She left the bicycle in the same place as before leaning against a wall, and taking her handbag from the basket she started to climb. A welcome sight half way up the street, or calle she mused, to give it its proper Spanish name, was a gargoyle fountain just off along one of the side turnings. Its bead was set to mark a flight of steps down the hillside, and out of its mouth water spouted into a stone basin. Janet had missed it on her last trip, but she took advantage of spotting it now to soak her handkerchief and cool her wrists. She patted her temples and the nape of her neck and cleaned thedust from her sandals. Her handkerchief rinsed off again in the ice-cold water, she felt as fresh as when she had left the house.
The village was as deserted as it had been on her last visit, though lines of washing strung in odd places, and the garlic aroma of cooking suggested that there was much activity behind the scenes.
She crossed the Plaza de Espana, a little more life here because the grocer's shop was open also the tobacconists. Leaving these behind she stepped into the yawning black entrance of the town hall.
Upstairs she met the same uniformed clerk, who showed he remembered her by his friendly, 'Buenos dins, senorita.' But then he waited with a questioning smile and she thought she was going to have to go through the whole performance again. However, a mere mention of the railway track and the mayor jogged his memory.
'Ah si! El alcalde.' He pointed to a building behind the church. 'Es en escuela.'
Janet did a rapid back track in her mind over the paltry bit of Spanish she had picked up. Escuela ... school? When she looked puzzled the clerk, trying to be illuminating explained expressively, 'La profesora!'
Profesora? Teacher? 'Ah, si!' Already Janet was lapsing into the idiom as it clicked home what the man meant. The mayor was the schoolteacher. She was turning to go when something else slithered into place. La profesora? Wasn't that the feminine? She turned back to the counter to query, 'Que es el twmbre del alcalde?' What is the name of the mayor?
'Nombre? Semrra Casellas Garcia?
Thanking the clerk, Janet went out and down the steps. She didn't know why it had never occurred to her before that the mayor might be a woman! Thinking about it, she stepped our into the sunshine and shrugged philosophically. Well, what difference did it make? The main thing was toget the track business sorted out. She made for the church and turned up the alley at the side. Halfway along she came upon a gap in a wall showing a large open space. New buildings stood over on the far side. She felt a little shy walking alone across the bare expanse in the sunny stillness.
To make sure she had come to the right place she asked a tiny figure in checked school smock, the roll collar coming up high under the small chin and buttoned at the back to protect every inch of personal clothing, 'Fscutta?'
The little girl, a thousand times more shy than she was, managed to get out a strangled 'Si,' then she fled for her life. Over where a low flight of steps led up to open double doors, a few more sixand sevenyearolds were dotted around. The boys wore the same highnecked smocks as the girls and looked infinitely more mischievous in this angelic attire.
They were not as awestruck as the girls at the sight of the figure moving in. They leapt up and down the steps, and tore in and out of the doorway, eager to show off their capabilities to the visitor. Janet guessed that she must have arrived at break time.
Perhaps some of the children's excitement communicated itself to the teacher inside for at that moment she came to the door to look out. Mounting the few steps towards her, Janet got a quick impression of a woman of about forty years of age, attractive in a rounded kind of way. She asked pleasantly, 'Senora Garcia?'
'Si.' The plump cheeks dimpled into a smile.
It was possible that in her official capacity as mayor, Senora Garcia had heard about Janet's requests to buy the track, for she shook her hand warmly and led the way inside.
They skirted rows of small desks and forms and came to another larger room where separate tiny tables each with matching tiny chairs were scattered over the area of the floor. The children's dining room, no doubt, Janet told herself, noticing the cool whitewashed walls and ceiling, the darkpainted wooden rafters.
The mayor chose a table at random and drew out two chairs. While she was doing this, a group of giggling tots had crept in and were making a pretext of washing their hands at a wash basin against the wall. At the same rime they darted cheeky glances across the room. A sharp word from the teacher put a stop to their giggles and they filed meekly out.
Settled in the low chair, Janet prepared to state her case. She hadn't been such a fool this time as to try and say it all in Spanish. Oh, no! She had used the time during the mayor's absence wisely, or so she thought, in putting everything down in writing that needed to be said. It had taken some doing with only her Spanish phrase book and her mother'' dictionary, but she reckoned after filling a couple of exercise book pages that she had covered the subject pretty thoroughly.
She took out the sheets of paper now from her handbag and opening them out handed them to the mayor.
Senora Garcia obligingly began to read. Janet, because she had nothing else to do for the time being, studied the woman leisurely.
She was indeed attractive at close quarters. Her hair was dark and wavy and appeared to have been recently set. The pale tangerine openwork crocheted jumper she wore over a neat hipclinging skirt gave a warm bloom to her dark skin and accentuated the rose pink of her cheeks; its abort sleeves showed off to perfection her plump rounded arms.
She wore a gold wristwatch, the neat band of which sank into the flesh at her wrist attractively. On one plump hand flashed two expensive rings. A gold chain and pendant rested similarly in the curve of her ample bosom.
Occasionally, as she read, her sunny features were lit with humour. Possibly it was the Spanish she had written down which was a bit comical, Janet mused to herself. Butwhat did that matter so long as the message was understood? This seemed to be the case, for at last the mayor placed the papers down and uttered a practical, 'Si'
Janet waited expectantly, hopefully. Perhaps the reply would be favourable.
If it was she learned nothing of it. Senora Garcia smoothed out the papers on the table while she framed in her mind what she was going to say. She took a breath, opened her mouth. After that Janet was lost, swept away on a torrent of Spanish that came tumbling about her ears, washing over her head, buttering her on all sides.
As she struggled to stay afloat, gasping for the odd word to cling to, Senora Garcia, amidst the outpour, shrugged, lifted her hands, widened her eyes, traced her fingers along the table, and talked.
Eventually the torrent subsided. It became a stream and then a trickle, and at last the mayor brought herself to a stop and stalled.
Janet, dazed from the onrush, could only give a weak smile in return and murmur apologetically, Tni sorry, I— er—don't understand...'
The mayor gave her a puzzled twinkle, then as it dawned on her she rose. 'A!t No comprende. Momentito? She called someone's name and after the sound of a scuffle a small girl came in from the next room. There was a rapid interchange of Spanish between pupil and teacher, after which the girl looked shyly on while Janet was told, 'Calle San Sebastian, numero cuaranm y sies...' The mayor wrote the address down for her, and made a painstaking explanation, the gist of which Janet couldn't fail to gather.
It seemed that the girl's brother Bartolome' worked as a receptionist at a hotel in town and had learned to speak quite good English. If Janet would go to his house and bring him to the school he would be able to explain what the mayor had been trying to say to her.
Janet thanked Senora Garcia, and smiling gratefully at the little girl she went out. The paper said number forty-six, and she had been given to understand that the Calle San Sebastian was only in the next street to the school.
She went across the playground and out through the gap in the wall it would be handy to have an interpreter, she told herself, pleased with the idea. Save
a lot of time and trouble. Pity her mother hadn't thought to tell her about Bartolome', though she had so little contact with the village it was more than likely that she didn't even know of his existence.
Janet walked up by the church the way she had come and turned into the next calle. She soon saw by the low numbers on the doors that she would have been better to go along from the school and nirn into the street at the other end. However, it was no good worrying about that now.
She checked off the numbers as she walked. Twelve .,. fourteen ... sixteen. The Calle San Sebastian led out to the edge of the village and the houses became more spread out towards the end, standing in plots of countryside on their own.
Bartolome's house turned out to be more of a farm and clung to the hillside overlooking the plain. Sacks of grain were piled up against the south wall, and two tethered dogs barked the place down, as Janet traversed the winding track. She came upon an open cobbled area fronting the house, where hens clucked about and potted plants grew luxuriantly green in the shade.
A woman in black, with black apron, was just coming out onto the step from the house. In her hand she held a saucepan. Flinging the contents across the patio, she eyed Janet with sharp curiosity and rattled off a question in Spanish.
'Bartolome? Vive equi?'Janet asked haltingly. The woman's answer was to shout across to the small building facing the house, Tollo!' She followed this with a tirade which was an onslaught on the ears, then turned back indoors.
Janet was left standing on the patio. In a moment a youthful figure came out of the outhouse, which was obviously the washhouse, for he was swathed in a towel which he was rubbing vigorously around his cars and dripping chin. He wore gumboots, and jeans zipped up at tie front to hug his thin hips, and a cotton shirt tucked back from his soapy chest. He had a shock of unruly black hair, and thick dark sideburns which framed an impudent expression.
The towel coiled round his neck now, he gave Janet an unabashed smile which showed that one of his front teeth had been broken off halfway. This made him look even more boyishly mischievous, though he was probably eighteen or nineteen years old.
'Are you Bartotome?' Janet asked, unable to help smiling at his infectious grin.
'Yes, I am Bartolome, or Tollo, they call me,' he shrugged, his grin spreading wider.
Janet explained her business and asked him if he would agree to act as interpreter for her at the school.
'Of course. I have only to finish dressing.' His English was staid and musical and not at all in keeping with the exuberant vitality he radiated. In his clumping gumboots he swaggered noisily into the house, drawing Janet after him with the prosaic and grinning, 'Please come inside and take a seat.'
He waited long enough for her to enter a bare room, then trudged off further into the recesses of the house, yodelling at the top of his voice a snatch of some Spanish pop song. Janet stood around uncertainly, listening to the floating strains, and hoping he wouldn't be long. It was some time now since she had left the school. She knew, however, that it would be useless to point out that she was in a hurry, and in the end she looked round for a seat. The room had a bare stone floor and about halfway in at the side stood a small circular table draped with a heavy red cloth. Over this was suspended a bare electric light bulb. There was nothing elsethen until the far wall where two wooden armchairs stood side by side next to a television in the corner and a sideboardcumbookshelf which was stuffed with papers and littered with ornaments.
Janet walked over and sat in one of the armchairs. Across from her on the other side of the outer door she now had a view of a yellow halftiled kitchen. The light was on, and judging by the shadows on the wall and the clatter of utensils there was quite a bit of activity going on in there. Even now and again, while she sat and waited a woman, different from the first one she had seen outside, came into the kitchen doorway and fixed her with a sharp penetrating stare. Janet, by now, was quite used to the Ibicenco's curiosity and she knew no rudeness was intended by the stare. Just the same she couldn't find the nerve to smile at the dark set face.
She was beginning to grow impatient when Tollo finally breezed in through double doors at the back of the room. She couldn't think what had kept him. He still wore his great gumboots and he still wore his jeans. About the only thing he had changed was his sports shirt, and this he wore flapping about him and unbuttoned most of the way down from the neck.
'Now I am ready,' he said grandly with his gappy grin, as though he had changed into white tie and tails. He led the way out, firing a barrage of Spanish into the kitchen as he passed which no doubt explained his errand.
On thestep outside he stopped Janet. 'One moment, please,' and swaggered away out of sight. A second later she beard the rumble of a car engine, and then a chubby Utile seat, the model that many of the islanders used to get about, came bumping into view. This one had the dull look of old age and the interior was much broken down, but it seemed to suffer no other handicap.
Tollo got out to open the door for her with a proud air. She sat in on something which was more flock stuffing thanseat, then he threw himself in at the wheel and tore down the winding track at breakneck speed.
Janet tried not to appear uneasy as they screeched out on to the Calk San Sebastian, shaved a dog sitting on the curb, and bumped and floundered round on to the street of the school. She hadn't the heart to look squeamish with Tollo jauntily gripping the wheel with his uncouth smile, and obviously showing oft for her benefit. Twinkling at his unruly look, she couldn't for the life of her see him as a smooth receptionist behind some hotel desk, but she supposed in the right clothes he probably looked more the part.
He would have chattered on carelessly the whole of the way. Janet, however, considered it wiser to hold her tongue until they bad come to a stop. Only when they had left the car and were walking across the playground back to the school did she feel sufficiently relaxed to start up the conversation again.
'Your English is marvellous, Tollo,' she told him smilingly
'Oh,' he scuffed his steps alongside her with a modest grin, 'it is not so good Every time, in the summer I learn plenty, but in the winter I forget it all again.'
Janet was about to make some laughing rejoinder when her eye caught sight of another entrance into the school grounds, probably the one the teachers used, over to the side of the main building. She hadn't noticed it before, but she saw it now all right, for parked just inside the gateway was a familiar dark Hue polished car.
Her heart started to bang in her throat. She might have known Bruce Walbrook would be on the scene before long! She wondered how long he'd been here, and quickened her step, trying to keep the strain out of her smile as she listened to Tollo's easy chatter.
Inside, at the desks, the children must have been instructed to carry on with the lesson, for, apart from the odd stifled giggle, they were all huddled painstakingly overtheir books. Janet walked briskly past the desks, her eyes fixed on the open doorway of the children's dining room. Even before she reached it, she heard the resonant timbre of those familiar tones Soaring through to her. She went right up into the doorway hardly caring whether she ought to or not.
Bruce Walbrook was there, as she knew he would be. He sat opposite the mayor, and not in the least put out by the fact that his lean immaculatelysuited frame looked slightly incongruous on the child's low chair.
That he had seen her, Janet was in no doubt. Still she made no attempt to back out. If he thought she was going to disappear on his account he was mistaken. After all, she had been here first. With this thought in mind she grimly stood her ground in the doorway. Tollo contented himself with slouching against the wall beside her, and sending surreptitious grins towards his small sister, who sat writhing sheepishly over her book.
Janet couldn't keep her attention away from the table in the dining room. She watched with intense irritation Bruce Walbrook's easy style and manner. It wasn't enough that he was looking his best, his pale suit enhancing
his crisp dark hair and white smile, he was also speaking Spanish with the relaxed air and ease of a native. As he sat there charming the mayor out of her seat, she cheerfully hated him.
Senora Garcia, she knew, was totally oblivious to her presence. Her round attractive, features were slightly flushed. She chattered, and laughed occasionally, lost to everything but the tall Englishman sitting across the table from her.
At last the conversation came to an end. Bruce Walbrook rose at the same time as the mayor. He shook her hand with a suave smile. She looked up at him with overbright dark eyes and a certain coyness. She saw Janet and Tollo then and waved them in smilingly, showing absolutely no embarraasment at having enjoyed the company of their predecessor.
Bruce Walbrook greeted Janet with a slight bow as he passed her in the doorway on his way out. 'Good morning.' His blue eyes on her gleamed ironically. She looked daggers at him and left him to go in and sit down with Tollo.
When the three of them were settled around the table and in view of the fact that the Fords' attorney had already spoken for them, Janet decided to get Tollo to state each point of her case clearly and see how it went from there.
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