by Anne Weale
‘I agree with him,’ said Fanny. ‘In general, I’m against capital punishment, but I do feel that people who kill and maim others, quite indiscriminately, should be treated like rabid dogs.’
‘I’m so afraid that, if one of them speaks to him threateningly, he’ll lose his temper and lash out,’ Antonia said worriedly.
‘I’ve never seen it myself, but I should think he has a hot temper,’ Fanny agreed. ‘But also I think he’s a man with a very strong control of himself. He won’t do anything foolish, my dear. Cal might take a risk on his own account, but not if it could endanger the people who are with him. He’s nothing if not responsible. But I don’t need to tell you his qualities. Tell me, how did you meet him?’
‘He was interested in buying my father’s weekend house.’
‘Was it love at first sight?’ Fanny asked. As Antonia hesitated, the older woman added, ‘No, that’s a silly question, isn’t it? How can anyone love a stranger? One can be intensely attracted by a man’s appearance, but love takes time. One has to know something about his’ character before one can love him.’
They had to wait until the early evening bulletin before news of the hijacking was broadcast. Apart from the information that there was a member of the Cabinet and representatives of two other governments on board, they learned little except that the aircraft was still in flight, having been prevented from coming down at two airports where it had tried to land. The identity of the terrorists was uncertain. It was thought they might belong to one of two groups of political fanatics, but this was still a matter of conjecture.
Soon afterwards Tom arrived and suggested that Antonia should spend the night at their house.
She said, ‘It’s very kind of you, Tom, but I’d rather be here. The plane will have to come down soon for lack of fuel and, if the terrorists should be overcome, the first thing Cal will do will be to try to contact me. Besides, Rocío will be very upset when she hears the news. She’ll need me to calm her. Also I don’t see why your children should be troubled by this. But if you could spare Fanny for a night, that would be a great comfort to me.’
‘Of course, my dear girl, of course. I must say you’re taking it all very bravely.’
‘I am half English, you know, so my upper lip is fairly stiff.’ She meant to speak lightly, and found to her surprise that she was on the brink of tears. ‘There’s a casserole in the oven. I’d better check that it’s all right.’ She hurried from the room.
By the time she returned she was in command of herself again, and asked Tom to stay to supper, which he did, having already been in touch with his eldest daughter to say that he and her mother might be out for the evening.
He left shortly after the mid-evening bulletin. The hijacking was the main news, but there was little fresh information.
Marcos and Rocío came in late, having already heard about the hijacking without realising that their employer was among the victims of the terrorists. As Antonia had foreseen, Rocío gave vent to her distress with tears and lamentations which earned her a disapproving look from Fanny, reared in the English tradition of crying only in privacy. Antonia, too, had been taught by her father to wear a brave face at all times, but she was well used to uninhibited demonstrations of feeling by her mother’s compatriots, particularly among the less educated. Speaking quietly in Spanish, she soothed Rocío’s agitation and urged her to go to bed because by morning it would be all over and Senor Barnard would be free. ‘My goodness, what a carry-on!’ exclaimed Fanny, when Marcos had led his wife away to their quarters.
‘It was quite sincere, I assure you. Although they’ve been with us only a short time, I think they like us and will stay with us when we move, even if we go outside London as Cal is considering doing.’
‘Oh, yes, one could see the poor thing was genuinely upset, but it doesn’t help you to have to cope with her anxiety on top of your own,’ said Fanny.
‘I’m not sure about that. When my father died, everyone wept for days afterwards, and I think to pour out one’s feelings can be better than bottling them up,’ answered Antonia.
They sat up till the television closed down, not watching it except to keep an eye open for news flashes, but doing their needlework and talking. Foreseeing that something to occupy her hands would make a long vigil less of a strain, Fanny had brought her needlework with her.
She was interested in the differences between life in Spain and life in England as although she had been there twice on holiday, she had seen it from the viewpoint of a tourist with little or no insight into how life went on in the places unaffected by tourism.
Antonia answered her questions, but always at the back of her mind was a mental image of Cal sitting in a plane controlled by a gang of violent, inhumane people who might even be insane. An even more horrible mental picture was that of the aircraft being now on the ground after a forced landing in which some of the passengers had died and most had been hurt. At the thought of him lying badly injured, with no hope of medical attention for hours, she must have given an involuntary whimper, for Fanny broke off in midsentence to ask, ‘My dear, what is it?’
‘Nothing really ... silly of me ... I was just thinking—’
Antonia explained her thoughts, and Fanny said, ‘Have you any sleeping pills you can take tonight?’
‘No, I’ve never needed any.’
‘Nor have I, but I think in these circumstances they might be a good thing. Who is Cal’s doctor? Even at this time of night I should think he would let you have some if you explained the situation.’
‘I don’t think Cal has a doctor. It’s something we’ve never discussed.’
Fanny was visibly surprised, and it struck Antonia that, unlike Don Joaquin to whom starting a baby was a natural concomitant of marriage, the older woman probably took it for granted that all modern brides avoided becoming pregnant immediately, and was surprised that Antonia was not doing so, or at any rate not by the most popular method.
But whatever was in her mind, Fanny said only, ‘Although you’re both young and healthy, I think it’s something you should discuss when he gets back. Everyone needs a G.P. in case of accidents.’ She added, ‘Failing pills, some hot milk well laced with brandy should help you to sleep.’
But in spite of physical fatigue, and the nightcap prescribed by her friend, Antonia spent most of the following hours lying awake in the big double bed which her husband had never shared with her.
Many times, in the early weeks of their marriage, she had longed for some escape from a bond she should never have entered. But never, not for an instant, had she ever wished for Cal’s death. It was bad enough having Paco on her conscience.
Suddenly, with surprise, she realised how lightly that burden had weighed on her lately. She had not thought of Paco for weeks; not since the night when the smell and taste of the paella had reminded her briefly of him.
She had not thought of him since, and now, in a few days’ time, she and Cal would have been married for two months. Had it been his intention to arrange a second celebration? Would he be back in time? Or would he never come back? Perhaps even now, without knowing it, she was a widow ... a widow who had never been a wife.
Exhausted with worry, she rolled on her face and began to weep into her pillow. After a while her weeping subsided. She slept.
She was woken up by the insistent chirping of the telephone on the bedside table. The sound had interrupted a dream and as, with closed eyes, she groped for the receiver, she had no instant recollection of the events of yesterday.
‘Hello?’
‘Antonia? This is Cal. I’m all right—everyone’s all right.’
Her eyes flew open. She struggled into a sitting position, accidentally jerking the cord so that the telephone rest was nearly dislodged from the table, and one or two things were knocked on to the carpet.
‘W-where are you?’ she stammered confusedly.
He sounded as if he were in some nearby telephone box, but in fact he was many hundr
eds of miles away, with not much time to talk because all the available lines were in heavy demand.
He said, ‘You’ll hear all the details on TV later today, so I won’t go into that now. Personally, I’d rather not be harassed by the hounds of the media. I’ve had enough harassment in the past twenty-four hours. So I’m carrying on my trip as planned, and I’ll be back in London on Friday. Are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes—perfectly all right. Fanny is here—she came round as soon as she knew. Oh, Cal, I’m so thankful you’re safe!’
‘So am I. There was a moment when I thought I was going to have my head blown off, but it’s still where it should be, I’m glad to say. I must say goodbye now. See you on Friday.’
Before she could say goodbye, the line was dead.
As she replaced the receiver, there was a tap at the door and Fanny entered the room. She had been sleeping in the bedroom directly above Antonia’s, and she said, ‘I heard the telephone ringing a few minutes ago but waited until I heard you replace the receiver. At this hour, it must be good news.’
‘Yes, yes—the most wonderful news!’ Her face alight, Antonia scrambled out of bed and rushed to Fanny and hugged her. ‘He’s all right—he’s safe! There was no time to go into details, he’ll tell me everything on Friday. Oh, what a long time to wait! I wish he were coming back sooner, but he wants to avoid the publicity.’
‘My dear child, that’s simply wonderful,’ said Fanny, returning the hug. ‘I’m so relieved for you ... for all of us. He’s one of Tom’s closest friends, and the children adore him. If anything awful had happened—‘ She broke off, her voice unsteady.
Antonia shuddered, and said, ‘I couldn’t have borne it. I should have wanted to die. Oh, Fanny, I love him ... I love him!’
Fortunately Fanny was in too emotional a state to recognise the tone of astonished discovery with which Antonia repeated herself.
They both shed a few tears of joy—so much harder to hide than great pain—and then Fanny pulled herself together, and told Antonia to go back to bed while she went down to make them some coffee.
‘I know where to find everything—I made a note while you were doing it last night.’
Antonia did not insist on accompanying her. She wanted some time on her own to recover from the shattering realisation that Cal had come to mean more to her than any other human being, even than her father, had he still been alive.
CHAPTER FIVE
That evening she watched, riveted, a full account of how the hijacking had ended and interviews with those of the passengers who had returned to England to recover from their frightening experience. She expected Cal to ring up again, and was disappointed and hurt when the telephone remained silent.
The next day the newspapers published the aircraft’s passenger list, after which the telephone scarcely stopped ringing as dozens of people who knew Cal rang up, puzzled and concerned by his non-appearance on their screens the previous evening.
Again there was no call from Cal, but Antonia told herself that this might have been because the influx of enquiries prevented him from getting through. Surely he would let her know what time he expected to land in London on Friday so that she could meet him?
The realisation that she loved a living man and not a dead one brought with it a great sense of reprieve. For a long time she had felt that her heart had died with Paco, and could never be revived. But now, suddenly, the future, which had seemed as empty and dreary as the surface of the moon, was transformed into a sunny vista full of exciting possibilities.
Becoming completely alive again was such a strange and wonderful sensation that it took her time to get used to it. Gradually she realised that her aunt and her mother had been right; compared with her love for her husband, her feeling for Paco had been a calf-love which even at the time, although she had never admitted it to herself, had never been wholly satisfactory.
In retrospect she could see that always it was she who had been the dominant partner in their relationship. Although she had not minded it then, inevitably as time went on she would have resented always having to take the lead, to persuade and push and coerce.
Cal was a man who could never be coerced into any action which was against his judgment of what was right. In Paco’s place, either Cal would have been the one to propose and organise their elopement, or he would have refused to consider it. Cal was a man, period. Paco had been a green youth who might have grown stronger in character as he grew older, or might not. Always she would feel a tenderness for him, and always she would blame herself for being the cause of his untimely death. But, looking back, she knew that his romantic good looks had been at the core of her young love for him.
Cal’s looks pleased her, too, but in a different way. His firm mouth, his angular jaw, his broken nose, his shrewd eyes were all physical manifestations of qualities which she admired in him. He was tough and resourceful and confident; a man to trust, to rely on. No woman would ever bully him, but if Cal loved a woman he would be infinitely indulgent with her.
Dreaming on in this vein during the interminable days of waiting, preoccupied with her own emotional metamorphosis, Antonia came at last to the damping thought that, although she had come to love her husband, she had no reason to suppose that his feelings towards her had altered since his proposal.
I had only to look at you to want you had been a declaration of physical desire rather than love in the fullest sense.
At the time she had thought that love was something he had never experienced, being satisfied with a series of wholly carnal relationships. Now, thanks to Laura, she knew there had been a woman with whom he had wished to share more than his bed, and a woman of a very different calibre from his second choice of a wife.
Diana Webster was a match for him in every sense—clever, independent, capable of making a name for herself in a sphere still largely dominated by men. Intellectually, Antonia knew she couldn’t begin to compete with a woman like that; and, on a purely feminine plane, although some people might consider her to be the better looking of the two, she was no better dressed, no more elegant. Anyway, beauty was a matter of taste, and perhaps Cal would have preferred to find a blonde head rather than a dark one on the pillow next to his when he woke in the mornings.
Friday came at last, but without any indication of when her husband would arrive. Had it not been for the occupation provided by her cushion—now nearing completion—Antonia would have been in a twitter of nerves. After breakfast she had dressed and made up her face with particular care, but she knew it was unlikely that Cal would arrive before mid-afternoon at the earliest.
The hours after lunch seemed endless. She put the last stitch in her cushion cover, and regretted that, passing John Siddley’s interior design shop near Sloane Street the day before, she had not bought one of the canvas work cushion packs she had noticed in the window. The embroidery she had just completed was now somewhat out of true, but Fanny had explained how to pin it to a board and damp it so that, when dry, it would once more be a perfect square.
To concentrate on a book was impossible. Antonia went to the kitchen to pass some time chatting to Rocío who was preparing a special dinner of her employer’s favourite dishes.
Antonia perched on a stool and watched the cook slicing liver to cook with bacon and kidneys in a gravy which, because Rocío added garlic and substituted red wine for stock, became a much richer dish than when made in the English manner.
‘You should not be here, senora. The smell of these onions will spoil your clothes and your hair,’ said Rocío, joggling a pan of finely chopped onions gently frying in olive oil.
‘My husband loves the smell of onions,’ said Antonia, smiling.
‘I wonder what his present to you will be this time?’
‘He doesn’t usually bring me a present when he’s been abroad.’
‘But have you forgotten? Today it is two months since your wedding. When you had been married for one month, Senor Barnard gave you that beautiful
necklace. Perhaps tonight he will give you a bracelet to match it. He will not forget the date, senora, even if you have. What a good thing I reminded you of it.’
At that moment the telephone began to ring and Antonia leapt from her stool and snatched the receiver off the rest attached to the wall.
‘Antonia Barnard.’
‘I’ll be with you in a couple of hours,’ said Cal’s voice.
‘You’re back! Oh, Cal, why didn’t you let me know? I could have met you. Where are you now? At the airport?’
‘No, I’m in my office. There are various matters to attend to if I’m going to have tomorrow free. If I’m home by five it will give me an hour to bath and change before we go out.’
‘Go out? But—’
Before she could tell him that Rocío was cooking a special meal, he said, ‘You haven’t forgotten about the reception, have you? It’s a nuisance, but we ought to go. We needn’t stay more than an hour.’
As was his habit when he had nothing else to say, he rang off.
‘Something is wrong, senora?’ asked Rocío, having seen Antonia’s face light up with joy, only to cloud before the brief exchange ended.
‘No, no—nothing’s wrong, Rocío, but it’s just as well that the main dish tonight is a casserole because, stupidly, I’d forgotten that we have to go to a reception before we can dine.’
And if I had remembered, I should have expected Cal to chuck the reception, she thought.
In fact it was more than two hours before one of the company cars, a uniformed driver at the wheel, drew up outside the gate, and, from the drawing-room window, Antonia saw her husband spring out before the chauffeur could get round to open the door for him.
Earlier, expecting him to come straight from the airport, she had planned to run down the path and fling her arms round his neck, making it clear how happy she was to have him safely restored to her. But in view of his lack of impatience to be reunited with her, she had had second thoughts about demonstrating her enthusiasm.
