I would re-live again all the time we had together, committing it to memory so that not one second should be lost. In memory I was driving the car again, through the evening light towards the beach. Behind me the mountains rose, a shining escarpment of silver rock, shaded by the sinking sun so that their lower slopes appeared to be purple and lilac, merging into forests of glossy dark pines. My head nodded lower and I drifted off into sleep.
I was so exhausted, both physically and emotionally, that nothing stronger than the sound of a car engine would have awoken me. For an instant I gazed bewilderingly round, then saw the shabby black car cross the square and begin to crawl up the dirt-road towards me.
There was no sign of Romero or Javier. Or Miss Daventry. And sleep fled. I knew I had been too complacent in believing that all danger was over. It had never occurred to me that Cia would be any match for Romero and Javier. I had forgotten completely that Alphonso Cia had said Angel Garmendia was already approaching Cotanes … and that was an age ago … before Pedro had fled from the inn. With increasing horror I saw that the sun was sinking down in the pale glimmer of dusk and that the shadows had lengthened, the air cool with the first hint of the coming night.
I leapt to my feet, staring round frantically. Pedro’s body had fallen down the left hand side of the church, out of sight of the rough track. But Garmendia must know it was there. He wouldn’t be making the rough journey to the church just to see the view!
I was cornered with nowhere to hide. There was no way back down to the square and the inn without Garmendia seeing me. The only possible shelter was the tree.
I think, as I turned, that I had some wild idea of being able to climb it and hide amongst the stout branches and mass of leaves.
But the lowest branch was way above my head, the car was out of sight now as it crawled to a halt only yards away from me, round the corner of the church.
With a sob I pressed my back against the tree, holding my skirts in, vainly hoping that when he came round the corner looking for Pedro’s body, the thick tree-trunk would hide me from view. It wasn’t much of a hope but it was all I had.
I heard the car door slam and held my breath, elbows pressed in, trying to physically shrink in size … then I saw my bag. It lay in the grass only a yard away from me, but a yard that I dare not cross. And it held the gun.
What was it Jose had said to me? It holds nine bullets … and he had put a fresh magazine in when we had been at Lindaraja, and I had never used it since.
A minute passed, and then two, and still there were no soft footsteps on the grass. I let out my breath slowly, my panic subsiding, growing into something far more terrible. Growing into hate and the first tiny seeds of revenge.
I felt quite calm once I had made my mind up. He was inside the church, standing mere feet away, waiting for me to emerge from behind my inadequate hiding-place. Decisively I stepped away from the tree, bending low to the grass and unzipping my bag, and then, carefully and coolly, my palm grasped the gun and I withdrew it, leaving my bag where it was. I looked to see if it was ready to fire, and then, with no feeling of fear at all, I began to walk towards the door of the church. Softly I opened the door, softly I closed it behind me.
The waning rays of sunlight arrowed, dust-filled, onto the empty pews and the deserted nave. The door to the bell-tower was only vaguely discernible in the dimness, but I could see enough to know that it was closed. Other corners were too dark to see into. I waited silently, my ears straining to hear his footsteps or to catch the faint sound of breath other than my own.
The noise came sure enough … and it was from above, from the bell-tower. Softly I went up the aisle, pausing in front of the high altar, the door to the bell-tower still safely shut. I stepped back into the dark shadows, my eyes fixed on the door, the gun raised as Jose had told me how to. My gun arm straight, the left hand grasped around the wrist of the right, the pin at the back of the gun showing a bullet was in position and ready to fire, my reflexes ready to pull the trigger and swing the gun up in a smooth arc to avoid a vicious kick-back.
A mouse scuttled round the edge of a pew, disappearing into the gloom and motes of dust still danced, trapped in the bars of slanting light from the arched windows. I thought I heard him curse to himself, and then he was running lightly down the stone steps, taking no care to be silent. I steadied my breath, eyes straining to see the first opening of the door, hands quite firm.
The door opened and he stepped into the church, his breathing heavy and impatient. He still had on the blue tee-shirt he had been wearing when I had burst in on his conversation at the inn in Miguelou, the same red scarf tied around his neck. He leant back against the door as it closed and once again I was strongly aware that he was both impatient and angry. Before I moved again, I said flatly:
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot.”
I was aware of his exclamation, of his suddenly turned head. I went on before I lost my nerve.
“I have every intention of shooting you Angel Garmendia, but before I do so I want the pleasure of telling you why.” To my annoyance I heard a break in my voice. “You call yourself a Basque and a separatist when all you are is a murderer with no care for your country, or neighbours at all. For your egotistical lust of power you informed against your friends … even seeing your own brother killed because of you!”
He moved slightly and my voice rose up an octave. “ Don’t move! I mean it!” He remained motionless and I said: “And if that wasn’t enough you and Pedro between you saw to it that the plans to rescue the Villada’s failed, and cold bloodedly shot a policeman in order to frame Jose and myself. Well, now it’s your turn to be afraid. And if you’re not you should be. Because as sure as I’m standing here, I’m going to kill you. For Jaime’s death. For Jose’s death, and for countless others who’s name I don’t know.”
He said gutterally: “You’re English … what is this to you?”
“What is it to me!” I said, my voice breaking completely. “I’ll tell you what it is to me. I don’t know what happened at that quarry, but you killed Jose Villada. I don’t believe, I simply refuse to believe, I will not believe that Jose crashed into that quarry accidentally. I … do … not … believe … it! And even if he had it would still be your fault,” I added illogically.
“Villada! Why should you care about a rogue like Villada?”
“Because,” I cried passionately. “I love him! And because of you he died without my ever even telling him. Without me even saying goodbye to him the last time we parted! And no matter how long I live I shall never me able to forget him or love anyone else and I hate you Angel Garmendia. I hate you. I hate you.!”
He took a step forward and I half closed my eyes, the gun pointing straight at his chest, my finger curling round the trigger.
“For God’s sake put it down,” my lover said. “You might just hit me.”
I said stupidly: “ Jose!”
He was out of the shadows now. The clothes he wore were Garmendia’s, but the handsome face, the laughing eyes, were Jose’s.
His arms were held out and I flung the gun aside and ran into them, my arms tightening unbelievingly around him, his heart thudding against my own. His lips on my hair, and as I turned my rapturous face to his, on my mouth.
Chapter Twenty-four
It was a long, long time later that we stepped out into the purple dusk of evening, his arm around my waist, my head on his shoulder. Fire-flies flew around us and instead of the sleepy scent of the wild roses and foxgloves that edged the path, the air seemed filled once more with the heady fragrance of musk and civet.
He said, holding me tightly to him. “I love you, how could you ever have doubted it?”
I was unable to answer as his lips kissed my hair, my eyes, my lips. He held my face between his hands. “Never doubt me again, little one.”
“No,” I said, my arms around him. “Never.”
Our eyes met and we smiled slowly at each other. “ Who would have thought,”
Jose said, gently teasing. “That the little English girl who was afraid to climb the mountain in the dark would threaten to shoot down a thug like Angel Garmendia?”
I took his hand away from my face, clasping it tightly as we continued down the darkening track. “I wasn’t afraid.” I said. “And I’m not little.”
“You are to me,” he said laughing, sweeping me up in his arms and running down to the corner where an oil lamp outside the inn cast a rosy glow across the square. He kissed me once more.
“Prepared to meet the rabble?” he asked.
I nodded, my arm snug around his waist as we stepped into the candle-lit interior. Romero was sat on a bar stool, back towards the zinc topped bar, a large glass of wine in his hand and a broad smile on his battered and bruised face as we entered. Javier gave a whoop of joy, leaping to his feet and kissing me enthusiastically despite Jose’s protests.
Miss Daventry smiled with satisfaction. “How nice to see you again, Alison. I was beginning to think you were lost for good.”
There was no sign of Alphonso Cia. Reading my thoughts Miss Daventry said pleasantly. “That bull-necked gentleman who commandeered the doorway earlier on was really quite nice once you got to know him. He has taken Cia down to the nearest hospital. His hand somehow got a bullet in it. Cleaning his gun and it went off I believe. At least that is what Alphonso will say if he ever hopes to live south of the Pyrannees again.”
Javier patted his chest proudly. “I could have killed him if I had wanted to. But I decided to be compassionate. So all I did was to incapacitate his shooting for a little while. In fact I doubt if he will ever be able to shoot properly again!”
“Thank God you’re shooting isn’t as perfect as you claim, otherwise I’d be dead.” Jose said with a grin. “ When Garmendia ran from the inn he leapt into the police car, not his own. I understood it when I raced after him in his. He was nearly out of petrol.”
“I didn’t see,” Miss Daventry said unnecessarily. “ I just assumed that they would have raced off in the cars they arrived in. A logical conclusion I would have thought.”
“And despite your convictions that the car couldn’t possibly have ended up at the bottom of the quarry by mistake, that’s exactly what did happen.” Jose said, laughing down at me with a blaze of desire behind the smile that stirred my body, making my hand tighten over his.
“But if haring off after Garmendia was dangerous, it was nothing compared with getting back here! When Garmendia swerved off the road, pitching down into the quarry the car didn’t set immediately on fire. I scrambled down to him … I could see he was unconscious and most likely dead, but I had to make sure. He was dead when I got to him, but there was still Cia to take care of. So I got the bright idea that nearly killed me! I took Garmendia’s shirt and necktie, thinking that as I was driving Garmendia’s car it would make it easy to fool Cia and get close to him. Well, as it happened I didn’t need to confuse Cia, Javier and Romero had taken care of him, but it certainly fooled these two idiots!”
“We fired on him,” Javier said happily with a grin.
“But thanks to his aim which is nearly as bad as Alison’s, he hit the tyre not the windscreen.…”
“And he went spinning off the road,” Javier finished. “And at that time we had our hands full with Cia so we left Garmendia, as we thought, to struggle up the hill.”
“I found him,” Miss Daventry said triumphantly. “Climbing up the hillside under what cover he could get.…”
“And very glad I was to see you,” Jose said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “If it had been either of those two idiots I would never have lived to tell the tale!”
“Binoculars you see,” Miss Daventry said brightly. “I never go anywhere without them. I knew they would come in useful one day. I could see it was your face and not Angel’s from miles away.”
“And then when I finally make it, and go rushing all over the countryside for you,” Jose said, turning to me. “What happens? You came within a hairs breadth of shooting me down yourself. I’ll tell you something,” he said, grinning at Javier and Romero. “I would rather have Alison for me than against me any day!”
“What are we going to do about Pedro?” I asked, remembering the grotesque body outside the church.
“We are about to remove it. Now.” Javier said. “And Milo is lending me another car to take it away and dispose of it suitably.”
“Milo?”
“The barman.”
I stared unbelievingly from him to the barman. He was still polishing his glasses. His face never slipped into even the remotest of smiles, but he winked slowly with one eye and then concentrated once more on what he was doing.
“Oh,” I said, and Miss Daventry patted my hand.
“I’ve had a word with him,” she said in explanation. “And I’m going to help Javier and Romero. You and Jose can travel back to Bayonne by yourselves,” and they all trooped past us towards the door. The candle on the table flickered and in the soft light Jose’s eyes met mine, deepening with desire and love.”
“There can be no returning to Spain,” he said huskily. “But there is Argentina … and the horses. I was there for ten years, the land is still mine.”
“Solitaire?” I asked, held closely in the circle of his arms.
“A wedding present, if you will have me, little one.”
“Forever and ever, Jose.”
“Forever,” he said, his lips coming down on mine, “will not be long enough!”
Copyright
First published in 1979 by Hale
This edition published 2013 by Bello
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Copyright © Margaret Pemberton, 1979
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Tapestry of Fear Page 14
