'Mummy darling, I'm not a horse !' Janet teased her laughingly, escaping from the table. Arm in arm they walked into the living room. The air was warm, but just to give a welcoming touch Mrs Kendall had one log glowing away to itself in the fireplace. Dale, long since worn out with all the excitement, was curled up in his basket fast asleep.
Janet pulled up an old leather pouffe beside the family armchair and spent the next half hour putting her mother's mind at rest on the usual spate of domestic enquiries.
No, her brother Ian wasn't going to have to leave his wife and family to work in Brussels. Someone else had been found to take his place and this would in no way impair his own chances for promotion with his firm. And yes, her sister's baby, little Emma, was now quite over the croup she'd had, and Adrian, another grandchild, would be starting school after the Easter holidays.
Mrs Kendall, her animated features working happily, soaked up every word of news. She was an attractive woman in a faded way, with a greying auburn fringe frizzed across her forehead and eyes that were lit constantly with the sparkle of humour. She had a habit of chattering on about nonsensical things when no one was listening and she would frequently intersperse her prattle with nervejangling tinkles of laughter. But her heart was warm, and there was no one she wouldn't help.
When at last she was sated with family chat, Janet let a reasonable silence elapse. Then broaching the allimportant subject, she asked in businesslike tones, 'Now, what about these people next door? Tell me about them.'
'Well, dear, there's nothing much to tell,' Mrs Kendall said, then immediately went into a long discourse on the history of the previous owners. 'As you know, Mr and Mrs Weston had to sell. Such a nice couple they were. The husband was a diamond merchant, I believe, and they had houses all over the place. They had this one built, you know, so that they could supervise the building of the villa, and they let me have it without a penny profit to themselves. They really were wonderful people, though I didn't see much of them ...'
Realising by her daughter's goodnatured frown that she was in danger of digressing, she pulled herself up and started again. 'Well, apparently the poor man has contracted heart trouble of some kind and he's been told that it would be very dangerous to travel. So they've sold all their property abroad and settled in England.'
'And what about the new owners of the villa?' Janet steered the conversation on to a firm footing. 'Have you met them?'
'Oh yes!' Mrs Kendall said chirpily. 'A Mr Ralph Ford, and his wife ... Elspeth, or Esmeralda or something. They're very rich. He's to do with shipping, so they say. They've got several friends staying with them at the moment, and then there are all these other people they know. They come rolling up in these madly expensive ears—brought over from the mainland, I suppose—and park them all along the drive.'
'But haven't you complained?' Janet asked indignantly.
'Well, yes!' Mrs Kendall's eyes were wide and round. 'I told them it was very awkward when I was expecting my delivery of Butano—you know, the gas they use over here —or if the water man had to back his wagon up to the well.'
'And what did they say to that?' Janet asked, tightening her mouth.
'Oh, Mr Ford said that they'd been given to understand that the strip of track went with the property. And as he needed it for his guests he would have to look further into his rights to make it an adjoining drive to the villa. Oh, he was very nice about it!' Mrs Kendall hastened to add. 'Everyone has been pleasantness itself.'
'Well, they would be, wouldn't they?' Janet retorted, her cheeks aflame. 'They obviously think you're going to sit back and do nothing about it.'
Her mother shrugged and gave a light sigh, and said nothing, which was a sure pointer to Janet that she hadn't really given it much thought.
She pressed ahead grimly with, 'How long have they been here, the new people?'
'Oh, only two or three weeks,' Mrs Kendall chirruped on again. 'The first I knew that the villa had changed hands was when the lorries were outside at the front ... I couldn't see a lot from here, but they'd be bringing in their personal stuff, I expect. I happen to know that the Westons sold the place as it was, lock, stock, and barrel ... it's beautifully furnished, I believe, Spanish decor throughout, you know, and expensive pieces ... I haven't been in there myself, but what I've heard. And of course, the grounds were already mature. They simply knocked down the old villa that was standing and put a new one in its place.'
'Wasn't it the Westons, the previous owners, who told you, you would be able to buy the track?' Janet asked, curbing her mother's ramblings.
'Yes, they weren't interested in it themselves. They didn't entertain all that much and what cars there were they parked inside their front entrance. They told me that it was used years ago to transport salt—the old railway track, I mean—and it belonged to the government, or something. And when they got round to it, it was going to be parcelled out and sold very cheaply to the people whose land adjoined it.'
'Mmmm!' Janet mused on her mother's words and replied with a measure of satisfaction. 'Well, your land adjoins this section,'
'I know, dear, but so does the villa's,' Mrs Kendall said, not lacking in logic.
'Yes, but your house fronts on to it,' Janet argued. 'Theirs doesn't.'
'No,' her mother agreed, looking thoughtful. 'The Westons had it built this way so that they could keep an eye on the workmen at the villa.'
Janet sighed. 'I don't suppose they knew what a problem they were creating,' she said darkly.
'Oh, I'm sure they didn't.' Mrs Kendall rushed to their defence. 'They always regarded it as my drive. I don't know that I ever saw them come up the track once—you know, to the side entrance into their grounds, the big double gateway across from here—but the new people use it all the time.'
'They've probably found out it belongs to no one yet, so they think they might as well have it as anyone else,' Janet said, her mouth tightening up again.
'I expect that's it, dear.' Mrs Kendall, sighing, was plainly becoming bored with the subject.
Janet rallied her withthe stirring words, 'Well, we mustn't let them. If they were allowed to buy up this section of track your house would be worthless without an entrance. And I don't intend to stand by and watch that happen.'
Mrs Kendall sighed again and murmured, her attention wandering, 'But I'm not sure I know what we can do about it'
'Well, the Westons must have made some enquiries about buying the track somewhere to have got the information did?' Janet pondered, frowning.
'Oh yes! They told me they'd talked with the mayor in San Gabrielle,' her mother recalled. 'Apparently each section comes under the jurisdiction of its nearest village.'
'That's it, then. We'll take it from there,' Janet said cheerfully. 'If the Westons put a claim in while they were living in this house, then it should be going on. All we haveto do is stir them up a bit in the village and let them know that it's important that you have this strip for your drive.'
'All right, Jan dear. If you think that's best.'
Seeing her mother's puckered features and uncertain look, Janet hugged her reassuringly. 'Now don't worry. I'll do all that's necessary. You needn't bother about a thing,' she said confidently.
'But these things take time.' The worn hands fiddled with the covers of the chair.
'That doesn't matter.' Janet dropped a kiss on the faded cheek. 'I've cancelled my holiday to Greece and I've enough money to supplement the housekeeping for as long as I'm here.'
'You are a pet to do all that for me.' Her mother's smile returned. Then, eager to dispense with the subject, she exclaimed brightly, 'Now, how would you like a nice warm drink before bed?'
Later lying between the sheets, listening to the strange calls of the night birds, on a silence which was odd to her ears after the continuous roar of London, Janet thought of mother and her reaction to the conversation they had had. Gentle natured and of a carefree disposition, she hated trouble. And
she had never been one for putting up a fight. But she, Janet, was, and she intended to do just that to see that her mother got a fair deal in this business over the track.
She awoke to the familiar sounds of those gay twittering tones as the bedroom door was opened and a tray appeared 'Breakfast!' Her mother, looking as fresh as paint in a bright flowered apron, stepped fussily in and approached the bed.
Janet sat up abruptly, her glance flying to the clock beside her. It was after nine. 'Mother!' she smiled reproachfully at the tray and scolded gently. 'You ought to have got me up.'
She had a fresh boiled egg, buttered toast, and tea placed regally before her with the affectionate reply. 'I knew you'd be tired after travelling, so I thought I'd let you sleep in a bit. Besides, it's nice to have someone to spoil.'
Propped up against the pillows and dipping fingers of toast, Janet thought she had never tasted eggs like this in the city. The big yellow shutters at the windows were closed, but the sun found its way through the slits, illuminating the room with a warm morning glow.
And wasn't it wonderful to be able to sit up in sleeveless cotton nightdress and not have to make a rush for woollen bed-jacket. The air itself was like velvet around her bare arms.
She sipped the imported English tea and basked in the pleasures of being idle, becoming aware gradually that her mother was hanging about, straightening the bed cover, flicking the curtains, and resetting the lace mats on the dressing table in a way that she did when she was bursting with some piece of news.
Janet waited, and eventually her mother said, patting the pillows for the twentieth time, 'I hear a new guest arrived at the villa last night.'
Was that all? Janet smiled over her egg and teased lightly, I didn't know you were that well up in the language to join in the local gossip.' From what she knew of her mother's Spanish she could understand enough to get by on, but she hadn't the capacity to start learning it at her age.
'I'm not,' Mrs Kendall acknowledged wryly. 'Juana, a man from the village, works at the villa, and she's picked up quite a bit of English. I see her sometimes when she's shaking the rugs over the wall.'
She straightened the tea pot daintily on the tray and repostioned a knife, and when a suitable time had elapsed, she asked with something of a flutter, 'Guess who the new arrival is?'
'I haven't a clue.' Janet bit on her last ringer of toast with tolerant amusement.
Her mother fussed to pour her a second cup of tea, then all atwitter she leaned in to tell her with a mixture of awe and excitement. 'Mr Bruce Walbrook.' And when Janet's face didn't immediately register the same awe and surprise she cried, Youknow! Bruce Walbrook, the well, known lawyer. He's quite a big name in England.'
Janet thought about it and said vaguely, 'Yes, I think I've heard of him ... a lawyer, you say?' Her glance suddenly sharpened as she looked at her mother. 'What's he doing at the villa? Holidaying, do you think?'
'No.' Her mother mouthed her suspicions in tones piquantly intrigued. 'It's my guess Ralph Ford has got him over to work on their claim to the track. I remember his Very words were that he would have to look further into his rights, and rich people always employ lawyers, don't they?'
'But it doesn't always get them anywhere." Janet said undaunted. She finished her tea and handed the tray back, voicing her thoughts with a rebellious light. 'Lawyer or no lawyer, he'll still have to take his turn in the queue.'
She stepped out of bed and stretched luxuriously, and Mrs Kendall, her excitement fast melting away, went off humming to herself in her gay detached manner.
Janet went to take a shower, later reviewing this new situation which had arisen, in her room. Rut after she had donned flowered blouse and vivid slacks she ruined towards the outdoors, dismissing the subject from her mind. From what she knew of her mother's life out here, official matters had a habit of taking their time. It wasn't likely that the presence of an eminent British lawyer would make the Ibicencos move any faster.
The sun was surprisingly hot when she stepped out on to the front patio and wandered on to the surrounding terrace. The incredible beauty of the scene struck at her heart as it always did each time she gazed on it. It was easy to see why the Western had chosen to build here.
The close proximity of pineclad mountains, their craggy peaks outlined against a sparkling blue sky, provided a dramatic backcloth to the Moorishtype farmhouse standing on its small hill to the left of the house. Where the patio looked down the track towards the farm road, which ran past the front garden, green cultivated fields took the eye across to the other hill where the white cubelike dwellings of San Gabrielle clustered closely together around its slopes. And to add to the Moorish flavour of the scene, on the right of the house on the other side of the track were the three huge date palms which grew inside the villa grounds, their heavy green fronds contrasting darkly with the blue of the sky.
Janet dragged her gaze away from the setting, and getting down to business, studied her mother's house.
Smoothwalled and flatroofed, it was Lshaped in design, the living room with its three sets of yellow shuttered windows being the projection that looked out on to the track, and her mother's bedroom jutting out at right angles to face on to the front garden. The spare bedroom, the one that Janet was using at the moment, the bathroom and the kitchen, made up the rest of the shape at the back.
The house stood close to the farm road in a long strip of meadow which stretched alongside the track. Apart from a tumbledown old field wall which fronted the garden at the roadside and two short lengths of chicken wire up as far as the terrace on each side to keep Dale from roaming, her mother's strip of land had nothing to distinguish it from the surrounding farm fields.
She took her gaze over to the villa, its high pink walls running parallel with the track on the opposite side and encompassing an area of ground the same length as her mother's meadow. She could see the big old Spanish gateway set in the wall across the track from here. This was the side entrance to thevilla. She knew there was a similar imposing entrance at the front, which opened on to the farm road.
Janet brought her gaze back in to study her mother's house. She had to admit that the front door, set in the corner of the Lshaped square of patio, looked out on to the garden and thefarm road, the same as the villa did, but it was obvious the house had been designed to incorporate the track as a drive. Anyone could see that at a glance.
Satisfied with her observations, she came in at last from nail terrace that surrounded the house. Dale had been fussing around her delightedly ever since she had stepped out of doors. She patted him and played with him now, and chased him on to the patio. Her mother was watering the numerous pots that she kept along one side of it. She had a passion for growing things. She was traininga sprig of jasmine to climb up round the doorway, and asimilar sprig of bougainvillea was creeping up the cornerof the livingroom wall. She had a rose bush flourishing. In an old green pot besides velvetleaved geraniums, and the grapevine she had planted two years ago at the corner pillar of the patio was now stretching leafy arms across the loggia above.
She hadn't been able to do much with the garden because it was too big an area for her to manage. But it was attractive in a haphazard way with the dark summer greenery of oleander and hibiscus bushes waving everywhere and clumps of wallflowers dotted amongst islands of marigolds and summer stocks. The whole of this front area of the house was dominated by two enormous fig trees.
There were two cane rocking chairs on the patio. With a view to taking a seat Janet turned, and noticing for the first time the furry shape stretched out on the cushion of one of them she exclaimed to her mother, 'I didn't know you had a cat!'
'I got her from the farm.' Mrs Kendall raised herself and watched affectionately as Janet picked up the bundle to stroke it. 'They were going to drown half a dozen unwanted kittens, so I thought I must save at least one of them.' She gave a little burst of her pattering laughter as she explained, 'She was so tall and leggy at t
wo months, I christened her Twiggy.'
'Very apt.' Janet smiled as the cat jumped down to pad with curiosity around her.
She was very slim with a small head and ears, and eyes that were large and yellow. Her fur, from the crown of her head to the tip of her tail, was pale orange striped with darker tones. Her face and her four incredibly long legs and undersides were a beautiful snowy white.
'She's eight months old now,' Mrs Kendall emptied her watering can on the last of the plants. 'She's turned out to be a dear little thing, and she's handy for keeping the fieldmice oft the patio.'
'Help!' Janet said laughingly, lifting her gaze.
At the same time her mother stretched up from her task and together they noticed the figure which had appeared round the corner from the front of the villa and was now strolling leisurely up the track.
It was a man, lean of frame and tallish. Though he was casually dressed in cream slacks, white shirt, a dark patterned cravat at his throat, it was obvious even at a distance feat he dealt only with me best tailors.
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