Her Last Promise

by Kathryn Hughes

  His shaven head made it difficult to tell for certain, but Leo estimated they were of similar age. He couldn’t imagine squandering his life sequestered away with only male company and no contact with family. ‘Well, we’ve kept you long enough . . .’

  Gabriela glared at Leo. ‘There’s no rush. Tell me, Br Florian, how long have you been a monk?’

  ‘Been there since I was eighteen, so ten years.’

  ‘You mean to say you’ve wasted the best years of your life?’ said Leo.

  ‘Not wasted, Leo. I’ve enhanced those years beyond measure. Before I went to Justina’s, I was lost. I’d dabbled in drugs, drank too much and had many . . . um . . . women if you understand what I mean.’ He nodded an apology to the blushing Gabriela. ‘I was unfulfilled. There was no joy. I needed to turn towards God.’

  Leo kicked at the stones beneath his feet. ‘Couldn’t you have just gone to church once a week like the rest of us?’

  ‘Repentance is more than just feeling sorry for your sins and asking for forgiveness, Leo. You have to deny yourself, be prepared to say goodbye to your sinful self and be born again to live in Christ.’

  He lifted his hood over his head then gave a slight bow. ‘I will bid you farewell now and thank you for the water. God bless you both.’

  They watched him walk away, his white robe trailing in the dust.

  Leo took hold of Gabriela’s waist. ‘I thought he’d never leave.’ He kissed her on the mouth but her lips were tight and tense. ‘What’s wrong?’

  She pushed him away gently and stared after Br Florian. ‘Do you think he’s going to be alright?’

  Leo pointed at the sky. ‘I should think so. He’s got Him up there looking out for him.’

  ‘I can’t imagine a life like that, can you, Leo?’

  ‘It’s his choice, nobody’s forcing him to do it.’

  ‘But what if that’s the only way to get to Heaven? You heard him, Leo, we’re all sinners, what if we haven’t done enough to convince God we’re sorry? After what we’ve just done on that rug, we could be damned to Hell for eternity. Why would God let us in, when people like Br Florian have dedicated their whole lives to Him?’ She leaned her head against his chest. ‘I’m scared, Leo.’

  He stroked her hair, wondering how on earth they’d managed to go from passionately consummating their engagement to talk of eternal damnation in the space of half an hour or so.

  ‘Gabriela, you have absolutely no need to worry. You’re the sweetest, kindest girl who ever graced this planet. Look how you cared for that monk, insisting on giving him food and water. I’m the one who should be worried about getting into Heaven. I couldn’t wait to get rid of him. God’s not going to take kindly to that.’

  Gabriela was not convinced. ‘I think I’m going to go to confession tomorrow. Shall we go together?’

  Leo didn’t think they’d anything to confess but he pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  17

  Dusk was falling as they arrived back home, grubby, bone-tired, every muscle aching. Leo untacked the two horses, brushed their flattened coats where their saddles had been, then turned them out into the paddock. Free of his saddle at last, steam rose from Diablo’s back as he cantered freely around the field before dipping his head into the trough and taking a long drink.

  Gabriela stretched her arms over her head, suppressing a yawn. ‘I don’t know where he gets his energy from.’

  Leo rested a saddle over the fence. ‘Come on, let’s go and tell Mama and Papa the good news.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll be happy, Leo?’ She twisted the ring on her finger.

  ‘My mama has had you picked out as a potential daughter-in-law since you were five years old.’

  Felipe was dozing in the chair when they walked into the kitchen. Marissa put her finger to her lips. ‘Shush, let him sleep. He’s been pruning the olive trees. Back-breaking work it is. He’s worn out. Did you have a good day?’

  Leo squeezed Gabriela’s hand. ‘Show her.’

  Gabriela held up her hand and wiggled her fingers, the diamond ring catching the light from the chunky candle on the table.

  ‘Oh, Dios mio!’ Marissa exclaimed. ‘It is a miracle.’ She grabbed her husband’s shoulder. ‘Felipe, wake up, there is to be a celebration. Quickly, go and bring some cava from the cellar.’

  Felipe rubbed his eyes and tried to speak. ‘Silencio, esposa,’ he managed, as he rubbed his temples. ‘Now, what is this you are talking about?’

  ‘Gabriela and I are engaged, Papa.’ Leo held Gabriela’s hand out towards his father to show him the proof.

  Felipe took hold of her fingers and squinted at the ring, nodding slowly before speaking again. ‘Congratulations, hijo, Gabriela. You make your mama and me very happy.’ He stood and kissed Gabriela on both cheeks before slapping Leo on the back.

  Marissa banged four glasses onto the table. ‘Cava, Felipe. Now!’ she commanded.

  Felipe jerked his thumb in the direction of his wife. ‘This is what you have to look forward to, Leo.’

  Mateo appeared in the doorway, his eyes heavy and his hair ruffled. He clutched a pad to his chest. ‘I’ve been drawing butterflies, Leo.’

  ‘Let me see, Little One.’

  Mateo passed the pad over to Leo. ‘Are they any good?’

  Leo looked at the rudimentary sketches. ‘They show much promise, Mateo. Why don’t we go butterfly hunting tomorrow?’

  ‘I’d like that.’ Mateo turned to go back upstairs then changed his mind. ‘Did she say yes, Leo?’

  Gabriela laughed, the delicate sound bouncing off the stone walls of the farmhouse. ‘Yes, I did. You think I’d say no to having you as a little brother?’

  Marissa sat at the table, her pen poised over her writing pad. Opposite, Felipe poured his wife a second cava, then raised his eyebrows at Leo and Gabriela. Clasping hands under the table, they both nodded their acceptance.

  ‘Right,’ said Marissa. ‘We need to start making the plans. Gabriela, expect me at the panadería tomorrow to speak with your mother.’ She glanced at the clock over the fire grate. ‘It is not too late, is it? You’re not too tired?’ She rocked back in her chair, laughing. ‘Of course it’s not too late. I expect you’ll be much too excited to sleep anyway. It’s not every day you get engaged to the most handsome, eligible bachelor in the village, no?’ She pinched her son on his cheek, as though he was an impudent child. ‘You take care of her, you hear me? You will walk her home later, make sure she gets home safe.’

  Leo shuffled in his seat. ‘Um . . . I thought Gabriela could stay with me tonight, Mama. That’s alright, isn’t it?’

  The swift cuff around his head gave him the answer. ‘You show some respect towards your intended, Leo. Gabriela is not one of your, how do you say, notches on the bedpost. She wants to save herself for the marriage, don’t you, Gabriela?’

  Lest her voice betray her guilt, Gabriela merely nodded. In a clear attempt to steer the conversation away from pre-marital relations, she changed the subject. ‘We met one of the monks from Monasterio de Justina today. He was awfully nice, wasn’t he, Leo?’

  ‘Mmm . . . he was a bit odd if you ask me. It’s not natural hiding yourself away like that. What does it achieve?’

  Leo was rewarded with another cuff from his mother. ‘Everlasting life at the right hand of God, that’s what. Down here his sins are forgiven, up there he’s guaranteed a home in Heaven.’ She shook her head. ‘What is so hard to understand about that, Leo? These monks spend their lives praying for all our sins, even yours. You should be thankful to them.’

  ‘He was ever so handsome,’ said Gabriela. ‘Young too, not how you would imagine a monk to look.’

  Leo pointedly withdrew his hand. He knew Gabriela had been quite taken with Br Florian. ‘He wasn’t that good-looking, Mama. He’d shaved all his hair off for a start and you need a good-shaped head for that.’

  ‘Mmm . . .’ mused Gabriela. ‘The trou
ble is you don’t really know what shape your skull is until you’ve shaved all your hair off and by then it’s too late.’

  Felipe ran his hands through his own thick hair. ‘You wouldn’t catch me doing that.’

  Marissa tapped her pen on her notebook. ‘Can we stop all this talk about misshapen heads and concentrate on this wedding?’ She looked at Gabriela. ‘I’m thinking autumn would be best. It’s April now, so that gives us . . .’ she counted off her fingers, ‘. . . say six months. October? All our guests will have left and the weather will still be mild. What do you say? Shall I write that down?’

  ‘I’ll have to check with my mama, Señora Perez.’

  Marissa snorted. ‘What is this Señora Perez nonsense? You call me Mama Marissa now, si?’

  Leo stared out of the window to the paddock beyond. Under the crepuscular sky, he could make out the silhouettes of Diablo and Armonia nibbling each other’s necks. He thought back to the pitiful creature Diablo had been when he’d first encountered him. Malnourished, bad-tempered and dead behind the eyes. The young horse had come a long way in two months, his contentment evident in the way he handled and the way he interacted with the other horses. There was no more gnashing of teeth and flailing hooves. No need to enter his stable with trepidation, fully prepared for an onslaught of equine fury.

  ‘Leo?’ Gabriela touched his arm. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Oh, sorry. I was just looking at the horses. I think Diablo has found his soul-mate.’ He leaned across and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Just like I have.’

  Mateo skipped into the meadow, his butterfly net slung over one shoulder. Leo trailed behind, his mind still in the dark confines of the confessional box. He’d kept his promise to Gabriela and accompanied her to church that morning but as he squashed himself into the tiny booth, the velvet curtain separating him from the priest, he wondered why he was bothering. He didn’t feel in the slightest bit remorseful about what had happened between him and Gabriela on that picnic rug. If pre-marital relations were the passport to Hell, then Leo already had a first-class ticket. He watched as Mateo swung his net across a bush with all the grace of a farmer spreading muck. ‘Not like that, Mateo,’ he called. ‘Wait for me, I’ll show you.’

  He caught up with his brother and took the net. ‘You need to be gentle; you don’t want to hurt the butterfly but you do need to be quick. Watch me.’

  A cabbage white landed on a nearby thistle and folded its wings. Leo put his finger to his lips and in one swift, elegant movement closed the net over the butterfly. Mateo held up the jar and Leo eased it in. ‘Pop the lid on, Mateo, and we can have a closer look.’

  ‘It’s a bit boring,’ declared Mateo. ‘Can’t we find a more interesting one?’

  ‘You think this one is just plain white? Look closer, and you’ll see it has a black dot on either wing.’

  Mateo wrinkled his nose, obviously not convinced. He unscrewed the lid and tipped it over a bush. The grateful butterfly took flight, then settled on a stalk of wild thyme, apparently none the worse for its ordeal. The next capture seemed to satisfy Mateo. Leo held up the jar and peered at the frantic butterfly inside. ‘It’s a swallowtail, Mateo. Look at those two red dots at the base of its wings and the little forks below. Like a swallow’s tail, see?’

  Mateo pulled out his sketchbook. ‘Can I draw it, Leo?’

  ‘Put the jar in the shade then and don’t take too long about it.’

  Leo lay down on the grass, his hands clasped behind his head, musing over how uncomplicated his life was. There was joy to be found in the most mundane of pastimes. He could revel for hours in the sheer tranquillity of his surroundings, never tiring of the riotous splendour of the coloured hills in the distance or simply sitting under the shade of a fig tree, the rim of his hat pulled low over his eyes as he dozed off his midday meal. Life was good. He thought of Gabriela. And it was only going to get better.

  18

  Violet stood at the sink, peeling potatoes. She gazed out over Larry’s back garden, where the daffodils were past their best but still providing a flash of colour. A stepping-stone path led to a small pond which was filled with water lilies and Koi carp. ‘Do you do all this yourself, Larry, or do you have a gardener?’

  He approached her from behind and moved her hair to one side before kissing her neck.

  She shivered and turned around, allowing Larry to kiss her lips instead. ‘Come back to bed, Violet.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’ She swiped him playfully on the arm. ‘I’ve got too much to do. They’ll be here soon and I have to get these spuds in.’

  ‘I know, you’re right, but you’re just so damn irresistible, Violet.’ He drew her fingers to his lips, kissing each one. ‘You shouldn’t be peeling potatoes with these hands. They’re far too delicate.’ He picked up the potato peeler. ‘Here, let me.’

  Violet unfastened her pinny. ‘Well, I don’t need asking twice. I’ll lay the table instead.’

  She never tired of wandering round Larry’s house, marvelling at the sheer grandeur of it all. The rooms were vast, with high ceilings, ornate cornices and plush carpets which were so thick she left footprints behind. She stood in the dining room, surveying the table. The mahogany was so highly polished she could see her reflection in it. The table could seat twelve so the four of them would look a bit ridiculous all clustered at one end, but this was an occasion that didn’t warrant eating in the kitchen. She opened the drawer of the sideboard and took out the silver place mats and napkin rings. Napkin rings! She’d had no idea what they were for until Larry had told her. He really was in a different league and she couldn’t wait to introduce him to Tara.

  Violet had never met anybody like Larry. It wasn’t just that he was attractive physically; for there could be no doubt that he turned heads. She had become used to other women staring at him adoringly whilst giving her daggers as she held onto his arm, trying to keep the smug expression off her face. He was generous too and whilst he could afford to be, it didn’t always follow that someone with as much money as he had was willing to splash the cash. On their first few dates, Violet had been careful to pay her way, not wanting to be labelled a gold-digger. She might be down on her luck, but she still had her pride. She’d grown tired of the battle though and now allowed Larry to pay, reluctantly accepting that she couldn’t afford to keep up with his champagne lifestyle on her Babycham income.

  She finished laying out the silver cutlery and crystal wine glasses and stood back to admire the table. She glanced over to the sideboard at the candelabra with its five red candles, wondering if it would be over the top to put it on the table. Larry popped his head round the door. ‘Potatoes are all peeled. Care for an aperitif, my darling?’

  ‘Cinzano, please.’

  ‘I’ll have it made in a jiffy, then you can put your feet up and leave everything to me.’

  Violet smiled at his retreating figure, his aftershave lingering in the air. She could hear him singing to himself in the kitchen and the clink of ice as he tossed it into her glass. She couldn’t recall a time when she had been this happy. She looked at her watch and followed Larry out to the kitchen. Tara would be here soon and she was going to love Larry as much as she did.

  Tara banged on the bathroom door. ‘Alf, what is taking you so long?’

  ‘I’ll be with you in a second.’

  Tara could hear him fumbling with the lock before he inched the door open. ‘Good God, Alf! What have you done?’ His face was dotted with pieces of blood-stained toilet paper.

  ‘Cut meself shaving. Blade must be blunt.’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell, Alf. What’re we going to do with you, eh?’

  ‘It’ll stop in a minute. Now, where’s me shirt?’

  ‘Hanging on the back of the door. I’ve ironed it for you.’

  She steered him through to the kitchen and took the shirt down. ‘Hurry up, Alf. The bus comes at twenty past.’

  She watched as he did up his buttons, his chunky arthritic fingers making the jo
b a lot harder than it needed to be. ‘Where’s your tie?’

  Alf frowned. ‘I’ve only got me funeral tie. Shall I wear that?’

  ‘You’ve got that other one, the orange and brown striped one, wear that.’

  He shook his head. ‘No good, love, I spilt egg down it t’other day.’

  ‘Alf,’ cried Tara, not bothering to hide her exasperation. ‘I’ll sponge it off, where is it?’

  ‘Linen basket.’ He finished tucking his shirt in. ‘It seems an awful lot of bother to go to just for Sunday lunch.’

  Tara grabbed the tie from beneath the mound of clothes. ‘I agree, but Mum said we had to dress up. Best bib and tucker she said. Apparently, it’s what they do round where he lives.’ She scraped at the dried-on egg with her fingernails then gave it quick wipe with the dishcloth. ‘Do you want me to tie it for you?’

  He raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘Can girls tie ties?’

  ‘I wear one for school, don’t I?’ She turned up Alf’s collar, wrapped the tie around his neck and began to fold one end over the other, not wishing to admit that it was indeed a lot more difficult to do on someone else. She patted his chest. ‘That’ll do, now come on, we need to be quick.’

  Alf picked up his flat cap and walking stick. ‘Sorry, love. I don’t do quick.’

  Tara glanced down at the A–Z. ‘It’s next on the left.’

  She linked her arm through Alf’s and propelled him along the pavement. As they turned into Larry’s road, Alf gave a long, low whistle. ‘Blimey, it’s like summat out of Upstairs Downstairs. I wonder if he has servants.’

  Tara stared at the blossom-lined avenue, the pavement carpeted with little pink petals. ‘Number 40, we want.’

  They stopped outside a gated entrance, two stone lions standing guard either side. Tara pressed the button and her mother’s voice floated over the intercom. ‘Hiya, love, come in.’ She heard a buzzing sound and the gates opened. She glanced at Alf. ‘Flippin’ ’eck, Alf. He’s got magic gates an’ all.’

  Violet was standing on the step, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Larry stood next to her, his arm slung over her shoulder. There was no doubt they were an attractive couple. They looked like they belonged on the cover of a knitting pattern.