by Amanda Doyle
Cecily must have done her work well, for that evening in the intimacy of the salita to which they retired after the meal, Nicolas de Lorenzo y Valdarez was his normal urbane self, courteous and attentive impartially to both his young guests and his aged aunt.
Anna knew a secret relief that he apparently understood, and made no reference to her change of plan in front of the others. He was innately considerate of others’ feelings—so long as they did not interfere with his own wishes, she amended wryly. As Cecily had surmised, it was of no importance to the Conde de Barientos that the shy little English companion found herself with a previous engagement, and could not attend his dinner.
It was not even worth mentioning.
When Anna came down next morning, she was surprised to find Cecily and Guy already in conversation on the lawn beyond the beautiful azulejos. Whether he had chanced to appear or Cecily had contacted him, Anna couldn’t be sure, but she suspected the latter. Cecily was a very thorough young woman.
Guy turned as she trod over the velveteen grass towards them.
“Hullo, Anna. Another lovely day. You’re getting as brown as the natives. I must say it becomes you.”
“You too, Guy,” she returned easily. “It’s hard to believe you were sent out here for reasons of health. I think you’re a bit of a fraud, you know.”
“I must admit I feel one. Mateo will be gratified that his Spanish sun did the trick, so to speak.”
“I envy you both, with that wonderful tan,” Cecily declared, pouting prettily in the certain knowledge that her carefully guarded, creamy-white complexion was the envy of all in this southern climate. “I’ve been telling Guy how much you’d like to see something of the city, Anna.”
“Yes, I’d love to, of course,” Anna agreed. “Sometime when you can spare the time.”
“Some time is now, my sweet—or rather, after lunch. I’ve actually to go to Barcelona on one or two errands for Uncle this afternoon, and thought you might enjoy the drive. We could look around the city, find a nice place to eat at night, and generally do the town. I know my way around pretty well by now, so I’ll be a reasonably good informant on the various tourist aspects. How does that appeal, Anna?”
“Very much, thank you, Guy. I’d love that. What time shall I be ready?”
“Three-ish, if you can. Or do you indulge in siesta?”
She laughed.
“Not unless I’ve eaten too much lunch. I usually battle with those soporific inclinations as a matter of principle, and go for a walk or something. I’m scared the habit may become ingrained, and that I’ll fall asleep at my work when I get home.”
“Yes, I can see your point. It would hardly do to be found taking a nap over the almoner’s desk,” Guy concurred.
He raised two fingers in a casual salute to them both.
“About three o’clock then, Anna. Bring a cardigan or a wrap of some sort. It can get cool at night, remember. ’Bye for now, Cecily. Enjoy yourself tonight.”
He was as good as his word, and a little after three Anna saw the cloud of dust as his small grey car wound its way up the snaking road to the Castillo. No one was about save Paquita, whom she met on the stairs with a pile of snowy linen clutched in brown arms.
The girl’s eyes took in Anna’s fresh green cotton and gleaming cap of nut-brown hair with appreciation. She smiled cheerfully, and so did Anna. Their liking was by now mutual.
“Que se divierta, senorita!”
“Gracias, Paquita—thank you.”
Anna bounded down the last two steps.
She felt young and gay and uncaring. She would forget the reason behind this excursion, and enjoy every moment. It was exciting to be on one’s way to explore a foreign city—and in such pleasant company, too.
Soon they were off the powdery white country road, and on to a wider, smooth-surfaced one. Guy’s old car wound and dipped along, past silver-green olive slopes and through boulder-strewn hills, where clung juniper, gorse, and tufts of peculiar flat-leafed spears of grass. They looked dry and waxy and tough and very foreign.
Anna and Guy talked spasmodically, completely at ease with one another. Even their silences were comfortable and relaxed. Anna thought to herself that this was the first time she had felt really relaxed since she’d come to Spain.
She found herself voicing the thought candidly. Guy smiled.
“I know what you mean,” he sympathised whimsically. “It’s all a bit overpowering, isn’t it, at the Castillo? And I suppose we could hardly call Cecily a—restful companion, Anna? You two girls are complete contrasts, you know. You are charitable and tolerant and generous and engaging, while Cecily well, Anna, frankly, I don’t like to see her taking advantage of you the way she does.”
For some inexplicable reason, Anna found herself leaping to her relation’s defence.
“I don’t think she really means to, Guy,” she said quickly. “It—it’s just her way, and I dare say I ask for some of her pointed remarks. I realise that my job might be an extremely worldly one, but I’ve terribly little personal experience of the ways of socialites and leisure-seekers like Cecily. I suppose we’re bound to grate on one another occasionally. I probably often seem to her stupid and gauche, and it irritates her.”
“Not gauche,” he corrected her. “Just simple and sweet, and too nice to be the butt of some of her barbed references. I’ve lived long enough to know the type, though I suspect that she realises how transparent I find her, and she doesn’t much like it.
So Cecily had hurt his feelings, after all. He was pretending to be indifferent, but underneath it all, he wasn’t. No man could be ignored by Cecily and not feel frustrated and piqued. It just wasn’t possible.
“Guy, I know I’m speaking out of turn, but I hope she hasn’t—well, you know—perhaps, given time—what I mean—”
She floundered to a halt. It wasn’t easy to explain just what, in fact, she did mean.
Guy Harding laughed a little grimly,
“Loyal little Anna! Did you think I was involved? You don’t want to see anyone hurt, do you? Well, don’t worry on that score, my dear. I’m quite immune to Cecily’s physical charms, and her type of personality doesn’t interest me in the least. I’m twenty-eight, and I know my sort of person by now. My heart is already farmed out, as a matter of fact, to a very nice girl in London. We hope to get married as soon as she finishes her nurse’s training, which will be in about seven months’ time. I haven’t even told old Uncle yet, but of course Mateo knows, and I’m telling you in confidence, so that you won’t worry any more on my account. I’m covered by immunity—and even if I weren’t, I’m well able to take care of myself as far as the said young lady is concerned. But are you, Anna? I sometimes wonder.”
Anna flushed. She hadn’t dreamed the man was so perceptive under that cloak of tomfoolery which made him seem almost like an older brother.
“I’ll get by,” she returned airily, purposely lighthearted.
She wanted to forget Cecily, for today at least.
“Well, remember you can always count on me if you need support at any time, Anna. I’ve a feeling your glamorous cousin could be unpleasantly ruthless if she were thwarted over anything she really cared about.”
Anna shivered in spite of the warmth of the afternoon.
He was right, of course. She’d brushed up against the ruthlessness once or twice already, and come off worst each time. But their trip wasn’t over yet, and it was silly to spoil her holiday by dwelling on the less pleasant aspects. After all, it was due entirely to Cecily and her parents that she was here, in this car, tanned and healthy and excitedly looking to right and left of her as Guy made his way towards the Plaza Puerta de la Paz, beyond the quayside.
“Guy! I can’t believe I’m really here,” breathed Anna. “What’s that enormous monument?”
“That, my sweet, is Christopher Columbus, no less—or Cristobal Colon in his own lingo. He was welcomed here by the Spanish Court when he returned after discovering
America, and the King made him an admiral—and a grandee of Spain. That was in—what?—the 1490s?—although the statue itself is comparatively recent, erected towards the end of the last century. I’ll show you the whole city at leisure when we’ve more time. There’s a replica of Columbus’s ship, the Santa Maria, down in the harbour there, that you’ll like to see. Just now, though, I’ll have to do my commissions for Uncle Lamas.”
They were now crossing the Plaza, and Anna again drew in her breath as they entered the shaded beauty of the Ramblas, with its central stretch of leafy plane trees inviting the pedestrians to partake of their cool shelter and the assortment of colourful stalls. The outer rims of the magnificent boulevard were flanked by hotels and shops and theatres.
“Oh, Guy, look!” she cried urgently. “What flowers! And birds! Guy, there’s everything.”
“Yes, Anna, everything,” he agreed indulgently, as he searched for a parking-place nearer to, his place of business.
When they finally stopped, he helped her out and said,
“I’d better get Uncle’s affairs finished first, Anna. Will you be all right knocking around here for a while? I’ll be an hour at the very most, I should think. Look, we’ll meet for a coffee in that cafe there, in about an hour, roughly. Then we’ll see some of the sights together, and later we can eat. Right?”
“Right,” Anna assented.
She was dying to explore this fascinating thoroughfare, and after Guy had disappeared into the milling crowd she wandered along slowly and happily, absorbed in all she saw.
If people cast curious glances at the lone, slender girl with the gold-touched hair, and simple green shift, with the white cardigan that she wore slung over her shoulders in such an English way, Anna was certainly not aware of them.
She did notice, after a long time, that more people were now gathering at the pavement cafes, lazily greeting their friends, and ordering coffee and chocolate and small, sweet biscuits. Men in dusty working-clothes munched somnolently at big rolls filled with some sort of sausage or meat as they exchanged small talk with their mates. Calm matrons with impossible numbers of children were supervising the eating of chocolate and bread, and wiping sticky fingers, while chatting above the noise to other mothers they had come to meet.
Everywhere was the hum of conversation and the chinking of glass and cup, as waiters hovered like bees, or pushed their laden way with expert ease between the little tables.
Anna was quite suddenly conscious of her aloneness. She was, it seemed, the only person who was not either meeting someone for food and drink, or at least hurrying to do so. Suddenly, from being aimless like herself, the crowd had a purpose.
It must be time to meet Guy, surely—or nearly time.
Anna bent her head to look at her watch, and the next moment felt the breath driven from her body as a small human form catapulted itself directly into her path. Each clung momentarily to the other in an effort to retain his balance, but when Anna finally found herself supported by the stout and providential buttress of a handy plane-tree, and her world stopped swinging with the surprise of the impact, she was alone again—or, at least, standing on her own two feet, looking curiously around for her assailant.
CHAPTER VI
Nearby, a small urchin was scrabbling on the ground, attempting rather frantically to retrieve a most extraordinary assortment of paraphernalia with which he had been laden.
Anna moved from the tree.
He was obviously one of the bootblacks who frequent all Spanish cities, pestering one to allow them to perform miracles upon one’s footwear, and doing it almost before one has time to reply.
This boy looked young for the job.
“Here, let me help you,” Anna offered with returning composure.
“Perdone, senorita—your pardon. My fault. My fault,” he gasped, trying at one and the same time to apologise politely and give his attention to a rolling peach, which disappeared amongst the feet of the passers-by, just as his urgent brown fingers were within inches of it.
“Alas, it is lost,” he mourned tragically. “And these others, see—ruined! They were very ripe and therefore cheap. It is a great misfortune!”
Tenderly he gathered up the battered remains of his purchases, displaying them in turn.
“Look, the chorizos, they are trodden on, fit for dogs alone. Ah, those brutes! Useless ones! Bullies!”
He drew up his dusty form to its diminutive height, and hurled a passionate string of epithets after the retreating figures of two older bootblacks, who turned around in unison, and stuck out their tongues, before they lost themselves in the throng.
With a resigned and eloquent shrug, the boy rejoined Anna at the important task of salvaging what she could. It was obvious that the fruit must have been overripe, or very close to it, for nothing else could explain its hopelessly squashed condition.
Anna surveyed it ruefully.
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to eat it now,” she said, “unless perhaps for that one peach. And these bars of chocolate are all right. But the rest—”
The boy’s swimming brown eyes met hers for an instant, and then he looked away, ashamed of tears which had overflowed unbidden. A sleeve, brushed firmly over his entire face, was furtively administered.
“Your pardon, senorita,” he intoned once more. “I trust I caused you yourself no harm when those two bullies pushed me in your path? You have been more than kind. As you say, perhaps the one peach, and the chocolate, have survived the fall, and for this I give thanks. The peach will be for my mother, and if the ninos get their chocolate, they will not mind so much that the foolish brother has lost the rest of their merienda.”
“Can’t you buy some more?” Anna asked sympathetically.
For the merest moment, distress was obvious on the smooth olive urchin-face with its tear-stained runnels now set in grimy smears across the cheeks.
“This is not possible, senorita.” There was a pause before he continued, with a dignity that positively forbade any pity, “I have spent all of my money already, you see. Tomorrow, I shall earn more. I will work really fast to shine as many shoes as is possible in one day, and I will bring home some extra treats and the little ones will have the surprise, no, and then they will forget that yesterday they did not eat so well.” He straightened up his shoulders with a curiously adult and philosophical lift.
“Allow me to buy some more for you. It’s partly my fault too, remember.”
Anna knew, as soon as the words were spoken, that somehow she had affronted this thin little fellow with the big eyes and expressive face.
“Let me lend you some money, then,” she persuaded him gently “Come on, I’d like to, and it really will be a loan, strictly on a business footing. You work over there every day? Well, I’ll be in the city again, quite often probably, and you can pay me back next time we meet. Please.”
For a long time he appeared to weigh up the proposition.
There was something so appealing about him that Anna knew an unreasonable degree of relief when at last he accepted.
“I will have pleasure in doing exactly this, senorita,” he pronounced solemnly. “Mind you, I do not care to borrow. The family of Moreno is accustomed to pay for what we eat, you understand. It’s just that my papa is not with us at present. He is Madrileno, and he has gone back to Madrid to find work before he summons us there to be with him once more. And now my mother becomes ill, and I do not like to leave her and the young ones, but this I must do every day to win money until my father can send some.”
Anna’s heart quickened in sympathy, while the trained part of her mind registered automatically that here was someone possibly in need of assistance.
“What is the matter with your mother?” she found herself asking, heedless of the warning voice inside her that kept telling her not to get involved.
“This I do not know, senorita. She is weak and ill, and cannot work, you understand. Even to perform the simple tasks for the children becomes almost
impossible.”
“Has she seen a doctor?”
Again the shrug of resignation.
“Doctors cost money. She says she does not need one—or at least, not until we hear from my father. She says that always, before, she gets better, senorita, but this time—madre mia!—for me there is much reason to concern myself, because each day she appears not better.”
Anna, cursing her impulsive nature even while succumbing to it, heard her own voice answering this subconscious call for help.
She would come with him, she told him, and would see his mother. She wasn’t a nurse, but she was a woman, and perhaps she could help in some small way. And, as it happened, she was meeting a doctor friend at the cafe there in a very few minutes. They would go together and see what might be done. “What is your name?” she asked.
“It’s Juanito,” he supplied. “Juanito Moreno.”
“Well, Juanito”—she handed him some money—“go and buy whatever you think your mother might like, then come back. I’ll be sitting at the cafe over there, the one with the green-striped awning. My friend will probably have arrived by the time you get back, and we will go together.”
Juanito gave her a trembling smile.
“May you be blessed a thousand times for your kindness, senorita,” he told her shakily, before darting off to acquire fresh provisions.
Anna walked over to the cafe, seated herself, and ordered a cup of coffee.
Now what had she done? she asked herself wryly.
How could she have helped herself? What else could she do? Just because this was a foreign country and she was on holiday, instead of on duty, could she ignore the need of another human being and go her way? Anna knew that she couldn’t. All her life she would be haunted by a pair of appealing brown eyes unconsciously seeking an adult’s advice; by thin, gallant shoulders striving to bear an adult’s burden. All her life she would be asking herself, did that woman ever get well? Did the father ever get work? Did he send money after all? Were they all reunited in Madrid, or did the mother perhaps die and leave—
