by Allen, Anne
He glanced at her and smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t go mad when it’s hot. And my doctor says I’m in very good order for my age. In fact the old blood pressure has gone down since we moved here.’
‘That’s great. It’s time you took it a bit easier. You always worked so hard that when I was little there were times I wondered who you were, this strange man appearing at odd hours,’ she chuckled.
He frowned. ‘I hadn’t realised that you’d felt like that. But you know I was working hard to provide for you and your mother. You deserved the best.’
‘I know, Dad. And I’m very grateful, really I am. I just want you to look after yourself now.’
Her father cleared his throat and concentrated on his driving, leaving Nicole to take in what was, for her, an unvisited part of Spain. She had partied in Majorca and Ibiza as a clubbing student and visited Barcelona with Tom several years ago, enjoying a resonance with the Spanish lifestyle. The memory of their trip flashed into her mind, bringing with it the pain of the separation, her stomach clenching in response. Oh, God, how am I going to cope when we reach the villa? Mum and Dad didn’t say much when I told them what had happened, but then they never do. And when I tell them what I want to do…
Nicole’s mood was matched by the dry, arid looking landscape of the hinterland and the built up areas bordering the coast. A far cry from the remembered images of the Balearics. But as the car sped along she began to notice a subtle change in the vista that gave her hope that better was to come.
What had been low brown hills now gave way to higher and greener hills, almost small mountains, flecked with trees and shrubs. Once they had passed the skyscrapers of the ubiquitous Benidorm the coastline settled lower to the eye and the sight of sparkling deep blue sea lifted her spirits. By the time they by-passed Altea Nicole caught glimpses of an older Spain, with majestic ancient churches rising above the red tiled roofs of traditional village houses. Bordering the sea, woody headlands sheltered extravagant villas and a marina harbouring an array of classy-looking yachts and what appeared to be a small, new waterside village. The hills of Altea rose to the left and were almost overgrown with white villas looking depressingly similar in style and size.
The sight of Calpe served to lower her spirits once more as it was a miniature version of Benidorm with tower blocks bordering the beach. But then the horrors receded as they drove towards Benissa and the land of the citrus groves and almond trees. The old homes of growers and farmers shared this more fertile region with the occasional new villa favoured by up and coming Spaniards or those ex-pats happier to live inland than cheek by jowl with their countrymen on the coast. Splashes of colour erupted from tumbling purple bougainvillea covering walls and terraces and the pink and white oleander growing by the roadside. The beautiful colours served to cheer her, giving her hope that she could cope with what lay ahead.
‘Won’t be long now,’ said her father. ‘I’m going to leave the motorway soon and take the road through Gata so you can see more of the area. What do you think so far?’
‘Well, this part is as I’d expected. Didn’t think much of the area around Alicante, I’m afraid.’
He chuckled, ‘I’m not surprised, it’s rather arid around there and even worse as you go further south. But, as you can see, it’s now more fertile and as you go towards Valencia all you see for miles are citrus groves, mainly oranges, as you would expect. Your mother takes great pleasure in providing freshly squeezed orange juice for breakfast and, when we’re feeling extravagant, the occasional Bucks Fizz. And if you prefer a gin and tonic we have our own lemon and lime trees in the garden.’
‘Sounds good, Dad. That might be just what I fancy before dinner. And where are we now?’
They had turned right off the Autovia, virtually driving back on themselves round a steep bend before coming out onto a dual carriageway.
‘Just north of Benissa and heading towards Gata, which I think you’ll find amusing,’ he smiled.
A few minutes later the open countryside, dotted with an occasional villa or trading unit, gave way to the steep enclosing grey hills of a working quarry. Heavily laden lorries joined the main road and it was bleak even under the shimmering sun and clear blue sky. But after the Merc had negotiated a few hairy bends they were greeted again by green hills, glossy orchards and on the far horizon to the east, a brief glimpse of the sea.
‘Do you see that rather odd-shaped mountain ahead? A bit like an elephant? That’s the Montgo, where we live,’ Ian said, pointing ahead.
Nicole followed his finger and agreed that the mountain, which was more of a large hill, did appear a bit elephantine. She could see a small town ahead and a sign proclaimed that they were entering Gata. At first there was nothing unusual to see but as they drove through the main street Nicole noticed that virtually every shop was selling cane and wicker ware. Displays of baskets, chairs, loungers and small tables spilled out onto the pavements and she broke into a grin.
‘I see what you mean. Is all this stuff made here?’
‘No, not now. Very little, apparently. But it used to be the cottage industry of the town and it’s known around here as the Wicker Capital of Spain. Most of it’s now imported from China, which we discovered when we bought a picnic basket here a few months ago. Still, it boosts the local economy, which is a good thing.’
He turned right at some traffic lights and then added, ‘Right, should be home soon.’
The Montgo was now looming ever larger and Nicole could see lines of mainly white, but some coloured villas, massed on its flanks. They finished at a level about two-thirds of the way up the mountain, the rest green and yellow scrub. Small roads criss-crossed up from the main road running along the base.
Her father indicated left and turned into a two-way road snaking up the mountain with the two lanes divided by oleander bushes. A few hundred yards along he turned right into a tarmacked road which dog-legged round until it reached a dead end. Along the way individual gated villas faced the road with sightless, shuttered windows. The car slowed by the last villa on the right and her father pressed a control on the dashboard, prompting the tall, wrought-iron gates to open inwards onto a steep drive.
Stopping at the top of the drive Ian said, ‘You get out here and I’ll put the car away.’
As Nicole thankfully uncurled herself from the seat her mother opened the ornately carved oak door, her arms open ready for a hug. Nicole’s heart beat faster as she realised it was crunch time. Time to face her mother and open the can of worms, safely lidded for so long.
‘Darling! It’s so lovely to have you here at last. Do come in out of the heat.’
‘Hi, Mum. You look well,’ Nicole said as she took in her mother’s appearance. She was a few inches shorter than Nicole, with a trim figure and coiffed light-brown hair, coloured to hide the ever increasing grey. Nicole noticed a few more lines on the beautifully made-up face and thought, not for the first time, that it was a pity that her mother couldn’t be more relaxed about herself. She had always needed to look immaculate and had never, to Nicole’s knowledge, ventured out of the house without full make-up and carefully styled hair.
By now they were standing in a cool, marble floored hall off which were several rooms guarded by smaller versions of the imposing front door. Mary led the way down a corridor and flung open a door.
‘Here’s the room we’ve set aside for you, darling. We have another two bedrooms for guests so I decorated it especially for you. Do you approve?’
‘Mum, it’s lovely! Of course I approve!’ Nicole gazed around the predominantly cream room. Scattered on the pale marble floor lay the colourful Persian rugs from her old bedroom in Jersey. As she looked further Nicole also recognised the bedside lamps and tables. On one of the walls she felt touched to see a collage of photos of herself as a child and teenager. A large, float-y mosquito net hung from the ceiling, draped around the half-tester bed, creating an ethereal, albeit practical, effect.
&n
bsp; Tears pricked at her eyes as she realised how much thought her mother had put into making her feel at home. And she about to play Judas!
Nicole threw her arms around her mother, saying, ‘Thanks, Mum. You’ve created a little haven of peace in here. Just what I need!’
Her mother was looking pleased and slightly embarrassed when her father knocked on the door and brought in her case.
‘Would you like to unpack and freshen up before we show you around? And a G and T will be ready when you are!’ he smiled.
‘Thanks, Dad. I’d love a shower and a change of clothes. Travelling always makes me feel unclean, somehow.’
Her mother pointed out the en-suite, stocked with large, fluffy towels and toiletries and she was left on her own, being told there was no hurry.
The cool marble-tiled bathroom boasted a powerful walk-in shower and Nicole washed away the tensions and grime of her journey. She would have liked to wash away the pain of the past two months as easily but this wasn’t possible. There was still an ache in her heart which never left her. Forcing aside her unhappy thoughts she dressed quickly, conscious that she might be about to cause hurt to two people who did not deserve it.
The sun was beginning its descent over the mountains on the other side of the valley as the little family sat around the pool, glasses in hand. Nicole had been given a thorough tour of the villa and its extensive grounds before they settled down with a drink. She loved what her parents had created here in what she recognised as an idyllic place to live. It was so peaceful and soporific relaxing by the turquoise pool, the only sound the rustling of cicadas moving in the breeze that carried the intense perfume of jasmine from a nearby bush.
The villa had been built to her parents’ specifications; her father employing a local Spanish architect to design and oversee the works. The result was a modern villa enjoying the latest comfort-inducing conveniences of under-floor heating and hidden air conditioning, blended with the traditional Spanish features of stone-built fireplaces and arches and carved wooden doors.
‘You’ve done a great job, you two. It’s beautiful, and the views are to die for!’ Nicole said, waving an arm at the distant mountains.
‘It was the views that drew us here. That and the size of the plot. The original house was badly built, as they tended to be back in the ’80’s. So it was easier to knock it down and start again. We’re certainly happy here, aren’t we, Mary?’
She smiled at her father and Nicole thought that she’d never seen them so relaxed and “together”. As an only child her she’d been particularly sensitive to the atmosphere between them and had noticed the occasional tensions. Her mother had been a stay at home wife and mother and although it was clear she loved creating a home, she was too intelligent not to be bored after hours spent alone with a small child. Her father had been not only a busy advocate but a member of various committees and clubs which had kept him from home. But it now looked as if they had worked through those old issues and were content in each other’s company in their adopted country.
‘So, who looks after this wonderful garden?’
‘We both do our share but we employ a gardener for the heavy work and he also looks after the pool. So when we’re too old and decrepit to do much the garden won’t suffer,’ her father replied.
Nicole was keen to keep the conversation away from her and Tom, and it looked like her parents felt the same. His name hadn’t been mentioned and she guessed that they would wait for her to say something. Her stomach was churning quite nicely now but she wanted to wait until after dinner. Perhaps they’d all be more relaxed then.
She continued asking her parents questions about the villa and their new friends until Mary announced that she was just going to re-heat the paella and that dinner would soon be ready Nicole’s offer of help was refused and she and her father sat in companionable silence before being called up to the terrace.
As the villa had been constructed on the hillside the main rooms were on the same floor but there was a large under-build on a level with the garden and the pool. Terraces led from the sitting-room and dining room. The local style of terrace, a naya, was built with a solid, beamed roof supported by pale stone arches and windows which could be glazed for year-round use. The villa possessed two open nayas and one enclosed and on one of the former stood a large wooden table spread with bowls of salad and the steaming paella served in the traditional iron pan. A bottle of cava nestled in an ice bucket and a bottle of Rioja was quietly breathing at the end of the table.
‘Gosh, Mum, you must have been slaving away for hours. I feel like the proverbial Prodigal Son offered the fatted calf!’ Nicole grinned at her parents who, though they hadn’t said much about how they felt, had gone overboard with the meal. Something she was used to.
Her mother laughed. ‘I suppose it might appear like that, particularly as we haven’t seen you for ages. But really, we do eat well here and I’m teaching myself to cook our favourite Spanish dishes. Golf and swimming ensure we always have good appetites! Ian, please serve the wine and Nicole, dear, do help yourself to the food.’
Nicole, after two helpings of the fragrant seafood paella, was relieved that dessert turned out to be a selection of fresh fruit. Now nearly eight o’clock, it was still light but the temperature had dropped to a comfortable level. Picking up her glass of wine, Nicole took a deep breath.
‘Um, I spoke to Tom last week and he’s moving back to the house tomorrow. He wanted us to meet up for a “review of the separation” as he put it, but I wasn’t keen. I didn’t see what it could achieve,’ she said, swirling the Rioja in her glass.
Her father coughed, a habit borne of old from his days at the Bar prior to expressing an opinion or beginning an interrogation of a witness. Her mother shifted in her chair, looking uncomfortable.
‘You don’t think you’ll get back together, is that what you’re saying?’ he asked, frowning.
Nicole sighed. ‘I do still love him, Dad, but he’s hurt me too much. I can’t trust him anymore and that’s not good if our marriage is to work. You and Mum brought me up to believe trust was as important as love in a relationship. And even though I’ve missed him like hell these past two months, in some odd way I’ve actually felt a relief, a sense of being free.’
‘Perhaps that’s partly to do with having a break from your job, darling. From what you’ve said you’d been working very long hours for months,’ her mother commented.
‘Could be. I’m certainly looking forward to my sabbatical! What do you think I should do about Tom?’
Nicole looked from one to the other, aware she’d put them on the spot. ‘Sorry, perhaps that’s not a fair question.’
‘It’s perfectly fair. It always helps to ask other people’s opinions when you have a major decision to make,’ Ian replied. ‘They are only opinions and you’re the one who has to make the final decision. For what it’s worth, I’ve always liked Tom and I knew he could provide well for you. But I do not condone his…his behaviour and if it hurts you and makes you unhappy then it might be better if you do part.’
Nicole felt touched. Her father had never expressed his thoughts on either Tom or her marriage before and yet he was still taking her side.
Her mother chipped in, ‘I agree with your father, darling. Neither of us want you to be unhappy and if Tom can’t behave himself then he’s not going to be the right husband for you.’
‘Thank you both. It means a lot to me to know you’re here, rooting for me. But there’s still a few months left before I have to make the final decision so I’ve got time to sort out my feelings and what I really want.’
‘You said you’d like to stay here for a week or so. Which is fine, of course, and we’d be happy for you to stay longer. But you haven’t said what you plan to do or where you’re going after you leave here,’ her mother observed.
‘Ah, no, I didn’t.’ Nicole looked from her mother to her father and, seeing the same look of concern on thei
r faces, felt like the Judas she was.
‘Please do not take this as any reflection on you both as I think you’ve been great parents,’ she paused as her parents exchanged wary glances. ‘But this business with Tom has brought home to me something that’s been bugging me for years. I’m not sure who I am any more. I don’t take after either of you, which is natural. It’s important to me to try and understand myself better as, to be honest, I don’t like myself much these days. What I’ve become. The answer, I feel, is to trace my roots, understand my genetic history, if you like.’
She took a deep breath and went on, gazing earnestly at her silent parents, ‘I want to find my natural mother, the woman who gave birth to me and then…and then…gave me away.’
chapter 3
Mary had been dreading this.
Ever since 1996 when the law in Jersey changed to allow adopted adults sight of their original birth certificates. Until then she had felt safe – safe from the usurpation of her title and role of mother by a complete stranger. At that time Nicole was busy and happy with her job and Tom in England and the danger seemed remote.
But not now.
Nicole had uttered the words Mary had hoped never to hear. Now she was afraid that she would lose the girl she had loved unreservedly since the moment she had first set eyes on her, a little bundle tightly wrapped in a hospital blanket. A mop of dark hair topped a perfectly shaped head and a pair of bright, dark eyes stared straight at her. Mary had known then that there was such a thing as love at first sight. The baby – not yet bearing a name – was three days old and unaware that her mother had left the hospital to return home without the child she had nourished in her womb for nine months. Mary had been unable to understand how a mother could give up her child in that way, but as she was allowed to hold Nicole for the first time was, at the same time, fervently grateful that she had.
Mary married Ian when she was twenty-five and he twenty-eight and had assumed that she would be a mother within a year or two. Ian insisted that she give up work when they married so that she could devote her time to looking after him and their new house. This was fine by her with the prospect of motherhood just around the corner but when, month after month, the dreaded periods arrived exactly on time, Mary became more unhappy with being just a housewife.