by Jan Andersen
‘How long can you stay?’ he asked.
‘Well, till it’s finished,’ then she thought of Rafael sitting in the car at the bottom of the cable car, tapping his fingers impatiently, and added, ‘At least, I have to be ready to go to Barcelona at seven o’clock...’
For the first time he smiled with real humour. ‘What a strange little thing you are! I believe you really would stay all that time. No, it’s only about six sheets of typing paper, I imagine. It’s just that to me that might as well be sixty.’
He dictated slowly and clearly and although it was several years since she had done this kind of work, it came back to her fairly easily. But as far as the subject matter was concerned had she not known who he was it would have meant little to her.
It was two hours later that she typed the final sentence and eased her aching back. She noticed for the first time that the rain had stopped, turning the wet ground to steam.
As he gathered the pages together she said, ‘Do you want me to take it to Barcelona for you?’
‘Haven’t you done enough?’
‘I’ve done nothing that any girl who could use a typewriter wouldn’t have done. And I’m going to Barcelona tonight.’ She hesitated over her next move, realizing that it would seem stranger not to mention what she had typed than to ignore it.
‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘you must be a doctor. I wondered how you were able to strap my wrist up so efficiently.’
His face darkened. ‘I was a doctor. I’m not now. I think of myself as a man engaged in research. When you go to Barcelona is it to see someone special?’
‘Yes, the man I’m probably going to marry. ‘At least he would know now that she had no designs on him.
‘It isn’t usual to keep secrets from someone as close as that. Can you do it?’
‘I gave you my word. Do you want me to do that all over again?’ She knew she sounded angry, but could not help it. ‘If this is what being cut off from society does to a man, then I suggest you go back and try to live with human beings again!’
She was already shrugging into her anorak. No wonder Richard Kendall was an outcast from society if he had distrusted it like this. She turned to take the papers from him, expecting to find anger in return, but his sombre eyes were watching her thoughtfully.
‘I daresay you’re right, Miss Stevenson. I’m not very fit for human consumption, therefore it seems better that I stay up here, out of the way of people. I seem even to hurt you, a stranger.’
‘Oh, no,’ she found herself saying, ‘you haven’t hurt me. It’s just ... just that I’ve always disliked people who distrust the motives of others.’
‘Perhaps some of us have more reason than most for distrust. Still, that’s my problem, not yours. And I’m sorry. But I will tell you something about myself, Miss Stevenson, since truth deserves truth. In my last job I had too many people around me agreeing with everything I said—yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir—people who because of my position never dreamed of telling me what they thought of me. I don’t suppose then I would have liked it if they did. Yet when I was down, out of favour, then the chorus of hate was loud and long. These days, I appreciate outspokenness, even if I don’t always respond to it in the right way. Now,’ and his voice changed to its brusque businesslike tone, ‘you’ll be wanting to get off. I just have to address the envelope and write a brief note. I won’t keep you more than five minutes.
She watched him as he wrote, the strong, sombre face, more deeply lined than it should have been at his age. Well, he had committed a crime and now he was paying for it. Nevertheless, her curiosity about him was beginning to be roused. She knew she actually wanted to finish this assignment that she had taken on so reluctantly. She wanted to know exactly why Richard Kendall had ruined such an outstanding career.
He crossed the room to a small rough cupboard to rummage for a stamp and saw the bottle of whisky for the first time.
‘What’s this?’
‘Oh...’ she hesitated. It seemed suddenly ridiculous to hand over a ‘thank you ‘present at this stage, and also faintly embarrassing. But he was waiting, puzzled.
‘I just wanted to thank you for the other day—the arm, and the rescue and everything. I thought being an Englishman you might appreciate a bottle of Scotch—duty-free.’
‘I appreciate it, really I do. But I think you’ve said thank you in a very explicit way for two hours today. I’m the one now who...’
‘Please keep it,’ she said quickly. ‘I don’t drink it, and it’s heavy to keep carrying around.’
‘All right, then I’ll accept—but on one condition.’
‘A condition?’ She looked at him, startled; what could he be thinking of now?
‘That you have dinner with me, say ... next Tuesday. I’ll meet you down at the hotel about eight.’
There was no question of refusal, for she was being quickly escorted out and wished a pleasant weekend. He did manage not to remind her about posting the article, but the suggestion was implicit in the way he handed it over.
When Jess reached the bottom of the main cable car Rafael was waiting for her. As she ran to his arms all thought of Richard Kendall fled. She was here with Rafael for two whole days.
‘This week,’ he said, when he finally let her go, ‘has seemed longer than three months. Knowing you were so near, yet so far. You have finished your foolish job, Jess, tell me you have finished it.’
‘No, Rafael, no, I have not!’ she cried. ‘You promised not to say any more about it.’
‘But...’
‘No buts. I won’t give way, whatever you say, darling. Once I’ve made a promise, or agreed to a contract, nothing will make me break it. If you love me, then you must accept me on those terms.’
‘Until we are married,’ he said lightly.
‘No. After we’re married as well.’
‘Of course. Let us forget such a stupid discussion.’ He swung the car round a particularly steep curve.
‘Or perhaps not such a stupid discussion, since I have learned one most important thing?’
‘And what’s that?’ Jess asked.
‘That you are really going to marry me. You have really said so now, Jess darling, so there is one more promise you cannot break.’
His hand had reached over and was holding hers. She felt a warm rush of love for him. Dear, darling Rafael, how could she ever think of not marrying him?
‘I think I always knew I would marry you,’ she said simply, ‘but I still don’t want to become engaged for two or three weeks. I want your mother to get used to the idea of me, to like me a little more. I want the rest of your family to get to know me and not think of me as just a visitor from England. Above all, I really do think we should have a little more time together.’
‘Oh, Jess, you are a funny, wonderful little thing. Already my mother thinks you are the most marvellous girl. How could time possibly make her like you more?’ Jess was silent for a moment. And how could Rafael be so blind? Well, it was no good trying to disagree with him; she could only hope that either his mother would accept her in the next three weeks, or the older woman would be forced to show herself in her true colours.
She had a sudden longing for her father’s company and advice. He had been not only a man of the world, but a man of great wisdom and common sense. He never tried to impose his own views on people, but rather point out every side of the question. Jess knew quite well what he would probably have said about her marrying Rafael. That marrying someone of another nationality, who had different customs and strong views, only added to the ordinary difficulties of marriage. She must be doubly sure that she was doing the right thing. She must be prepared to give in gracefully on some points and most of all she must not blame anyone but herself afterwards.
‘You are too quiet, Jess, my darling. I fear you are thinking too much.’
‘Is that a bad thing?’
‘Sometimes. But if you are in doubt then it is always better to reveal your tho
ughts.’
‘Then I’ll tell you what I’m thinking. Because I love you it doesn’t mean that I haven’t realized marriage with you might not be plain sailing. You see, I think Spanish men are used to having more—more control over their wives. Probably very different from in England. I want you to be quite certain that you love me and want to marry me for what I am now, not for what you think you can make me. If I don’t come up to your expectations in say a year or two years’ time, that love could turn to hate.’
‘Oh, Jess, Jess, now you are dramatizing ... but yes, I do know I am used a little to having my own way. I tell myself I must learn to be more tolerant. I just go on trying, that’s all.’
‘Then I won’t say any more, except that I do really and truly love you, even if I’m all wrong for you.’ Impulsively, she added, ‘I’m surprised you never thought of marrying Ana. She’s a beautiful girl, and knows your life so well.’
‘Ana?’ He shrugged. ‘Ana I love dearly, Ana and I understand each other perfectly—but she is like a sister to me, the sister I never had.’
‘And your mother thinks that too?’
The pause was just too long. ‘I do not know, I think so. Perhaps at one time she thought it would be a good idea if Ana and I ... but I am twenty-eight and she must realize that if I have not made up my mind about Ana now, then I never would. But now ... enough of all these hypothetical questions. Ana is my cousin and I love her. You are my fiancée and I am in love with you. Let us not confuse the two. Oh, but while we speak of Ana ... I have asked if she and Tomas would like to join us at our house on the coast this weekend. I thought, if it pleased you, we would spend tonight in the city, then drive out for tomorrow and part of Sunday, so you would see where our other home is. Would you like that?’
‘Yes ... yes, I think it will be wonderful.’ I’d like it even better if we could be on our own, she added silently. But perhaps Spanish convention demanded a chaperone and this was Rafael’s way of avoiding the issue.
They set off early the following day, driving along the fast highway that led out of the city going south towards the Costa Brava.
Jess sat beside Rafael, relaxed and happy, thinking about the marvellous evening they had had the night before. Somehow they had crossed the faint awkwardness caused by a long absence that had been there the previous weekend, and were simply glad to be together. There had been drinks first with Senora Gomez, but even she had seemed more charming, a little more unbending. Jess and Rafael had then gone out to a delightful restaurant and dined by candlelight, before finishing up at one of Barcelona’s most famous night clubs from where they could see the lights of the city spread below them and across the point the dark open sea.
Before going up to the top of the hill Rafael had stopped the car and they had walked to the gardens of the magnificent National Palace. From there they could look down to Spain’s most famous fountain, a huge affair that was brightly illuminated, an incredible combination of colours and shapes that changed every few minutes. Rafael told her the fountain had been specially built for an international exhibition thirty years ago. She could have stood and watched it for hours.
Now, leaning back against the cool leather seat of the car, she went over the evening and decided it was the happiest she had ever spent with Rafael. She told herself it was because they had really talked about the future on the journey back from Monserrat.
‘You’re smiling,’ he said, suddenly glancing across to her.
‘Only because I’m happy,’ she told him. ‘What time will we get to the house?’
‘In about an hour. We are going the most direct route. If we follow the coast all the way the road winds right round the cliffs.’
‘I’ve always heard that the Costa Brava is very crowded,’ Jess said.
‘It is, but fortunately the season has not yet started. When I used to come here with my parents not so very long ago, there were fishing villages and quiet, unspoilt stretches of the coast. Now all that is changed. There are huge hotels everywhere, noise, and endless streams of cars. Pleasant perhaps for the holidaymakers, but not for us.’
‘Then why do you still come here?’ Jess asked curiously.
‘Because in Spain, if you have enough money you can still find privacy. Where our house is there is nothing but a few dozen houses on the point. And only one hotel. Those of us who owned property there banded together when we saw what had happened further down the coast, and we decided to protect ourselves. You will see that we have succeeded quite well.’
It was less than the hour later that Jess saw exactly what he meant. They turned off the main road on to a narrower one that led directly to the coast and then, just as she saw the glint of blue sea, turned again on a wide sandy road marked Private. Within a minute they were in another world of large shady gardens and massed flowers. Through the trees she could glimpse the houses, discreetly hidden from their neighbours, all different shapes and sizes.
So this, thought Jess suddenly, was the playground of the rich—a protected area, cut off from the noisy bustling coastal towns by an invisible barrier. And then she realized that when she married Rafael she would become one of these privileged people. The reminder of his wealth came to her forcibly.
He had slowed down and had swung into a tree-lined drive, past a newly watered lawn, set among shrubs already bursting into flower, to a large paved courtyard that was part of the most beautiful house Jess had ever seen.
For a moment she couldn’t speak. This world was not her world; it could not possibly be. The whole idea frightened her.
‘Don’t you like it?’ Rafael said anxiously.
‘It’s just that it’s too beautiful for words,’ Jess said simply.
She followed him from the car, across the courtyard and under a broad arch. And from there it was only a step to the sea. The house was a long white, one-storied building, with cool patios built on to either end to form three sides of a square. The gentle sloping roof was typically Spanish, as was the wrought iron at all the windows. The house’s simplicity was the most deceptive thing about it.
Rafael looked about him. ‘I imagine the others have not arrived yet. Good. It gives me a chance to show you your new home on my own. We’ll take your things in, then I should find some comfortable shoes so that we can walk down to the beach. I hope you’ll be all right,’ he added anxiously. ‘We do try to live fairly simply here.’
‘Who looks after it for you?’
‘A Spanish couple. See, they live in that cottage on the far side of the ground.’
Jess was shown to her room by a middle-aged woman who spoke no English but smiled all the time. Well, to Rafael it might be simple, but Jess was enchanted by the all-white room overlooking the sea and its adjoining bathroom of sea-green tiles.
She and Rafael walked down the long flight of steps to the private beach, a golden scimitar of sand with specially planted trees to act as summer shade. Today the breeze was sharp, but in summer this place would be a paradise.
‘I think,’ said Jess suddenly, ‘all this might prove too much for me. Your flat, this beautiful house ... you have so much, and I have nothing. And I haven’t even seen your shop yet.’
‘Jess, Jess, don’t look like that, almost frightened. I want to marry you because I love you. You have no money, but I have enough for us all, so what is there to worry about? And when we many anything of mine will be yours.’
‘I think I’m only afraid,’ she said heavily, ‘that I might not be able to live up to all this.’
When they returned to the house Ana and Tomas were waiting on the verandah. Jess felt immediately as if the sun had gone in.
Afterwards she decided how unfair that judgement had been. Ana really did make an effort to be friendly and nice—and almost succeeded. In a way that little crack in her personality was the thing that warmed Jess to her slightly. How would it be, Jess argued to herself, if the man she had been in love with for years suddenly produced a foreign girl out of the hat? And a girl who
was not as beautiful as herself. It would be inhuman not to feel bitterness.
As they sat over their coffee, Tomas was saying, ‘It looks as though I shall be returning to Monserrat this week, Jess.’ He grinned, his friendly, lopsided grin. ‘I have to say that in front of Rafael, for he is a very jealous man.’
‘So if you dare to come without calling on me, then I shall have to blame Rafael,’ Jess replied, laughing.
‘But this time let me provide the picnic.’
‘Alas,’ he said regretfully, ‘I may not be able to let you know in time for you to prepare a picnic. I have a very full week and I shall have to take the time just when I can and hope to find you somewhere around. After all, the mountain is only a large place when you decide to get off the beaten track.’
‘Well, I’m not going to do that again,’ Jess replied without thinking, ‘last week I slipped and almost...’
‘Almost what?’ Ana said with wide innocent eyes.
‘Almost came down faster than I intended.’ She was suddenly certain that it would be better not to mention the ‘stranger ‘who came to her rescue up on Monserrat. Rafael was a jealous man, she had no doubt of that, and could easily misconstrue the chance encounter with the only Englishman up there. Besides, she wanted no one to realize she knew Richard Armstrong-Kendall until she had done what she had come to do.
Jess found herself enjoying that day, in spite of herself. There was a beautifully prepared cold lunch at home and during the afternoon she, Rafael and Tomas walked to one of the local beauty spots, a ruined castle high up on a nearby point which commanded one of the best views of this part of the coast. Ana did not come. She said she did not like walking and in any case had brought the wrong shoes.
