by Iris Danbury
‘And what has happened to the second bed in my villa?’ Caran wanted to know.
Gabriela bowed her head and did not answer.
‘Come, Gabriela, where is it? I must know.’ By now Caran had a shrewd idea of exactly where the bed was.
‘I—we—borrowed it,’ Gabriela admitted after a pause. ‘The children, you see. There were not enough beds here for all of us.’
Caran began to wonder how much other furniture had been ‘borrowed’ from the various villas by Gabriela and her family. ‘We’ll talk about that later,’ she said. ‘In the meantime, please send your sister to my villa as soon as she can come.’
Walking back through the gardens, Caran now saw that the layout of the villas was excellent. Although they were all connected by a common path running parallel with the seashore, each villa had its own individual approach and was secluded in its own part of the gardens. It occurred to her that this morning she had been so busy trying to settle in that she had not even glanced at the surroundings. Magnolia trees and oleanders, orange and lemon trees had been planted and now provided adequate screens to the villas. At this time or year there was not the blaze of colour that would appear in a couple of months’ time, but there were a number of shrubs and bushes with bright orange flowers or scarlet berries, and the dark purple bougainvillea trailed over every available support.
Beyond the main path lay a sloping strip of rough, stony land dipping to the pale golden beach below and the shimmering aquamarine sea. To the left was a small peninsula jutting out and Caran climbed to the top of a ridge so that she could see the other side. There was no beach beyond the spit of land, for the sea lapped the edge of the rocky shore.
In the opposite direction she had a view of almost the whole of the town of Albarosa, its square, white, Moorish houses climbing tier on tier up the rocky hillside. As soon as she had put her own villa reasonably straight she would take the first opportunity of exploring this unusual-looking town.
By the time Caran returned to the Villa Joyosa, Benita and Gabriela were already busy cleaning and scrubbing, shaking rugs and generally giving the place a good turn-out.
Benita was a good deal younger than her sister, not more than seventeen or eighteen, Caran judged. A pretty girl with liquid brown eyes, black hair that curled around her shoulders, a full rich mouth that frequently curved happily into smiles.
Caran enquired about the hot water system and some form of heating, tor at this time of year the nights would be chilly even it the daytime warmth was acceptable.
Benita showed her how to manipulate the gas cooker and water heater. There was a small gas fire in the living room, Caran was glad to know. Electricity was used only for lighting, but when Benita switched on, only one bulb out of the four in the lighting fitment came to life. The other lamps had probably gone into Gabriela’s villa, thought Caran grimly.
With many smiles and cheerful remarks, the two sisters assured Caran that everything would be clean and orderly in a couple of hours. ‘Quevecito’, they said, and Caran enjoyed a hilarious few moments in translating the word into its English equivalent of ‘spick and span’. ‘Speak y spahn,’ muttered Benita many times over, no doubt memorising the phrase to work off on some unsuspecting and mystified companion.
Caran realised that she was very hungry indeed, but she hesitated to say so or the girls would offer her something to eat straightaway. Instead, she said casually, ‘I should like to see part of the town. Which is the best way?’
Benita gave her directions up the winding road into Albarosa, the way she should have come down this morning.
‘And perhaps there is a restaurant or cafe where I can eat?’
‘Yes, the one called El Catalan,’ Gabriela suggested. ‘You will find it easily, for it’s in the main square. There are also others, but not so good.’
Caran changed her shoes, supped a white wool jacket over her tangerine tricel dress and set off. She carefully tucked all her money and travellers’ cheques into her handbag, for she did not yet know how much she could trust Gabriela and Benita, although as they were Spanish, they were probably extremely honest.
The October sun showed her a very different Albarosa from the glimpses she had seen of the town last night in the pouring rain and this morning she had been too intent on following the man Vicente to spare time to notice the buildings. But now she had the opportunity to approach the rising town, its square, white, flat-roofed houses crowning the rocky hill and seeming to tumble down the slopes like a child’s box of bricks carelessly scattered.
Mauve hills and a deep blue sky made a perfect backcloth of this dazzling little town. The distance along the road was farther than she had imagined and she realised now that Vicente, had conducted her the shortest, if rougher, way.
Once in the town now she was delighted with everything she saw. Busy squares, dark little alleyways that led through arches to streets where oranges, grapes and figs were sold from stalls or barrows. Sometimes she walked along streets where on one side houses of three or four storeys reared above her head and on the other, she was on roof top level. There were innumerable flights of steps between tall, narrow houses and. having thoroughly lost herself, except for a sense of the slope of the town, she was relieved to find herself again in a square where tables were set outside the cafes, but in an arcade with Moorish arches.
She looked for El Catalan and found it in a corner. Tubs and boxes of flowers adorned the front and she sat down at a table in the sun.
She decided to eat a leisurely meal, for there was no hurry to return to her villa and no doubt soon she would have little leisure to dawdle about the town. She ordered a glass of wine and the inevitable tapas, tiny saucers of savoury tit-bits, small fish or morsels of smoked mountain ham. A dish of paella followed by fruit and cheese completed the meal, and she was surprised by the modest bill.
She spent the rest of the afternoon browsing among the shops. Mrs. Parmenter had told her that Albarosa was so far completely unspoilt and as far as souvenir shops and other tourist traps were concerned, Caran could see for herself that this was so. Also, there were several small inns or restaurants that offered accommodation, hut she had not yet seen anything in the nature of a large hotel.
So there was probably not much choice for Don Ramiro last night except to deposit her with his friend, Senora Molina. Caran wondered if she would ever meet the tall, handsome Spaniard again, but as his home was in Almeria there was little likelihood of that.
It occurred to her that she must obviously provide herself with a small amount of food for the next day or so. After that, she would be able to make arrangements for supplies to be delivered to her. She made her purchases and then sat for half an hour outside a cafe where she could drink coffee and watch the passers-by.
Tomorrow she would have to get down to serious work, study all the instructions and documents Mrs. Parmenter had given her and tackle all the people who were to work on the decorations and re-painting. Today she could surely afford to idle.
Lights appeared in shop windows and in the cafe behind her and she suddenly realised that she might have wasted too much time. Darkness would overtake her before she could reach the villas. She gathered her parcels and handbag, left payment for the coffee and hurried off out of the square, but she mistook her direction, for soon she found herself in a steep street that was unlit except for the glimmer of white houses on either side. A beam of light shone from a doorway and she paused, uncertain whether to ask for direction. Two men came out and she saw their figures silhouetted against the light.
It was ridiculous to be frightened, she told herself, yet she was aware that in her handbag she was carrying all her present available wealth. She hung back in the shadows until the two men disappeared.
If only she had some hope of finding a taxi, but there was little chance of that. Presently she came to a better-lighted corner and here she asked an elderly woman to direct her to the main square.
As she had begun to suspect, Cara
n had to retrace the way she had come. Somewhere she had taken a wrong turn and she was now descending the hill on the far side of the town away from the villas.
In the darkness it was difficult to avoid stumbling over large stones, for the road was not paved, but eventually she was in a more populated part and this time she asked again for the Plaza.
She was so thankful to reach the centre of the town that she decided to rest before setting out again. It was still early evening although completely dark, and she could not now reach the Villa Joyosa in even a semblance of daylight.
After an omelette in a nearby cafe, she asked the waiter for precise instructions, but he was uncertain and consulted a colleague. Caran sketched the streets and turnings on the back of an envelope and the two waiters assured her that this time she could not possibly make a mistake.
More than half an hour later, Caran was grimly assuring herself that she was capable of any amount of mistakes, for the path had become so rough she was convinced she had missed the too road and was now descending that same path she had trodden this morning with Vicente.
Oh, well, sooner or later she’d arrive, she told herself, and preferably in one piece. Several times she stumbled and once fell full length on the slightly raised bank at the side of the path. Her eyes had become accustomed to the total darkness and she could just pick out the slightly less dark strip of boulder-strewn earth. A pity she had left the road, which would have been a longer, but probably much safer route.
Suddenly she became aware of someone approaching and the next instant a torch was shining full in her eyes.
As she gasped with fright, an English voice exclaimed, ‘Well, of all the miracles! If it isn’t our very own lady manageress!’
‘Oh, you must be Mr. Eldridge.’ Relief that he was at least a person she had already met could not be disguised in her tone of voice, but she was resentfully aware of his unnecessarily sarcastic manner.
‘What do you think you’re doing scrambling down here at this time of night?’ he demanded. ‘Trying to break your neck?’
‘It’s not late,’ she retorted.
‘Too late for tenderfoots like you. Even I have the sense to bring a torch with me, and I know the ups and downs of the ground pretty thoroughly.’
‘It wasn’t really dark when I first started for home,’ she explained, ‘but I lost my way and went in the wrong direction.’
‘I could have guessed that,’ he replied curtly. ‘Well, I’ll have to take you to the villas, I suppose.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Eldridge,’ she said icily, ‘but having come this far and managed not to break my neck, I expect I can cope with the rest of the wav.’ They were brave words and at the instant she spoke she was determined not to expect his help.
‘Don’t be daft! The end of the path is worse than this.’
He took her arm and marched her a few steps along the track. Then he apparently realised that she had several parcels and he took a couple out of her hand.
He led her past his own villa, along the lower path and eventually to the Villa Joyosa. Neither had exchanged a word, but when she stood in the arched entrance porch of the villa, she said quietly, ‘Thank you, Mr. Eldridge. I realise that I ought not to have tackled that path in the dark until I know it better.’
‘I should think not!’ he snapped. ‘If I hadn’t met you on my way up to the town for dinner, who knows what might have happened? We might even have lost our new manageress, lying helpless all night and not discovered until tomorrow morning. You could have died of exposure.’
She could have slapped his face, but restrained herself. At least he had conducted her home in safety.
‘I’m sorry I’ve delayed you having your dinner.’
‘I can wait. What sort of shape is your villa in?’
She was surprised at his curiosity. ‘I don’t really know yet,’ she admitted. ‘Those two sisters, Gabriela and Benita, were supposed to clean the place and I left them to it.’
He touched a switch in the porch and lights came on from a swinging lamp and another fitment in the hall.
‘Oh, I hadn’t known about those lights,’ she said.
‘You’ve a whole lot to learn, haven’t you?’
In the amber light from the porch, she glanced at his face, seeing the angular planes of his features, his dark, reddish hair, but the expression in his eyes she could not see.
‘Go on in,’ he suggested. ‘At least I can probably show you where the light switches are. Besides, I’d like to inspect the place so that I can see where my own deficiencies lie. I’m sure your brief inspection of my villa must have shocked you with my untidiness.’
‘If you insist on coming in, I suppose I can’t stop you.’ There was nothing for it but to unlock the door and let him follow. He was one of Mrs. Parmenter’s tenants and she had to make the best of that situation, but she hoped with all her heart that she would not have to meet him frequently. He had already commanded her this morning to leave him alone and this she would do with supreme pleasure.
CHAPTER TWO
Gabriela and her sister had certainly accomplished a considerable change in the appearance of the Villa Joyosa. The living room, revealed now in all its full complement of four light bulbs, was spotless, the furniture polished, the rugs neatly in place on the washed marble floor. The litter of empty wine bottles had been cleared from the chest and on top stood a tray with glasses, a bottle of local wine and a corkscrew. Beside it was an ornamental dish of oranges and figs.
‘Oh, isn’t that charming!’ Caran exclaimed.
‘Just an old Spanish custom,’ murmured Mr. Eldridge behind her. ‘A glass of wine is intended to bring good luck to a new occupant.’
He followed her to the kitchen where again everything seemed to be in order. Then she stepped along the passage to the bedroom. Still only one bed, but that was properly made and the coverlet neatly turned down.
When she returned to the living room Mr. Eldridge was tossing the corkscrew in his hand. ‘Shall I open this for you?’ He indicated the bottle of wine.
Really, the man was quite unpredictable! One minute he was ordering her to keep off the grass, the next he was insinuating himself into her life before she had properly taken up residence here in the villa.
‘Thank you,’ she answered politely. ‘Perhaps you will join me in drinking to the success of this new occupant. In any case, one can’t drink alone.’
As the cork came out with a satisfactory plop, he raised his head and glanced at her face. ‘Not overloaded with tact, are you?’ was his comment. ‘You’ll have to do better than that when the summertime comes and you have these hordes of visitors in and out, complaining about the heat, the service, the maid and everything else they can think of.’
He handed her the glass of pale yellow wine. ‘What shall we drink to?’ he asked.
‘The Villa Joyosa and its successful tenant,’ she replied with a touch of defiance.
‘Agreed!’ He tossed off the wine and stood there holding the empty glass.
There was something about his stance, his attitude, that indicated his reluctance to leave. Well, she thought, if he were waiting for an invitation to a meal, she was not going to pander to him. Yet the practical side of her cried out that here was an opportunity to find out some of the problems connected with the villas. Mrs. Parmenter had not really prepared Caran for what she would find.
‘I’ve delayed you when you were on your way to dinner,’ she began tentatively.
‘All right. I’ll accept the marching orders.’
He set down his glass carefully on the tray and walked towards the door.
‘You wouldn’t care to stay and have a meal?’ she offered. He swung round. ‘Can I trust your cooking?’
‘You’ll have to risk it if you wish to stay.’
He grinned at her. ‘You’ll probably blow yourself up on an unfamiliar cooker if I don’t give you a hand. What’s on offer?’
‘Not very much. I’m afraid.’ She w
ent out to the kitchen where the food had been set down. ‘Some smoked ham, tomatoes, a couple of tins of pate, bread rolls. I had a melon, but I seem to have lost that on the way down, probably when I fell over.’
‘Just as well you weren’t carrying eggs. Or were you?’
‘No.’ Then they laughed in unison, the first time in harmonious companionship.
‘I’ll go along to mv place and bring back some butter and coffee to start you off,’ he offered.
‘How do we get supplies here? Is there someone who will deliver orders?’
He twisted his mouth into a wry shape. ‘There was, but somehow the bills didn’t get paid, so you’ll have to start again to build up your credit. I’ll be back in ten minutes.’
As Caran set out plates and cutlery she reflected on the strangeness of this man. She understood why he insisted on his own privacy, especially to an English girl. He would not want a compatriot walking into his villa just when she chose. This morning—could it be only the morning of this same day?—he had brusquely told her to get cut. Tonight he had practically invited himself to supper with her.
If he were one of those men who cautiously peer out of their shell for a time, then, afraid of their rashness, dodge back in case some undesirable experience happens to them, then Caran knew she would have to make the most of this single evening. It was in any case an unexpected encounter, for if she had kept to the top road, she would never have met him coming up the short-cut path on his way to the town.
He had not returned in the ten minutes he promised and she smiled. So already he had regretted his imprudence in entering her villa. Probably he was calling himself all kinds of fool.