Stormy Encounter

by Roumelia Lane

  She had grown so used to holding the scene in this way for as long as she liked that it came as a shock one day when directing her glance gaily inside the villa gates she came face to face with Bruce Walbrook.

  He made his own way down the steps to the track and though there was still a few minutes to go before five o'clock, be spoke to the young Spaniard testily. I'd appreciate it if you could spare a little more time for your work, Francisco. I presume you wish to further your career in the practice of law, in which case I suggest that you devote more of your attention to legal matters, and less to sloping off over the countryside.' The steely voice sliced on, 'The Hamlyn papers are not on my desk. It might be an idea ifyou were to see what's happened to them.'

  'Si, senior.' Though Francisco looked somewhat surprised at the senior man's obviously foul mood, he lowered his head penitently and hurried up the steps into the villa.

  Janet found herself being icily ignored. At the same time she was conscious of a breathless tension in the air as, over her crazily pounding heart, she watched the smooth autocratic features working in an odd sort of way.

  She didn't wait for Bruce Walbrook to turn his back on her to make for the steps. Taking the initiative, she swung away and stalked across the track to her mother's house.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Janet saw little of Francisco after that. Though sometimes she caught a glimpse of his little orange car inside the villa gates at the front she had an idea that he was doing most of his work at the offices in town.

  She seethed at Bruce Walbrook and the power he wielded. Her tearful pentup anger was such at times that she could hardly contain it. She liked to think it was because of the man's despotic attitude towards Francisco, but deep down inside she knew it was because she had been deprived of that jubilant feeling of satisfaction which she had derived from crossing him.

  She longed for some development concerning the track. She couldn't wait to hear that her mother had been granted full possession of it How she was going to delight in supervising the building of a wall across it at the meadow end, and watching a gate go up at the front That would let the almighty Mr. Walbrook know that this was one case he couldn't take for granted.

  As soon as the month was up she made a special trip to the Ayuntamieuto in the village of San Gabrielle to see if there was any news. She came away slightly exasperated after discovering that no one remembered anything about a trackand she had had to go through all the performance of explaining again, only to be told that nothing had been heard.

  She made herself wait another two weeks before going up again, when she was given the same reply. She refused to be alarmed when Juana, the woman from the village who cleaned at the villa, told her mother that these matters badbeen known to take years. She couldn't believe that absolutely nothing got done in Spain. Otherwise it would long ago have ceased to exist as a country.

  She didn't know whether it was because of her repeated calls at the town hall that the mayor turned up one day at the house. She arrived driving herself in a newish fairsized car of a rich mustard colour. She didn't come up the track but parked at the end of it on the farm road. Janet saw her first and went out. Her mother called out a greeting and waved from the door, then she retreated to the kitchen, preferring to busy herself with the preparations for lunch, rather than become involved in matters concerning the drive.

  'Buenos dias'Senora Garcia greeted Janet smilingly as she walked along the track. She was dressed simply but tastefully in a slim black skirt which flattered her plump hips, had a frilled white blouse. Her round cheeks had that attractive warm bloom on them and her dark eyes completed a very pleasing picture.

  'Buenos dias, senora' Janet returned the greeting as she walked to meet her. For some time she was a little puzzled as to the reason for the visit. The mayor stood and looked around her smilingly. She admired the house and Janet's mother's ideas around the garden. She patted Dale who had ventured out of bounds along the track to make himself known. She gazed at the mountains, and at the farm on the hill.

  When it seemed that the visit was no more than a social call she crossed the width of the track She trained her eyedown the length of it to the bottom of the meadow, then slapped the villa wall with her hand 'Esto?' she asked.

  Janet's heart leapt. She realised she was being asked how much widthwise of the track did they want to buy. In the few words of Spanish she had picked up she asked if it were indeed possible to buy right up to the wall.

  'St.' The mayor pursed her lips and gave an emphaticnod, slapping the pinkpainted area again. She went on to explain with much gesturing that the wide strips of soil on either side of the track belonged to the government and anyone who wished could include the whole of this width in their purchase.

  Janet wasted no time in making it clear that that was how they wanted it, and to give emphasis to her own gestures she also slapped the villa wall. In doing so, she experienced an inner feeling of elation. To own the last inch of land at this side! That would give Bruce Walbrook something to swallow,

  Senora Garcia, satisfied with the situation, was inclined to drift off again. Her attention wandered towards the leafy almond trees across the farm road, as though she seldom got a chance to enjoy the countryside.

  Janet tried to pin her down to something definite concerning the track. She pointed out that it was April when the letter had been sent to Madrid, and that two months mi much time.

  'Mucho tiempo? No!' Senora Garcia's unconvinced expression was such that two months might have been no more than passing moments in a summer's day.

  Janet resisted the temptation to mention that originally the waiting time had been put at one month. She asked again how long it was likely to be before the Ayuntamiento heard something.

  'No se',' Senora Garcia shrugged, smiling, and turned togo.

  Janet had to be content with that. If the mayor of the village didn't know, certainly no one else would. It looked as though all one could do was wait.

  She waved to the older woman and left her making for her car. As she returned to the patio, she had a slightly letdown feeling. She suspected now that the mayor had come simply to show that she was concerned about the track, but once she had left there was no doubt she would forget allabout it again.

  Dropping into a chair on the patio, she looked up, expecting to find that the mustardcoloured car had gone. Bur it was still there blocking the entrance to the drive and beside it was the familiar dark blue polished one which had evidently been prevented from turning in.

  And that was how it shouldbe, Janet told herself with an acid gleam of complacency.

  She was in time to see Bruce Walbrook stepping out lazily from the driving seat. He greeted the mayor with that suave charm of his. Senora Garcia acknowledged him with a coy vivaciousness.

  Head down, Janet pretended to fondle Twiggy the cat on her knee as she listened to the pleasant interchange in rapid Spanish, It irritated her when it went on and on. She couldn't imagine what Senora Garcia was finding to talk about for so long. Her laughter, though musical, stretched Janet's nerves until she thought they would snap.

  From time to time she stole a look at the lean masculine figure beside the mayor. Even from this distance she recognised the superb cut of the strawcoloured tropical summer suit. Dark sunglasses heightened the tan of the lean features and the whiteness of that slowforming smile.

  Twiggy, playful as ever, was at her most vicious just now, probably because Janet gripped her tighter than she had intended to at times. She kept her head down, absently avoiding the cat's razorsharp claws, while her whole body stayed tautly tuned to the activity at the end of the track.

  She heard the car doors slam at last and jumped up, anxious to disappear indoors before Bruce Walbrook came up the drive. She knew he would look towards the house as he drove past. He always did these days. And Janet always made a point of not being on view. Though when he had gone by, she would invariably wander to the curtained window i
n the living room and watch him get out at the side gates of the villa.

  As her mother clattered busily in the kitchen she watched him now stepping out with his briefcase in his hand. She ireful to keep out of sight as his glance strayed towards the house. He took the steps effortlessly, his slim figure erect. Janet watched him until he disappeared from view, then she turned abruptly away. She wondered why her heart felt weighted down, like lead. She supposed that it must be that although the mayor had put in an appearance at the house today, they were still no nearer to owning the track.

  The heat became less bearable as the days passed. Janet had watched June come in, painting the lifelesslooking creepersit trailed down the villa walls in a riot of colour. A deep, red bougainvillea showered its blossom now over the It entrance, and touches of cool whites, delicate pinks, and flaming orange caught the eye down the length of the track.

  With July the countryside wilted. There was nothing to be seen of the rich green fields of spring. The grass laystunted and burnt close to the ground which was hard and cracked. The sky, pale and washed out, pulsed with heat projecting the mountains as molten blurs of shape in the pearly haze.

  And yet there was a subtle attractiveness about the scorched land, a primitive beauty in the violent reds and browns of the stark earth; in the dusty, ragged look of the almond trees heavy with fruit and the white village of San Gabrielle on the hillside, throbbing under the sun. About it all there was a kind of brooding enchantment that stirred the senses in an odd way.

  But though the countryside decayed in the heat, the villa gardens flourished. Down at the meadow end looking across the track Janet caught glimpses of exotic flowering trees and shiny tropical leaves. She longed to walk along the paths beyond those walls, amongst the cool green of thepalms and beneath the shady bowers. She knew no one would mind if she entered the side gates and descending the steps from the square, wandered leisurely at her will. But her pride kept her from going over there.

  For the same reason she continued to cycle to the beach on her own every afternoon. With the peak of the summer the number of guests arriving at the villa had increased and there was a new vivacity amongst the crowd. Flamboyant continental types, ebullient Scandinavians, they came speeding down the track on party afternoons, laughing loudly as they alighted from their cars.

  Janet refused to stay around and endure the gaiety. Though it was something of a gruelling trip now cycling to the beach in the heat, she preferred it to hanging about the house. The sight of tall ravishing females drifting towards the villa gates where the dark blue polished car was parked gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, and as soon as she could she packed her beach bag and left.

  She knew that her mother tripped over to rub shoulders with the smart set around the pool while she was away. Sometimes when she arrived home a little early after her swim, she would find the front door closed and the lingerings of her heavy violet perfume on the air. But it was useless to talk about it. Her mother was dazzled by the glamour of it all and saw nothing wrong in enjoying herself over at the villa whenever she could.

  This knowledge made the going all the harder for Janet on her lone trudges to the beach. She was beginning to feel that she was fighting a onewoman battle against the villa.

  Then one afternoon when she returned from the beach to the sounds of a party in full swing over at the villa she was mildly surprised to find her mother at home.

  It was a heavy oppressive day with thick cloud and not a flicker of breeze to disperse the heat. Janet had splashed around for a little while at the cove, then changing into strapless sundress andsandals she had pedalled back to stay cool. The track, when she arrived home, was choked with expensive cars, and laughter and music could be heard drifting out over the villa walls. She entered the house expecting to find it empty, but her mother was in the living room. She string in her armchair weeping softly. 'Why, Mother I' Janet dropped her beach bag and hurried over to her. 'What's wrong?'

  Mrs. Kendall dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. Miss Twiggy,' she said in between sniffles.

  'Well, what's the matter with her?' Janet asked, kneeling. 'She's dead,' came the muffled reply. 'Dead?' Janet went cold with shack. 'How can she be?' 'I was going over to join the party.' Mrs. Kendall blew her nose. 'I saw her. She's lying on the track. She must been hit by one of the cars.' On a wave of whitehot anger Janet rose and rushed out. She stumbled across the track, her horrified gaze raking the ground. Only this morning she had seen Twiggy prancing along here, darting after imaginary flies.

  She found her at last, a little to one side of the steps. She was lying stiffly with her paws stretched out. Her mouth was slightly open, showing her tiny pointed teeth. As Janet gazed on her a surge of hot tears rushed to her eyes. She turned wildly towards the villa gates. Someone was going to pay for this!She mounted the steps and crossed the square through a blinding red mist. She was oblivious to the noise and uproarious laughter corning from the terrace. Her only concern when she turned the corner of the villa was knowing the whereabouts of Mr. and Mrs. Ford, It was only to be expected that she wouldn't see any sign them amidst the whirl of people circulating around the tables and the pool. But that wouldn't stop her, she told herself through her tears. She would search them out wherever they were.

  She was just about to storm in when Bruce Walbrook, standing glass in hand, alone, on the edge of the gathering, spotted her. His glance taking in her white contorted features and brimming gaze, he moved swiftly towards her. Before anyone had time to notice her he had taken her by the arm and turning her away with him, asked softly under his breath, 'Is anything wrong?'

  Janet had been about to let fly with all manner of things. Now suddenly she found, with his touch on her arm, that she could do nothing but close her eyes over the dazzle of tears.

  'In here.' The hand dropped across her shoulders and she was led through an open door near by into the villa. In the cool interior she felt herself being guided along until they arrived at the small study she had caught a glimpse of on her last visit.

  Bruce Walbrook opened the door of the mellow booklined room and drawing her inside closed it again after them.

  'Now,' his blue gaze searched her face, 'what's the trouble?'

  Janet had recovered some of her composure by this time and with it her anger returned twofold. She saw now the discreet manner in which he had got her out of the way and so prevented her from making a scene in the villa grounds.

  'It's Twiggy,' she blazed out. She caught the flicker of incomprehension that passed across his face and flung at him, 'Our cat. She's been killed by one of the villa's mad cars. She's lying on the track ... My mother saw her when she was coming over here ... It's only what I expected...' She struggled to hold back the tears, but the flood was too great and collapsing incoherently she sank sobbing into the chair.

  Past caring now, she gave herself up completely to her misery. It wasn't just this afternoon's blow. The wholewretched business of the track and her fight with the villa had worn her down until at the moment she didn't care whether she fought or not.

  She didn't know how long she had been sitting there giving way to her tears, when Bruce Walbrook placed a glass containing amber liquid on the desk beside her with the order, 'Drink it. You'll feel better.'

  'I don't want it.' She shook her head vigorously.

  'Do as I say.' Firmly he turned her fingers round the glass. 'Sip it slowly. I'll be back in a few moments.'

  She heard him close the door softly behind him as he went out. Because it was in her hand she took a sip of the liquid in the glass. It tasted vile, but after a few moments she felt its steadying effect on her racked body. Realising that she had made a complete fool of herself, she was at pains now to present a cold, calm exterior. Little by little she took the full contents of the glass.

  She had dried her eyes and tidied her hair, and except for the sorrow behind her gaze when she thought of poor Twiggy's end, she was sitting q
uiet and composed when Bruce Walbrook returned.

  The immaculate cuffs of his white shirt were rolled back as though he had just been washing his hands. As he turned them down and fastened them with heavy cuff links Janet caught his gaze and she knew then what he had been outside to do.

  She blinked back a fresh blur of tears and said jerkily, 'I'd better be getting home.'

  'I'll walk to the gate with you.' He opened the door.

  'You don't have to,' she replied dryeyed again, 'I'm perfectly all right.'

  He took her arm as though he hadn't heard and accompanied her through the shadowy interior, and out across the open square to the steps. The grip of his fingers was firm on her arm as they went down the flight together.

  Though she cried not to look, Janet found her gaze drawnto that spot at the side of the gate. There was nothing there now except a speck of blood on the ground.