by Jane Arbor
Emma demurred: “I can’t do that. There is no return bus from Gechla today. Only the Tetuan rapido, which doesn’t stop. And I promised Señora de Goria that I would see that Ayesha gets back tonight.”
“Nevertheless, I am asking you to drive back while the light remains,” said Pilar, again with the little air of decision which became her so well. “I shall explain to Leonore that I insisted on it. Because if Ayesha makes an importance of” - she raised an eloquent “hitch-hiker’s” thumb - “The rapido will stop for her.” She turned to Ayesha. “That is so, is it not? When it is urgent, people may halt the bus in that way?”
Ayesha agreed in a flood of mixed Arabic and Spanish, and upon Emma’s assurance that if the outward journey were at all taxing, she would drive back soon, Pilar waved “Salud” and let them go.
Beyond the boundaries of the city there was so little traffic that it seemed as if most people had learned to come to terms with the rain as they had with the noon heat - by giving it best and staying at home. Their own little car bucketed along gallantly enough. But it was designed for open driving during nine months of the year, and today, its hood became a bellying trap for the wind which continually lifted the side curtains, at its vicious will, in order to slap rain across Emma’s face.
Immediately ahead, the rain was a grey curtain, but though it had been falling for days, the long-parched crust of the stony mountainside still rejected it and flung it as flood water, tumbled with rocks and roots and creaming with angry foam, into the engorged valleys below. Everywhere, water was seeking new tunnels, and wherever the road ran, close and shelf-like, between towering slope and breathtaking drop, it took and temporarily broke the force of the flood into surging whirlpools on its surface. But, continually fed, the cascade would gather itself again to sweep on outward and down-ward towards the valley, leaving a mass of debris behind.
There were places which Ayesha pointed out as having yielded to the strain under the equally abnormal rains of two seasons back. And though these were repaired and sound now, Emma took them in a cautious bottom gear and was glad when they were passed. By the time she turned off the main road for the short run up to Ayesha’s village of Gechla she saw the strength of Pilar’s argument. She would certainly be foolhardy if she postponed her return journey until dark.
But it had been none too early when they had set out; at Ayesha’s home there were the usual gentle Moorish courtesies to be acknowledged, and it was late afternoon before she turned the car about.
She took the road with increased confidence, feeling she knew the bad spots. As she drove, she bade her private farewells to landmarks along a way by which she thought she would probably never travel again, except in memory. A lonely obelisk to a general of the Spanish Foreign Legion. A wide snake of river, swollen now but completely fordable in the summer. A mountain peak from which apes raided the foothill villages for fruit. And it was the same road, she remembered, which would take Mark for some distance into the mountains to Xauen, where it could be true that there was already “another woman” for him...
She jerked her thoughts away from Mark in order to give her full attention to a hairpin bend ahead. Beyond its blindness, she knew, the road dropped in a steep gradient which would call for special care. But at the turn itself, the crescendo of cleavage which should have warned her was drowned by the magnified roar of the wind under the hood, and as the flotsam of the mountainside hurtled in greedy tumult through a great fissure in the road’s surface, she had the grace of no more than a yard or two in which to act.
In a reflex which owed nothing to conscious thought, she braked desperately but too quickly. The steering slewed from her control and the ensuing wheel-skid was a glissade which halted the car just short of the chasm, but with its driving-side at a sickening tilt, sheer to the drop from the outer edge of the road.
For Emma, there was a moment of hopeless fatalism; of “If this must happen, let it be done with quickly”. But that was less than her real courage, and after the first surging panic of fear her will and ability to assess her plight reasserted themselves.
The nearside front wheel, she found, was actually off the road, which meant that the balancing point of the terrifying see-saw which the car had become was some underpart of the chassis on that side. Realizing that even her slight weight could load it to danger-point, she edged cautiously towards mid-seat - and was forced to check before she reached it. For even that slight movement caused the car to rock on its fulcrum. And though, as soon as she was still, it seemed to settle anew, she dared not stir nor stretch a hand towards the other door until she had looked at the problem again all round.
She stared, almost with detachment, at the broken road ahead as she saw her choice as one of two - that of remaining rigidly where she sat until help should come up upon her from the road behind, or of making another bid like the one which had just failed. The door on her own side gave only on to the sheer drop, and she could escape unaided only if she could reach and open the upper door or unfasten the hood on that side.
To decide against risking just yet a repetition of that hateful lurch was the easier choice. . . . Besides, though the loneliness of mountain, valley and sky about her was an almost tangible thing, she could argue that it could not possibly be long before some help came her way. And just one other person could help her to do what she dared not yet try again to do for herself.
She waited. Though the light was beginning to fail, she could see some distance down the long gradient to Tangier, but after what seemed an incredible time, nothing had approached her from that direction. And even if the corner behind her were not blind, she could not twist about in order to look that way.
The corner was blind. Her mouth and throat dried at the thought. Owing to the wind, she could hear nothing coming, and owing to the hairpin of the turn, no driver might see the car until he was upon it, too late!
Then her very panic became her spur. As instinctively and without conscious reasoning as, earlier, she had braked, she lunged for the handle of the far door, plucked at the hood-buttons and scrambled out on to the blessed safety of the road. The car had rocked, but had steadied once more, and as a nauseous wave of blackness swept over her she was forced to lean against it for support.
When she recovered, she switched on its lights, glad to find they worked. Then she faced the new choice of whether to stay there with the car or to walk back along the road to meet he help which must surely offer before long.
Somehow, in the space of a few minutes, the car turned from a trap to a refuge she was reluctant to leave. Frankly she faced the truth that she did not want to set out on that deserted road, and though she would not get back into the car for anything, she could find some shelter in its lee.
The total absence of traffic puzzled, then frightened her as the thought occurred that if the road had broken in other places, help might not reach her for hours to come. Even Pilar, thinking she might have waited to bring Ayesha back after all, would not be alarmed for her until after the Tetuan bus was due into Tangier. But that was not for some hours yet, and no one was going to worry for her until it became clear that neither she nor the bus was going to arrive.
That meant nightfall and after to be spent where she was.... Could she bear it? Well, she had to bear it, hadn’t she ? Or - had she, after all - ?
From the point of the corner where she had stationed herself she could see both ways now and, from the direction by which she had come, another car was approaching at last.
Relief welled within her. She stepped clear into its path, lifted her hand in a wide sweeping signal to its driver - and recognized its colour and line, its number and the man at its wheel in one incredulous flash.
She stared, and after he had halted there was an arrested instant in which Mark Triton, immobile in his seat, stared back at her. The next, he was out of the car and at her side, looking from her to the little car, perilous on its cliff edge, and from it to the gaping rift which had been the road.
/> “Emma! ” he breathed. “You -? That-!”
She nodded dumbly, needing to gather herself for the questions and possible criticism to follow. But none did. As if he guessed that, for the moment, she needed the reassurance of a physical strength greater than her own, Mark’s arms, hard, strong and satisfying, went about her.
She was ashamed of craving comforting so much. But she was grateful that he could subjugate the contempt with which he had last flung away from her to a genuine concern for her safety now. So she allowed herself to lean against him while he was willing to hold her close. Except for a couple of really bad moments, while she had been alone she had kept a tight rein on her control. But now she was trembling from head to foot and, remembering how he had once shaken her hard when she had weakly broken down before him, she thought that, at any moment, he might grow impatient and do it again....
Instead, he drew her closer still, crushing her to him as he pressed his lips to the wet scarf covering her bent head. Then, bewilderingly, incredibly, he was murmuring: “Emma, my little one, my heart, my dearest dear! You could have been killed, and I should have let you go without -You could have been killed, and I should have been too late for ever to tell you all you mean to me, all you’ve meant since our paths first crossed! But you shall hear me now, even though nothing you want for yourself includes me. I love you, do you hear? Love you, love you, however little you care —”
He allowed the words to fall away, as if in despair of the answer she could give. And in her wild longing to hold on to the illusion that she had heard him aright, Emma indeed found nothing to reply.
Could he be cruel enough to say such things without meaning them? But how was it possible he had meant them? For him, there had always been Leonore. He had never given a sign; the only times he had turned to her had been when he was piqued with Leonore. Was this such another time? She could not bear it if he was only making her a rebound for his pride now Leonore had rejected him for Ramón. And the ugly memory of his: “Scalp-hunting, they call it” - struck dully across the faint hope that it was love that waited for her, here in his arms.
They both began to speak together with her hesitant: “I don’t know what you —” and his: “All right. You needn’t say it. You can’t forgive the things I said?”
“I - I haven’t been able to forget them. But also, I couldn’t understand how, when you’d always been - kind, you could suddenly hate me enough to need to say them.”
“Hate you? I was too insane with jealousy for love of you, I’ve had to stand by, seeing you want some other man. First Trench. Then Galatas. Watching you trying to hold on to each in turn; failing, and yet never turning to me, however often I’ve tried to show you that you have all my heart!”
The miracle she had longed for, and still only half believed! Not raising her head, she said in a low voice: “I think I knew there was something wrong with my feel- feeling for Guy from the moment I first heard your voice. And I never wanted Ramón Galatas. It’s just that he is so prodigal with his empty attentions that they’re not always to be escaped. But I’ve treasured or agonized over almost every look or word of yours. I’ve wanted happiness for you with Leonore de Coria, if that was what you wanted, and if you had let me, I could have understood and suffered with you when she chose Ramón. If that’s loving, I’ve loved you all the time you’ve been in love with her —”
Gently he tilted her chin and looked wonderingly into her eyes. “Say that again,” he ordered. “Say ‘I’ve loved you’, before you make me explain how and why I’ve never loved Leonore!”
Obediently she said: “I’ve loved you. But how can you claim to love me when you were going to marry Leonore!”
He jerked his head up. “No! I’ve never deluded myself there was any love between us, and since you came, I’ve never thought twice of marrying her. Before - I admit I’d begun to consider the marriage of convenience which was what I knew she wanted —” He broke off to smile down again at Emma. “But why, I wonder,” he queried wryly, “now we’ve said the only important things, do we dawdle in a cloudburst while we explain away the rest? You are almost wet through, my darling; your hair is beginning to straggle, and I’m going to exact only one kiss for now and then tuck you into my car and whip you back to Xauen for the night.”
“To Xauen -?” At another memory, she stiffened involuntarily. But his lips were already on her brow, tenderly and without passion, as he murmured: “Why not to Xauen? It’s a long drive, I know, but we can’t bridge your crevasse in order to get through to Tangier, and I can take you to the hotel for the night.” He stood back from her swinging her hands. “Will you come?”
“But you? You’ll be staying there too?”
“Why - worried about the proprieties?” he teased. “You needn’t be. I have someone who’ll put me up.”
He made her go to his own car while he pushed the little one back on to the road, where it would not be a danger to any traffic which might get through. But when he came to take the driving-seat beside her she was grateful that he appeared to know that she would be a little shy with him, that the circuit between them needed to be joined again with gentle care.
Instead of making love to her, he confirmed that she had been to Gechla with Ayesha, asked her about how she had come upon the landslide, and agreed with her that probably others had held up traffic further back along the road.
“It’s all right though, as far as where we turn off for Xauen,” he told her, adding, “I admit I didn’t foresee the weakness you encountered ’way back. But I flatter myself I know the rest of the road to Xauen pretty well, having travelled it no fewer than four times in the last fortnight!”
“Four times?” Emfna echoed faintly.
He nodded. “Yes, I’ve an artist friend there, Gabrielo Silves. I thought Pilar would like, as a wedding present, a pair of water-colours to remind her of Tangier when she is in England or elsewhere with her naval lieutenant.
So I commissioned them from Gabrielo, forgetting that ‘manana' may be said to be his middle name!”
Emma’s heart leaped. “You mean you’ve had to go often to Xauen because of the paintings?”
“To worry Gabrielo about them, yes. He’s an endearing character but, for him, the ideal time for creative work is always 'manana' - tomorrow, never today. I’ve managed at last to wring them out of him, so he won’t be prepared to find me on his patio again so soon. But, for my trouble, he can put me up for tonight, and I daresay Señora Silves will be able to rustle up a dressing-gown and whatnot for you —” Mark broke off to smile down at Emma. “Happy, my love? What does it feel like to be proposed to on a near-precipice and then to be carried off for the night to a mountain lair?”
(One day, she thought, I’ll tell him how he demolished, without even knowing it, the last mean doubt I had of him!) At peace, she smiled back: “It feels like the nearest to absolute happiness I’ve ever known. Were - were you proposing to me, though?”
“What else? If you’ll marry me, do you imagine I’ll let you escape?”
“If I’ll marry you -! Mark” - she used his name, shyly, for the first time - “why did you never let me guess before?”
“It wasn’t easy. I tried to tell you once that, from my first sight of you, I’d known an almost unbearable need to protect you and care for you, and I hadn’t lacked chances to show it, as you know —”
“No,” she agreed, remembering how often he had been there for her when she had most needed help. But he was continuing: “All the same, I made myself hold back, believing you needed time to recover from Trench. And then, before I thought it was possible, you had forgotten him, you seemed to be welcoming attentions from Galatas. Don’t you remember how you snubbed me, the day the four of us lunched at El Minzah? That was the first time you had met him, and it was before you had even taken up duty at the villa!”
Emma bit her lip. “I knew you couldn’t understand. I had to snub you, as you call it, because you wanted to drive Pilar and me back
there, and she was afraid of what Leonore might think. But I don’t suppose you’ve ever realized how much Pilar’s happiness or wretchedness used to be influenced by what Leonore ‘thought’?”
“I can guess, I believe. In fact, at the beginning I saw as much of Leonore as I did, partly for Pilar’s sake. Someone had to protect the child, I felt, and by going pretty often to see Leonore, I could also keep an eye on her. After you came, I could leave Pilar to you, I knew. But then, you see,” Mark smiled wickedly, “I had to frequent the villa as often as before in order to see you!”
“But Leonore claimed you were engaged!”
“I’ve told you - before I met you, we were probably at the brink of it. Not for love on either side. That was well understood. But Leonore is decorative, to say the least, and she would never put a social foot wrong, even if she never in her life put a sympathetic one right. And I deluded myself that when a man reaches my age without having loved, the decorative and social qualities must count instead.”
“Haven’t you ever loved, Mark?”
“I’ve known since - when was it, a day in July? - that I’d never really loved before, for all the times that I confess I’ve tried! As for Leonore, after a time I knew quite well that she was having to weigh her feeling for Galatas against the value of marriage to me.”
“You knew, then, that it wasn’t only on his side? That she wanted him too?”
“I suspected it. And then it was confirmed for me. I came early to the villa one night to call for Leonore, and while I was waiting on the patio, they were together on the balcony to Leonore’s room
Emma said, breathlessly: “One night, when the levante was blowing? You knew they were there? You’d heard what they said?”
“Enough to underline all I’d suspected - that they were having an affair which Leonore wanted to keep from me. And even if I’d thought of her seriously before that, can you imagine I would have married her after it? But —” he paused, working something out, “how do you know which night it was? The levante was blowing, as a matter of fact.”