by Nesta Tuomey
Since returning home Jane had valiantly tried to put him out of her mind but despite her efforts, he continued to dominate her thoughts. As she packed the girls’ cases, she often caught herself with a half-folded garment on her lap, dreamily remembering, especially that last evening when he had called to the apartment to say goodbye. They had sat on the balcony in the evening sunshine, the air about them scented with the fragrance of datura. She had found herself telling him about the years since Eddie’s death and how she had been driven by the need to work long hours at the clinic to support her small family.
‘It was a tough and lonely time,’ Jane said, without self pity. ‘When my husband and son so tragically died, I learned there was no-one I could rely upon but myself, that if we were to survive it would be through my own efforts. I suppose I have become used to the battle.’
‘Ah, Jane. I only wish it were different.’
She gazed at him candidly. ‘I wish it too.’
In her mind’s eye Jane saw again the great dangling trumpet flowers behind his head as Antonio took her in his arms. She had tightened her own arms about his neck and fervently returned his kisses, but all the time, like an unseen watcher, was the ailing shadow of Elena. When she had drawn back and looked into his eyes and seen the urgent need in them, Jane had ached to give him what he so clearly desired, but felt she would be dishonouring herself and him too. She had, besides, a superstitious conviction that by selfishly brushing aside all thoughts of the sick woman and giving in to their passions, they would forfeit each other for ever.
In the following weeks Jane often wondered if she shouldn’t have loved Antonio when she had the opportunity. In her lonelier moments she sometimes bitterly regretted depriving herself of the solace of his body, but then she remembered the strength of her feeling at the time and knew she had made the right choice. Jane had come to know and love Antonio again in those leisurely afternoon visits to the hospital when they spoke freely of the years they had been apart, and now she was conscious of an aching loss that had not been there before.
Sometimes Jane felt there was a fairy tale quality about her finding him again after so many years. Now like Sleeping Beauty she was hungry, not just for food but for life and love, and in a way she had not been for most of her married life. With each letter that arrived, she experienced a sensation of excitement followed by depression, for it only served to increase her feelings of frustration and guilt which the memory of Elena’s gentle goodness had left with her.
Sarah Lewis also communicated frequently with her. ‘Don’t forget there’s a shortage of good doctors here should you ever decide to work in Spain,’ she wrote half in jest, but Jane found herself seriously considering the idea. The women’s clinics had a great need for qualified doctors and Jane had to admit that she was greatly drawn to the notion of working in sunny Spain. And to being near Antonio? She quickly banished the thought, knowing that while Elena lived she would not even contemplate such a step.
Another person Jane badly missed was Terry. He had been home only twice since completing his initial thirty-seven hours training to become a rotary pilot. Now he was engaged in further emergency training in troop carrying into confined areas and low-level tactical flying .
As Jane packed beach towels on top of her daughters’ summer clothing and closed the lids of the cases, she found herself dwelling on Terry’s last visit. It had been brief, less than two hours, and barely time for him to do more than outline his activities. When she had steeled herself to ask how things were between Claire and himself, he had frowned and turned away without replying.
‘Terry, it wasn’t her fault,’ Jane felt constrained to say. ‘She couldn’t help what happened, you know.’
‘Don’t say any more, Mum, or I’m going,’ Terry warned her, his voice thickened by disgust and outrage. Jane realised in dismay that he saw himself as the injured party and, in his blind, unreasoning pain, was unable to summon up any pity for the true victim of the unhappy affair.
Remembering, Jane sighed with regret and her heart grieved for the pair of them. But perhaps it was better, she told herself. They were both so young and still had their careers to make. Maybe time would prove kind to them both and they would come together again. She genuinely hoped so.
The afternoon post brought her weekly letter from Antonio and she had just finished reading it and was feeling lonely and dispirited, when the phone rang. Jane picked it up and found her son at the other end. He told her with an underlying current of excitement in his voice that he had an overnight pass and would be home later in the day.
Jane looked up expectantly from her desk when she heard Terry’s key in the lock. He was in uniform with the airman’s peaked cap set at a jaunty angle and he was carrying his army kitbag. He dropped it with a thud in a corner of her surgery and came round the desk to kiss her.
‘Hi, Mum. What do you know? I’m on my way to Shannon to do my ship-borne conversion in the Atlantic.’ His golden eyes sparkled. ‘We’ll be involved in sea and air rescue. Might even pick up a D.S.M.’ He was more animated than she had seen him since his break-up with Claire and she guessed he welcomed the change of scene as well as the chance to see some action.
‘For how long?’ Jane asked, her heart sinking. Helicopters really scared her. Unlike planes, helicopters were only kept in the air by forces and controls working against one another. If anything went wrong they could not gracefully glide to earth but just fell out of the sky. She wouldn’t have a peaceful moment while he was away.
‘About three months,’ Terry said.
‘When are you going?
‘A detachment from the Air Corps leave Baldonnel in the morning. Pete will be with me. You remember him?’
‘Yes, I remember.’ Jane felt an icy foreboding. Oh God, she thought, please bring him back to me. Don’t let him be taken too. She stayed awake most of the night praying and bargaining with God to spare her only son, but none of it showed in her face when she held Terry in her arms next day and kissed him goodbye. ‘Take care, love,’ she said, and kept her tears until he had gone.
That same weekend Claire went to stay with her father and so knew nothing about Terry’s departure for Shannon, not until it was too late. On the night before he had gone away she had been sitting on the bed, sorting through the books she would need for college in October, when she thought she heard a ring at the front door. She had waited, not wanting to go down herself because she was in her night things. After a moment, she heard Christopher going heavily along the hall and absently listened to the rumble of voices in the distance. When the front door closed curiosity compelled her to glance out of the window and, with a painful lurch of her heart, she recognised Terry’s tall figure crossing back over the road. She hadn’t seen him since the day Jane had returned from Spain. She hurried downstairs to find that Terry hadn’t left any message.
‘Why didn’t you call me, Chris?’ she asked, her voice rough with disappointment and the longing the sight of Terry had inspired.
‘Didn’t think you were in,’ Christopher was watching sport on television and barely turned his head to answer.
‘You could have called me...’ What was the use? He wasn’t even listening.
She had gone back up to her room and stood looking out her window. The McArdle’s door was just visible through the branches of the silver birch. Perhaps he would call over again later. But she had known in her heart that he wouldn’t.
She quite enjoyed her weekend away. At sixteen months baby David was a chubby little boy, taking his first unsteady steps. Marissa said he was slow to walk because everything was given to him before he cried for it. Claire had brought him a wind-up bear with a tin drum slung about its neck. David squealed with pleasure and loved it to death. Although she feared it would not outlast her visit, the bear was stronger than it looked and was still beating its drum when she left two mornings later. She was on the point of departure when her father told her that Marissa was expecting another baby.
> ‘We’re delighted,’ Jim beamed all over his face. ‘And glad for David’s sake too. We can’t seem to help it but we’re spoiling the little chap rotten.’ Claire, remembering how badly her mother had taken the news of Marissa’s first pregnancy, resolved to keep the news to herself.
But when she arrived home it was to find that her mother already knew and had another cause for grievance. Jim had applied for an annulment and in that morning’s post she had received notification of the date they were both due to attend a hearing in the Bishop’s Palace.
‘How could he?’ Annette sobbed, showing Claire the letter. ‘Denying his own children as though they’d never been born.’ Claire glanced quickly at it, unable to take it in. She felt embarrassed and saddened to see her mother so reduced.
A week later, her mother’s new lodger moved into the house. Claire did not like this new man any more than she had liked Austin or Thomas. He went out of his way to pay her fulsome compliments, and whenever he tried to detain her as she passed through the living-room, Annette always found some excuse to send her out again. Claire found her mother’s insecurity embarrassing and pitiful. She could not know the mental anguish Annette suffered on seeing herself alongside her daughter’s delicate beauty. It was no longer an equal competition. Annette had once been a good-looking woman and still dressed smartly, but she had not worn well. Since turning forty her skin had taken on the texture of coarse orange peel and had a faded, patchy look. In her obsession with remaining youthful, she slavishly adopted special diets and health fads. She could not hide her relief at the end of June when Claire kissed her goodbye and flew off to Spain with Sheena and Ruthie for the whole summer.
Fernando Gonzalez stood at the window watching Pepe, his father’s chauffeur, hose down the Mercedes. Since receiving news that the family of la médica irlandesa would be flying into Spain that afternoon, Fernando had cleared all appointments in order to leave himself free to meet the girls and their chaperone at the airport. Anxious to make a better impression on them than was possible in his small Seat, he had instructed Pepe to prepare the Mercedes.
The water gushed in a silver jet, drumming on the glass and fountaining over the curved fenders. When, at last, Pepe stepped back to survey his handiwork, the black saloon car gleamed like anthracite in the sunshine. Fernando nodded approval. It was fitting that the car should look its best when he picked up Señora McArdle’s daughters and their so beautiful friend, Claire.
Fernando was equally concerned about his own appearance and had already changed his shirt three times that morning and discarded as many ties, before selecting the navy silk with the emblem of the exclusive Andelucian golf club, of which he and his father were members. He was contemplating dashing up to his room to try yet another ensemble when Pepe raised his hand to signify that he was almost finished.
Fernando nodded at him and turned back into the room. ‘Another five minutes, Mother, and we’ll be on our way.’
‘Thank you, Fernan.’ Elena Gonzalez gently smiled at her son as she sat in her wheelchair, rosary beads in her hands, her mantilla covering her greying auburn hair. She had grown very frail over the months, but despite the disease that was slowly ravaging her nervous system her spirit remained as indomitable as ever. Each morning she struggled out of bed and, with the help of her maid, Christina, washed and dressed herself. Then, after breakfasting lightly on coffee and a fragment of her favourite powdery almond croissant, she allowed an hour to elapse before attending mass at the local church of Santo Tomas.
Fernando knew how much these daily visits meant to his mother but, lately, he had found himself wondering about the wisdom of leaving her there on her own. It was true that Don Jaime, the parish priest, was not very far away but, by the time the missal was removed from the altar and the candles extinguished, it was close on siesta time and if Elena were suddenly taken ill... Fernando frowned and decided that this time he would bring Christina with them. Elena would consider he was fussing but better safe than sorry.
He placed his hands on his mother’s wheelchair, smoothly turning it in the direction of the cool, tiled hallway, and parked her within sight, smell and touching distance of the potted azaleas, her favourite plant. Elena smiled and gently caressed the glossy leaves between the fingertips of her left hand, her useless right one lying bunched and knotted in her lap.
‘One moment, Mother,’ Fernando whirled about as though just getting the notion, ‘I will see if Christina can accompany us.’
‘There is no need,’ Elena protested, preferring the quiet and peace of the cool church on her own, without the distraction of Christina’s fidgeting and barely suppressed sighs. Then seeing the anxiety in her son’s eyes, she closed her lips again, knowing how he worried about her.
Fernando ran up the stairs in search of Christina, glancing hurriedly at his watch as he went. The Iberia flight was due to land at Malaga Airport in another forty-five minutes and he aimed to be there, waiting for the girls when they disembarked, as they were not expecting him.
He strode along the landing and rapped briskly on Christina’s door, a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he pictured the girls’ surprise at seeing him or, more particularly, Claire’s surprise, for she was the one who primarily interested him. Since meeting her the previous summer Fernando had been unable to get her out of his mind. He wasn’t sure but he thought it was a case of love at first sight..
Fernando Gonzalez, good-looking and assured, was in his twenty-sixth year and had often been in love before. Since completing his first term at the University of Malaga there had been a succession of affairs with pretty Spanish girls of good family. Although not as instantly successful with the female sex as his younger brother Alejandro, who possessed the kind of dashing good looks associated with romantic nineteenth century novels of duels and love trysts, Fernando’s good bearing and impeccable manners were enough to attract the interest of the most discerning of young Spanish ladies. In addition to his personable appearance there was his extreme wealth. The marriage of Antonio, the only son of Ferdinand Gonzalez, to Elena, the only daughter of Manuel Lopez, had resulted in the amalgamation of their vast vineyards in the Jerez region to the north of Cadiz, where the fertile alberiza soil of their combined crops produced a plentiful supply of the fine Palomino grape. Besides this, there was Antonio’s investment in real estate and the successful and rapidly spreading number of their Las Cicadas apartment blocks, which stretched as far east along the coast as Almeria and as far west as Marbella. As eldest son Fernando stood to inherit the greatest share of this accumulated wealth. Given the prospect of such an inheritance it was greatly to the young Spaniard’s credit that he was virtually unspoiled.
He went downstairs again to begin the process of transferring Elena and her wheelchair to the car. By the time Christina came panting out the door and heaved her cumbersome bulk into the rear of the Mercedes, beside her mistress, Fernando was seated in the driver’s seat, drumming his well-manicured fingernails on the steering wheel.
Fernando slipped the car into gear and drove rapidly between the ornate gates bearing the Gonzalez crest and down the twisty road to the church. There he deposited his mother with a dutiful kiss and a promise to return for her within the hour, before speeding off again along the road to Malaga.
An Iberian DC9 aircraft, with its distinctive red and gold colouring, was coming in low on the skyline as Fernando drove into the airport. As he paced up and down in the arrivals area, his gaze trained expectantly on the narrow exit channel, Fernando was shaken by a sudden presentiment that the young girl, soon to emerge, would some day come to mean more to him than any other woman he would ever meet.
They came quickly through the customs area and their mood was light-hearted and gay with anticipation of the months that lay ahead.
Sheena came first, easily pulling her soft-topped leather case on its trolley behind her. She wore faded blue jeans and a striped navy and white poplin waistcoat over a white cotton shirt. There was a
pair of sunglasses shoved high on her forehead, and a sparkle in her eyes.
Claire wore jeans too and a blue denim shirt open at the neck. Her fair hair was tied back in two pigtails and she looked no more than seventeen. She held Ruthie’s hand and bent her head to chat encouragingly to the little girl, while guiding her own case on its nose-wheel. Ruthie pulled a slightly smaller version of her older sister’s case, which was also supported by a luggage trolley. Two steps behind her charges, breathing hard, Teresa Murray struggled to correct her case’s tendency to overturn while all the time puffing encouragement after their disappearing backs.
Fernando stepped forward into Claire’s path and relieved her of her case.
‘It’s Fernando,’ Ruthie cried in recognition.
‘Buenos días.’ Fernando’s wide welcoming smile lit his rather sombre features and he held out his hand to Claire. As she shyly shook it, Sheena noisily came back inside to find out what was keeping them and broke into exclamations of delight at the sight of the Spaniard.
‘Hey, this is great. Mum never said a word.’ She led the way outside, chatting confidently. Fernando looked back at Claire with a helpless shrug before strolling on with Sheena to where he had parked the Mercedes.
‘Isn’t it great Fernando came to meet us,’ Ruthie said enthusiastically.
Claire nodded, still a little overwhelmed by the welcome he had given her. He was such a good-looking, sophisticated man, she thought, feeling clumsy in his company.
‘Look at Shee flirting like mad with him. Bet she means to add him to her list.’ Ruthie gave Claire a wise look.
Claire sat into the back of the gleaming black Mercedes with Teresa and Ruthie. Fernando had motioned her towards the front seat but Sheena got there first. The Spaniard, too polite to show his feelings, listened with a slightly bewildered smile to Sheena’s chatter, straining to hear what was being said behind him. Sheena noticed nothing. Sheena who could not envisage a situation where a young man might possibly prefer anyone else to her, gaily chattered on, confident that she was making a hit, as the big car easily covered the miles to Nerja.
