by Jan Andersen
He was waiting in a dark corner of the bar and he stood up as she came in. She saw his eyebrows rise just a fraction, then he was smiling politely.
‘You look charming, Miss Stevenson. For a moment I didn’t recognize you.’
‘Well,’ she said, with a touch of mischief, ‘you haven’t exactly seen me at the moments I would have chosen. Half way down a mountain once, and skulking like a thief the other time.’
‘And the third?’ he said quizzically.
‘The third?’ she repeated. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Well, we didn’t actually meet, but we did make, shall we say, a passing acquaintance in a Barcelona restaurant.’
‘Of course.’ And then on sudden impulse she added, ‘And do you know why I noticed you?’
‘Because I was an Englishman amongst a crowd of Spanish.’
‘No. Or at least that wasn’t the main reason. You looked so unhappy. I felt I wanted to help you.’
‘Well, now you have. You’ve typed a most important article.’
‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ she said.
‘No, I know it wasn’t,’ he returned. ‘Will you have some sherry?’
She smiled. ‘Only if you promise not to change the subject again!’
Those sombre eyes were regarding her thoughtfully. Then he gave a short laugh. ‘Then you won’t have any sherry, I’m afraid. I don’t mean to impose my jaundiced view of the world on others, but it’s a long long time since I tried to share a problem with anyone, and I don’t intend to start now. Will you still refuse that sherry?’
‘No, I’d like it.’ She accepted it because she wanted to see him mellow as well. And as she sipped it she added, ‘Well, if you won’t let me help with your problems, then perhaps you can help with mine. Tell me about Monserrat, the real Monserrat, the monastery, and why it came to be built up in the peaks like this.’
And so she got him talking at last, on a subject that was obviously of intense interest to him. She listened absorbed as he told her of its early history, of the sixteenth-century monastery that was destroyed completely during the Napoleonic wars, and then miraculously rebuilt.
As he talked the hard lines of his face softened, even some of the tension left his body and he seemed human. For the first time since they met last week she found herself forgetting why she was trying to get to know him and actually warming to him as a person. She thought of that damaging file locked away in her bedroom and wondered if she, like thousands of others, had judged him too harshly. Whatever he had done in the past, he was still living with it now. Surely that was punishment enough.
They were still talking about the mountain when they went into the restaurant for dinner. As he handed the menu to her he said sharply, ‘You’re a good listener. I didn’t think women liked listening.’
Jess shook her head sorrowfully, ‘What a poor opinion you must have of women! Of course we like listening when there’s something interesting to listen to.’ She added on impulse, ‘Is that why you’re not married?’ For a moment she thought he was not going to answer, that she had gone too far.
‘I was once,’ he said briefly. ‘If I were you I’d stick to fish. They’re renowned up here for the different ways they do their fish.’
She nodded, looking at the menu, but her thoughts were far from food. How was she ever to get him to talk personally, if he always switched the conversation as abruptly as that? She grew more and more certain that there would be no opportunity as good as tonight. But how to get him to talk? How?
‘I don’t think you’re hungry after all,’ he said. ‘Your thoughts must be back in England.’
‘No. No, I wasn’t thinking about England. I’m too much involved in Spain at the moment. How long are you going to stay here? Will you make Monserrat your permanent home?’ She too could change the subject swiftly if she wanted to.
She never knew what he would have said. In the pause before he answered something made her look up. There were two people framed in the doorway of the restaurant—Tomas and Ana. She had never in her life wished more strongly that the floor would open and swallow her up completely.
She was still searching frantically round in her mind for something to say to them as Ana walked purposefully across, followed more uncertainly by Tomas.
Ana’s eyes were very bright and calculating as she greeted Jess.
‘We are both sorry to ... to interrupt you, dear Jess, but Tomas and I could not leave without telling you we had been here. We thought you would be somewhere walking on the mountain on a day like this.’
‘No,’ said Jess quietly, ‘I’ve been exploring the monastery itself.’ As the other girl’s eyes moved casually to Richard’s she added, ‘This is Mr. Armstrong who ... who also lives on Monserrat.’ And to Richard, ‘Friends of mine from Barcelona, Ana and Tomas Gomez.’
It was Tomas’s turn to move in swiftly. He obviously sensed the slight atmosphere, with Richard standing stiffly by the table, and his sister trying to make something of the situation.
‘Please, senor ... and Jess, continue with your dinner. It was most rude of us to interrupt. But we were on our way back to the city and Ana discovered you were here after all. We did not get here until rather late and I had a lot of work to do in the short time, particularly as Ana wanted to come.’ He took his sister firmly by the arm. ‘We will look forward to the weekend, Jess, when you will be in Barcelona again.’
Ana nodded, but there was no mistaking the malice in her voice as she said, ‘We’ll tell Rafael we saw you, of course.’
‘Of course,’ returned Jess quietly.
She watched them cross the restaurant until the waiter had closed the door behind them. All she could think of was the silly He she had told Ana. No, she did not know the mysterious Englishman living on Monserrat. Now here she was dining with him two days later. What was Rafael going to think of that? For she could be certain that Ana would spare no detail when she told him.
‘I think,’ said her companion, when she had been silent for too long, ‘that young lady would be called a not very polite word in England. You might be a friend of hers, but I fear she’s no friend of yours.’
She sighed, ‘I know.’ To her surprise he was smiling slightly and his eyes were full of understanding. ‘What makes it worse is that this evening is so ... so...’
‘... innocent?’ he finished for her.
She blushed, and suddenly the whole thing seemed funny and she burst into laughter.
‘Tell me,’ he ordered, ‘you’re laughing, but I don’t think it’s a joke.’
She sobered down. ‘No,’ she said slowly, ‘I don’t think it is.’
Quite extraordinarily she found herself telling him how she had met Rafael and then coming here ‘to write the travel book the way his mother and Ana were so powerfully against her.
He listened carefully, as he must have listened a long time ago to his patients’ problems, and added, ‘I suppose, like most Spaniards, your Rafael is a very jealous man.’
‘I think so.’
‘Then, if he comes storming up here with knife and shotgun, we will tell him the truth, that you helped me out of a nasty hole with my typing, so a dinner out was the only way I could say thank you. It’s simple enough, isn’t it?’
Jess nodded. Of course it was simple, if only it had been the whole truth. She thought of Ana’s sharp probing eyes and knew that she would not let the matter rest so easily. She would want to know who and what was Richard Armstrong. And then Jess was struck by an awful thought. Was it remotely possible that Ana had seen that photograph in the medical journal on Sunday?
‘You’ve gone away again,’ said Richard. ‘Are you still worried?’
And when she did not answer he went on, almost as if he were giving himself advice, ‘I don’t know you, Jess, nor do I know your Rafael, but I would like to offer you a piece of advice.’
She looked at him, waiting.
‘Marriage is an important step to take. It is for life, h
owever short that life is. And there are some things that can kill a marriage, slowly and with exquisite pain. One of those things is jealousy. It’s like a disease. I know, I went through it. I think my wife suffered far more than I did, but she could do nothing to help herself.’
‘She ... she’s dead, your wife?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, I killed her.’
CHAPTER VII
Since they were the very last words Jess was expecting their impact was tremendous. For nearly a week now she had been hoping against hope that Richard Kendall would say something about himself. Anything. But it had seemed more and more remote. She had tried to think of every way of drawing him out, but each idea had seemed more futile than the last.
Now, without any prompting, he had made that incredible statement, so there was no need for the pretence of surprise. For surprise was too mild a word. Jess felt nothing but deep shock. A man who spoke those words with such awful pain could not be the same man whose misdeeds she felt she knew by heart.
‘You mean,’ she said at last, very carefully, ‘you feel some responsibility for her death?’
‘No, I don’t mean that at all. I mean that I killed her as surely as if I had shot her through the heart. That’s what I say—don’t marry a jealous man.’
He poured more wine into her glass. ‘Come on, Jess, you haven’t finished your meal yet. I wasn’t trying to put a damper on the evening. It all happened three years ago; one can’t live in the past for ever.’
But you’re living in the past. She almost spoke the words aloud. If ever a man was haunted by his past, that man was Richard Kendall.
She knew instinctively that she could not question him further tonight. A move like that would undo all that had been done tonight.
She said gently: ‘I think it’s I who should be pouring more wine into your glass, to make you forget, or whatever it’s supposed to do.’
He leaned forward suddenly. ‘Do you know, I was just realizing something. This is the first time for three years that I’ve had dinner with a pretty girl. I think you’ve done me a lot of good.’
‘Not if I’ve made you think of the past,’ she said rather sadly.
‘I’m afraid I think of that at many unexpected moments, however I try to fool myself. But Monserrat is a great cure. That’s why I came here. To find some peace and sort out my thoughts. What are you doing tomorrow?’ he asked in that strange abrupt way of swinging away from his subject.
‘I ... I’m not sure. I had thought, if the weather stayed fine, I would walk up to the highest point, then try to make my way across to one of those incredible rock formations they call “the teeth”. The hotel manager was telling me it’s a perfectly possible walk if I take care and wear the right shoes.’
‘I daresay it would be for him.’ He sounded angry. ‘But I wouldn’t recommend it for someone on her own. If you’d like to take the cable car up to my place during the morning, we’ll go together.’
‘But ... but you’re working.’ She found herself stammering.
‘I’ve hardly had a day off since I came here,’ he said dryly. ‘I think I might permit myself just one day. Besides, I’m getting interested in this travel book of yours, and since I have a proprietorial interest in Monserrat I wouldn’t want you to make any mistakes.’
‘It’s very kind of you,’ she started.
‘No, it’s not. If anything I’m being a little self-indulgent. I’m discovering that I’ve had a surfeit of my own company. Of course if you’d prefer to go alone...’
‘Oh, no,’ she said quickly, ‘I too would like some company. Besides, with you there I shan’t have to keep consulting my guide book.’
It was with mixed feelings that Jess took the cable car up to San Jeronimo the following morning after a late breakfast. She had been half expecting a call from Rafael, for she was quite certain that Ana would have wasted no time in telling him—with suitable embroidery—about the previous evening.
But again, perhaps she was misjudging Rafael. Wouldn’t he realize, like many people, that she was lonely up here, working most of the time, and therefore it was quite natural to make friends, with the only other English person?
The real point was, she thought, who would Rafael listen to—and believe—herself, or Ana? She felt a little shiver as she saw Ana’s bright, malicious eyes. Ana could, and would, make a great deal of mischief.
She made her way slowly along to Richard’s cabin, still wondering how she had managed, without really trying, to draw him at least part of the way out of his shell. She could only think it was because in the past years people really had respected his wishes and left him severely alone. Perhaps she happened along just when he was beginning to realize that a man cannot hide himself from life for ever.
As she rounded the corner he stood framed in the doorway, a powerfully built man, who could stand so still. She suddenly felt, as she walked towards him, that she wanted to hurry, that she had known him for a long, long time. Deliberately, though her breath was coming a little fast, she made herself slow down. He took off his dark glasses and waited for her to come to him.
Today he was smiling, his eyes a little less sombre, as if he really was pleased to see her.
‘You know,’ he said, as if they were continuing their conversation of yesterday without a break, ‘I woke up and for the first time I was pleased to think I wasn’t going to work today.’
‘Then I’m glad I’ve done some good,’ she said simply. ‘But you can’t sit at your desk for twelve hours a day without a break. Don’t you allow yourself any leisure?’
‘You make me sound either a paragon of virtue or a smug bore, I’m not sure which. I started off by exploring every corner of the mountain—and doing a little climbing which I used to be keen on when I was a boy. Now I sometimes go down to the lower slopes where the monks have their gardens, and lend a hand there. There is something very satisfying about working on the land, seeing things grow. It’s something I’ve never done. I’ve always lived in a town. In Spain I suppose it’s particularly satisfying because with so much sun you see the fruits of your labours so quickly. I’ve even learned to cook the things I grow.’ He gave a deep chuckle. ‘My London friends simply wouldn’t believe it if they saw me.’
‘Do they know you’re here?’ she asked.
He glanced quickly at her. ‘No. Their world is no longer mine. Are you ready to leave straight away or would you like me to make some coffee? Or better still, I keep a supply of fresh orange juice.’
‘I’d like some orange juice, please.’
With only a short break they set off round the point and up the path that led to the ‘summit ‘of Monserrat. He had a long easy stride and would draw ahead, then wait for her to catch up with him.
‘You must be in training,’ she said ruefully.
They reached the small edifice at the top, close to the modern television mast. Up here the wind sounded like a wailing banshee. It was a magnificently clear day and they could see for miles around.
Richard touched her on the shoulder. ‘Over there,’ he said, pointing, ‘that is what you see in Barcelona, the hill known as Tibidabo, the highest point in the city. And over there to the north,’ he pointed again, ‘the Pyrenees—to me one of the most magnificent spots in Europe.’
She stared into the distance at the snow-capped peaks, the same ones she had flown over only ten days ago. She was beginning to feel that she had been here, on the mountain, for a lifetime.
Without a word he started down until the path plunged into woodland, and then headed off on an unmarked trail towards the open, rocky landscape.
This time his pace was slower and now and again he stopped to point out some strange-shaped rock that had long ago been named after an animal, a toweling fortress, even the Virgin Mary. As they walked among the great serrated peaks of the mountain every rock seemed to have a story.
They had walked for two hours when Richard called a halt, in a semi-circle of rough stubby grass, sheltered from
the wind by its backcloth of granite sentinels.
He pulled off his shoulder the small rucksack he had been carrying and opened it up to produce bread and cheese, some Spanish sausage and a small flask of local wine.
‘I should have brought something too,’ Jess said. ‘You make me feel ashamed.’
‘My dear girl, why on earth should you? Besides, it gives me some small pleasure. For the last few years of my life in London I always had people at my beck and call, ready to do things for me. I had done practically nothing for myself since I was a very young man. Here, I’ve watched the monks, always in the service of other people, and decided I could take a leaf from their book.’
‘I should take warning, then,’ she mused. ‘If I marry Rafael I’ll never be allowed to do anything again. I’ve always thought of it as a huge relief, a way of easing the financial burden, but now...’
‘Are you marrying him for his money?’ he barked suddenly.
‘Certainly not.’ Her retort was immediate and direct. ‘I didn’t even know he had money—real money—till I arrived in Spain. Even now it’s all not quite real.’
