by Jan Andersen
All the women there were in their finest jewels and more than ever Jess was glad that she had not tried to compete. At least dressed like this she felt more or less herself. They sat at the top table and all the time she was conscious of Senora Gomez sitting on the far side of her son. She was treated, Jess had noticed earlier, almost with reverence. It was after all her husband who had started the business that Rafael was to turn into the most famous in the city.
At last the speeches were over and the first move was made to go home. But still Rafael had to wait behind to say farewell to everyone. And again it was his mother who stood firmly entrenched by his side, acting as if she were his hostess. It was also his mother who precluded any chance of them being alone once they returned home. She was like a watchdog, waiting until Jess could do nothing but bid them both good night.
She slept a deep, exhausted sleep and woke to find Maria bringing in some early coffee and telling her it was past ten o’clock. Yes, Senor Gomez had left, but he left a message that he would be home for lunch at one-thirty.
So she had three hours to herself and she knew she did not want to remain cooped up here with tire possibility of coming face to face with Senora Gomez again.
So she took a tram to the famous Plaza de Espana and from there walked up past the fountain to the National Palace which housed Barcelona’s most famous art collections. From there she walked up the hill to the Spanish Village and wandered through the maze of cobbled streets, absorbed in this replica of the past, with its tiny cottages and the more imposing Gothic architecture of the larger buildings. She watched the glass-blowers at work and the painter in his studio, then bought some traditional Spanish tiles and some of the smoothly carved olive wood. Here the sun was warm and she wanted nothing more than to sit on the steps of the palace and watch the world go by.
Then, as she came out of the great carved gate, she glanced at her watch and saw with horror that it was already half past one. It would take at least fifteen or twenty minutes to get back from here. She could have kicked herself. It almost looked as if she were doing this to Rafael on purpose.
She ran all the way down the hill, searching in vain for a taxi. She should have guessed how impossible that was during the Spanish lunch break. Finally, almost in despair, she caught one and arrived back at the flat, hot and flustered, just before two o’clock.
She stopped to do no more than splash her face with water and run her comb through her hair before going in to the dining room, praying that Rafael was alone.
Of course he was not, and she found herself facing not one, but two hostile gazes.
She rushed straight in. ‘I’m so sorry to be late like this. I went up to the Spanish Village and found it so fascinating that I lost all count of time...’
Rafael was not impressed by her excuse. He laid down his knife and fork. ‘Jess, my dear, if you have something better to do than to come home and join me for lunch, then by all means say so. Or perhaps,’ and here the pause was heavy and obvious, ‘you took the chance of meeting some more of your English friends.’
So Ana had done her mischief after all! Jess could not bring herself to reply, for she might have lost complete control of herself. But what upset her more than anything was the look of quiet triumph on Senora Gomez’ face.
CHAPTER IX
Jess took her place at the table. If she were going to quarrel with Rafael, then she was most certainly not going to give his mother the pleasure of being present. She looked at him as calmly as she could and said, ‘I’ve said I’m sorry, Rafael, I know it was extremely rude of me, but your accusations are hardly fair.’ She turned to Senora Gomez, still keeping the stiff smile. ‘If anything I must blame your city. I went up to the famous Pueblo Espanol. It was fascinating to see what the old villages of Spain were like.’
Rafael seemed mollified. ‘I’m sorry, Jess, I suppose I was hoping to come home and find you here. Perhaps our hours are rather formal and we tend to stick to them. I hope you had a long sleep after last night. It was rather an ordeal for you. I thought you acquitted yourself splendidly.’
‘Thank you, but it will take me a long time before I get used to eating so late. As you know, even our formal dinners at home tend to start about eight.’
Somehow the moment was soothed over and—more important—the old lady was left without any satisfaction. In fact, when lunch was over she said she would take coffee in her own room and with a curt nod to Jess, left them alone.
Jess did not want any post-mortems. ‘What ... what time will you have to go back?’
‘At half past three. Come, Jess, the sun is warm today, we will get Maria to bring our coffee on to the terrace.’
So they sat, high above the city, watching the toylike life below, silent for a long while, until Rafael put his hand out and touched her arm.
‘Jess, my darling, you are angry with me.’
‘No, I’m not, but I would prefer that if you wish to accuse me of anything, no matter how small, you did it when we were alone.’
He looked genuinely surprised. ‘But only my mother was there. She is part of the family. I have no secrets from her. Anyway, she understands so completely and could see that I was worried about you.’
Jess was tempted to change the subject again, but it had always been her policy to air any differences aloud. If she let this pass now, but grumbled once they were married, she would have only herself to blame if Rafael refused to understand.
She put down her coffee cup carefully on the marble-topped table, and then turned back to Rafael. He still looked puzzled by her criticism.
‘Rafael,’ she said, ‘there is something we must get straight between us. I respect your mother and I understand that she is an important member of the family, but when we are married, our discussions, our quarrels, anything that concerns you and me, must be between us and us alone. In England it is unusual to live with one’s in-laws, except temporarily, or when one is very hard up. Here, I understand that this is your mother’s home, but in each home there is room only for one mistress. You will have to make up your mind who that is going to be.’
He threw out his hands in a very Latin gesture. ‘Jess, I did not know you were hard. My mother will not interfere with us, she is just interested in my, and now your, welfare. She likes you so much, she will understand that at first we will want to be alone together.’
‘At first?’ she said bitterly. ‘How about in one or two years’ time? And if we have children? Will she still want to leave us alone and offer no advice? I’m sorry, Rafael, but I must say this. Perhaps your mother does like me, but she certainly doesn’t want you to marry me.’
‘Now you talk nonsense.’ His voice changed. ‘Why, she has said to me...’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve considered what she’s said to me.’
‘My mother seeks only my happiness. Therefore it is inconceivable that she could have anything but praise and kind words for you. I, Jess, unlike many proud Spaniards, will take much criticism, but I will not have one word said against my mother. She has devoted her whole life to me since my father died.’
‘Then there’s no more to be said,’ Jess said quietly. ‘But there’s a big gulf between our thoughts and the customs of our two countries.’
‘You mean your permissive society, your throwing out of parents when they become old and your friendship with any stranger you happen to meet.’
Jess leapt up, eyes blazing. ‘The first two comments I’ll ignore because they’re absolutely untrue, but that you prefer to listen to Ana rather than me I find unforgivable. If you love me, Rafael, then you must trust me. And you will not stop me doing my work, or speaking to whom I please. Is it not enough that I’ve said I’ll marry you?’
‘You have not actually said it,’ he said coldly. ‘You have refused to wear my ring.’
‘Only because it didn’t suit me and because you made a promise that I should have a month to be quite sure about my decision. I think it would be better if you went ba
ck to work and I went to my room, or else we’ll say things to each other we’ll regret later.’
‘Jess, please, if I have upset you then I am sorry.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ she said stonily, and closed the glass door with a snap behind her.
She lay on her bed feeling drained and exhausted. Perhaps it was the cumulative result of the last two days, but she only wanted to sleep, to try to forget what a mess she was making of everything.
If she could only go back just one month and have had the strength to refuse a job she never even wanted. She was quite a good journalist, wasn’t she? Somebody would surely have given her a job. But she had lacked the confidence in herself—and the courage. But strangely, when she tried to summon up a picture of home, her mother’s pretty, crumbling old cottage, all she saw was a jagged mountain and a vista of brown flat plains rising to snowy peaks.
But that wasn’t home, she argued with herself. No, but it was where she would have preferred to be at this moment, instead of being bruised by tiredness and quarrelling.
She slept until afternoon had slipped away into early evening and woke to find the largest bouquet of spring flowers she had ever seen lying on her table.
The card was gold-edged. It read: ‘For my darling Jess. Tonight we will go out and forget such foolish moments. I will be home at eight-thirty.’
She summoned a wry smile. Rafael would apologize in such a lavish style; although, come to think of it, there was no word of apology here. Well, perhaps it was as much her fault as his. They both expected too much.
When she had had a long bath and taken her time over dressing she felt much more herself. There was more than half an hour before Rafael was due home, so she went into the small sitting room and wrote some letters. She should also have written to Oliver Preston, but again she put it off.
The weekend passed more slowly than the others had done, in spite of Rafael arranging so many things for her. They were dining out alone on the Friday, but in the restaurant were two of Rafael’s oldest friends, a couple who spoke English and who were dying to talk to someone of a country they both obviously loved. It would have been churlish not to ask them to join their table. In the end Jess decided it had been the best thing to do; there was no time for Rafael or herself to feel awkward with each other, or even to try to go over old ground. They were charming people and they all laughed a lot.
On Saturday they drove out to the coast and came back in time to go to a party that was given in one of the beautiful old palaces in the Gothic quarter. Again Jess was able to relax, because there were guests from all over Europe. One minute she found herself talking to a Frenchman, the next to a group of Americans. She enjoyed herself to the full. It was when they returned home in the early hours of the morning that she realized that she and Rafael had hardly been alone together for the whole weekend. And tomorrow morning she was returning to Monserrat.
As they said goodnight, he must have realized something of the same thing, for he said, ‘Next weekend, Jess, I want your final answer. And next weekend I want you to be wearing my ring. I think even you will say I have waited long enough.’
She nodded, knowing he did not ask too much. ‘Next weekend,’ she echoed. ‘I also think my work will be finished. I shan’t go back to Monserrat.’
‘I’m glad,’ he said abruptly. ‘I think that place has cast some kind of spell on you. It is as though you had gone there on some strange pilgrimage of your own. I never did like the place except as a religious and historical monument. In the summer it is a tourist trap, and in the winter it is completely isolated. I think of you up there, roaming around those paths and crags and I know I am afraid for you.’
‘I’m sorry, Rafael,’ she said softly, leaning over to kiss him, ‘I know I’m a bit of a trial to you, but I’m trying to learn. You must have patience with me, that’s all. Your world is a long way from mine.’
Suddenly he pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely. ‘I don’t think I can wait until next week. It seems a million years away. Perhaps I’ll try to see you.’
‘No!’ She did not mean to speak so bluntly. She repeated it more gently. ‘No, Rafael, it’s only five days. Let me try to finish it in that time. You’ll only make me think of other things.’
‘If that is the way you want it.’ But in spite of his easy answer there was an oddly withdrawn expression in his eyes.
Jess walked into the plainly furnished room at the hotel which she had been occupying for two weeks and had the feeling she had come home. The little maid who looked after her had put a simple bowl of white flowers on her table, obviously picked from the softer slopes of the mountain. In a way Jess felt ashamed that their very simplicity touched her more than the huge bouquet that had been left in her room yesterday at Barcelona.
She looked out of her window on to the quiet square and up at the steep rack railway. Immediately she thought of Richard. What had he been doing this weekend?
What worried her most was the thought that though her dilemma about him was partly solved she was still worried about Oliver Preston’s reaction. Oliver was not the benign man he seemed when all his most fervent impulses as a newspaperman were aroused. It was quite possible that when she refused to give him the real story about Richard Kendall he would send someone else out here. He was not going to give up that easily. In fact the more she thought about it the more probable it seemed. So she was going to fall into the fire whichever way she jumped, rousing the contempt of both Oliver and Richard.
She pushed aside the thought and went down for lunch. She had one more week here, and many things could change in a week. She did not realize that she was taking on her father’s mantle of optimism. He always said: nothing was ever too bad until it actually happened. And then there was always a good side.
As she ate her omelette the waiter handed her a message that had been left. To her delight it was from Richard. ‘Come up this afternoon if you can. Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest, not work, isn’t it?’
Why, she asked herself, did this simple message send her pulses racing and make her rush the rest of her meal, so that she could go and change into trousers and sweater? When she was ready she wheedled some fresh milk from the cook—something she knew Richard never had up there—then went to the cafe and bought two pastries. With the small bag on her back she started off on the first stage up the mountain.
When she stepped from the cable car the air was as fresh as the morning dew, with the tang of wood and mountain flowers she had come to recognize. She breathed deeply as Carlo—who now greeted her like an old friend—wished her a good afternoon. ‘Tell Senor Armstrong that the weather will be good this week. Soon the climbers will be coming.’
As she walked up to the cabin she saw a hawk circling above, a huge graceful bird, and then it was joined by another and together they soared away over the mountain. Somehow their movement spelled out her own need for freedom, the need to spread her wings and be truly herself.
The cabin door was closed. She knocked and when, after a few moments, there was no reply, she went in. It was empty. Outside she looked about her and called his name, but only the echo of the mountain came back to her.
She could not believe how acute her disappointment was. Perhaps he had not really expected her to come. Perhaps he had regretted his invitation and gone out before she could arrive.
For a few minutes she waited, hopefully, but when there was no sign of him she decided she must enjoy the afternoon alone and, dumping her bag just inside the door, she started to walk upwards, round the back of the cabin where the rough pinnacles of rock burst out of the ground.
She scrambled upwards for a few moments, determined to reach the rock that seemed to be half split, giving it the shape of a series of broken petals. She had often noticed it, but never tried to reach it, although certain the view from there should be wonderful. The route got steeper and though her shoes were good, it was probably not the sort of climb she would have undertaken without thinking ab
out it first. But because somehow her afternoon was spoiled she was all the more determined to reach the top, so climbed doggedly on.
It was when she paused for breath and looked back that she felt the queer twist of fright. It looked steeper to go down than to come up and she began to wonder how she had got this far. She sat down carefully on a small grassy ledge and considered her position. Last time had been an accident that she had got stuck. Today would be just outright stupidity.
The rocks looked almost as far away as ever, thrusting sheer out of the ground. She could never reach them. It was as much as she could do to think of going back. All round her the ground seemed to drop steeply away. There was no easy way down. In the end she decided to take it slowly and come down as she might a ladder, backwards.
When she paused again it seemed she had made little progress. She must have been climbing for longer than she thought. And then she heard the shout:
‘Jess!’
She saw him directly below her.
‘What the hell are you doing up there?’
She did not answer. It seemed more important to save her breath for the rest of the climb. Again she turned her back and started down the steep slope.
‘Stay where you are, Jess, you’re coming down the wrong way.’ The voice was a roar of anger that seemed to echo round the mountains. She found another small ledge and waited patiently, feeling more angry with herself than she cared to admit.
In a surprisingly short time he was just below her. She did not dare look at his face.
‘I want you to stay directly above me,’ he said. ‘Try to tread where I’m treading. If by any chance you fall, at least you’ve got something to fall on to.’ And so, once more, she made the journey with him to safety.
