by Jan Andersen
His theatre nurse, a Miss Cray, felt that although the patient was certainly dangerously ill he would have stood an even chance of surviving had the operation not been performed. Did she speak out? No, it was not her place to question the decision of an eminent surgeon.
There was more about her evidence, a little about Hamilton, the assistant, but the verdict in the end had been all about ‘operating without undue care’. The general tone of the newspaper files seemed to be one of condemnation.
Far worse however was their condemnation of what happened later that same night. Richard Kendall had gone home, had a bitter quarrel with his wife and carelessly left his medical bag where his child could reach it. He had then left the house. When he returned the child was dead and his wife died shortly afterwards. The contents of his bag were spilled on to the floor and some dangerous drugs were missing. The coroner gave a verdict of accidental death, but Kendall was rapped severely on the knuckles for negligence.
Many papers went to town on the young, glamorous surgeon who had been so suddenly toppled from his pedestal. Richard Kendall refused to say anything in defence of himself, then or at any other time. This seemed to have been taken as a tacit admission of guilt.
Jess was still staring at the paper, trying to sort out in her own mind what kind of a man this was she must meet, when there was a knock at her door and Maria said: ‘I am sorry to disturb you, senorita, but Senora Gomez asks that you will take coffee with her in her own sitting room.’
Jess’s panic returned. She did not want to meet Rafael’s mother alone. Oh, why wasn’t he here to give her some kind of support, just for the first time? She turned swiftly to her wardrobe, wondering desperately what to wear, then, just as quickly, her hands fell to her sides. She was properly dressed, she was used to meeting people, why pretend she was someone different from what she was? A different dress, another face was going to make no impression on Senora Gomez. So she walked over to the door and called, ‘I’m ready, Maria, if you’ll tell me where to go.’
The little maid led her to a secondary corridor that she had not noticed last night and tapped on the door at the end of it. She then opened it and announced Jess formally..
Jess stepped forward into the room and, in a way, into another century.
The room was dark and gloomy with heavy curtains drawn over already tinted windows. While Rafael’s part of the house was furnished equally with antiques it had been with carefully ordered taste. Here, both furniture and furnishings had almost certainly been handed down through the generations. At first, in the musty, crowded room, Jess could only see the faded portraits and photographs on the chests and the tables, on every surface where there was a little space. It was a few seconds before she saw Rafael’s mother.
She sat facing the door in a large wing chair, so that what little light there was fell on her face. It was an old face, an unforgiving face, but very strong. Startlingly white hair was drawn back from her forehead, but it was her eyes that struck Jess most forcibly, deep, dark eyes that seemed to see things even Jess could not see about herself.
She took a deep breath and walked forward, hand outstretched.
‘Senora Gomez, I am very pleased to meet you. Rafael has talked a great deal about you.’
The old lady inclined her head very slightly. ‘I was sorry not to be here to welcome you last night. But your arrival was ... rather unexpected and I had no time to alter my arrangements.’
Jess tried to smile at that cold, autocratic face. ‘I quite understand. As you probably know I didn’t realize I was coming here myself until a few days ago. You and Rafael have a very beautiful home.’
‘Of course. Neither my husband nor my son would allow me to want for anything. I understand the family unit is very weak in England these days.’
‘Not really.’ Jess rushed to the support of her country. ‘We just do things rather differently, I suppose.’ Before she could try to explain herself further Maria brought in a tray of coffee and set it out on the table between the two women.
When it had been poured out Jess found herself being examined again.
‘Tell me about your family, then, Miss Stevenson.’
‘Please call me Jess,’ she returned impulsively, trying to get through to this woman. But she did not succeed. ‘I’m afraid, Miss Stevenson, that in Spain we have not yet learned the informality that is so famous in your country. Now please, tell me about your family.’
So Jess started reluctantly. She was proud of her father, enormously proud, and of her mother too, but as she talked she could see that nothing of what she was trying to say was getting through in the way it was intended. And when she came up to her own brief history the old lady frowned and spoke at last.
‘What a strange thing that your father should actually want his daughter to work on a newspaper.’
Jess replied, as lightly as she could, ‘That’s exactly what Rafael says, but I’ve tried to tell him that at home it is a very honourable profession for a woman.’
‘I think you’ll find, like me, that Rafael believes that the only really honourable profession for a woman in Spain is in the running of the home. She only works if she has to.’
‘I have to work, senora,’ Jess said very quietly, anger simmering at last, ‘but I’m not ashamed of it. I think Rafael understands that.’
Senora Gomez tossed her head in a very faint movement. ‘Maybe, but it does not really concern Rafael what people do in other countries. However, Miss Stevenson, I hope Rafael will look after you well during your very brief stay with us.’ There was a slight emphasis on the word brief.
By now Jess’s smile was very tight, but she was determined to keep control of herself. She took a long gulp of her coffee and said calmly, ‘Then Rafael has not told you that I shall be in Spain for about a month. Most of the time up at Monserrat, but during the weekends, or when I’m not working, he has insisted that I shall stay here. I hope you won’t feel in any way inconvenienced.’ A cup was replaced sharply in its saucer. ‘Of course not. This is my son’s house. His friends are always welcome here, however slight those friendships may be.’
Jess could stand this fencing no longer. The room was beginning to stifle her with its heat and unfriendliness and the way everything crowded in on her. So she stood up, pushing back her chair.
‘Well, thank you for the coffee, Senora Gomez. I hope I shall see you later. Now I must go and finish my work before Rafael comes home. He has promised to show me the city this afternoon.’
She only felt she could breathe when she had reached her own room again. How awful that had been! She did not remember ever being greeted with such cold dislike. And she knew—at least at the beginning—there had been nothing personal in Senora Gomez’ treatment. There could only be one reason. She knew, or had sensed, that Rafael was in love with Jess and had deliberately set her face against any such suggestion.
Her taste for work gone, she wandered into the sitting room and pressed the button that opened the sliding doors on to the small terrace. The fresh spring air blew gently on her and the sun was warm and kind. Below her the city stretched into the distance. She must try to forget what had happened. It was Rafael who mattered, only Rafael and herself.
She did not hear his step behind her, only his hands on her shoulders, and then a light kiss on her cheek.
‘I’m sorry, Jess darling, to have left you alone like this your very first morning, but I had no alternative, I’m afraid.’
She turned in relief and delight to face him. He was here; things were all right after all. She had not the least idea why she should have felt so foolishly afraid.
‘I didn’t mind, really I didn’t. I woke up late; I’ve collected some of my work together and just now ... I’ve been having coffee with your mother.’
His face lit up. ‘So she has just told me. Not only that, but she is enchanted with you. How glad I am to know that you two will be good friends.’
Jess could only look at him, a rather fooli
sh smile on her face. So his mother had caught him as he came home—and allayed any fears he might have had. Well, one thing looked certain, Senora Gomez was playing a subtle game; she was not going to let her feelings about the English visitor be known by her son, so it was hardly likely that Rafael would believe Jess if she suddenly said: ‘Your mother does not like me and she doesn’t want me here.’
Suddenly he was saying anxiously: ‘Jess, you have gone away from me ... I was saying how much I hoped that you too liked my mother. It is very important to me that you do.’
Jess nodded very slightly. ‘Of course I did,’ she lied, ‘I found her most gracious and charming.’
Again that look of relief on his face. Jess felt she could not bear to hurt him, nevertheless there was perhaps something she ought to say now. She touched his arm.
‘Rafael...’
‘Yes, darling? Now the day is ours, what would you like to do?’
‘I don’t know. See something of Barcelona—and you. I’m just happy to be here and I think I want to leave everything to you. But...’
‘But what?’
‘There are so many of your customs I don’t know, so I shall have to keep asking you awkward questions. There’s one now, since we were talking about your mother.’ She hesitated, trying to form her words in the right way.
‘If we do get married, Rafael...’
‘When we get married, you mean.’
‘All right, when we get married. We will obviously live here as you said because it is your home, and I cannot honestly wish for a more beautiful one. But it is also your mother’s home. Surely she won’t want to share it with her son’s wife. Won’t she want somewhere of her own?’
‘Why should she? She would feel—as most Spanish widows feel—that her place is with her family, her children and her grandchildren. Alas, it was her great disappointment to have only one child, but that is a fact that nothing will change now, so naturally she feels particularly close to me. You know, I was not born until she was forty, so I think she feels things even more deeply.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Were you thinking that we might not have a chance to be alone? I assure you my mother is most tactful, and as you see, she has her own sitting room. Her friends are not my friends, so we lead our own lives. She merely runs the house for me. Does that ease your mind?’
Jess nodded. She could not bring herself to lie again. Neither could she bring herself to ask the all-important question as to who would ran the house once they were married. Instead, she decided to push the whole matter to the back of her mind. They were not married yet, and before that lay so much time for Rafael to see for himself just how his mother really regarded Jess.
‘When will you tell her about us?’ Jess asked.
‘When you really tell me you are going to marry me. Now, are you going to let me take you out?’
‘Immediately,’ she said happily. ‘I’m all ready, I only have to get the jacket of my suit.’
That was the day when Rafael, with tremendous pride, introduced her to the city he loved. They walked nearly everywhere because she insisted that was the only real way to see Barcelona, and that seemed to please him. During what remained of the rest of the morning they strolled down Barcelona’s most famous street, the Ramblas, that runs from the immense Cataluna Square right down to the Columbus Statue and the docks. They paused at all the leather and silver shops, and Jess could hardly tear herself away from the massed flowers that formed the centre part of the street. The scent of them lingered in her nostrils long after they had passed them.
Down on the waterfront Rafael insisted on taking her over the Santa Maria, a replica of Columbus’s vessel, that Jess simply could not believe had sailed quite so far. Then, Rafael insisted, it was time for lunch, so they rested and ate, overlooking the water.
She was enjoying herself enormously and Rafael proved to be better than any ordinary guide. He knew the history of his city from the early Roman times and his telling of it made a fascinating story. And she had already learned that he did not really regard himself as Spanish, but as Catalan. After all, he pointed out, even the language was different.
Sipping her coffee after a simple but delicious lunch, she sat and listened to him, completely happy to be here with him. She had often asked herself why she had fallen in love with Rafael and had never found a satisfactory answer. And yet, of course, there is no satisfactory answer to love.
She had never really been short of escorts and in the past two or three years had even half believed herself to be in love, but each time she had realized that what she felt was the kind of love that would quickly pass. She certainly never imagined herself marrying a foreigner, for in spite of her delight in travel her roots had always been firmly in England.
But Rafael... well, he was different. He was a man of immense energy and resourcefulness who would brush aside any difficulty as if it were a speck of dust. Although he was fairly dark he did not look particularly Spanish—unless he was angry, and then all his aristocracy came out in the haughtiness of his expression. She had only seen him angry once—not with her—and she hoped not to do so again. Now as he talked she loved to watch the way his dark eyes flashed, the way when he smiled, she felt as weak as a kitten.
No, she thought suddenly, there might be difficulties to overcome, but then there were in every marriage and it was just a little harder coming to terms with the customs of someone of another country—but she doubted if ever there would be anyone she wanted to marry more than Rafael.
She might have spoken out even then, but something stopped her. She had a job to do and she wanted to get it done as quickly and as well as possible. She knew, and accepted, one thing about Rafael—that he was possessive. That was part of his attraction for her. But once she had committed herself to him, then he would try steady persuasion to stop her finishing what she had come to Spain to do. And she did not know how long she could stand up to the pressure.
‘I’ve lost you again, Jess. Was I boring you?’
She shook her head. ‘Oh, no, anything but that, I had lost myself somewhere in the seventeenth century. But I must admit that I was also thinking how marvellous it was to be here and how really my editor did me a good turn by sending me here.’
‘And I was thinking how empty my life would be now if you had not walked into that exhibition in London, and into my life.’ They smiled happily at each other.
As Rafael called for the bill, Jess said, ‘By the way, thinking of your exhibition reminded me of jewellery. When are you going to show me your business?’
‘Not until you come in for the first time to choose your ring. I have decided that. Oh, I expect you will be curious enough to look at the outside, but that is as far as you will get. Does that make you very angry? Because if it does, Jess, then I shall have to take you whenever you want. It is just that my business is very important to me and I feel I want to save it to show you when I really know you are going to be mine.’
Jess said slowly, ‘No, I think that’s very fair. And it’s a bargain. I know little about jewellery, so you’ll have to start teaching me from the beginning.’
‘My love, to see is one thing, to learn is another. I want to show you the many beautiful things I make and try to sell, but I would not want you to worry your head about learning anything. I have many people who work for me to do that.’
‘But...’ Again she stopped herself. Give and take. Don’t try to argue out all the problems together. In most things she knew she would let Rafael have his way, but there were others where she must stand firm or she would be in danger of losing her identity.
That afternoon they spent in the oldest part of Barcelona, the Gothic quarter of the city that was bounded by the original Roman walls. They wandered through the narrow streets bordered by the high fascinating old buildings, then into the Cathedral to its palm-filled cloister that dated back to the fourteenth century.
Rafael’s final pilgrimage of that afternoon was to the small sunny square on whose steps t
he king had greeted Columbus on his return. It was a quiet, beautiful spot and had she been on her own Jess would probably have joined the people sitting on the steps trying to absorb nearly five centuries of history.
The afternoon had somehow slipped quickly away and the sun had long dipped behind the high buildings by the time they called a taxi to take them home. Rafael wanted her to rest before the evening when his aunt and uncle and cousins would be joining them for a family dinner, specially arranged by his mother.
Jess was not looking forward to this, but reluctantly accepted the fact that she could not always have Rafael to herself. And perhaps, she thought, soaking later in her bath, it was better to have others there to soften the steely presence of his mother.
She had only brought one short formal dinner dress, one that did not do her particular justice, but she had had little time—or money—to shop before leaving home, so she was forced to wear it.
She stayed in her room as long as she dared, trying to gather her courage, then she heard the visitors arrive and knew she had lingered too long. Taking a deep breath, she walked down the corridor and into the sitting room to face four strange faces and a babble of Spanish.
Rafael’s aunt and uncle were simple, charming people who could speak little English. They welcomed her warmly and hoped she would enjoy her stay in Spain.
Their son, Tomas, she liked immediately. He was bubbling over with good humour, a rather short untidy young man, who was obviously delighted to talk in English. She learned he was doing a post-graduate course at the university before joining the family firm completely.
