The Summer of the Spanish Woman

by Catherine Gaskin

  No one took any notice. We were a family quarrelling. ‘Why stop at us?’ the Marquesa demanded of Richard. ‘What about the families of Ignacio and Pedro? Why not take all of us? Why not evacuate the whole of Spain …?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake …’ Elena cried.

  It was hard to hear each other for the din we made with our own voices.

  But a few of the things we spoke of got through to my mother’s baffled, confused mind. ‘Clonmara?’ she questioned, after Elena had spoken of going there to the Marquesa a dozen times. ‘Are we going back to Clonmara?’ She turned to me, her face alight with memory and hope. ‘Is that where we’re going, Charlie?’ She brought her hands together in a gesture of pleasure, like a child. ‘Oh, won’t that be wonderful! I’ll ride again, and walk by the sea. And see all my friends. There’ll be parties, the way we used to have them. We’ll walk on the terrace, and in my mother’s rose garden ‒’

  Elena had risen, and advanced towards her. ‘I don’t know where you’re going, Lady Patricia, but it isn’t to Clonmara. If Richard wishes to take you out of here, he must make arrangements for you. But the arrangements don’t include Clonmara. Clonmara isn’t yours any more. Do you remember that? Can you get it into your brain? Not yours! You’re not going there. Forget your friends ‒ they’re all dead. You haven’t any friends left. There won’t be any parties. You won’t walk on the terrace, or on the shore ‒ or in the rose garden.’

  Elena stopped to place a cigarette in her holder and light it. ‘You should know, since it seems to obsess you, that there isn’t any rose garden any more. I had it dug up and replaced by herbaceous borders. This spring. I was tired of all those old-fashioned roses. Richard was upset ‒ furious with me. But he’s old-fashioned too. It was done before he knew it. So … not even the rose garden, Lady Patricia.’

  My mother got to her feet, her lips quivering. ‘My mother’s rose garden! You dug up my mother’s rose garden! How dare you! How dare you touch anything at Clonmara! My mother’s rose garden! It was famous. How could you have dug it up? Who gave you leave?’

  ‘I didn’t need permission, Lady Patricia. Clonmara is mine now. It belongs to me.’

  ‘Elena!’ I didn’t want to look at Richard’s face. He tried to silence her, but she persisted.

  ‘Oh, Richard, be quiet! You don’t listen to this madwoman, do you? What business is it of hers what happens at Clonmara? She has nothing to do with it any more.’

  Richard looked at me, his face flushed with what seemed to be anger and shame. ‘Charlie, I didn’t ‒’

  Elena seemed perfectly aware of the anguish she caused. ‘Richard was on business in London,’ she said. ‘It was a surprise for him when he came back. It was such a surprise, he was speechless.’ She laughed dryly. ‘It’s quite an achievement, after all these years of marriage, to be able to surprise Richard. But that did it … believe me, that did it. He went into a sulk for weeks. I even had a row with Edward over it, who’s become, I’m sorry to say, as much a stick-in-the-mud where Clonmara is concerned as Richard is. He’s a real traditionalist, is Edward. He likes farming. He’s grown just like Richard. Copies him in everything.’ She turned and looked at the Marquesa. ‘When it comes to Edward’s turn to inherit Pontevedra you’ll find an excellent estate manager.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear there are some who take their inheritance seriously,’ the Marquesa snapped. ‘But don’t put me in my grave too soon, Elena. Don’t ‒’ She fell silent and looked beyond her niece.

  My mother had drawn close. The talk about Edward and Pontevedra had not touched her. ‘My mother’s rose garden …’ In a soft murmur she repeated the words again. ‘Dug up ... gone! How did you dare?’ She was carrying her wine glass and her movements were slow but quite deliberate as she tossed its contents into Elena’s face. ‘You touch nothing at Clonmara, do you hear? Nothing! It never belonged to you. Never.’

  Elena moved with equal slowness. She took her handkerchief and wiped the wine from her face.

  ‘I would be angry with you, Lady Patricia, if I didn’t pity you. You are quite demented, you know. I’ve said before you should be locked up. But that is not my responsibility. Others must see to that. But there is one thing I wish would penetrate your poor, sick brain. You are never coming back to Clonmara. Never!' Then she turned and left the room.

  My mother stood looking at us for a moment longer; her face twisted in her anguish. She spoke to me. ‘I’ve disgraced us again, haven’t I, Charlie? I didn’t have any right to. But she didn’t have any right to dig up my mother’s rose garden. But she can’t have me locked up for saying that, can she? You wouldn’t let her, would you, Charlie?’

  I took her upstairs. Her protests dropped to confused muttering. ‘My mother’s rose garden … He planted it for her. The rose garden … Who is this Edward who farms at Clonmara? Did my father give him permission? Why did he let her dig up the rose garden …?’

  * *

  After almost a week we had argued ourselves into an exhausted enmity. We, the Marquesa and I, kept refusing to go, but I kept saying Luisa must. Richard would not leave us. Elena’s voice was heard pleading, urging, cajoling the Marquesa; in the extremity of her frustration she tried forcing the old lady, beginning to pack luggage for her, asking for the key of the safe so that she could collect her jewellery. The Marquesa’s refusal was as stubborn as Elena’s insistence. It was clear that Elena did not care what my decision was. She did not care whether we stayed or left. She offered no sanctuary at Clonmara to Luisa. My mother she totally ignored. The Marquesa was her only concern. ‘You will be perfectly comfortable at Clonmara,’ she said. ‘You can sit it out in peace and quiet there.’

  ‘Peace and quiet are not things I have particularly treasured through my life. Privacy, yes. Safety …?’ The old woman laughed. ‘To live is to take chances. I’ll take my chances here.’

  This lasted until the night when Tomás failed to appear for dinner. We waited, but the hour was already late. Maria Luisa sent a servant to his room, and to the schoolroom, but he was not in either place. We ate dinner without him. Even the Marquesa was disturbed. ‘Doesn’t he know it isn’t safe to be roaming out at night? Not in these times. He’s only a boy, but who knows … He could be taken for a man if he’s in some doubtful place. People shoot these days and ask who you are afterwards.’

  ‘That thought can hardly be comforting to Charlie, Marquesa,’ Richard said.

  She spooned her soup, and said nothing. None of us ate much. Meals had come and gone that week, almost untasted. I looked along the table to Maria Luisa and saw that she made only the motions of eating. Her face was gaunt in the candlelight, her eyes far-sunken into her head. I reminded myself that tomorrow I would go once more to Dr Ramírez. His tonic powder was having no effect. I would insist on a proper examination, a second opinion. Tomorrow ‒ surely by then we would have settled our arguments. Tomás would be home safely. I would have time tomorrow.

  Maria Luisa came to excuse herself almost as soon as coffee was served in the drawing-room; Luisa was making the round, saying good-night to us all, her lovely, grave little face seemed haunted by our indecision. ‘Carlota,’ Maria Luisa said, ‘I will go and talk to the guard. They must be especially vigilant that they do not make any mistakes … with the boy out at this hour, and everyone nervous. We do not want any accidents. Why don’t you go to bed? You are tired. It’s useless to talk further tonight. You will decide nothing. Go to bed. I’ll wait for him. I’ll wake you when he comes in.’

  ‘You should go to bed yourself, Maria Luisa. You need rest as much as any of us.’

  She shrugged. ‘We old ones don’t get much sleep, whether we’re in bed or not.’

  We sat almost silent over coffee. Richard poured some brandy which the Marquesa refused, and the rest of us took. My mother then, within a few minutes, held out her glass to Richard to be refilled. He raised his eyebrows, questioning me, and I nodded. It didn’t matter any more.

  It was then Maria Lui
sa entered the room again, agitation making her step swifter than it had been of late. ‘I found this in my room, Carlota. I don’t know why he left it there. It’s for you.’

  I took the envelope and ripped it open. Dear Mother, Forgive me. I can't stay here, and I can't go away with you. I have made up my mind. I can't leave Spain. I intend to fight with the Republicans. I know it will take you a long time to understand why, but I hope you will. Please do not inform the Civil Guard. I have taken guns and ammunition, and if they come after me and find me, they will probably shoot me. I have friends to go to. I will be safe with them, and they need the arms. I love you. Kiss Luisa and Granny and Maria Luisa for me. Tell the Marquesa I fight for Spain. I don't want to leave you, but I have to. We will be together again when it’s all over. Tomas.

  Weak with fear now, I handed the note to Richard. I looked at Maria Luisa. ‘He left the note in your room because he had been in there to get your keys. He has opened the gun-room …’

  We went and looked. Five guns were missing from the rack, the most modern, the easiest to get ammunition for. Grimly Maria Luisa locked the room again; the keys had been left in the door.

  ‘My fault. I must indeed be getting old when I don’t know better in these times to leave the keys out of my possession. Without the guns, he would be just a run-away boy. With guns he is in grave danger … My fault … She shook her head, and didn’t hear our denials.

  Richard had gone to Andy’s quarters, and by now Andy was with us. He had slipped in quietly, past the kitchen, so that the house servants did not know he had come.

  ‘His horse and the harness is gone, Miss Charlie. Three horse blankets … some leading reins, saddle bags.’ He nodded towards the gun-room. Richard had told him about Tomás’s note. There was no question of not trusting Andy with the information. Tomás meant as much to him as his own sons. ‘That’s about as much as one horse could carry. He must have wrapped the guns in the blankets …’ He looked at the circle of faces surrounding him. ‘Makes you sick to think of it, doesn’t it? This whole area swarming with Army and Civil Guard … God, Miss Charlie, why did he do it? Just a boy …’

  Elena was the only one who spoke. ‘Yes, it makes you sick! This miserable little traitor in our midst …’

  I turned away, and dragged myself upstairs to my room, but not to sleep.

  * *

  All the next day the argument raged with Elena. ‘The authorities must be told. It’s criminal. He is going to give guns to the Republicans.’

  ‘The Republicans are still the legally elected government of this country, Elena.’

  ‘The Republicans are Communist scum, and so is he.’

  The Marquesa pounded the floor with her stick. ‘Be quiet, woman! You want the servants to hear? We do not need an informer. The boy is criminally mistaken, but we can do nothing about that now. We must give him time to reach his friends, whoever they are. They probably have some place … they say there are places where the Republicans are caching arms away from the military.’

  ‘You sound as if you approve,’ Elena said bitterly.

  The Marquesa rapped her stick again. ‘You know that is not the truth. He is a fool, but he is only a boy. He is my godson. I detest his politics, but I care for his life.’

  ‘And what will we do when they find he is gone? Someone will notice soon. The servants talk …’

  ‘Let them talk,’ I said. ‘It is more dangerous to inform the military than to let him go. This way, he has a chance. The other way … I have burned the note. We know nothing, you understand. Nothing, Elena. Nothing!’

  I told the servants that Tomás was at Ignacio’s house; they were arranging some special shooting practice, I said. I had to give Tomás time. It was his life. All through the day I could hardly bear to look at Richard’s face. I thought that if he had been left to himself he might have wept in his agony. He said only one thing to me, alone, after he had read the note.

  ‘Shall I go to search for him?’

  ‘Where would you search? Where in God’s name would you begin to search without rousing suspicion? He may still be somewhere here in Jerez. He may have headed for the Puerto, or for the sierra. Which direction would you start, Richard? You dare not ask after him.’

  He bent his head. ‘I should have taken better care of him. I should have known what was in his mind, and stopped him.’

  ‘His mind, I think, was being made up years ago. It was made up when he ran away from school. It was made up, finally, and forever, when he spent that summer at Doñana. He may not have realised it fully himself ‒ God knows, I didn’t know it, and I should. But he has been bending in that direction for years. This is not a boy’s silly bid for adventure. I’m certain he knows what he’s heading into. He may be killed, Richard. And if he is killed, it will be fighting on the opposite side from his brothers. He knows that. He knows that that is what civil war is. He is older than any of us knew.’

  ‘I’ve failed you, Charlie.’

  I shook my head. ‘We’ve all failed him. Or else he is right, and we are all blind.’

  * *

  We got through the day and into the night. The strain of pretending that nothing was wrong had told on all of us, and emotions were close to the surface. By using the same pretence that Tomás had gone to Ignacio’s we had managed to keep the news from Luisa, but we knew she sensed that something was wrong, and by tomorrow she would know. The worst strain had been wondering if my mother might start to talk of it. She had been with us the night before when we had read the note, and examined the gun-room. She knew that her loved Tomás was gone, but why he had gone, or to whom, she seemed not to understand. But she said nothing. All day she had been silent and withdrawn; perhaps she brooded as much over the loss of the rose garden at Clonmara, over the final ending of her dream of returning, as she did over Tomás's absence. We had kept her and Luisa apart as much as possible. She had been sipping wine for most of the day, staring vacantly ahead of her, eating little.

  Dinner was over; we were again seated in the drawing-room; coffee had been served, and I had dismissed the servants. Luisa bade us good-night. She lingered as she kissed my mother, stroking her cheek for a moment. ‘Don’t be sad, Granny. He’ll be back soon.’

  My mother roused herself for a moment, smiling. ‘Yes, child ‒ dear child …’

  When Luisa left us, Elena burst out, ‘How long is this going to go on? Luisa guesses - if she doesn’t know everything! You realise you are putting us all in jeopardy by failing to inform the military that he is missing? You need say nothing about the note. But soon enough ‒ tomorrow, at latest, someone is going to know. You know how this town is. They will know he is not at Ignacio’s, and then we shall be in trouble for failing to report him missing. They are bound to ask about the guns. They know there are guns here.’

  ‘Elena … that is enough!’ snapped Richard. ‘Leave Charlie in peace, if you can. She has as much as she can bear.’

  Elena turned on him. ‘Charlie! ‒ she’s all you care about, isn’t she? ‒ she and her wretched, traitorous son. We’ll all be in trouble because of him. I don’t care to be shut up in a Spanish prison because of him. You know they’d shut us up with the Republican scum, don’t you? The military rules this town, and now we have a Republican traitor among us, and you are condoning it. It is your duty to go to them. At least it would protect us. Let them find him and shut him up with his Republican friends. We would be safe. We would have disowned him.’

  I hadn’t realised how great her fear was. I had been so frightened for Tomás, frightened as the slow hours of the day ticked away that some terrible news would come of him, that I had forgotten the danger to the rest of us. I looked now at the Marquesa. She had not wavered all through the day. Tomás must be given his chance to get away, as much time as there was. There the difference lay between Elena and her. The Marquesa was not afraid. For the first time, along with my respect for her, I began to feel the unfamiliar stirring of love. Because she loved Tomás, c
ared more for his safety than her own. She did not approve of his actions, but she would keep him safe if she could. Now, when it was almost too late, I perceived what the relationship with this formidable old woman might have been, might yet become. She had been cruel in the past, but she had protected those she cared about. She had not disowned or denounced Tomás. Although he had offended against every feeling that someone of her rank, class and age held sacred, still he had the mantle of her protection. Perhaps she was declaring in this action a love she had been unable to declare in any other way.

  I thought of the years we had missed, this woman and me. The feeling I had developed towards Don Paulo had come late, but with this woman it had come almost too late. Suddenly I understood why it had been to my house she had come when the mob had burned Las Fuentes almost over her head. She had known, before I did, that the mutual respect we held for each other was indeed a kind of love. She had known love existed where I had not. She also knew that love was not some fancy thing to be taken up and put down. When it was given, by someone of her character, it was forever. I believed now that she had truly loved my grandfather, and had never stopped loving him, even through her bitter hurt. And that love, in its various fashions and shapes, had carried on down the years. She had interpreted it as a trust placed with her to protect and defend all the Blodmores. She had done it possessively, in her harsh, autocratic manner, unable to believe that anything she thought right for the Blodmores could be less than right. Now, to the last of them, Tomás, she, with her silence, offered her love.

  ‘We will not disown him,’ the Marquesa answered Elena. ‘We will inform no one.’

  * *

  The long wait was broken by Andy. He came to the drawing-room himself that night, something he had never done before. He knocked, and then entered without being bidden. He looked around, and saw only familiar faces.

  ‘Miss Charlie, there’s news.’

  I sprang to my feet. ‘What news?’