At twenty past four an old woman dressed entirely in black trudged across the square carrying a basketful of field herbs. A little later, a grizzled donkey hobbled by pulling a rickety square cart driven by a shrivelled brown man under a big hat.
Getting on for half past four, the doors to the town hall were mysteriously opened, Janet didn't see who it was who performed the miracle! She heard a rattling and a creaking from inside, but when she stepped through into the dimness there was nothing to be seen but a shadowy flight of stone steps winding upwards, and ahead through open glass doors, a courtyard drenched in greenery and steeped in the same phantom silence.
She mounted the stone staircase, a little of her confidence slipping away as the sound of her footsteps echoed away to the very roof of the building. Up on a very drab landing she was met by a very drab door, but the roughly painted sign hung lopsided over the letter box lifted her heart. Ayuntomiento.
She checked with her Spanish book just to make sure that it really did mean Town Hall, then, all her carefully rehearsed Spanish phrases at the ready, she went inside.
It was the smallest council room she was ever likely to see, being about ten feet by five. Alongside the door was a sombre wooden counter, and behind this stood an old green metal filing cabinet. The sole decoration on the puttycoloured walls was a faded commercial calendar hung opposite the door.
Janet addressed her opening remark to the man who stood leaning negligently against a high stool behind the counter nicking absently through a newspaper. He wore a thin grey uniform which had a wrinkled livedin look about It His face, showing traces of the afternoon siesta, was stillpuffy with sleep.
'Buenas tardes.' Janet smiled at him uncertainly. 'Quiero audiencia con alcalde.''
'Que?' The clerk's face, blank before, grew even blanker as he looked at her.
Janet blushed madly. She knew her accent was bad, but she didn't think it was that bad. She tried again, reciting the words slowly so that they must have some meaning. The man, anxious to put her out of her misery, listened attentively. He nodded. His face brightened. It almost seemed as though he understood. Then looking blank again he winced apologetically, "Como!
'The mayor! Alcalde!Throwing all technical knowhow to the wind, Janet rook to driving it home by the sheer force of her words and her waving arms. 'I want to see the mayor. Me! Alcald?'
At last a flicker of comprehension crossed the clerk's face. His features lit up slowly like sunshine travelling across a darkened courtyard, until he burst out joyfully, exploding with relief for them both, 'Ah, si! El Alcalde!' He nodded vigorously and grinned happily, then his face dropped rapidly back into shadow again and shaking his head he told her precisely and quite definitely, 'No.'
Oh dear! Janet sighed. He obviously still didn't understand. She renewed her efforts and found that he did understand but she could make head nor tail of his reply. Si, he was happy for her to see the mayor. But no, it was impossible for her to see the mayor. He kept on firing the word 'Valencia' at her.
She battled on, and after ten minutes, and as many references to her Spanish book, she sorted it all out what he was trying to tell her. It seemed that the mayor was always glad to see anyone, but at the moment the mayor was in Valencia on a visit concerning council matters, and wouldn't be back for ten days.
'Ten days !' Janet wailed.
'Mas o metwi.' More or less, shrugged the clerk expressively.
When Janet tried to find out if there wasn't someone else she could see on a matter which was of extreme importance, she was met again with that emphatic Spanish 'No.' She must come back in ten days, she was told, and then she could state her case.
At a loss to know what would happen if a serious calamity befell the village while the mayor was away attending meetings in Valencia, Janet thanked tins man with a wan smile and left.
She went down the stone steps and out into the sunshine with a feeling of anticlimax. Ten whole days! What a maddening waste of time. If only she had arrived a day earlier. Apparently the civic party had just left.
The Plaza de Espafia was fast showing signs of life. The shutters had been opened at the tobacconists and children in checked smocks were skipping home from school. She went down the hill past shadowy figures in the doorways, cursing her luck, yet at the same time nursing a certain complacency. At least if site couldn't see the mayor of the village, neither could Mr. HighandMighty Bruce Walbrook.
No sooner had she thought of the man than there he was swooshing round the corner at the bottom of the street, in a lowslung expensivelooking car of a lustrous midnightblue colour. As he came whispering up the hill towards her Janet tossed him a flashing uncommunicative gaze. She saw by his gleam that he knew where she had been. She informed him in the same way that she knew where he was going, and walked on.
Reaching the spot where she had left the bicycle she found it surrounded by a group of children. They were chattering happily amongst themselves, but stopped abruptly when they saw her, fixing her with that same look of blank curiosity which she had encountered all the way through the village. She smiled to show that she didn't haveanother head tucked away somewhere and one by one they relaxed, some to shoot her their cheeky smiles, others to skip around.
They were obviously well aware of the tourist contingent on the island for as she pushed her bicycle out, they chanted at a safe distance, 'Inglesa!Inglesa!'
Fascinated by their big black eyes and beautiful brown faces, Janet would have liked to get to know them better, but they were seized with agonising shyness and would do nothing when she spoke to them but dance or giggle at a distance.
Giving it up, she waved and started walking. The hill dropped away so steeply from the village she didn't trust herself to cycle down it until she had gained a little more practice.
She had arrived almost on to level road when she heard the whooshing sound coming down behind her, and knew without turning that it was Bruce Walbrook. She tried to communicate to him by the prim set of her shoulders her undisguised pleasure at his fruitless journey.
She was quite unprepared when he pulled up alongside her—so much so that the look of warlike satisfaction was still stamped on her face when she turned. It clashed with something similar in his own wintry blue gaze, then he was asking in icily polite tones, 'Do you want a lift back?'
Thank you, but I've got my own transport,' Janet replied, straddling her bicycle haughtily, if somewhat wobbly. The dark polished car slid away and she was left swerving about the road trying to maintain her balance.
By the time she had got to pedalling along smoothly, the car was out of sight. She didn't see it again until she arrived hot and dusty, via the farm road, at the gates of the villa. Cycling nonchalantly past, she caught sight of the gleaming dark blue shape parked inside the gateway.
Round the corner, she wheeled the bicycle along the rough strip of track and left it leaning against the wall ofthe house on the terrace. There was no chance of sneaking indoors unnoticed with Dale around. He barked long and delightedly to let the whole world know that she had finally arrived back after her gruelling ride.
She found her mother fresh and vivaciouslooking, after her siesta. Lucky enough to possess a reasonable figure, she wore new white slacks and a brilliantly patterned afternoon blouse, with a certain dated flair. She received the news about the mayor being absent from the village for almost two weeks with as much concern as if she had been told they had run out of bread at the baker's. And in her fussy comforting way she soothed Janet with, 'Never mind, dear, I'm just about to make some lemon tea. You'll find it very refreshing after your ride, and we can sit on the back terraceand let Dale have a run in the meadow.'
Janet went to wash the dust off with a frustrated smile. Later, sitting where basket-work chairs and table looked out over the low balustrade of the terrace, she had to admit it was pleasant and relaxing.
The sun had moved round to the back of the house, and mellowing slightly now with late
afternoon it painted the outlines and ridges of the mountains with lilac and purple and pockets of gold. The countryside bathed in the same golden sheen was lit with a thousand colours that had never been there before; the bright copper red of the earth, the rich almost luminous greens of the trees and grass, the rosy pink glow of the villa walls, and the muted grey of the track.
It was fun to watch Dale's quivering tail and upended rear as he dug frantically in the meadow for the elusive fieldmouse, tearing off now and again to give the livestock at the bottom a stirring up. But afraid that she was enjoying herself, Janet said ruefully, sipping her lemon tea, 'This is all very well, Mother, but I didn't come out to Ibiza to sit and look at the view. I ought to be doing something about the track.'
'Now, Jan,' Mrs. Kendall scolded lightly, 'it's no use tying yourself up in knots over something which can't be helped. You might as well relax now that you're here. And the change will do you good. You said yourself you didn't expect to get anything done in a hurry.'
Though Janet sighed, she didn't see what else she could do but fall in with her mother's suggestion. After her trip to the village this afternoon, no one knew better than she that nothing was going to divert the civic machine from its chosen course, not an earthquake nor a typhoon.
She knew her mother's routine well enough—pottering about the house and garden during the day, listening to the English radio in the evening while she knitted dainty garments for her grandchildren. After working and saving for more than a year, Janet didn't think that such a life would go down badly, for a while at least.
She sighed again, and agreed, smiling, 'I suppose you're right. Nothing will happen until the mayor gets back, so I might as well make the best of it.'
'Of course you must.' Mrs. Kendall hovered happily over the table fiddling with this and that. 'I've got some shopping to do,' she sparkled animatedly. 'Well go into town tomorrow and make an afternoon of it.' And on a pleased burst of affection she bent to give her daughter a quick hug, exclaiming bubbling, 'Oh, I do love having you here!'
But though they had resigned themselves to the fact that there was nothing to be done about the track for the time being, Janet found it difficult to adopt her mother's equanimity during the evening when the cosiness of the indoors was disturbed by the searchlight glare of headlights swinging round the living room walls, and cars came, first one and then another, crunching up the drive to park with much slamming of doors.
On the pretext of stepping out for a breath of air, she stood fuming in the darkness at the sight of the big side entrance gates opposite, swung wide, and lights streamingdown the steps to welcome the noisy, laughing guests. Though the villa stood well back inside the grounds there was no mistaking that this too was brilliantly lit for the occasion.
Glowering at the highhandedness of the owners' calmly staking their claim to the track, on the advice no doubt of their precious lawyer, she flung her glance across to where the faint strains of music drifted out over the grounds.
She could imagine Bruce Walbrook blending in suavely with the party scene. The thought only spurred her on more, to get the better of him when she could.
CHAPTER FOUR
The bus to the town of Ibiza was supposed to leave the village at three o'clock. Mrs. Kendall knew better than to be up at the top of the farm road before ten past, and the bus came trundling along at twenty past. All part of the Spanish way of doing things, Janet mused to herself humorously.
It was a perfect afternoon. The sun shone warmly from blue skies, giving one a feeling of delicious freedom at being able to go about lightly clad. Janet wore a dress which had a shortsleeved lemon top and brilliant white skirt with broad lemon band at the hem. Her mother was in patterned salmon pink with a shady hat to match.
The bus, like a fat red ladybird moving in from the distance, wheezed to a stop beside them. There was no one to open the door. Familiar with the routine, Mrs. Kendall barded with the big knobbly handle and the door swung back, nearly knocking the two of them over. They boarded amidst her bright tinkling laughter and were met by a sea of passive dark faces.
The villagers were not apt to treat humour as a light matter. They measured out their smiles as possessively as a poor man counts out his coins, taking care not to let one go astray without first giving it careful consideration.
Unperturbed by the sombre scene, Mrs. Kendall found two seats, nodding 'Buenos tardes,' in her bubbling way to the women of her acquaintance. She was rewarded with a glimmer of warmth in the dark faces and a casually muttered, 'Buenas.' Rut they couldn't forgive Janet for being a stranger and she was followed by their mercilessly curious stares.
The journey to town was made in a slightly hairraising fashion. The bus tore along the country roads like a demon possessed screaming around bends on what was literally two wheels. Janet looked about her nervously, expecting to read similar lines of strain on the faces of the other passengers, but everyone was sitting so detached and content, even her mother, that she decided it must be only herself who wassqueamish.
They arrived at last in the bustle of the Ibiza old town, at a time coinciding with the reopening of the shops after the traditional siesta.
Mrs. Kendall's shopping being mainly for food, Janet wandered leisurely with her through a livery fruit, vegetable, and fish market, and later around a modern supermarket which she had found some time ago tucked away in one of the side streets.
When all the items on her list were ticked off, Janet bought herself a good pair of sunglasses and shady sunhat. Being of practical mind she chose the latter in a creamy bleached straw so that it would match anything she wore. It had a tallish crown with a gay sprig of straw fruit at the side and a turneddown brim which framed her face and her auburn hair, she thought, in a not unpleasing way.
They browsed for a while amongst the pottery, carved wood, and chunky leather goods outside the shops, but being loaded down with groceries they were both in favour of making for a pretty square nearby where cafe tables and chairs in the leafy shade along the sidewalk had lookedinviting.
It couldn't be said that the tourist season was in full swing, yet it was amazing the number of people, decked out in bright holiday garb, who lazed in the chairs. There were any number of cafes offering refreshment.
Coming in from a side street, mother and daughter stood considering delectably which one they would choose. It was Mrs. Kendall who first spotted the familiar figure in a doorway across the square. In her gay, spontaneous way she called out as though she would catch his eye. 'Why, look who's over there! It's our lawyer friend from (he villa. Now I wonder what he's doing down here?'
Janet had noticed Bruce Walbrook, briefcase in hand, amongst the passing people. As her mother spoke her attention became riveted on the building he was just leaving. It had the Spanish flagstaff outside and looked to be the equivalent, only more so, of the town hall in the village.
As the realisation struck her she grabbed her mother's arm and burst out with an angry gleam, I'll give you one guess! Ill bet you anything he's been to the town authorities about the track to see if he can go over the heads of the village council and save waiting for the mayor.'
She got the words out cursing inwardly at not having thought of that herself and urging her mother forward stepped out purposefully. 'Come on.'
'Where are we going, dear?' Mrs. Kendall moved reluctantly under the pressure of her arm.
'If he can try it, so can we,' Janet said, hurrying along and keeping her eye on where Bruce Walbrook stood talking to another man outside the building.
'Oh dear, do we have to?' her mother complained, giving the cafe" chairs a longing look, 'My feet ache, and I'm very dry.'
'We can have a drink when we come out. You're bound to know more Spanish than I do.' Janet, ushering her across the square, knew that Bruce Walbrook had seen them. She ignored that flinty gleam in his eye as he watched their approach, and before her mother could do anything but acknowledge the man with her brigh
t eager smile, she dragged her past and up the steps inside the building.
The procedure was much the same as that which Janet had been through in the village council chambers. The only difference was that after seeing the clerk behind the counter, they were shown into an office where a man behind adesk received them with a genial gold-toothed smile.
Janet made the verbal bullets for her mother to fire, but they fell from the older woman's lips amidst ripples of nervous laughter as she clutched at this and that Spanish phrase she had heard. What she couldn't put into words she mimed with about the same force that she waved the feather duster at home.
Perhaps because of a previous conversation, the Spanish official was familiar with the problem of the track. He was also adamant. He indicated with his own few words of English, plus several eloquently expressive gestures, that it was impossible for him to interfere in rural affairs. The disused railway line was the sole concern of the villages it passed through. If they wished to purchases strip outside San Gabrielle then they would have to see the official of that village.
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