‘Morning!’ she says cheerfully, ‘coffee this morning, I think!’ she laughs.
‘Hey, good morning! Did you set an alarm?’ he asks.
‘Nope. I am just excited about today’s adventure!’ she smiles, pouring herself a long black coffee.
‘Sleep ok?’
‘Like a baby,’ she lies.
‘Good!’ he says, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘Marisa has made us sandwiches to take up with us,’ he adds, pointing to the loaded rucksack by the patio door. ‘Plenty of water too. Can I fry you an egg for breakfast?’
‘Perfect. Sounds like I’ll need my energy then?’ she smiles, sipping her hot coffee and settling herself on one of the tall stools at the table.
She watches as he happily toasts bagels and fries eggs, opening and closing various cupboards in search of other “secret” ingredients. The final result is simple, yet delicious. Marcos serves the fried eggs with a perfect runny yolk on top of half of the bagel. He garnishes it with a small blob of mayonnaise and a touch of parsley. Isabel puts down her coffee, admiring the presentation, before pressing the other half of the bagel on top and cutting into it slowly. Her mouth waters whilst she watches the yolk ooze onto the plate from between the two halves.
‘Please don’t watch as I eat this!’ she giggles, trying her best to pick it up without dripping egg all over her t-shirt. She leans forward and takes a big bite, feeling the yolk run out of the other side, over her fingers.
Marcos promised not to watch, but laughs and throws her a napkin as he studies his own bagel and how best to approach it!
Breakfast turns out to be a lot of fun as they tease each other about their table etiquette, both mopping up the pools of yolk from their plates with the remaining, bite-sized pieces of bagel.
‘That should be an Olympic sport,’ laughs Isabel, wiping her mouth thoroughly with the napkin. She excuses herself as she goes to wash her hands and face. ‘This walk should be a piece of cake compared to that challenging warm-up,’ she shouts from the bathroom.
Marcos slowly parks the car in the car park of a viewpoint called El Mirador, overlooking the coast, far below. It is only 8.30 in the morning but there are already two cars parked there. One has just arrived and two men step out into the fresh morning air. They are dressed for cross-country running in bright yellow Club t-shirts and bandanas. They adjust their watches and other gadgets, before warming-up against a wooden fence and setting off at a steady pace, into the shady forest.
‘Ready?’ asks Marcos, adjusting the straps of his backpack.
‘Absolutely,’ says Isabel happily, turning to admire him in his khaki shorts and brown leather walking boots. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to carry anything?’ she asks, feeling slightly guilty.
‘No, I’m used to it,’ he smiles, ‘it’s not heavy anyway and it’ll only get lighter as we eat and drink our way through the contents!’ he laughs. ‘Right, it’s only a circular route and there’s plenty of shade along the way. Shall I lead, Miss Marsh?’
‘After you,’ she says, stepping aside as he strides towards the narrow, dusty mountain track.
After only half an hour of brisk walking, Isabel can already feel the sweat trickling down her back. The track is not steep but there is a definite incline and the terrain is stony, making it more difficult to keep an even stride.
‘You, ok?’ Marcos asks, ‘Fancy a swig of water?’
‘Oh yes please,’ answers Isabel, as he slows down to a stop and slides the rucksack off his back. His t-shirt is already soaked and sticking to his back. He bends down to retrieve a large bottle of water.
‘You first,’ he offers.
Isabel takes several long gulps of cold water, handing the bottle back to Marcos gratefully. ‘It’s so beautiful up here,’ she says, resting her hands on her hips and looking up to the craggy peaks.
‘Look, eagles,’ says Marcos, pointing to four or five huge birds with an unbelievable wingspan, circling high above them on the rising thermal winds.
‘Oh my god,’ gasps Isabel, ‘aren’t they beautiful? So graceful. They’re just gliding up there. How amazing must that be, to be able to do that?’
Marcos looks over at Isabel, one hand shading her eyes from the sun as she stares in awe at the sky.
‘Is there any other “wildlife” up here? Anything I should be worried about?’ she smiles, taking the bottle back from Marcos and drinking thirstily.
‘Apart from friendly, shy Ibex..., only snakes and wild boar,’ says Marcos with a grin.
‘Really??’ gasps Isabel, swallowing the mouthful of water, her hand on her chest.
‘Yes, really, but you rarely see any and they’re not out to attack you anyway. And I’d protect you!’ he winks, taking the water bottle from her and screwing the top firmly back on.
‘Ok, the picnic spot is about an hour away from here but we’re going to go into the forest for a while now. Enjoy a bit of shade! You ready, campeona?!’ he asks, gripping her shoulder playfully.
‘Adelante,’ she confirms smiling, pushing him in the direction of the trees.
They keep a brisk pace on the soft forest track, through the enormous pines, dodging roots and having to leave the path at one point, to scramble over a fallen tree. Isabel glimpses the golden yellow and brown patchwork of fields through the branches and the occasional picturesque white village, nestled against the distant mountains. They emerge back out into the sun, having reached a col, a mountain pass, where they stand and admire the views on both sides. One side stretches towards the Costa del Sol and the shimmering horizon and, the other side, towards the vast, flat plains of Seville.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ whispers Marcos with genuine emotion, as he stands and admires the landscape. ‘No matter how many times I come up here, I never get bored of it. Every day is different,’ he smiles.
‘I would come up here every day if I lived here,’ mutters Isabel, trying to take in the vast expanse of land.
‘Come,’ he says, and jumps down a steep rocky section on the south side of the ridge, before reaching back up to take Isabel’s hand, helping her down to a sheltered, shady spot beneath the trees. ‘Ideal picnic spot,’ he says proudly, unbuckling the belt of his rucksack and settling himself down on a large flat rock, big enough to serve as a bench for the two of them.
‘You’ve done this before!’ she jokes.
‘Only on my own though,’ he smiles, ‘this is the first time I’ve shared this place with anyone.’
‘Well then, I’m genuinely privileged’ Isabel says, sitting down and pulling her legs in towards her chest. She rests her chin on her knees and gazes out towards the coast.
As Isabel admires the view and feels herself relax totally for the first time in a very long time, Marcos busies himself with the contents of his backpack. By the time she feels a light tap on her shoulder, there is nothing short of a banquet laid out between them on the rock.
‘Woah, Marcos! I thought you said sandwiches?! Does Marisa have a Michelin star, or what?!’ she giggles, admiring the spread.
‘She’s a sweetheart,’ he agrees, removing the tops from a variety of Tupperware containers and passing her a plastic wine glass.
‘Wine as well?!’ she laughs, ‘In England, it’s customary to bring a flask of tea!’
‘We’re in Spain now, Isa’ he winks, ‘and, anyway, this is a special occasion.’
‘It is?’ she asks expectantly, her head on one side, admiring the glass in her hand. It sparkles in the sunlight.
‘Your first day up in the mountains,’ he says, raising his glass up to meet hers, ‘salud!’
‘Salud, cheers,’ says Isabel. Marcos reaches over to kiss her on the cheek.
Isabel takes a sip of wine and hovers over the mouth-watering selection of tapas, with a little plastic fork in her hand. Cheeses, hams, salads, olives, little semi-circular pastries filled with tuna and tomato, bread and even little miniature pots of extra virgin olive oil.
‘I don’t know where t
o start!’ she says, giggling, feeling very spoiled.
Suddenly, Marcos reaches out and rests his hand on Isabel’s knee, a serious look on his face. ‘Isa,’ he starts, ‘I think you know by now how I feel about you?’
Startled by this sudden turn of conversation, Isabel blushes as she hears herself quietly confirming her mutual feelings for him, without so much as a pause, ‘I do...’ Her fork remains poised over a pot of potato salad. ‘But I’m scared,’ she adds, looking down at the stones beneath her feet.
‘I know, and I understand. I’m scared too,’ he continues, ‘This is not a joke Isabel. For me, this is a very big thing. Leaving the girl that I was so certain I would marry,’ he says, his Spanish accent sounding stronger than ever.
‘Is that what you want?’ she asks, nervously, dropping her fork on top of the salad, her eyes filling with tears.
‘Oh yes, most definitely, my Isabel,’ says Marcos. He reaches over and cups her face with both hands, clumsily gripping his wine glass between his knees. ‘I tried to fight it,’ he says, hanging his head as he drops his hands into his lap. ‘I am not a bad person, you understand?’ He looks back up into her eyes, imploring her to believe him. ‘I really loved Leanne and I really did want to marry her... but you made me see that things weren’t really right between the two of us. Do you know what I mean?’ he asks, sitting close to her as they both look out over the tree tops to a hazy, distant horizon.
‘I do,’ whispers Isabel again, as he gently takes her hand in his. They sip their wine, slowly drifting off into the silence that surrounds them, each lost in their own thoughts.
‘What will she say?’ asks Isabel eventually, looking up at Marcos, her face full of concern.
‘I don’t know,’ he admits, rubbing Isabel’s fingers between his own, ‘but it’s not fair not to be honest with her.’
He finishes his glass of wine and places it down resolutely on the ground beside him. ‘I’ll tell her tonight, after I’ve dropped you back at your house.’
Isabel reaches up and kisses him, just once, on the lips. She nods seriously, neither of them feels it would be appropriate to take things any further, yet. They sit and nibble on the delicious pots of food, contemplating the enormity of their decision. They are both bursting with happiness and excitement, but are also aware of the massive repercussions their relationship will have on other people.
Isabel struggles to stop her mind from racing ahead. My life will be changed forever. What about Cartheston, my friends, Paul, my job, my colleagues and pupils! Everyone and everything that she will leave behind if she begins a new life here in Spain. She looks around at the beautiful landscape and the handsome man beside her. It takes every ounce of self-restraint that she possesses to prevent her from running up to the peak of the mountain and screaming at the top of her lungs. She feels so free, so alive. Yet neither of them want to cross that line, out of respect for Marcos’s promise to Leanne.
The track back down the other side of the mountain widens, allowing them to walk side-by-side, talking about anything but their future together. It feels almost as though neither one of them wants to tempt fate and burst this perfect bubble of happiness.
As they see the carpark re-appear below them, in the distance, the mood becomes more serious. They can feel each other’s tension and, despite Isabel’s complete and justifiable dislike of Leanne, she can’t help but feel sorry for her. Even if she did try to drown me, she thinks, looking up at Marcos’s profile and wonders what is going through his head. How is his going to tell her. Leanne has proven herself to be so volatile that Isabel actually worries for Marcos’ safety. But, she also secretly worries that Leanne will prey on his sensitive, moral character and actually convince him to go through with the wedding. No, no way! The more Isabel thinks about it, the sicker she feels.
‘Are you ok?’ asks Marcos, looking down at her pale, serious face.
‘I will be,’ she smiles, awkwardly. ‘Do you know what you’re going to say?’ she asks.
‘Yes,’ he says succinctly, ‘and you don’t have to worry. Please,’ he stresses, gripping her hand in his. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as it’s all over, I promise.’
Chapter 41
She knows that she should probably avoid alcohol at a time like this but, not wanting to talk to Rachel or anybody else, until she knows what has happened between Marcos and Leanne, Isabel takes out a bottle of chilled gin from the fridge and pours herself a large measure. She adds ice, tops it up with tonic, and heads pensively up to the roof terrace.
She leans on the wall for a while, watching people pass by and then, when she can bare the silence no longer, she brings up her iPod and docking station. The confident lyrics of Anastasia fill her with renewed energy.
Lifting the lid of the hot tub and randomly pressing the buttons until she finds “subdued lighting” and “relaxing bubbles”, she steps out of her clothes and climbs, naked, into the warm water. Gin and tonic in hand, she begins to quietly sing along with the music, feeling very liberated.
Barely two hours after Marcos had kissed her goodbye outside her house, she is startled to hear the doorbell. She gasps and slops out of the hot tub, soaking the tiles with water, grabbing a towel from the back of one of the chairs. She slips her feet into a pair of flip-flops at the top of the stairs and hurries carefully down the marble stairs.
‘Marcos,’ she gasps, as she sees him standing there, looking so smart in a black shirt and light blue jeans. The wait is over! she thinks happily as she grips the towel in place with trembling fingers.
Marcos does not move. He makes no attempt to embrace or kiss her and his hands hang limp and empty at his sides.
‘Marcos?’ she whispers, emerging from behind the door, leaving a puddle of water as it runs down her back, dripping from her wet hair, ‘Marcos, what happened?’
‘I’m so, so sorry, Isabel,’ he says, rubbing his forehead with one hand, tears springing to his eyes, ‘I couldn’t do it.’
‘You...?’
‘I can’t do it because she had some news for me first,’ he says quickly. ‘She’s pregnant Isa, Leanne is pregnant.’
Isabel reaches out for him desperately as his face crumples, but he steps slowly away from her. ‘I’m just so sorry,’ he sobs, holding his empty hands out in front of him.
He turns abruptly, tripping on the step in a hurry to get back to his car. Isabel runs out after him in her towel, her eyes wide in confusion, refusing to believe what she has just heard.
‘Marcos, stop,’ she screams after him as he reaches his car, ‘Leanne... she’s having an affair.’
Marcos freezes with his hand on the door handle and turns to look at her with such pain in his eyes. ‘No Isabel, don’t do this. This isn’t you...!’ he shouts, almost angrily.
‘But... but she is! Ask her, we saw her,’ she continues desperately, ‘Rachel and I, we saw her. The baby probably isn’t even yours... please, please come back,’ she cries, aware that she is attracting attention to herself as people pass them on the opposite side of the street.
‘Isabel, don’t, please. That’s a really low shot, really low,’ he says, quieter now, as she sees the sympathy in his eyes. ‘Do you think I’d be stupid enough to believe that you would have been happy to have let me go ahead and marry a woman who you knew was having an affair?! You think I believe that you wouldn’t have told me sooner?’
‘But I knew you wouldn’t believe me,’ Isabel cries, her voice coming out as a high pitched squeak, desperate not to let him go. ‘You’d have thought that I was just trying to split you up, don’t you see?’ she begs, as she is almost close enough to reach out and hold on to him, to physically prevent him from leaving her. ‘I thought it was kinder this way. We fell in love, you and I,’ she says, smiling through her tears, ‘we are in love,’ she continues, reaching out and touching his arm. ‘And this way you need never have known the pain of Leanne’s infidelity. You need never have known.’
For a few seconds, Isabel believes
that she may have convinced Marcos to stay. He stares into her eyes with such affection, rubs his thumb down her cheek, wiping away a tear, and then turns away helplessly and walks slowly back to his car. ‘I have to go,’ he says, turning his head away, unable to watch as Isabel crumples against the wall, wrapping her arms around her stomach as the overwhelming feeling of loss threatens to engulf her again. Her heart is racing as she thinks back to the day on the beach when she found out about Paul. The feeling is the same, only this time I will not run, she swears to herself. She watches Marcos’s car disappear around the corner. Anger replaces her pain as she drags herself up from her crouched, foetal-like position on the ground. She nods reassuringly at a concerned elderly couple, watching her from across the road, and walks back to her house, slamming the door firmly behind her.
‘Bitch!’ she screams through her teeth, kicking off her flips-flops and groaning until her throat hurts. She collapses against the door. Tears of frustration running down her face.
Sitting with her back against the front door, she contemplates phoning Marcos, but then realises that she has no proof and, all of a sudden, she has somehow turned into the jealous vindictive one. How the hell did that happen?! she cries to herself, cradling her head in her hands.
She considers calling Rachel or her parents but, for the first time in her life, she actually wants to be alone. She can’t bear to go through the whole story with anyone or even have to explain anything. She decides to send a short text to Rachel to discourage her from calling her later. She is not in the mood for talking.
Can’t wait to cu soon. Leanne is pregnant and I have no proof of her affair. It’s over:( Don’t worry, I’m fine. Will let u know when I’ll be home when I book flights. Please don’t call, having an early night X
After what feels like a very long time, Isabel sends the text, gets up from the floor and swings open the fridge door. She can’t bear to stay in the house, so she grabs her beach bag and starts frantically filling it with what she feels are necessities. The final thing to go into the bag is the nearly full bottle of Gin and a few cans of tonic. Without thinking too much about where she is going and what she is doing, she puts on her bikini and slips a loose beach dress over her head. She retrieves her flips-flops, locks the front door and heads out onto the promenade.
Waves of Betrayal (The Isabel Marsh Trilogy Book 1) Page 20
