by Jan Andersen
She realized she would never see him again. That knowledge came to her with a jolt. The future was going to be harder than ever to face.
CHAPTER XII
Jess tried to do what she knew her father would have advised her—not to live in the past. It was over and done with and all the heartache in the world would not change things. But she had not realized how she herself had changed in the past six months. She picked up some of her old friendships, but many of her friends were in the world of journalism and she was the only one out of a job. Since she did not want them to feel sorry for her she tended to keep out of their way.
She had never been short of boy-friends, or invitations to the theatre or parties, but she realized that since she had met Rafael she had tended to cut herself off from that kind of life. She had wanted always to be free when Rafael might arrive unexpectedly. So she was cast adrift in more ways than one. In the first two weeks at home she lost nearly half a stone and her face took on a fine-drawn look. Even her mother, who tended towards self-absorption, remarked one day: ‘Jess darling, you really are beginning to look rather peaky. It suits you at the moment, but you can’t afford to lose much more. I think you’re missing that nice Rafael. I honestly can’t think why you’ve changed your mind.’
Jess sighed. She had said nothing to her mother about Richard. ‘Mother, I’ve told you that I realized once I got to Spain that I simply didn’t love him enough to give up everything here.’
‘So rich too!’
‘Would you have wanted me to marry him merely because he was rich?’ Jess knew she was snapping, but her mother could be very thoughtless at times.
‘Of course not, dear.’ The tone and the look were reproachful. ‘But you keep saying yourself that things aren’t too easy. I know the newspaper business isn’t like other businesses, but I can’t understand how you managed to let Oliver Preston dismiss you.’
Once again Jess sighed. ‘Because I didn’t do my job well enough. You know what Father always said...’
‘Of course I know what your father said, but I also think if you went to Mr. Preston and asked for your job back, he would give it to you, just for the sake of your father.’
‘He wouldn’t, Mother, and I wouldn’t ask him. I’ll find something else, I know I will, but,’ and here she took a deep breath, knowing the time was coming for her mother to face the blunt truth, ‘there’s something you’ll have to realize. If I can’t get the salary Oliver paid me, then I’m afraid there’ll be no alternative but to try to sell this house and find somewhere cheaper and easier to run.’
‘Sell your father’s house? I couldn’t!’
‘We’ll have to,’ Jess said wearily, ‘unless we want it to fall about our ears...’
She met the gentle reproachful look she knew so well. Her mother never had liked to face facts. She was not going to start now. And Jess did love her dearly. It was just that some of her own energy and zest for life had gone and everything seemed a little more difficult.
In the next two weeks she was offered two jobs, but neither at the salary she wanted. She decided to give herself until the end of the month before making the final decision. She was doing a little freelance work, but she found it tiring and she knew she had not the temperament to stand the lack of security.
At the end of the week her close friend Joan, from the Post, rang up. Even to her friends Jess had said nothing of the story she went to Spain for. But she had admitted to Joan that she had funked the whole thing at the last moment, and that was why Oliver had sacked her.
Joan said now: ‘I thought you might like to know, Jess, that whatever your mysterious assignment in Spain was, Oliver isn’t giving up.’
Jess’s heart sank. ‘What do you mean?”
‘He’s sending over your bête noir, George Bruce.’
‘Oh, no,’ Jess cried aloud, ‘he can’t do that!’
‘He can and he’s going to,’ Joan said. ‘I thought you’d be upset, but I don’t think there’s much you can do.’
‘When is he going?’ Jess asked.
‘As far as I know the day after tomorrow.’
‘Thanks for letting me know anyway.’ Jess put the phone down, her heart heavier than ever. George Bruce was one of the Post’s reporters with a reputation of getting a story from the most difficult of subjects. He didn’t care how he did it and he boasted that someone could lock and bar a door, but he’d always find a way to get inside. He was a man quite without scruples who laughed at the mere idea of the invasion of privacy. Nobody liked George Bruce—even Oliver Preston—but he could be useful when everything else failed. Jess’s stomach contracted when she thought of Richard face to face with Bruce.
Her hand hovered over the telephone. It would be better to telephone Oliver and say she would write her story. At least she might swing public opinion towards Richard. But even that seemed like a betrayal.
As she hovered over the telephone, wondering what to do for the best, her heart crying out for Richard, it rang. Dr. Hamilton wanted to speak to her.
‘I thought you would want to know that I’ve heard from Richard,’ he said bluntly.
‘And?’ She held her breath.
‘And nothing. He thanked me for the American letter. As to the other business, he made no reference to it at all. I don’t know whether I’ve made things better or worse by telling him. I’ve got it out of my system, that’s about all you can say.’
For a moment Jess did not answer. It did not sound like Richard, or rather what she knew of him. How hurt he must be feeling, how dreadfully hurt!
Rather tentatively she said to Dr. Hamilton, ‘After I saw you the other day I remembered something I’d read in the enquiry. Wasn’t there a nurse who gave evidence? She seemed to be quite an important witness.’
‘You mean the theatre sister, Miss Cray?’
‘That’s right.’
There was a hollow laugh at the other end of the line.
‘Cray was a very good nurse and a very frustrated woman. She was infatuated with Richard and I don’t think he ever saw her except as a nurse. She never forgave him for it, and in the end used her voice against him. I’m afraid, if you’re expecting help from her, you’re wasting your time.’
‘Then we can do nothing more?’ she said hopelessly.
‘I was thinking perhaps that Richard would do something about the American job. I want him to get away from Spain before he has to face any more reporters.’
‘You think it’s likely?’
‘I know it is.’
It was after breakfast the following morning that it came to Jess in a flash what she must do. First she rang Joan and asked her to confirm that George Bruce really was flying to Spain the following day. When she learned that he was already booked on the early morning flight, she booked a seat for herself on a plane touching down in Barcelona in the late afternoon that gave her more than twelve hours in hand.
She knew she was mad. She knew she could not possibly afford to take a rash step like this, but the thought of Richard coming face to face with Bruce and having his life ripped to pieces again was more than she could bear. Perhaps when she arrived he would refuse to listen to her, but at least she must try to warn him, even if only to salve her own conscience.
She reached London Airport after lunch and not until she was strapped into her seat gazing out at the ground dropping away did she stop to wonder whether she was doing the right thing.
She dozed for the first half hour, then the stewardess brought round coffee. It was just after this that Jess made a move to stretch her legs and wash before they came in to land.
She was walking back along the narrow gangway and had to stop to let someone else pass when something made her turn her head and she saw the big man with the gingery hair asleep in a seat by the window. It was as much as she could do not to cry out. She would have known that ginger head anywhere. George Bruce.
She sank back into her own seat. So he had taken an earlier flight after all and they
would arrive in Monserrat at the same time. If George Bruce saw her he would be in no doubt why she had come. Oliver’s briefing would have been very thorough.
Thoroughly shaken, she tried to think things out. As long as Bruce did not see her she was reasonably safe in assuming he would make no attempt to see Richard until tomorrow. It would be getting dark by the time they reached the mountain, and at that time of the evening it was no place for a stranger on foot. She would have to be the one to get to San Jeronimo before nightfall.
The plane was already making its wide circle over the sea and the indicators to fasten seat-belts were alight. Jess tried to slink further into her seat. And then, when the great jets were finally silent, the first person she saw reaching up to the overhead shelf was Bruce. Was there no way to make herself invisible? When he passed her row on the way out, she was bending low to the floor, her face hidden.
She played the same cat and mouse game in the airport, staying steadily behind him, hanging back all the time, until she saw with relief that he was through the Customs and striding out to look for a taxi. She only wished she could have found out whether the taxi was taking him direct to the city, or direct to Monserrat.
She had only one small case with her and had just collected this and was wondering how she would get to Monserrat tonight when she heard a voice behind her:
‘Jess, Jess!’ She turned in amazement to see the smiling face of Tomas Gomez.
He shook her warmly by the hand. ‘Oh, how glad I am to see you! I thought you had returned to England and I had no chance to say goodbye to you. I was deeply distressed, dear Jess, to learn about you and Rafael. Now I have just caught you before you leave us.’
‘On the contrary,’ she said, ‘I’ve just arrived. ‘I’ve been back to England and returned here on the plane that landed a few moments ago.’
‘Then all is well again. You mean you and Rafael...’
She shook her head, stopping him in mid-stream. ‘No, Tomas, I’m afraid it’s truly over between Rafael and me. I’ve come back for other reasons.’
‘You have time for a drink?’
‘To be honest, I don’t know. It’s most important that I get to Monserrat tonight, preferably before it gets dark.’
Tomas looked out at the dusty sky. ‘I do not think that will be possible, Jess. Already the light will soon be fading. You would have to find a taxi to get there, and even then...’ suddenly he smiled at her glum expression. ‘Don’t worry, that will not be necessary, as I am here to take you. If you will allow me to make one telephone call...’
‘Oh, but Tomas, you can’t...’
‘Yes, I can, and I will be with you in just five minutes.’
She watched him go, relieved at this bit of luck, but wondering if he was phoning his sister. She did not really want either Ana or Rafael to know she was in Spain again.
But when Tomas returned and picked up her bag he must have read her thoughts, for he said cheerfully, ‘I can see by your face that you think I have run to my cousin. I have not. I was to attend a not very important meeting tonight. I am only relieved at the excuse not to attend. I am also relieved that I was bringing a colleague to the airport at just this time.’
He helped her into the car, then swung out from the airport on to the main road. Night would not be long coming, and with it bad weather, for the sky was stormy with threatened rain.
‘It’s very kind of you,’ Jess started, ‘especially since...’
‘Since you and Rafael are no longer going to marry, you were going to say? I assure you, dear Jess, it makes no difference. I am truly sorry about you and Rafael, yet I am not altogether surprised.’
Her head jerked up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You want me to speak frankly?’ And when she nodded, ‘I think you only thought you were in love with Rafael. You met in romantic circumstances in London. But you never looked at him with eyes of love. I think you only wanted to love him, and Rafael—well, he wanted to place you on ... how do you call it ... a pedestal?’
‘I think perhaps you are right, Tomas,’ she said in a low voice.
‘And now you are returning to your Englishman?’
She glanced across at him. ‘I’m going to deliver a ... a message. There’s nothing more between us. And Tomas, I know it’s not in the least important now, but I would like you to know the truth. When you and Ana saw me with Richard that day at the hotel, it was our very first dinner together. It really was an act of politeness on his part.’
‘I believe you. I’m afraid Ana ... we had one of our few quarrels after we left you. She has such intense loyalty to Rafael that it blinds her to everything else.’
‘She loves him,’ Jess said simply. ‘I really do hope one day that he sees it. She’s prepared to give up her life to him. I obviously wasn’t able to do that.’
They finally reached the foot of the main cable car going up to the monastery. Tomas seemed reluctant to let her go.
‘I’m all right, really I am,’ she insisted. ‘It’s better that I go alone.’
‘All right, but I don’t like to see you unhappy, Jess, and you are unhappy. If you return to Barcelona tomorrow or the next day will you phone me? It will be something private between us, but I would like you to know you had a friend there.’
So Jess promised to telephone him before she left for England. She intended to keep that promise, too, for Tomas had shown her nothing but kindness and understanding.
By the time she booked in at the hotel she was feeling tired. It would have been so easy to curl up and go to sleep. But nothing was going to stop her reaching the cabin tonight.
She changed into trousers and anorak and pocketed the torch she had brought with her. Then she slipped out of the hotel unseen. She did not particularly want to broadcast to the manager where she was going.
She walked to the foot of the San Jeronimo cable car and into the hut below it’. There was the usual small crowd of local workmen drinking wine and, thank goodness, Carlo.
She went straight across to him. ‘Is it too late to take the cable car up?’ she asked urgently.
He held out his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘For you, senorita, I would go up specially, but alas, I cannot. We are having the same trouble as we were two weeks ago when you were here. The fault has been plaguing us off and on. I dare not even try to take you up at this time of night. If the car did not actually stop I would lose my job. It is much too dangerous. You must wait until the morning, senorita.’
‘The morning will be too late,’ she said stubbornly. ‘If you can’t take me then I must walk.’
He stared at her, obviously taking her for an even crazier English girl than he had first thought. As gently as if he were speaking to a child, he said, ‘Senor Armstrong will still be there in the morning. It cannot be as important as that. The route is steep; the weather is already changing...
But she was no longer listening, but running down the road to where she could start on her long climb.
When she started out on the track that led from the top of the rack railway there was still a glimmer of light left. But this soon vanished, and she was left with the sound of the wind and the first steady drops of rain.
She had walked this way twice and though she would not have called it a Sunday stroll exactly, she had not thought of it as any more than rather rough in patches. The funny thing was that those patches seemed to be everywhere tonight. Suddenly the friendly mountain turned into an enemy and she knew she should never have come.
By now the rain was a sheeting downpour. She propped herself up against a rock for the minimum of shelter and wondered whether to go down again. But down seemed almost as long as up, and anyway she had always been known for her obstinacy. She could hardly get wetter than she was.
On the next high bend she stumbled over a pile of stones and the torch smashed with a tinkle of glass and the light went out. Now she realised she was in total darkness and though the rain had slackened off a little, a heavy clinging
mist had come down, turning each single step into a hazard.
For the first time Jess was frightened. Part of the path lay right along the steep edge of a five-hundred-foot drop. Had she passed it, or was it still to come? And then there was that other narrow place where you had to make your way over the granite rocks. She had no idea how long she had been walking or how far she had come. Was it less or more than half way?
The rain had soaked through all her clothes and the bitter wind was turning her skin to ice. This was not mere obstinacy, but madness. She could have waited until the first car up. Bruce would not have risen for that, even had he been in Monserrat already.
Jess was not often given to tears, but now they fell in profusion. It was a mixture of fright and cold and pain, but as much as anything for the loss of Richard. Even could she reach the top tonight the thought of him facing her in cold contempt was almost more than she could bear. What was she doing all this for—Richard or herself? Some kind of continued salving of the conscience?
How long she stayed huddled against a friendly rock she did not know. She made herself move at last. She had to find some kind of proper warmth and shelter or she would be down with something worse than pneumonia by the morning. But now she hardly knew in which direction to turn. The ground had flattened out for a while, but was rock-strewn, and she could only hope she was heading somewhere near the top.
She fell twice and felt the bruising pain across the ankles and down the side of her body. If only, she thought, tired and confused, she could find somewhere to sit down; she might even sleep to wake up and find this was all a nightmare.
