by Jack Tollers
*
Very much to her dismay Veronica soon discovered that after all Victoria wasn't there. The master of the house, Victoria's father, welcomed her with a beaming face, a booming voice and a glass of red wine to which he held absent-mindedly, spilling a bit now and then when he inadvertently used it as a pointer. But he was a hearty man and Veronica took to him from the very moment she had met him some months ago, when Victoria had first invited her to Bella Vista. He told her that Victoria had just phoned from Buenos Aires and that a sudden train strike had caught his daughter unawares in Retiro station and finding herself without any commuting alternatives, she had gone back to her grandmother's house where she was forced to stay the night.
‘The very day she throws a party to celebrate her eighteenth birthday, can you believe it?’
All of this was conveyed to her by the old professor with low noises that proceeded from somewhere deep down his enormous belly and that to all purposes seemed to be chuckles. Veronica wasn't at all amused with this piece of news, but the man seemed to enjoy his daughter's quandary as one big joke. By now the two cadets and Thomas had reached the gate and were duly introduced by Veronica, but the man didn't seem to take much notice and cheerfully repeated the whole story of Victoria and her difficulties in getting back home. He then took Peter by his arm and forcibly led them round the house introducing the four youngsters through a side door into the kitchen from where you could see through a casement window what was going on in the back garden. A large group of people could be seen congregated around an enormous fire. Next to it one could also see a big gridiron on the ground from which a cloud of smoke tellingly announced that there was quite a barbecue underway. The sound of laughter and songs reached the kitchen where the professor was serving wine from a glass jug to the newcomers, first handling glasses over to his visitors, and then clumsily pouring the stuff. Jimmy thought he detected a faint stutter in his vociferations. The professor fumbled with the jug apparently unsure where to put it down and finally settled for the kitchen sink.
‘As you surely understand,’ the professor gleefully bellowed, ‘with these enormous Bella Vista families, as we parents get on... well, the fact is, it becomes increasingly difficult to, uh, identify your son's and daughter's friends and by now I have indeed given up and hopelessly resign myself to... By the way, does any one of you know any Geology?’
The astonishing question caught them all unawares. Peter was beginning to get a bit impatient. How could the man ramble so?
‘Pardon me?’
‘Yes, Geology, perhaps some of you actually know a thing or two... But come over to the sitting room, I must show you something. Bring your glasses with you,’ he grinned at Jimmy, ‘they may serve as an inspiration’. They all followed him into a big room in the middle of which stood a grand piano. On top of it, under a yellow cloth, there seemed to be quite a chunk of rock which the professor, after depositing his glass of wine on the keyboard, tenderly took in his hands showing it proudly around.
The boys passed it from one to the other, weighing it and observing it carefully until finally Veronica gave it back.
‘You know what that is?’ The professor delicately put it down on the yellow cloth, and began a search for his lost glass of wine. Guessing what he was after, Jimmy promptly took it from the keyboard and handed it back to its owner.
‘Thank you very much. Well? Any idea?’
The youngsters were clueless and couldn’t even begin to fathom what the black rock could belet alone why on earth it could be of any interest to anyone.
The old man beamed triumphantly, ‘I’ll tell you, then. It’s a metheorite. Fell from the sky heaven knows when, right into the middle of my brother in law’s farm, down south. Apparently one of his gauchos stumbled on it last month, when hunting in the forest. He thought it most strange and brought it over to my brother in law who in turn gave it to me... see what I could make of it.’
They all looked at the black rock with renewed interest.
‘It’s been a rather difficult quest, but what I’ve eventually found out is that apparently it’s a rare typenever can remember its technical nameand quite valuable because of that... Apparently they’re people out there that collect these things and pay for them, believe it or not.’
‘People actually buy these rocks?’ Veronica enquired quite fascinated.
‘Yup. And from what I heard, they cost quite a fortune, so with a little bit of luck if I can secure a buyer I’m in for the commission.’ He imparted this last bit of information with a chuckle and made for the kitchen again. ‘And you, my friends will be invited to the ensuing celebrations,’ he added with more laughter. Veronica thought he might be a chump, as Victoria said, but a lovable one, at that.
Once arrived at the kitchen he started inspecting the place. It was quite clear that his mind was already wandering in some other direction.
‘Anyone seen the wine jug by any chance?’ Peter handed it over.
‘Ah, thanks young man, thanks. I can do with a bit more of wine, anyone want some more?’
But they had all only started to sip their own glasses.
Jimmy walked up to what seemed to be a music stand that stood in the middle of the kitchen. He expected to see some musical scores on it, but found instead a copy of Rommel's memoirs. Aware of this, the professor came round bellowing at the top of his voice that that was the most sacred place in the house, where he read every morning while preparing breakfast for the whole family.
‘That lectern keeps me going, and you'd be surprised to learn how much you can actually read while you wait for a kettle to boil or for the toaster to complete its job,’ he explained with relish. After a short bout of Veronica's yelling explanations, the old man gathered that Jimmy and Peter were military cadets and consequently they were soon subjected to an enthusiastic lecture on the battle of Alamein, professor Wade elaborating on the fact that Monty was better than the Desert Fox when it came to matérialenschlacht.
Veronica and Thomas managed to slip out of the kitchen unobtrusively.
Thomas happened to know a couple of young men who were standing around the fire with old Suter—he was there all right—and an odd assortment of boys and girls who were singing and chatting away on and off. Two or three of them, quite indifferent to the jolly musical party, were eagerly arguing among themselves about the railway trade unions rights and wrongs and the future of what looked like a rather wobbly government. It was quite apparent that they had no interest whatsoever in music or folklore, or, more probably, had been at these parties before and had heard the old songs and jokes over and over again.
Thomas was duly introduced to them all but concentrated on the young man who had been playing the guitar, someone who immediately aroused his interest, being as he was a bit of a fan of folklore music himself. The guitarist stood up while Suter introduced him and Thomas only managed to retain his name—one Andrew something or other—apparently a Wade's relative. He also gathered that the young man lived only a couple of blocks away.
Thomas had a good look at him while the boy sat down and renewed his guitar playing. He played well enough and had a startlingly raucous voice for his age, which Thomas guessed to be somewhere between sixteen and eighteen. He had an engaging way of laughing blatantly, suddenly interrupting his songs with a bit of a joke or some jocular reference, borrowing the lyrics of one particular song and irreverently applying the words to one of his teachers or a well known neighbour that immediately drew fits of laughter from those around him even if they didn’t happen to know the victim in question. Thomas hadn’t known him for more than five minutes and was already quite fascinated with this sunny teen-ager, full of beans and infectious high spirits. Indeed, Andrew seemed to be the class of chap that make up a party by their presence alone. In those days, young people dressed with certain fastidiousness, although few social occasions required a formal dress. But even by Bella Vista’s standards where muddy shoes and torn trousers were qui
te the usual thing, Andrew was noticeably slovenly, his dishevelled clothes, unshaven face and decidedly uncombed hair, was something a well brought up young man from Buenos Aires city was unused to.
But his unprepossessing appearance was soon drowned and forgotten once he sat down to play his guitar and sing. Thomas delighted in the deep voice and articulate songs, for Andrew faultlessly remembered the lyrics—a somewhat unusual feat in those who happened to indulge in folk songs. Some of those gathered around the fire joined the song with surprising vigour and a particular affectation in their manner—the deliberately boisterous voices evidenced a certain camaraderie, the sharing of a peculiar sense of humour. Soon enough Thomas couldn’t refrain from joining in, laughing freely with Suter and the rest of them, singing at the top of their voices.
Meanwhile Veronica had found Victoria's mother in a corner of the garden where the frail woman sat at a long table deep in discussion about her son's future with a young priest who apparently had had some say in the boy's recently announced decision to take up holy orders. Victoria's mother, known to all and sundry simply as ‘Mummy’ was a frail little woman—one you would never have expected to have such a prolific offspring—with a sweet, if often tired, smile. She was of an amiable disposition and invariably showed great interest in the doings of her children and their friends. Accordingly, she rose to welcome Veronica with a warm kiss while she changed the subject of her interest diving into Victoria's predicament. She introduced Veronica to the priest who extended his hand forlornly.
‘Father Mole... nice to meet you’. But he seemed rather unhappy by the interruptionthis new turn in the conversation that made the whole subject of the boy's vocation recede into what looked like oblivion. He did not enjoy women's company and one of the things that most irritated him was their habit of fluttering over one subject after the other without ever finishing any train of thought. He got up and went in search of his breviary thinking that he could easily pray before dinner while walking through the silent streets of Bella Vista. Quite unaware of this, Victoria's mother eventually told Veronica that she should phone her friend and then promptly switched her talk to culinary matters, this time addressing a young boy who apparently was in charge of the grill.
By asking one of Victoria's little sisters, Veronica presently found out that the only phone in the house that worked was in their parents’ bedroom. She felt inhibited by this but the girl promptly took her to the upper floor and ushered her through the door, shutting it behind her. It was a very large room and had a big bow window that looked over the top of the chinaberry trees that flanked the sidewalk. The bed was unmade and on one side of it there was a kitchen size table full of books piled up in disorderly fashion. Veronica couldn't help observing that there was some sort of a leak in a corner of the room where someone had put a pail that collected the water and bits of plaster that fell from the ceiling. But when she looked over to Victoria's mother's side of the bed she froze with surprise at the most unexpected of scenes: in perfect silence two baby twins were standing in their cots holding on to their respective railings staring at each other with stirring steadfastness. Veronica nearly fell over herself while the astonishing couple remained quite indifferent to her. Victoria had told her over and over about the twins, and she had seen them before, but somehow this time a sudden surge of maternal instinct unexpectedly assaulted her with tenderness unknown to her until that moment. They were both dressed in white pyjamas and the only discernable difference between them was their dummies, a blue and a pink one, respectively sucked with baby-like concentration. In a moment she had picked the boy up and kissed him while his sister looked on inquisitively. Then she changed her mind, put the boy carefully in his cot and took up the girl. Until then the twins had remained perfectly silent but this last move somehow unnerved them and to Veronica's consternation set them wailing at the top of their little voices. The door opened and Victoria's little sister, the one who had indicated the phone's location, dexteriously took both of them in her arms and moved out of the room not before dedicating a reproachful look at Veronica, before she could explain herself. She sat down on the bed by the phone and was going to detach the handpiece from its catch when it started ringing.
It was Victoria who appeared to be in a dreadful temper with the way things had turned out.
‘Stranded! I'm stranded here in Buenos Aires...’, her voice sounded irritated over the line, ‘I mean, the very day I throw a big party at home... This is some birthday, I can tell, you, I’m furi—’
‘Can't you find someone to bring you over?’ Veronica enquired, ‘I mean, can't you find someone to bring you over?’
‘Can you believe it? I mean stranded... Nope, apparently no one is going to Bella Vista that I know of and—’
‘Well, maybe you should—’
‘...very well to be here and all... but, I mean, can you believe—’
‘...came along with Jimmy, for one.’ Veronica started to play with the telephone cord, winding and unwinding it around a little bronze knob from the table's drawer.
‘... so you’re perfectly established at my place while I'm stran—’
‘...and a friend of his that I was looking forward to introduce you to. And Thomas, you know—’
There was a brief silence on the line. ‘Thomas? Thomas whom? Not Thomas Vega?’
‘Yup.’
‘Ho, ho, ho.’ Veronica heard the distinct chuckle from the other side of the line and could not hold back a smile.
‘Ho, ho, what? What's wrong with Thomas, may I enquire? I mean, what are you “ho-hoing” about?’
‘Oh nothing's wrong with him, to be sure.’
‘...all that “ho-ho” stuff, I mean—’
‘... only that... well... Listen, will you—’
‘... can't quite get what you mean with—’
‘I think you've really fell for him. And,’ Victoria mischievously added, ‘And, yes, all right—I mean, he's all right I suppose.’
This last statement made Veronica pause. She had never revealed her feelings to her friend and had always thought that nobody could possible surmise them. But, of course, she felt relieved now that the cat was out of the bag. She felt very much like venting her romantic inclination and was not at all tempted to deny Victoria's guess.
‘Well, maybe,’ Veronica admitted ‘but nobody on earth knows this, except yourself, so please keep it secret will you?’
‘...he's not my type, if you want to know. In fact—’
‘Well I'm glad of that, anyway,’ Veronica said.
Victoria changed the subject. ‘Well, I don't feel like discussing this over the—’
‘...last thing we need is a—’
‘Please Veronica, will you please get someone to come out and fetch me? After all, it is my birthday you know.’ Victoria's impatience clearly rung in every syllable. It was a tall order, what with forty kilometres one way, and another forty back, it seemed quite impossible to convince any of the few boys with a car to go up to Buenos Aires to rescue the damsel in distress.
‘Listen, Victoria, it's most unrealistic of—’
‘...but it's me that has to stay in this horrible city while—’
‘I mean, the whole thing would take the better part of three hours. I mean—’
‘...I mean, you know... come over and fetch me?’
‘... and it's half past nine already. You would be arriving here at midnight. And I would only ask Jimmy to do that if it were a matter of life or death which clearly isn't the case, birthday or no birthday, old girl.’
Victoria sounded subdued when she finally rang off not before asking her friend to call back in a couple of hours and keep her updated as she would probably still be up and around boring herself to death.
‘I mean, the very day before Philip was leaving for the seminary and all, can you believe it?’
Veronica tut-tutted while she came down the narrow staircase that led into the big sitting room where two cadets and
a seminarist were hotly arguing over that week's kidnapping of an important industrial CEO who's ransom was being asked for by some guerrilla faction or other.
She glided through to the kitchen where Victoria's mother was battling away with two baby bottles while listening to Veronica's report on the telephone conversation she had just had with her daughter. This was soon interrupted by another of Victoria's brothers who managed to topple a jug of wine on to the floor littering it with broken glass and staining Veronica's white trousers, prompting a string of reproachful words from Victoria's mother. While Veronica helped Victoria's mother to clean up the mess, the twins appeared again, this time in the arms of two other sisters and still wailing away. Apparently their bottles had been delayed beyond their baby patience.
Veronica sighed resignedly while trying to remove the stains from her once white trousers with a wet rag and thought that Bella Vista was all very well in its way, but one couldn't quite deny that things now and then seemed to take odd turns.
Thomas appeared at her back with a meat sandwich which he offered her while showing interest in Veronica's useless efforts to wipe out the wine stains with a damp cloth. He suggested some salt, which the girl promptly sprinkled on her trousers. She accepted her sandwich and went back to the garden in Thomas's company, this time reflecting that maybe Bella Vista's entanglements were, after all, well worth their while.
But it had been a difficult night. Father Mole came back from his prayers in a terrible temper having had his cassock torn by a stray dog that apparently was of a somewhat anticlerical disposition. Victoria's mother insisted on the priest taking it off and stitching it and would not hear of the reluctant priest's protests. Finally he gave in and took if off revealing a rather tattered pair of trousers and an outrageous orange shirt he had been wearing underneath his discreet cassock. Thomas and Jimmy thought it rather funny and laughingly commented on the way some priests tend to use loud colours in private. This didn't go down very well with the unfrocked priest who turned his back on the irreverent blighters and pretended not to have heard. At the same time someone tripped over the grill and half of the roasting meat fell into the ashes. Just at the same moment all the house’s lights went off owing to one of those unannounced electricity cuts that were common in those days, especially in Bella Vista where people took them as commonplace routine. One of Philip's friends started singing another zamba and stringing a well weathered guitar.
Meanwhile, Peter was deep in conversation with Victoria's brother sitting next to a corner of the long table by the fire. They were talking about his calling that according to the boy manifested itself in one of Father Mole's retreats. Peter had heard Thomas and Jimmy talk about Father Mole and his retreats on one occasion and well knew that neither of them thought much of this priest because of his well known tendency to put pressure on his flock to the effect that the bewildered youngsters would finally discover God's will. ‘Which, inevitably,’ Thomas had hilariously added, ‘ended with the unanswerable conclusion that if you aren't married, such state of things could only signify that Providence had reserved you for higher callings.’ His crackling laugh had echoed in Peter's ears when he found out that Philip had been told exactly this, word for horrible word, by the priest himself.
Victoria's brother was nineteen and had finished high school the year before. He had been thinking of becoming a lawyer, like his father, until this retreat. He was a lively youngster, full of beans and with a well-known tendency to play practical jokes on his friends. However he had recently assumed what he thought was a more becoming poise for a future priest, and consequently affected a gravity of demeanour which was signified by wearing his reading spectacles all day long. Some of his friends chaffed him because of this, but apparently no one took him seriously and for the most part treated the whole thing as one big joke. But Peter had found out serious trouble underneath this disguise. The boy had said that he wasn't interested in girls.
‘What on earth do you mean?’ Peter enquired.
‘Well, the truth is,’ said Philip, ‘that marriage isn't for everybody, and I for one, can do without.’ The boy paused for reflection. ‘I think that raising a family nowadays is much too risky, too complicated, and then, of course, there’s always the possibility of failure...’
‘Failure?’
The boy emptied his glass of wine ignoring this. ‘On the other hand,’ he looked meaningfully at Peter, ‘everyone has a calling, even if some of them don’t have the courage and generosity to respond to this vocation as the Good Lord expects.’
‘Failure?’ Peter repeated his question.
Philip was temporarily lost. ‘What failure?’ he asked.
‘Well... you've just said that you're afraid of failing if you eventually marry, didn't you?’
‘Well, you know...’ Victoria's brother wrinkled his forehead, ‘I mean adultery, divorce and scandal.’
‘Yes,’ Peter said, ‘I do understand your contention, you know. With little children wailing and asking where the devil is Papa.’ He was fighting to keep his temper. ‘All the same, seems to me quite flimsy reasoning,’ he retorted, ‘For instance, what about a priest then? He can fail also, I believe... We've seen more than once case recently.’ In those years after the Vatican II Council one heard almost monthly about the defection of one priest or another.
‘Hmmm,’ Philip drank some more wine, ‘but that is because they haven't been properly taught. Orthodox religion should keep you out of trouble if only you abide by it... And God will always protect you if you are faithful to his Will.’ He put his glass down with a small bang as if to underline his words.
Peter slowly rose from the table with the excuse of finding out how to find out how the barbecue was doing. Philip looked on with a smile, quite sure that his ideas as presented by him were perfectly unanswerable.
In a sense, Peter was thinking exactly that. While he walked around the more isolated sections of the garden an attentive listener would have heard his dark mutterings and half-spoken remonstrances. He had never seen religion in such a lame light, put in such ridiculous terms, and had begun to think that maybe the ‘progressive’ Catholics were not, after all, the Church's worst blight. Eventually he found Jimmy and the two of them began to walk in the dark around an old swimming pool they had found at the back of the garden. They were soon completely absorbed in their conversation, going over their new-founded perception of Father's Mole so-called ‘orthodoxy’. Peter was especially vexed with the silly mumbo-jumbo he’d just heard from Victoria’s brother.
‘Sometimes one hears things from Catholics that are more than flesh and blood can stand.’
By now the weather had taken a typical spring turn and one could feel the barometer falling while flashes of lightning could be seen through the cedar-trees that stood at the back of the garden. Jimmy turned to the south and frowned.
‘This looks very much like what the late Pope John called, in a most unfortunate turn of phrase, the Church's Springtime.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘One minute you have birds singing and beautiful flowers and lovely fragrances around you and the next it's raining like hell and you risk being hit by a lightning bolt.’
‘But,’ Peter laughingly added, ‘there were quite a lot of signs of the approaching storm.’
‘Such as?’ Jimmy enquired.
‘Well, for instance, the big bunch of priggish Mole-type priests and laymen who thought that a call to religious orders was a sure sign of superiority... I mean all that clericalism... And that if you rose up to such digni—’ A flash of lightning followed by a bolt of thunder drowned his last words.
‘They should’ve read Newman for one.’ Jimmy mused.
‘Not Cardinal Newman?’ Peter enquired.
‘Exactly. Apparently some bishop or other was surprised by his thesis that historically it had always been laymen and not clerics who saved the faith when it was at stake. “Laymen?” the bishop asked, “What’s the use of laymen, I ask you?”’ Jimmy repeated the Car
dinal’s answer with relish. ‘“Well, we would all look rather silly if it weren’t for them, wouldn’t we?”’
They laughed at this while going back to where Thomas and Veronica were sitting by the fire where Philip's cousin, Andrew, continued strumming a guitar and was singing a well-known Chacarera. By now the barbecue had been removed to a corner and a big fire illuminated the scene, the shadows playing games on the intent faces of the gathering youngsters, some with a glass of wine, some eating meat sandwiches. Apparently, once back in possession of his cassock, Father Mole had retired and Victoria's parents were nowhere to be seen, nor the little children who up to then had been prancing around the fire and would not go away until they got their ration of meat and bread. A couple of candles had been lighted in the house and one could see their pale reflection through the windows.
Veronica had just discovered that Thomas could sing quite well and seemed to know most of the lyrics. She looked at him again and thought that he was a most attractive man now that he sang at the top of his voice with a glass in his right hand and a cigarette in his left. But what with one thing and another she had utterly forgotten her promise to call Victoria back and keep her updated on the party's proceedings.
However, as the night wore on matters seemed to take on a hotchpotch quality. Until now they had challenged the ominous signs in the dark of the night singing and laughing at the top of their voices for the better part of two hours. But suddenly the storm was on top of them with quite eerie thunderbolts which eventually silenced the company; one minute the singers et al were contemplating the raging skies, and the next they were rushing helter-skelter to the house—the girls shrieking under the first shower that instantly drenched the fire.
Shortly afterwards, Veronica, Thomas, Peter and Jimmy were trying to get into the car under the pouring rain. Jimmy seemed to be quite drunk and with utter disregard of what seemed obvious to the rest of them, took a hard stand and successfully confronted his two friends’ suggestions to the effect that anyone but him should take the wheel. It was pouring when they managed to get into the old car, and before starting the engine Jimmy began to fumble with the gears and switches eventually managing to break the windshield lever. After that there was quite a row on board until Thomas got out of the back, opened the driver's door and started to tug at his friend with the undisguised intention of pulling him from his seat and assuming command of the machine. The other suddenly tired of the tussle and stopped resisting letting go of the wheel which till then had acted like an anchor of sorts and consequently they both tumbled into a ditch full of water. Peter's laughter could be clearly heard over the storm. Eventually, cursing and shivering, Thomas took control of the machine while Jimmy sat at the back railing against the rebels that had succeeded in depriving him from office.
Finally Thomas started the machine and andante ma non troppo turned to the left at the corner, carefully nosing his way while trying to get some sort of a view of the road by sticking his neck out of the window and steering all the time through what looked more and more like high seas. When they got to the boulevard that Victoria had been walking on that very morning, he suddenly decided to turn to the right. ‘Hullo, what’s this?’ he exclaimed, suddenly perceiving that it was a dirt road in no condition to receive heavy traffic. Soon enough the car was skidding this way and that until Thomas decided to apply more power in a vain effort to steer it along a more conventional course. ‘Look out!’ cried Veronica who had just discovered an enormous ditch full of water to their left. Too late. In a last desperate turn to the right Thomas lost control of the stern, the left back wheel of the car promptly dived into the ditch and in no time the whole vehicle tilted leftwards eventually laying on its side. After a cough or two the motor petered out. Veronica peered through the window at what looked like a small hedge while Jimmy laughingly ridiculed Thomas’s clumsy driving. Thomas managed to start the motor again only to find that the car would not budge for love or money. ‘All hands ashore and start pushing if you please!’ he gave his orders in a commanding voice, not losing poise. They all got out and went to the back where they soon discovered that the mud was stickier than they had thought and that their scrum efforts were against a particularly heavy pack. Thomas applied more power making the wheels go round faster and faster, the motor roaring away and the skidding wheels heating up while a blue smoke and an acrid smell of burnt rubber contributed to the atmosphere of general confusion. At this point, quite a chunk of mud flew through the night right into Jimmy's face who started to cry ‘My eyes, oh my eyes!’ Somehow Thomas heard Jimmy's expostulations and stopped the motor while Peter offered him a handkerchief with which he proceeded to clean his face.
‘It never rain, but it pours,’ Peter complained.
All four of them celebrated then and there a quick council under the showering rain, deciding unanimously that the best course would be to leave the car in the ditch and retreat to their point of departure.
They were a peculiar set, retracing Victoria's morning walk under the rain in the small hours of the night, Peter and Jimmy arguing about the best way of driving through muddy streets while a few yards back Thomas and Veronica followed in silence. Thomas looked up at the towering eucalyptus-trees that were dangerously swaying in the storm and remembered that the town was famous for its numerous trees though he was in no bucolic mood just at that moment. It was completely dark. In those days Bella Vista had no streetlights—the few ones available were hanging at every street-crossing although with broken bulbs more often than not: most people walked around after dark carrying a torch (those long, silvery and heavy gadgets that required about four big batteries).
At some point Veronica shivered and Thomas put his arm around her shoulder. The girl reflected once again that all things considered, there were worst things in the world than Bella Vista's difficult nights.
When they eventually got to the house they could only see the pale reflection of a single candlelight that dimly lighted the kitchen. It was decided that Veronica was the best suited to go forward and ask for help. Thomas and Peter were feeling rather doubtful at the prospect of unsettling the whole house with their transport problems and the need of some sort of asylum. Evidently Jimmy felt no such trepidation and took to singing an old Mexican song at the top of his voice. He was silenced with difficulty by the rest.
Having discovered the old bell dangling from a nearby fir, not without boldness Veronica rang it and soon enough a familiar voice rang out in the wet night. ‘Who's there?’ When Veronica shouted, ‘It's me, Veronica!’ the girl from the porch gave the necessary clearance and they all trotted to where she was standing, out of the rain. When Veronica got to the porch she suddenly recognised the girl standing there and was quite beside herself with surprise.
It was Victoria.
