends at Hotel Murillo and, while the little girls played happily together, lingered near them in the pool or lay dreaming under the trees. Ignacio was as doting as ever and insisted upon Ruthie and herself, and Teresa when she accompanied them, staying to lunch or tea, He was always urging them to sample different dishes on the pretext of requiring their opinion. Claire had indulged herself so much with his delicious tortillas that she feared she must have put on at least half-stone weight since coming to Spain.
Claire took her place in the queue behind a Spanish matron who was checking through what looked like her week’s shopping. Leaning on her trolley, she glanced about her, enjoying the foreignness of the scene and inhaling the attractive scents wafting her way. She loved the way Spanish people smelled as though they had stepped straight out of a delicately perfumed bath. As she was thinking this a stout, middle-aged man, carrying a basket of groceries, stood in front of her..
She debated whether or not to say anything. After all, she was a stranger in this country. But something deliberately arrogant in his manner offended her, however, and although she was usually so gentle and accepting, she found herself taking issue.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, the words coming out almost of their own volition. ‘I was before you.’
He stared at her haughtily, then tried to bluster his way out of it, but she stood her ground and after a moment he sullenly withdrew to the end of the queue. That’ll teach him, Claire thought, moving into his space. She looked around and met the amused eyes of a young Spaniard standing behind her.
‘You are to be congratulated,’ he told her with an infectious grin. Claire self-consciously returned his smile, as she packed her groceries into bags.
‘Please allow me.’ He was at her elbow, taking two weightier bags from her. ‘Contrary to your experience the Spanish are not an inconsiderate people.’
‘Thank you,’ Claire said doubtfully, wondering if she should try and take them back. She preceded him out of the store and began walking quickly towards the apartment.
‘Guapa,’ he said approvingly. He walked beside her and quietly studied her. ‘You are English?’
She shook her head. ‘Irish.’
‘Ah yes... Irlanda.’
As they arrived at the entrance to Las Cicadas, Claire looked for Fernando’s car, but there was no sign of it. The Spaniard went on into the building and, ignoring the lift, began climbing the stairs. There was nothing else Claire could do but follow him. He was about to continue on to the next floor when she called him back.
‘This is it. Now may I have my bags?’
‘Certainly.’ He laid them carefully on the ground and stepped back with a smart half-salute, causing Claire’s heart to lurch painfully. The military action was so reminiscent of Terry she could have wept. She bent her head and rummaged in her bag for the key. When she raised it again the Spaniard was regarding her curiously.
‘My name is Alejandro,’ he was saying. ‘And yours?’
‘Claire.’
He smiled, showing even white teeth then turned and ran lightly down the steps. She was moved to stare down the stairwell and, after a few moments, saw his dark head appear briefly. She stepped back hurriedly as he twisted his head to look up. Then he was gone. She shrugged and went into the apartment.
The following afternoon Claire and Teresa came down the hill from Hotel Murillo with Ruthie and Adela. The little Spanish girl carried a soft leather duffle bag over her shoulder. Ignacio had readily given permission for his daughter to stay overnight and now the two little girls skipped along, delighted at the proposed treat.
‘Would you look at them,’ Teresa nudged Claire. ‘Happy as Larry the pair of them.’
Claire nodded and smiled.
‘That little Adela is the spittin’ image of my Sara’s eldest girl,’ Teresa went on affectionately. ‘Stand to look at her you would.’
Claire was amused. Teresa’s grandchildren were her favourite topic.
‘Please let me hold Carmencita,’ Ruthie begged now. The huge rag doll was attired in Spanish national costume and the children were taking it in turns to carry her. The two of them collapsed into fits of the giggles at the way the doll’s head-dress flopped over her eyes.
‘She is drunk!’ Adela said in glee. ‘Too much sangria.’
‘Poor Carmencita,’ sighed Ruthie. The minute the children got in the apartment door they ran to prepare her for her siesta. Adela pulled out an embroidered lawn nightie from her bag and, clucking fondly like two little mother hens, she and Ruthie robed the doll and laid her tenderly on a pillow.
‘Shh... she is sleeping.’ Adela put her finger to her lips, as she backed out of the darkened room. ‘Tonight she will dance flamenco.’
Claire smiled at the pair of them, glad to see them in such good spirits. She had been a little worried in case Adela might be bored without the distractions she was used to in her father’s luxurious hotel, but Adela was a sunny, unspoilt child and was thoroughly enjoying the novelty of the visit.
‘Come and see my kitten,’ Ruthie proudly invited her and, while Teresa was busy getting out the iced limonada and fancy biscuits, they went on to the balcony. To Claire’s relief there was no shortage of cats visiting the apartment to succeed the tortoiseshell kitten from the previous summer.
As Claire sat on her bed and picked up a book, there was a ring at the door. She opened it and found Fernando outside.
‘Ah, Claire.’ Fernando’s face was transformed by smiles at the sight of her. ‘I cannot stay long. I came only to invite you to tea at my house tomorrow. My mother intended you should visit before this but she has not been well. So! It is arranged. You will come?’
Claire nodded.
‘Can Adela come too?’ Ruthie asked eagerly. The little girls had come running at the sound of the bell.
Fernando bent towards the Spanish child. ‘You would like to come, Adela?’
‘Con mucho gusto, Señor.’
‘Muy bien.’ Fernando turned smiling back to Claire. ‘So, I shall call for you at three o’clock.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘All of you. Your chaperone too.’
‘Hasta luego.’
‘Ah, you are learning fast. Hasta luego.’ Fernando gave them a small wave and was gone. Claire closed the door thoughtfully after him.
‘Let’s go and meet Sheena,’ she suggested to the little girls and they ran to get their swimsuits and towels.
Calling goodbye to Teresa, who had her feet up dozing in the sun, they set off for the beach. Sheena was waiting for them, her sunbathing and sketching done for the day. She was amused by Fernando’s invitation,
‘What did I tell you,’ she chuckled. ‘He wants you to meet his mother.’
‘All of us,’ Claire stressed, but Sheena laughed and said that was only camouflage.
They sat chatting while the little girls played on the sand and swam, and then they all left the beach and went to their usual cafe for drinks.
Sheena gave their order to the waiter, who grinned and eagerly went to do her bidding. As always, she had lost no time in enslaving the male population. She had been disappointed but philosophical when Fernando had plainly showed his preference for Claire, and although she still practised her charm on him, it was merely a reflex action, ‘Will you make me a picture of Carmencita, please,’ Adela asked her politely. Sheena good-naturedly took up her sketch pad and obliged.
She was engaged in shading in the costume and assuring Adela that the next would be in colour, when a shadow fell across the table and the girls looked up to see two Spaniards smiling down at them.
‘Hola, Claire,’ one of them said.
With a start, Claire recognised the young man she had met at the supermarket. She returned his greeting, conscious of Sheena’s amazed stare. Whereupon Alejandro indicated the chairs about the table, and Claire had no choice but to invite him and his companion to sit down. Sheena regarded them both with bright interested eyes.
‘You are an artist?’ Alejandro bent to look at her sketch.
Sheena grinned and nodded.
‘Are portraits very expensive?’
‘Special rate for good-looking men,’ Sheena said cheekily.
Alejandro’s was slightly older than Alejandro, perhaps in his early thirties. Tall and well-built, with black hair spiking across his forehead. He murmured something to Alejandro and when the younger man responded with a laugh, he fell silent again and stared so intently at the girls that Claire was embarrassed. To cover her confusion she turned to Alejandro.
‘It’s a portrait of Carmencita,’ she explained, holding up Adela’s doll, ‘who, by the way, dances flamenco.’
‘Ayee, I have always wanted to meet such an accomplished young lady.’ Alejandro took hold of the doll’s hand and solemnly shook it, much to the delight of the two little girls. ‘And speaking of flamenco,’ he turned to Claire, ‘would you and your friend care to accompany us to a show?’
‘We’d love to.’ Sheena accepted excitedly. ‘We’ve been longing to see flamenco, haven’t we, Claire?’
Claire nodded, but with less enthusiasm. ‘Yes, we have.’
‘But you do not know anything about us,’ Alejandro said astutely, ‘and you are not sure if it is correct to accompany two Spaniards to a show without being formally introduced?’
Claire smiled reluctant assent.
‘Comprendo. So what is to be done?’ Alejandro sighed and turned to his companion. ‘Should we ask Señora Carmencita to make the formal introductions? He glanced back at Claire with an understanding smile. ‘Would that meet your requirements?’ Claire found her objections melting under his charm. Perhaps she was being silly.
‘Of course it would,’ Sheena said, impatient of such scruples. ‘Don’t pay any attention to Claire. She worries about nothing.’
Still Alejandro hesitated, his eyebrows quirked.
Claire smiled and nodded.
‘Estupendo,’ Alejandro said in relief and leaned towards the rag doll. To the amusement of the little girls he began, ‘Señora Carmencita I would consider it a great honour if you would introduce me to your charming friends.’
Sheena grinned and mimicked through the doll’s head-dress. ‘I would be delighted, Señor,’ pointing first at the little girls and then herself, and pronouncing their names.
‘And now,’ Alejandro’s companion drawled, ‘Won’t you introduce me?’
Alejandro laughed and clapped his shoulder. ‘Miguel Delgado is a very good friend of mine,’ he told them. ‘I am most happy to present him to you.’
‘Señoritas.’ Miguel bowed, and resumed his lazy watch on the girls again.
Alejandro ordered wine and said, ‘Tonight we will go to La Hacienda, the best in town. But first we will take you to a friend of ours who owns a bar with the most delicious gambas.’
There was a relaxed feeling between them now although Claire was still not at ease with Miguel. He seemed to her coarse and full of suppressed energy, or violence. Maybe it was only in her imagination, but she felt distinctly uncomfortable in his company. Before long she stood up and said they must go. Sheena was reluctant to say goodbye and there were many farewells before she could drag herself away.
Between the attention of two good-looking young men and the wine Sheena was on a high as they walked back to the apartment, brimming with plans and ideas for further meetings with the two Spaniards.
‘Let’s see how tonight goes first,’ Claire suggested cautiously. She was more concerned with leaving Ruthie and Adela.
‘Are we right to go?’ she wondered.
‘Oh, they’ll be all right with Teresa,’ Sheena said carelessly. ‘Anyway we won’t be late. Alex says the show only lasts an hour.’
Claire allowed herself to be persuaded. So often lately hers seemed to be the only dissenting voice. She was tired being the conscience for everyone.
At the appointed hour the Spaniards were waiting for the girls in the courtyard and they walked to the bar where the gambas were every bit as good as Alejandro had promised. Miguel had been replaced by a young man called Luis, and no explanations were offered. Claire suspected that Sheena was disappointed but she was just as glad herself.
At La Hacienda they were shown to a table and ice-cold glasses of Coke, laced with white rum, were placed before them. Claire drank slowly but Sheena, like everything else she did in life, tackled hers vigorously, airily opining that Cuba Libres were not a whole lot different from Coke. Except for the kick, Claire thought.
Talking was difficult with all the tempestuous dancing going on so close at hand.. In time another round of drinks was brought, and then another. Alejandro seemed to be very wealthy, paying for everything.
When the flamenco finished the Spaniards invited the girls on to the dance floor. The song that was playing ‘You’ll Never Stop Me Loving You’ had been popular the previous summer when Terry and Claire danced together. She felt such a wave of longing that she tightened her grip on Luis’s narrow shoulder and he glanced down at her in surprise. After a moment he thrust himself hard against her and Claire felt so moved by desire and all the rum she had drunk that she almost turned faint. She had not thought that she would ever feel sexual awareness again, nor had she wanted to.
When they arrived back at the apartment she said goodnight at once and ran up to join Ruthie and Adela. She found the little girls sitting with Teresa stretched out on the couch, who raised a red suffering face as Claire came in the door.
‘Poor Teresa isn’t well,’ Ruthie said, jumping up at once and running over to her. ‘Her head is aching and she says she feels dizzy.’
‘I’m afraid I overdid it,’ Teresa admitted. ‘Too much blooming sun. I should have known better, lying on that balcony for hours.
‘Poor Teresa,’ Claire commiserated with her and went to get her a cup of tea and two paracetemol. By the time Sheena had said at last to Alejandro and come dashing up the stairs, it was clear to Claire unless by some miracle Teresa recovered from her sunburn before morning she would never be well enough to accompany them to Fernando’s house next day.
Fernando sat behind the wheel of the Mercedes looking cool and relaxed as he drove the short distance into Nerja to pick up the girls. He wore light, stone-coloured linen slacks and a short-sleeved shirt with a button down collar and a bronze silk tie. His arms were dark from the sun and contrasted strongly against the soft pearl. He went the length of the street and turned into the parking lot before Las Cicadas. He had told Claire to expect him at three o’clock and it was now ten minutes before the hour.
It was deeply satisfying to Fernando’s punctilious soul that he was early despite the many preparations needed to ensure that everything was in order for this afternoon’s tea-party.
His first priority had been to ensure that Elena should take her afternoon nap undisturbed in the cathedral-like quiet of her bedroom, so that she would be rested and at her best for the visit. Leaving Christina to wake her mistress at the appointed time, Fernando had gone downstairs and supervised the laying out of the china and silverware bearing the Gonzalez crest, nodding his approval of the trays of sweet confectionery that Pilar had been preparing all morning and taking it upon himself to check that the limonada, as fresh and fruitily delicious as only Pilar knew how to make it, was keeping cool in big earthenware jugs on the marble shelves of the larder. All that remained was to shower and change into casual clothing, before driving into the town.
As Fernando parked the Mercedes he glanced in the mirror, his attention caught by the sight of his younger brother jauntily crossing the concrete forecourt. He stared in surprise, for he had believed Alejandro to be far away in his military barracks in Cadiz.
‘Hola! Alex!’ Fernando called through the window and his brother checked and looked behind him.
‘Fernan. What are you doing here?’
‘I might ask you the same question,’ Fernando said with a smile, noting that Alejandro was out of uniform and carried no kit. ‘When did you arrive?’
‘Not long ago.’ His brother’s reciprocal smile was wide but his gaze was almost furtive, Fernando thought, frowning at the vagueness of his reply.
‘Does Father know you are here?’
Alejandro shrugged. ‘There wasn’t time to tell him. I got the chance of a lift home and felt like coming.’
‘So we’ll see you later?’
‘I’m not sure. It all depends...’
‘I thought you said you felt like coming home.’
‘Yes I did... but you know how it is, Fernan,’ Alejandro smiled disarmingly. ‘Naturally I want to see my mother, but I am meeting friends and may decide after all to stay with them rather than inconvenience anyone at home. Anyway it is merely a flying visit... there may not even be time to go home.’
Fernando regarded his younger brother gravely.
‘Are you in trouble, Alex?’
‘Of course not! What a suspicious mind you have. It’s just that if I go home it will only upset mother. You know how fussed she gets. She’ll want me beside her every minute and when I go she’ll miss me like the devil so perhaps...’
Alejandro looked uncomfortable.
‘Very well.’ Fernando took pity on him. ’I will say nothing but only for her sake. She will be even more upset if she thinks you are here and she doesn’t see you.’
Alejandro looked relieved. ‘Thanks, Fernan. I’ll be home for a week in September and then I will be a model son, I promise.’
Fernando suddenly recalled his purpose in visiting Las Cicadas and clapped his brother absently on the back. Alejandro was a selfish little beggar, he thought, but there was no real harm in him. He got along better with him than he did with Federico, who took himself far too seriously for his taste.
‘Make sure you do!’ With a last rejoinder Fernando turned away and ran lightly up the steps to Claire’s apartment. He forgot all about his brother the moment she opened the door.
Señora Gonzalez, sitting on the patio, shaded from the sun by a huge parasol, stretched out her hand in welcome. She greeted each girl in turn in a low, sweetly accented voice and expressed polite regret that their chaperone had not been well enough to accompany them.
‘I was sorry to hear she is suffering from sunburn,’ Elena said. ‘It is so easy to underestimate the strength of the sun. I hope she will soon be recovered.’ Then turning to Fernando, she said, ‘Fernan, my dear, pour drinks for the girls. They must be thirsty.’
‘Certainly, Mother,’ Fernando replied, as he bent to kiss her, ‘but not until I have rung for your iced tea. I notice you have not had it yet.’
As Fernando made himself useful, pouring glasses of chilled limonada and cheerfully handing them about, Claire took hers and went to sit near Elena. She was drawn to the frail figure and observing Fernando’s tender care for his mother, was struck by the deep affection between them.
Sheena, glass in hand, wandered off across the smooth lawn to admire the flowerbeds massed with salvias, carnations and begonias. In one place they had been planted out in a striking arrangement to represent the Spanish flag. Fernando walked beside her, content to leave Claire with his mother.
‘Gosh!’ Sheena said in awe. ‘I bet that took someone hours of back-breaking toil.’
‘A fair amount,’ Fernando agreed, amused. It had taken their two full-time gardeners, along with some outside help, ten hours to produce the effect.
‘This place is enormous,’ Sheena said admiringly. ‘Just how big is it?’
‘About four acres.’ Fernando smiled .
‘Wow!’ Sheena was suitably impressed.
Fernando looked back and saw that Claire was holding a book and leaning close to his mother’s chair. Elena was a great reader. He knew Claire was taking an Arts degree at college, which increased his interest in her. He was full of admiration for learning and, in addition to his architectural degree, would liked to have taken a degree in languages. He hoped some day to put this right. As it was, he was fairly fluent in German and French. He looked around at the sound of excited laughter and saw Ruthie and Adela frisking with his black Labrador.
‘What a friendly, beautiful dog,’ Ruthie gasped. ‘She licked my face.’
Fernando laughed. ‘Stella is very fond of chocolate,’ he told her, eyeing the marks about the little girl’s mouth.
Sheena shoved a tissue at her sister and said disgustedly: ‘Wipe your face, silly,’
‘I much prefer Stella,’ Ruthie said, thrusting her face close to the dog’s muzzle and Stella obligingly used her tongue again to great effect.
‘Honestly, Ruthie,’ Sheena scolded. ‘You can’t be taken anywhere. What would Mummy say if she were here.’
‘Mummy would approve,’ Ruthie said serenely. ‘She’s always telling us to use natural rather than artificial resources.’
‘Isn’t she incorrigible,’ she appealed to Fernando with such affectionate pride that he grinned back at her, liking her a little more than he had formerly.
Claire was oblivious of them all as she chatted to Elena. She discovered that Elena was almost as great an admirer of Charlotte Bronte’s novels as she was herself.
‘I cannot decide which I like better,’ Claire confessed after some thought. ‘Jane Eyre or Villette?
Elena smiled. ‘I have no hesitation in deciding upon Villette,’ she said. ‘I think if you have ever had to leave home and live for a time in another country you would share a fellow feeling with poor Lucy Snowe.’
Claire considered this. At present she was away from home but she supposed that she wasn’t really qualified to judge since she wasn’t entirely amongst strangers. Oddly, she felt more at home here in Spain than she had anywhere else in her life, and had done so from her first day on Spanish soil.
‘Have you had such an experience, Señora?’ she asked shyly, wondering if she should be so personal.
Elena nodded and sighed. ‘When I was eighteen I lived one whole year in England. Ah, but how I missed Spain. Alas, I did not have the consolation of Doctor John or Monsieur Paul Emanuel to alleviate my loneliness.’ She laughed gently to show she was not serious. ‘But, of course, I cannot complain having by that time already found my novio.’
Claire remembered Fernando’s father, a big untidy man with bushy eyebrows and curly black hair.
‘Sadly these days I do not read as much as I would like,’ Elena was saying. ‘I get tired easily and find it difficult to support a book for long.’
Claire had noticed how twisted the woman’s hands were and how restricted her movements. She had an idea, but hesitated to express it for fear of seeming presumptuous. But when Elena leaned back, looking ill and exhausted from all the effort of talking, Claire offered to come to the house and read to her.
‘Any time you want me,’ Claire said earnestly, her own eyes meeting Elena’s with such a look of concern that the older woman was startled.
‘I would like that very much,’ Elena said slowly, and was surprised to find it was true. There was something about the girl’s look that went straight to her heart. From the first moment Elena had felt an immediate rapport with her and now, watching her son’s eyes fixed ardently upon the young Irish girl as he strolled across the grass to join them, she perceived with a slight sense of shock that his interest in Claire was more like that of a lover than the family friend he claimed to be.