A guest from the villa, undoubtedly. Janet would have turned away then, but something about the autocratic bearing, the inflexible line of the lean jaw, made her gaze become riveted on him. As he came nearer an awful realisation flashed across her mind. She said to her mother, quickly under her breath,
That manwho is he? Do you know?'
Mrs Kendall, her face bright with recognition, recalling probably some old newspaper photograph, breathed, 'Why, yes, that's him! That's the man I told you about, dear. The lawyer who arrived at the villa last night.'
Catching sight of a flinty blue gaze, the same one mat had frozen her in her seat, or rather, his seat on the plane, and then watched with odious satisfaction as she was removed from it for his benefit, Janet hissed, sending a venomous look his way, 'You don't mean to say he's Bruce Walbrook?'
CHAPTER THREE
Mrs Kendall was too busy offering polite smiles and nods across the patio to bother with a reply. Not that Janet needed one. She had felt from the start that the man was an enemy. She was more than convinced of the fact now.
She heard those crisp deep tones once more as he greeted briskly while strolling, 'Good morning to you. It's a beautiful day.'
'Good morning!' Mrs Kendall called back gaily. 'Yes, it is a lovely day.'
Janet, who was having none of his austere charm and chat, swung contemptuously away, and on a pretext of taking Dale for a run directed her steps quickly towards the back meadow. It was simply a matter of following the terrace round to the back of the house, then taking the winding path that started at its centre.
The path led down as far as the big old almond tree which marked the boundary of her mother's property. She kept her eyes on the tree, chattering lightly to Dale, who romped ahead, while coping with the burning in her checks after her encounter with a man she had fervently hoped she would never see again. She pulled a wry face when she recalled now her ignorance of his motives for being on the plane. Not only was he going to stay right next door to her mother's house here in Ibiza, but he had come over for the express purpose of gaining ownership of the track for the people at the villa.
Her brown eyes flashed as she moved rapidly away from the house and the suave greeting he had offered just now. He needn't think she was going to act as though it was just a friendly fight!
She arrived at the small paddock at the bottom of the meadow, with its higgledy-piggledy hutches and stalls, where her mother kept various livestock to supplement the food table. Hens fluttered and clucked about inside the wire netting, colliding with padding cackling ducks. There was a small goat tethered to a grass patch where it stood munching happily, and a family of white rabbits sat fat and round, blinking contentedly in the sun.
While she was down here Janet thought she might as well have a look to see if there were any eggs about. Leaving Dale outside sniffing around the grass, she pushed aside the makeshift gate and leaned it back into place behind her. There was an old enamelled basin on one of the shelves near by. With this in hand she scouted around amongstindignant squawks from the hens and searched out three beautiful dark brown eggs. She lined the basin with a little straw to keep them safe and went on to give the goat a paton its bony sides.
In a lean-to shed at the end of the paddock was all the clutterer that her mother didn't care to have about the house,but couldn't bear to part with either. There was a very shabby grandfather clock, an old carpet sweeper, endlessbrooms, a disused gas fire, a broken sewing machine, and adozen more objects that were lost in the gloom.
What caught Janet's eye was the low-wheeled modemtype bicycle which her mother had used for shopping in England. She had brought it out with her to use for the same purpose in Ibiza, but obviously the idea had been shortlived.
After a few moments' poking around Janet left the paddock and, bowl of eggs in hand, closed the gate behind her. She looked around for Dale. She had only left him for afew minutes, but he was nowhere to be seen. Her heart missed a beat when she thought of him wandering away from the unfenced meadow. Then she saw him. He was offto the side of her, on the track, making himself disgustinglyfriendly with the detestable Mr. Walbrook.
'Dale, come here at once!' she called crossly, afraid to walk too quickly in case she broke the eggs. The little dog, much like a Cairn to look at but with the curling shaggy white hair of a poodle, ignored her completely and continued to nuzzle with tailwagging affection the hand that reached down to him.
Janet quickened her steps, maddened by his disobedience. Perhaps sensing some of her illhumour in the way she moved, Dale tore himself away at last and scuttled back to his own strip of field.
His reluctance to come when called had taken Janet almost on to the track. With him romping in front of her, she was preparing to wheel away, ignoring the lean figure framed against the pink walls of the villa grounds, when the blue eyes smote her icily, and the crisp voice clipped, 'I He your manners haven't improved.'
Janet had the grace to blush then, for she knew that she had been rude to him on more than one occasion. But it only angered her more to have to admit it, and staying to confront him she flared acidly, 'If you mean because I didn't stand cooing "good morning" to you at the house just now when I know why you're here, no, they haven't.'
It was obvious he was out for the sole purpose of weighing up the position of the disused railway track and the two properties. Flicking his gaze in from where it roamed over the villa walls, he said caustically, 'Perhaps we'd better introduce ourselves. I'm Bruce Walbrook. And as you've already stared, you know why I'm here.'
Janet drew herself up, bowl of eggs and all, and displaying her awareness she flashed back, 'I'm Janet Kendall, and you might as well know that I'm here for the same reason. I don't intend to stand by and watch my mother cheated out of what rightfully belongs to her.'
'I think well leave such words as cheating out of our vocabulary, shall we, Miss Kendall?' His voice was like the rustling of ice on a glacier stream.
In his wig and gown, or whatever it was lawyers wore, Janet could well imagine being frozen to the spot by his courtroom asperity. However, she was not on the witness stand, and brushing aside her qualms she retorted, 'Whatwould you call it? Perhaps you don't know that my mother has had first claim to this strip of track for the two years that she's lived alongside it. The Fords only arrived aweeks ago. How can they expect to have any rights to it.
'To put you into the legal picture, Miss Kendall,' a flicker of smiling scorn passed over the carved features, "your mother's strip of land was once part of villa property. Her house which the Westons chose to build on the other of the track is but a recent addition, which automaticputs it in second place, where claims are concerned, with the villa, which has stood for more than a century.'
' The old villa, yes!' Janet replied unmoved, 'but that's has been knocked down.'
'In point of law that makes no difference.'
Goaded on by his smooth rejoinder, Janet scoffed in his face, 'Whose law? Certainly not here in Ibiza. My mother has Mr. Weston's word that her house was designed to include the track as a drive. And that's the way he arranged it with the authorities in the village.'
Bruce Walbrook gave her a deprecating smile and taking itdown to his immaculate shoes he warned in his precise tones, I shouldn't depend on that if I were you. Arrangementshave a habit of falling by the wayside in theseplaces.'
'Precisely,' Janet fired back. 'So there's no reason for you optimistic either, is there?'
Marvelling at her nerve under the stringent blue gaze, she gave him a thin smile in return.
He fixed her with a steely look, then turning his attention along the track he said with a gesture of impatience, 'I failto see why such a small house needs a drive at all. It seems to me your mother could have some access made in from the farm road in the old wall fronting her garden. There's room inside to allow for a parking area.'
'The same might be said of the villa,' Janet seethed at the colossal highhandedness
of the man. Calmly lowering the value of her mother's property to the tune of hundreds of pounds!
'The villa grounds are largely ornamented,' he said icily. 'There is one small drive in from the gate. As the Fords are used to entertaining considerably, this is quite inadequate.'
'And I suppose that's a good enough reason for encroaching on a widow's property,' Janet tossed at him shrewishly.
'The track belongs to no one yet, Miss Kendall,' he said harshly.
Janet didn't care that his eyes held that glacial gleam of his profession again. She tossed her head at him and snapped, 'Well, as far as I'm concerned it belongs to my mother, and I intend to do all that I can to see that she gets it.'
Her glance crossing swords with his, he smiled his cold legal smile and inclining his lean frame in a disparaging shrug he stated, 'It's as well to know where we stand.' As Dale, tired of sniffing around by this time, set up an impatient yapping, he terminated the conversation with a brisk, 'Good day to you, Miss Kendall.'
'Good day to you, Mr. Walbrook.' Janet smiled acidly and turning, she walked off with the romping dog at her heels.
Emotionally strung up after their verbal battle, she followed the winding path up the centre of her mother's strip of meadow, only too aware that Bruce Walbrook was moving on a parallel with her, back the way he had come along the track. She gave no indication of her banging heart or quivering nerves, but talked gaily to Dale and teased him laughingly with the bowl of eggs she held over him. There was a door at the rear of the house, and wasting no timecrossing the back terrace she escaped on her trembling legs inside.
Her mother was beating something up in the kitchen. She sang out in her carefree, detached way as Janet went by, 'What were you talking to Mr. Walbrook about, dear?'
'Oh, just putting him in the picture, as regards the track,' Janet called back nonchalantly. She waited until her legs had stopped shaking, then sailed in to explain, I was telling him we wouldn't be agreeing to anything except one hundred per cent ownership.'
But her mother had forgotten already that she had asked the question, and busying herself between oven and table she espied the eggs Janet had brought in, and exclaimed, 'Oh, I'm so glad you found some more, dear. I thought I'd make huevos al plate for lunch. What do you think?'
'Well, seeing that I don't know what they are, let's just say that I'll chance it,' Janet laughed, relieved to be able to lose herself in domestic chat. However, though she took a hand lightheartedly in the preparation, and hummed to herself as she laid the table, it was over the tumultuous knowledge inside her that the fight for the track was really onAfter her clash with Bruce Walbrook just now there was no doubt about that. Thinking of him she was seized with a fierce desire to rush out and do something to outstrip him, instead of calmly setting out knives and forks. He was sure to be putting some plan into motion. On edge at the mere thought of it, she felt like a runner in a race, straining behind the starting tape, to get away before her opponent. Unable to contain her desperation, she said to her mother as casually as she could over lunch, 'By the way, I saw your bicycle down in the shed.
Don't you use it now?'
'I find I don't need it.' Mrs. Kendall poured two glasses of water from the carafe on the table. 'Miguel from the farm stops by with my bread and milk and any odd thing I want from the village, and I take the bus to do my weekly shopping in town.' Her hands fluttering about from onething to another it occurred to her to follow up the question with, 'Why do you ask, dear?'
'Oh, I thought I'd use it for transport while I'm here. If you don't need it.' Janet shrugged, and as her mother nodded her approval, she went on, 'Actually, I thought I'd cycle up to the village straight after lunch and see if I can have a talk with the mayor.'
Mrs. Kendall pulled her daughter up with an amused light, reminding her, 'This is Ibiza, Jan. Nothing stirs in the village till after four. Even the church clock goes to sleep.' She laughed as she helped herself to more salad. 'They have to keep starting it up around tea time.'
Botheration! Janet sipped on her water meditatively. She had forgotten all about the siesta period. That meant more waiting around before she could do anything.
However, determined to make use of the time in which she was compelled to cool her heels, she helped with the dishes, then settled at the table in the living room with a writing pad and her Spanish phrase book.
While she battled through the afternoon memorising such sentences as, 'Where is the town hall?'—'Iwish to see the mayor,' the rest of the household succumbed to the Spanish way of life. Her mother dozed on her bed in her shuttered bedroom, Dale slept with his paws in the air in his basket, a contented smile on his face, and Twiggy stretched luxuriously on her chair in the sun.
Janet wandered out there occasionally, testing herself without the aid of the Spanish book, on what she had rehearsed over and over again. All wasquiet over at thevilla. She wondered ominously what Bruce Walbrook was up to. It occurred to her to realise that there was nothing he could do, except go and see the mayor, as she was doing.
In a fever lest he should beat her to it, she went in and freshened up quickly with a wash and touch of makeup, even though it was only half past three, and hurrying down the meadow she wheeled out the bicycle.
It would have been less bumpy to wheel it back up the path as far as the house, but she chose the rocky track so as not to disturb Dale into a frenzy of excited yapping. She stepped as quickly as she could past the patio and the open front door and mounting when she got to the farm road, she pedalled silently off.
The big front gates of the villa were open as she passed, but there was nothing to be glimpsed, except a mass of luxuriant greenery and one or two cars parked close together inside.
The countryside was enveloped in that same sleepy silence she had left behind at the house. All the sound seemed to have been sucked away to beat back like a faint whisper from the far horizons. Only the occasional buzz of an insect, the lethargic cheep of a bird, could be heard on the Still air around the almond groves.
Up on the main road the tyres of the bicycle added a dull Swish as they spun over the asphalt. Though it was only April, Janet was startled at the heat of the sun. It beat down on her bare head, and gave a glare to the white road that hurt her eyes. She made a mental note to buy a shady hat and sunglasses at the first opportunity.
Coming into the village it became necessary to pedal harder because of the steep rise uphill, In the end she had to give it up, and pushing the bike the rest of the way, she left it at the bottom of a sloping street to pick up on herreturn.
There wasn't a soul to be seen. She might have cycled into a ghost town. The houses, where the sun struck down between the narrowness of the alleys, were boarded and shuttered as though never to be opened again Staring about her, as she walked a little apprehensive in the silence, it didn't occur to Janet to turn. When she did so accidentally, she was taken unawares by the fantastic view.
It ought to have dawned on her that, climbing as she had been all the time, there might be something like this overher shoulder. Instead, finding the whole plain clear up to the foot of the mountains spread out below her came as a delightful shock.
Out where a grassy platform ran between two houses she stood poised on a hillock, to drink in the view. She could see the ribbon of farm road and her mother's tiny white house beside the pink palmshrouded block of the villa. She could see the farm perched on its little hill, and in the distance, within the sheltered slopes of the foothills, and dotted across the open plain, were the tiny white clusters of villages, like San Gabrielle.
She turned away at last, amused to think that she had spent a whole two weeks here once without knowing that such a view existed.
Her scant knowledge of Ibizan villages told her that there would be a main square somewhere which would probably house the civic buildings. She found the Plaza de Espana at last, after much wandering, and was rewarded with the view on the other side of the hill; rolling m
eadowland dominated by a strip of azure sea, winking and shimmering against the skyline.
The most likely looking of the municipaltype buildings which stood in the square was one with the national flag pole above its double doors. Congratulating herself on her clever deduction, Janet made her way over, to discover that this was almost certainly the town hall.
It was, by this time, approaching four o'clock. Still no one stirred in the village. She strolled past a post box, and a shuttered front that looked like a tobacconist. The church clock said five to one. Obviously it had packed up again, she smiled to herself. Set in an ornate facade above cool dim archways and alcoves, the building was so brilliantly white it danced before the eyes against the deep blue of the sky.
She took her gaze on thankfully to the dark sombre doors of the town hall. They remained solidly locked, through tofive past, and then ten past four. Though she waited, keeping her gaze fixed on them in between impatient glances at her watch, they emitted not the whisper of a creak.
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