by Iris Danbury
The rest of the day was spent in settling in the party of six. Paul had moved into Brooke’s former Villa Zafiro, leaving Turquesa, next door to Caran, free for this party. In due course he would lodge at El Catalan, Julie would vacate Esmeralda and come back to Caran’s, Joyosa.
The family expressed themselves delighted with everything and relieved to find that an English girl was in charge and they were not expected to speak Spanish. There were two middle-aged couples accompanied by a pair of teenage daughters who might belong to either parents, since the whole lot shared the same surname, so were obviously related.
‘The maid Elena will work for you six hours each day,’ Caran explained. ‘Usually our girls work three or four hours, say ten till two, and the rest of the time in the evening seven till nine, perhaps, but if you want alterations, we can arrange that. If you will give Elena your shopping requirements each evening, she will usually order or bring with her food for the day. Please tell her if you want to be away in the middle of the day.’
Caran congratulated herself and Julie that the latter had eventually secured the services of one maid with the promise of four or five more. So that was one worry less.
Julie was spending the weekend in Malaga with some new acquaintances she had met and when Caran prepared herself for bed, long past midnight, she found herself secretly glad that Julie was some distance away. There would be no need of explanations if she decided to go to Murcia tomorrow.
Not that Caran had the slightest intention of doing so, she told herself while setting her alarm clock for a quarter to six.
She was wearing a new coral dress of fine wool with a cream jacket and a small hat to match when she opened the door of Brooke’s car next morning. A distant chime from the church in Albarosa sounded seven strokes.
‘I’m glad you took me seriously about punctuality,’ he observed. ‘I wouldn’t have waited.’
‘All this creeping about in the early morning is quite ridiculous,’ she said.
‘Yes, that colour suits you,’ he commented, starting his engine. ‘At least I’m unlikely to lose you in the crush in Murcia.’
He took the coast road through Matana, then to Aguilas and Cartagena. ‘It’s slightly longer this way, hut if we go more direct, we shall never get through Lorca with all the crowds arriving there for their fiesta.’
Since most of the district was new to Caran she did not mind which route he took. The road was bordered with aloe hedges and palm trees and sometimes through the gaps she could see a silvery canal snaking across the patchwork landscape. Here and there a square white house or a collection of several smaller ones punctuated the pattern until the scene faded into a distant line of mauve and grey-blue hills.
‘You see that plain over there?’ Brooke pointed out. ‘Two years ago all that land grew a sparse crop of wheat or a few’ potatoes, much of it was not worked at all. Now they grow sugar cane, oranges and lemons, and in a few weeks some of the fields will look like sheets of red flame when the pomegranates are in flower.’
‘All due to irrigation?’ she queried.
‘All due to one of my irrigation jobs,’ he answered smugly.
‘I see. Making the desert blossom like the rose.’
“That’s better than creating dust-bowls,’ he retorted.
‘Of course.’ She did not grudge him his self-satisfaction, for it was obvious how much a prosperous, fertile countryside meant to him. She contrasted his attitude with that of Paul and Don Ramiro, who desired nothing better than to make money out of commercialising a small coastal town.
‘How long will you be on your new job at Zaragoza?’ she asked after a mile or so.
‘A year. Maybe two. Depends on how things go.’
‘Then you’ll be off elsewhere? Do you go to any other country apart from Spain?’
‘Not yet. My firm has special interests in Spain and works in with the Government. It also trains Spanish technicians in England for a few months so that they can learn the latest developments in canal schemes and hydro-electric works.’
‘You don’t go back to England for holidays?’
His face became sombre. ‘No. When I have holidays I spend them in some other part of Spain. Once or twice I’ve been to Portugal.’
Caran realised that he had shut a door in her face. She was not to probe into his life before coming to Spain. Although she took the hint and asked no further questions, he maintained conversation for the rest of the journey on an impersonal level.
He had to park his car on the outskirts of Murcia, for dense crowds prevented him from finding space.
‘I don’t know how we shall get through this mob,’ he muttered when he and Caran walked towards the town centre. He took her hand and pulled her down a side street where there was less congestion. ‘We’ll cut off a corner this way,’ he told her, ‘unless we find ourselves blocked at the other end.’
Progress was impeded by strings of people coming the opposite way, but eventually Brooke and Caran came out on to a paseo by the river.
‘We’ll go farther along if we can,’ he said. ‘Better view.’ People were already standing six or seven deep along the street, but Caran obeyed Brooke’s directions and hurried by his side. Now they were on a terraced embankment with gardens below.
‘We should see the main procession coming towards us,’ he explained, ‘on its way to the Cathedral.’
He had timed the occasion well, for in a few minutes the first of the huge floats appeared, accompanied by brown-robed penitents.
Caran took out her notebook. ‘Do you want to dictate notes, or shall I write down my own impressions?’
‘Both,’ he answered, as he unslung his camera. ‘I’ll give you some of the details. You can add others which I may miss.’
He took several photographs, then began dictation. ‘Costumes of special interest—purple silk tunics only knee-length, so that they can show off their white woollen embroidered stockings. Special designs only found in this district and handed down through generations, like the costumes, as long as they will last.’
When he paused Caran glanced up from her shorthand notes to observe this great fiesta of colour and ceremony, pomp and an almost naive rusticity.
‘Many of the Nazarenes seem to have large rounded paunches,’ she remarked. ‘Surprising when you see how lean their faces are.’
Brooke laughed. ‘That’s their lunch under their tunics. They carry enough to share with their colleagues who support the floats. Now here comes the best float of all. The Last Supper.’
Caran realised how eager Brooke had been to add this lovely Murrian fiesta to his collection. The float was the largest Caran had ever seen, for it carried images of Christ and the twelve apostles seated at a long table, laid for supper. "The food looks almost real,’ she whispered.
‘It is real,’ Brooke answered. ‘Twenty-six Nazarenes carry this float, and on Easter Sunday they’ll all come to the house of the chief bearer and eat the food.’
Caran was entranced by this spectacle. A roll in the centre of a bee-edged napkin was placed in front of Christ, with a chalice and at some distance a whole roast lamb on a huge dish. Three large cooked fishes were set on each plate for the apostles. There was bread, lettuces and honey. The fruit was arranged in glowing patterns, figs, melons, green and black olives, apples, tomatoes.
‘Why doesn’t it fall off?’ Caran asked, fearful lest with the involuntary jogging and swaying of the bearers, disaster should happen to the food.
‘It’s all wired down to the plates,’ Brooke explained. ‘One family has the privilege of buying all the food and displaying it; the job is passed down from father to son. Another man takes on the task of fixing it to the plates. Someone else looks after the cutlery, but all of them must be actual bearers. There’s none of this sponsoring by the wealthy who can put their hands in their pockets, but stand aside in admiration while others dc the hard work.’
By the time the processions were over, Caran was both tired and hungry
, for she had eaten nothing since an early breakfast of coffee and rolls. She was glad when Brooke suggested that they must fight their way back to his car, where he had a picnic lunch.
‘It would be senseless to try to eat in a restaurant today,’ he said. ‘At least, senseless for us. Everywhere is already full.’
‘A credit mark for thoughtfulness,’ she said lightly. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘I’m aware that most girls become irritable, when they’re needing a little refreshment.’
In his car they sat on the back seat and enjoyed cold roast chicken and tomatoes, with a bottle of wine, and little cakes.
Later in the afternoon when the streets were not so thronged Brooke took her to see the beautiful cathedral.
‘One of the loveliest in all Spain,’ murmured Brooke. ‘Stone rising in a flight of architecture. Look at it long enough and it really does seem to move.’
Caran agreed with him as she gazed on the red-gold facade soaring tier upon tier with fluted columns supporting more columns above and winged angels riding the curves.
‘Almost theatrical,’ commented Caran. ‘As though it were supported from behind.’
‘It’s handsome in sunlight, but unbelievable by moonlight.’ Some warm reminiscent flavour in his voice forced her to wonder in whose company he had stood here in the moonlight.
The town still held much of its original Moorish atmosphere and Caran never tired of wandering around the narrow streets or coining unexpectedly to part of the old walls, with one of the innumerable watch-towers.
‘We’ll go hack through Lorca,’ he suggested. ‘Then we can have dinner there at a reasonable time.’
She realised how little she had explored the district, for she had to admit that she had not visited Lorca.
Brooke tut-tutted. ‘I don’t know what you’ve done with your time here. Have you enjoyed the winter?’
Caran was thoughtful. ‘It’s been interesting,’ she said at last.
‘Only interesting?’ he queried.
She longed to tell him that the part of winter she had found most stimulating was up to the end of January when he had left Albarosa, but she would not admit that she had missed him.
‘We’ve had ups and downs,’ she said now. ‘Delays with the villas and so on.’
‘But everything is marvellous now and you’re all set for a glorious summer?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed quickly, for in her mind she saw the long warm summer stretch before her as an arid desert without Brooke to enliven or nettle her by turns.
When they were seated in a restaurant in Lorca and he had ordered dinner, he returned to the subject.
‘Have you found our any more about the developments Paul has in mind?’ he asked.
Caran now saw no need for caution. She told Brooke briefly of the disclosures Paul and his aunt had made. ‘A charming little holiday village,’ she said bitterly. ‘Hotels, shops, cafes, swimming pool, night clubs, the lot. And between those two men I’ve been nothing but a catspaw.’
‘I suspected something like this a year ago. A man like Paul would never let such a good opportunity slip. That’s one reason why he was delighted when I had to leave my villa. Naturally, he didn’t want a sitting tenant stuck there.’ Caran looked across the table at Brooke. ‘Mrs. Parmenter was also delighted with your absence.’ She grinned. ‘Untidy, gave the place a disreputable look, she said. A proper lout.’ His blue eyes danced. ‘You’re making it up!’ he accused.
She shook her head. ‘No. Her exact words—almost. I added the word “lout”, but that’s what she really meant.’
‘Does it make a difference to you?’ he asked later when they had finished the meal and were on the way out to the car. ‘All these plans, pulling down and putting up.’
‘I shall see how things go,’ she said vaguely.
Yet on the journey towards the coast and the little fishing village of Matana, he asked further questions about her future. It seemed as though he could not leave the subject alone.
‘Has Paul offered you any kind of security?’ he wanted to know. ‘What happens to you when the hotel is open and the villas are being demolished?’
She sighed. ‘That’s a long way ahead, so Mrs. Parmenter tells me. I can see that for myself. One can’t wave a magic wand and see a hotel rising floor by floor. But Paul speaks of giving me any department I want to run.’
‘And that isn’t what you want?’
Caran looked ahead through the windscreen. ‘I don’t know.’ She did not know what prompted her to say the next words, for they seemed to tumble out of their own accord. ‘If I wanted security, I suppose I could always accept Don Ramiro’s offer.’
‘And what offer is that?’ he queried in a cool, crisp voice.
‘Marriage.’ she said flatly.
She had imagined that his immediate reaction would be a loud guffaw, a scornful comment—‘So you’ve hooked him at last!’ or something like that.
Instead, he said quietly, ‘I wondered when you would tell me about that or if you were keeping it a dark secret.’
‘How did you know?’ she demanded.
‘I have a very efficient spy system in Albarosa. Not much happens there that I don’t know about.’ After a long pause, he asked, ‘And are you accepting Don Ramiro’s handsome offer?’
‘Does it concern you?’
‘In a way, yes. Den Ramiro would be very surprised if you did. He doesn’t mean it. Oh, he may pretend that he’s captivated and all that, but it’s all part of the scheme to make you feel important and cherished. He and Paul have been hoping to win you over to their ideas. They still need someone like you to manage the villas.’
‘There would be Julie if she wants to stay,’ Caran suggested.
‘Not the same. Julio would neglect her duties at the drop of a hat, especially if the hat belonged to an attractive well-heeled man. You’re different. Your conscience gets in the way.’
Caran smiled. ‘My conscience must be dormant today.’
‘Why?’
‘I refused to go to Granada with Don Ramiro. Then I’ve played truant without telling Paul that I was coming to Murcia with you.’
‘I must count myself flattered,’ he returned drily.
‘Unintentional on my part.’
‘Flattery is the last thing I’d expect from you, my dear Caran.’
‘You’re smug enough without any help from me,’ she retorted.
He remained silent for a long time, but Caran did not delude herself that his silence was due to her last remark. Brooke was not so easily quelled.
When he was driving down the road to the villas he said, ‘We’re invited to supper at Felipe and Gabriela’s tomorrow night.’
‘We? Is it a party?’
‘No. Just us. Will you come?’
Although his words sounded casual enough she detected an underlying note of appeal. No, that was too strong a word. Better to say that he had a reason for wanting her to accept.
‘Yes, I’ll come,’ she agreed. ‘Thank you for taking me to Murcia. I enjoyed it.’ She waited a moment before sliding out of the car when he stopped. If she had expected a wild embrace, an affectionate hug or even a fleering good night kiss, she was disappointed. He was staring straight ahead of him, his hands on the steering wheel.
‘Good night, Caran,’ he murmured. ‘Come to Gabriela’s about nine.’
He spun the car on the gravel parking area and shot off up the road to the town.
As she let herself in her villa, her thoughts meandered back over the day’s events. Enjoyable though it had been, she scolded herself for a fool. Brooke’s reappearance after more than two months’ absence was more than enough to reawaken those hopeless longings, that attraction that drew her towards the one man who had no use for her except as a pleasant car-companion on a day trip. The only comforting factor was the knowledge that she would see him tomorrow.
CHAPTER TEN
Paul greeted Caran next morning with an obvious lack of cordi
ality. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t change your mind and go to Granada yesterday.’
‘I went to Murcia instead.’
‘So I gather. With Eldridge.’
‘Yes.’ Caran saw no reason to lie.
Paul shook his head sadly. ‘A pity. Don Ramiro won’t like to hear that you turned down his invitation and then went off in the opposite direction with another man.’
‘How much control over my life has Don Ramiro?’ she asked. ‘I’m not engaged to him.’
‘I wish to heaven you were!’ Paul spoke with intense feeling.
Caran smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Paul. I didn’t neglect the guests. If I’d gone to Granada the day before I wouldn’t have been here to settle them in properly. Besides, you don’t have to tell Don Ramiro every little detail. I shan’t inform him.’
He walked moodily along the path with her. ‘You don’t realise how important it is to keep on the right side of that man.’
‘You can do that admirably. As for me, I don’t really count in the end. I’m only an employee.’
‘But our most important one,’ Paul assured her. He talked about several small details concerning the lettings, then asked suddenly, ‘You’re not thinking of getting married to that chap Eldridge, are you?’
Caran laughed. ‘So far he hasn’t asked me, and I doubt if he ever would. He’s not the marrying kind.’
‘That’s all right, then.’ Paul sighed with relief. ‘I’d hate to think of losing you to that footloose mudlark.’