She stressed the importance, indeed the necessity of a drive up to her mother's house. She pointed out that her mother had lived beside that stretch of track for two years and no one, up till now, had questioned her right to it. She made it clear that the house had been bought on the agreement that the strip of track went with it.
To all this the mayor nodded gravely and understandingly, as Tollo explained it to her, 'Si!Si!'
Janet felt quite heartened at her obvious sympathetic attitude. She waited eagerly for the replies. Tollo had to give these rather more thought, for the mayor tended to rattle on at length, leaving him no opening to make the translation. In the end he had to make the salient points as they came, lest he forget them in the barrage. He gave them to Janet, who was able to derive the rest from Senora Garcia's constantly changing expressions.
'Si. The senora understands the situation. Many people wish to buy parts of the old railway track where it adjoins their property ... the council have discussed this matter once before, but...' here Tollo stopped to give the expressive shrug of the Spaniard, 'they have no authority to do anything about it.'
'But I thought it rested with the local villages?' Janet interrupted, swallowing her exasperation.
Tollo put this to the mayor, who replied with a similar deep shrug.
'She say,' the youth grinned, wrestling with the word' to get the right meaning across, 'she is.. . like this...' He put his wrists together.
'Her hands are tied!' Janet gave the mayor a crestfallen look. 'But how are we going to get the track?'
To this Tollo interpreted the reply, 'She say she will have to write to Madrid to get permission to sell the land.'
Janet's heart which had been slowly sinking into the depths began to float up again. 'Can she do it soon?' she asked.
'Si. Yo escribe hoy.'
'She will write today,' Tollo interpreted.
Janet brightened. Well, that was something anyway. 'About how long will it take do you think?' she enquired.
The mayor hazarded a guess. 'Oh, unmet, mas a menos.'
A month! Janet was horrified. But thinking it over, she supposed it was a reasonable time for letters to pass buck and forth.
Senora Garcia rose, obviously feeling that she had left her young charges long enough, and Janet, not wishing to keep her from her work, rose and thanked her in Spanish for sparing the time for their talk.
'De nada.' The mayor shook her hand, in her warm, friendly fashion, and when she had exchanged a few light comments with Tollo, the two of them left.
Janet felt reasonably pleased with the interview. At least the mayor had shown herself to be sympathetic over the KendaUs' case, and she had offered to write to Madrid on their behalf. This meant that, despite the fact that she had spoken to Bruce Walbrook first, she was keeping an open mind on the matter.
Tollo left Janet in the calle outside the school ground'. 'Now I must go and get ready for work,' he told her with his slow brokentoothed grin.
She thanked him profusely for his help.
'Oh, it was nothing.' He sculled about in his modestclumsy way.
She watched him drop in, with a careless swagger, behind the wheel of the decrepit car and waved to him as he lore round the block sending everything scattering in his path.
Turning, she made her way back towards the Plaza de Espafia, then walked down the hill, with its magnificent views, to the road that led home. She got something of a jolt when she arrived at the bottom of the slope, tier mother's bicycle had gone. The grassy patch where she had left it sprouted yellow dog daises and waving green strands, but there was nothing to be seen of the red and chrome machine.
Worriedly she ran her eyes around the area. She was certain she had left it here against the wall. As she searched she moved up to the corner and let her glance swing round on to the main road. She saw the bicycle then. Caked with dust as she had left it, it was strapped to the rear of a familiar dark blue car which was parked in at the side of the road.
Bruce Walbrook was reclining behind the wheel pulling leisurely on a cigarette. He turned as Janet approached and said mildly, 'I took the liberty of stowing your conveyance in the back.'
Janet, beside the car, replied tartly, 'Did you have to? I find it rather useful.'
He leaned across, glinting at the way she had ignored his hint, and opening the door he said crisply, 'Get in. You're looking for trouble pushing a bike around in this heat.'
Janet stood her ground moodily. She didn't need him to tell her that. She had found the ride to the village very tiring in the hot sunshine. She hadn't been particularly looking forward to the journey back. Still, it irked herto have to give in to him. But what else could she do? He had made sure she couldn't cycle back.
Hating herself for lacking the strength to do anything about his compelling manner, she slid meekly into the White leather seat and sat coldly upright while he pulled the door to across her.
The car whispered into motion. Janet felt the cool leather against her overheated skin. As they whoshed cruisingly along the road which seldom saw more than a farm cart, she had to admit that the luxury of the upholstery was like a cloud under her throbbing body. She hadn't realised how much the morning had taken out of her until now.
She was sorely tempted to drop back and give herself up to the sheer comfort of being transported home without effort. The only thing that stopped her was her acute awareness of Bruce Walbrook. He sat beside her, faultlessly attired, yet flicking the wheel effordessly, one palesuited arm resting over the side of the car. Also there was the fact that she had started off with a pokerstraight back. She certainly couldn't continue in any other way now. However, she did go so far as to take off her sunhat to let the breeze waft coolly around her throat, hoping he wouldn't notice.
He seemed in no hurry to get back to the villa. He took the car along as though they were following behind a stream of traffic, instead of having the whole road to themselves, Janet couldn't say she disliked the restfulness of the motion. There was time to notice the multi-coloured wild flowers starring the countryside around them; the startling clearness of the mountains. The breeze danced about the seats refreshingly. The almond trees looked too green to be true.
They came to the farm road. Bruce Walbrook turned in, skirting the huge carob tree, and for a moment they were drenched in its black shade. He cruised along down past the villa gates and swung in on to the track. As they crunched lip its length, Janet smiled grimly to herself at the way he used the drive of their house as though it was his own.
She opened the door and got out as soonas the car stopped. The bicycle was unloaded and carried in on to the terrace at the same time that her mother came hurrying outof the house, a brilliant turban vying with her patterned cotton kaftan, flour up to her elbows. Undisguised pleasure was written all over her face as she gazed up at the distinguished figure. 'Why, it's Mr. Walbrook!'
'I gave the bicycle a lift, and talked your daughter into accompanying it,' he said drily, placing the dusty machine down against the wall.
'How very good of you. Won't you stay and have a cooling drink for your trouble?'
Janet's frown was lost on her mother, who was fluttering her flourtipped fingers and gaily playing the hostess. Bruce Walbrook paid no attention to her either. He gave her mother a slow white smile and replied, 'The idea sounds inviting.'
With set features Janet followed them both round on to the patio and stood by as the guest was offered a chair. Twiggy, the traitor, took to him straight away. She brushed around him, unashamedly begging for his advances, and nuzzled her snowy white neck over his lowered hand in a sickeningly affectionate way.
Dale, of course, considered him an old buddy. He waited for his pat, then settled himself down beside the chair as much as to say, women were all right but you couldn't beat a man for company.
Mrs. Kendall, who had disappeared indoors, returned within minutes, minus her turban, her hair rapidly combed and set into
place, and carrying a jug of fresh fruit juice, ice and glasses on a tray.
Janet found a place off to the side on a small stool. She watched Bruce Walbrook accept a glass, and as the tray hovered her way she shook her head. 'No, thanks. I'm not in the least bit thirsty,' she lied through parched lips.
Mrs. Kendall helped herself to a glass and took the other chair. She knew enough not to spoil the peace of their surroundings by too much chatter. At the same time she was careful to balance this with a steady flow of pleasant remarks so as to maintain a relaxed air.
Bruce Walbrook couldn't have looked more at home. With the dog and cat at his feet, a glass in his hand, he chatted easily and smiled lazily. Once or twice Janet fanhe saw a flicker of amusement in the blue gaze that d with hers. She had an idea he was enjoying himself at her expense.
She sat it out, and pretended to be indifferent to his thoughts and his company. Yet when be wasn't looking at her, she found herself drawn towards his conversation; towards watching the way his smile sloped, and the way he moved his hands.
She surprised herself by experiencing a pang of regret when he rose at last to go. She watched him bid her mother a suave goodbye and hardly knowing why, accompanied him to the edge of the terrace.
'Adios, Miss Kendall.' He gave her a slight bow, before turning towards the villa, and taking out a cigarette from a gold case, he tapped it to add, 'As the subject of our animosity is now in the hands of Madrid, perhaps we ought to call a truce, if only a temporary one.'
Janet, with an odd lurch of her heart, couldn't be sure whether he was in a joking frame of mind or not. For herself, as the looked up into those blue eyes with their somewhat whimsical expression, she was certain of only one tiling. The knowledge that the battle for the track was between them made her feel a whole lot safer at this moment.
CHAPTER SIX
May came, bringing with it a heat haze that shrouded the mountains so that they appeared to shimmer mystically in space. The lush green grass of the farm fields and countryside began to turn yellow. Tall swaying wild gladioli, remnants of the spring, still dung to shady spots and slopes. Here and there a proud cerise head could be seen above the waving corn. The swallows, a sure sign of the heat, darted and dipped and cruised close to the ground, carelessly displaying their poetry in flight.
Janet, feeling the need of sea breezes, began to explore the possibilities of going to the beach. She knew by the local map that the coast was only a few kilometres from the house. It occurred to her that as the railway had once been used to transport salt then the old track ought to be a direct route through to the sea. She asked her mother about this one afternoon when they were washing up after lunch,
'That's right, dear,' Airs Kendall said above the clatter of the crockery. 'The old railway track takes you straight to the Playa del Mitx. It's quite a pretty little beach. I've walked it once or twice in the winter with Dale.'
'Can I do it on the bike, do you think?' Janet asked,
I should think so. There's a welltrodden path along the side. It shouldn't take you more than half an hour, and I'm sure it would be much more pleasant than going by the road.'
Encouraged by her mother's reply, Janet finished the rest of the drying up, then hurried off to get ready. She put on a strapless swimsuit, topping this with a beach dress which would allow the sun to tan her bare shoulders and arms as she pedalled. With a towel in her basket, plus her purse, incase she needed to buy a drink, she bade her mother goodbye and started out.
Dale was too sluggish in the drowsy afternoon warmth to bother giving her a sendoff. Twiggy, game as ever, dropped down from her chair, skirted the garden and padded whisperingly alongside the wheels for a while until Janet gently shooed her back to the house.
The going was indeed pleasant. At the side of the track, which came from the inland direction up between the house and the villa and went on to skirt the hill of San Gabrielle and then on to the sea, there was a path of beaten earth which was smooth under the tyres of the bicycle.
It was true it was hot pedalling, but the various trees flanking the sides on different farming properties not only gave enough relief from the sun, but provided an exquisite setting for the journey.
There was the ubiquitous almond, apricot trees whose fruit was just beginning to show, pear trees weighted down with while blossom, and occasionally, as the track passed by some wayside farmhouse, the luxuriant greenery of a banana palm would cast its jagged fingers of shade across the path.
Sometimes the red rockpitted earth would show up high at the sides where the track had been hewn out of a small hill. But for the most pan it continued over even ground in an arrowstraight line towards its goal, the sea.
Janet was pleasantly surprised on her arrival. The beach was smaller than she expected. Caught in a horseshoe of gently sloping pineclad hills, squat trees dotting its sandy slopes, it had an intimacy which would have been lost on an open stretch.
On the crescent of white sand there was a cafe kiosk and a striped canopied shaded area with tables, a row of changing cabins, and at the water's edge one or two whitepainted pedal-floaters rose and fell with the cool lapping of the waves. Glad that she had made the effort, Janet slipped off herdress and sandals in one of the changing cabins and paddled out for a swim. The experience was heavenly. The sea water had the soothing effect of cool silk on her hot skin. Along with half a dozen or more other bathers, she skimmed and splashed around for a while, floated to contemplate the azure blue of the sky, then paddled back to the shore to towel off.
It was pure luxury to spread her towel and lie out in the warmth. She had bought a bottle of suntan lotion and by the time her swim suit was dry she had acquired the beginnings of a golden tan. The pale peach of her sundress, with its splash of yellow flowers, seemed to accentuate the warm glow of her skin, she thought, combing her hair back before the mirror in the changing cabin.
She enjoyed a tall drink at one of the cafe tables and watched the antics of the May holidaymakers. There were one or two couples romping with their sturdy brown children. Most of the others were the Adonistype men and girls, browsed and selfassured and born to grace the beaches of these semitropical spots.
When she had finished her drink she gathered her things and prepared for the trip back, considering it wiser not to overdo ft for the first day. The sun was strong and the glare off the sea quite fierce. However, there was no doubt that the trip had proved to be a practical journey, one she could make every day. It would be handy to come and take a dip whenever she felt like it. Another time she could bring a book and relax in some corner of her own.
The afternoon heat had passed its peak as she cycled back along the track. There was a velvety cool amongst the shadows of the greenery. The birds chirped in lazy contemplation of the scene, still too content to stir from their siesta perches. Janet pedalled leisurely, drinking in the tranquil beauty and feeling a little guilty at being here instead of earning her living amidst the boom and throb of London. She corresponded regularly with Nona, her flatmate, whomade no secret of the fact that she envied her to distraction. However, Nona had this soft spot for the store manager by way of compensation, and reading between the lines the romance seemed to be blossoming.
Janet mused to herself on her friend's letters describing flat life, and the variousups and downs of Angela, the model, who had moved in for the summer. It all seemed worlds away from the life she was living here in Ibiza.
She had started out early, so that it was only a little after four when she arrived back at the house. She had visions of her mother fluttering about between the kitchen and the back terrace, preparing her favourite drink of lemon tea. Pushing the bike with a humorous light, Janet had no doubt that a second cup and saucer would be whisked out for her benefit.
These were her first thoughts as she approached the house, but coming round on to the patio she discovered a curious thing. The front door was closed. She had never known it thus through the day. It was usual
ly kept open from morning until it grew dark at night, except on their weekly shopping visits to town when it was locked.
She turned the handle and went in. Dale seemed surprised to see her. He had been curled up and sound asleep in his basket and fell over himself yawning and yapping to get to her. He stayed long enough for her to make a fuss of him, then, stretching, returned to the comfort of his basket and the contemplation of his dreams.
Janet, laughing at his laziness, called around the house, and getting no reply went off to rinse and freshen up after her ride. Quite probably her mother was down the meadow somewhere, collecting the eggs or perhaps milking the goat. She had discovered a way to make delicious cheese from goat's milk and she liked to keep a good stock of this in the fridge.
Before the mirror in the bathroom Janet splashed her skin with cool water and applied a fresh touch of makeup,and pleased with the dusky attractiveness of her bare arms and shoulders in the sundress, after her sojourn on the beach, she went off to the kitchen. No doubt the lemon tea was in the process of being prepared, so she might as well see what she could do to help.
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