Wordlessly she broke free of the grip on her arm and hurried across to the house.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Summer was at its zenith. The island was crowded with holidaymakers. Sometimes the sightseeing coaches could be beard going along the main highway beyond the farm road. The villa stood somnolent in the heat, apparently lifeless except on social afternoons.
Janet spent the days drifting about the meadow listening to the heavy silence that shrouded the countryside. She couldn't help seeing Twiggy prancing down the path ahead Of her when she walked. She seemed to see her little calculating face and flying white paws no matter where she put her tearstarred gaze.
She knew she was being foolish. No one else gave Twiggy a thought. She was just a cat who had unfortunately been run over. Janet's mother had soon forgotten the episode. Janet could easily get another kitten from the farm, and she had Dale.
Though she tried to think of other things, each day Janet found herself drawn towards the patch of disturbed soil which she had discovered at the base of the big almond tree, down at the bottom of the meadow. Standing here gazing out beyond the greenery she seemed to feel an answering sadness in the breeze that rustled over the countryside.
She was mooning here one afternoon when the harsh sound of footsteps approaching over the rough surface of the track dragged her back from her melancholy wanderings. She turned to see Francisco hobbling his way over the rocky pebbles towards her. 'Hola!' he greeted her in Spanish.
"Hello,' she smiled wanly. Since he had been assigned todoing most of his work at the offices in town she had seen little of him over the past few weeks.
'I have come to tell you that we are going for a drive.' He walked across to join her on the soft faded grass. In the green shade his handsome good looks were warmed by his friendly smile. He was casually but tastefully attired in patterned beach shirt and linen slacks.
Janet lacked the spark to make any kind of a reply, and he went on, 'We are to be a foursome. You and your mother, and Bruce and I. Come, you must get ready,' He took her by the arm and urged her along the path.
Janet let him guide her up the meadow simply because she had no willpower to refuse. She suspected that Bruce had sent him, and that the outing was his idea. She had sensed him watching her from within the villa grounds at the side entrance, most days as she wandered about at the foot of the almond tree, but she had felt too forlorn, to care about his presence.
In the house when she arrived her mother was flying about full of fuss and animation. 'Isn't it heavenly? Bruce is taking us all for a drive!' Her fingers trembling with delight as she removed the rollers from her turbaned hair. Dropping them in a trail over the furniture as she hurried to her bedroom, she warbled, 'I shall wear my green chiffon.'
Following her in her blouse and slacks, Janet gave a lack-lustre shrug. I'll just wash my face.'
'Oh, put on something pretty, dear.' Mrs. Kendall turned back to show her disappointment at the remark. Never one to miss thechance of making a show, she coaxed gaily, 'We must do the men justice, you know!'
To please her mother, Janet fingered lethargically through her wardrobe in her bedroom. She unhooked a white nylon dress that she hadn't worn yet during her stay, because it was a little too grand for the countryside and their shopping visits to town. But it was probably suitablefor an afternoon drive, she supposed, tossing it on to the bed. Strangelyenough,whenshehad showeredbriefly, brushed on a light skin perfume and slipped into the appropriate underwear, she felt a slight lifting of her spirits as 'he fastened up the tiny pearldrop buttons at the front ofthe bodice.
The dress had a neat round collar and small cap sleeves and the skirt was a swirl of sunray pleats over a filmy under-slip. Her face, russetgold from the sun, needed nothing but a touch of peachtinted lipstick. She smoothed up her hair into its usual style with a brush and sorting out a straw handbag to go with her sunhat and white low-heeled sandals, considered she had done her best.
She got something of a shock when she went through into the living room and found Bruce waiting there. Lean and tanned and dressed with his usual polish in royal blue slacks and pale blue tailored beach jacket, he looked heartjoltly incongruous amongst her mother's somewhat dated bricabrac. There was time only for her glance to come up against his, then her mother was sweeping through behind her, a vision in her green chiffon, and floppy green hat, a long link of amber beads on her chest.
Bruce Walbrook stooped to meet her amidst the cluttered confines of the room and turned towards the door with a lazy, 'Are we all set?'
Janet threw a look of concern down at Dale. He was dodging people's feet, his ears going up and down because of all the fuss. His eyes, which were glazing over with misery at the thought of being left, still showed a light of hope.
Bruce, following Janet's glance, took in the sight of him. Hisblue gaze lapsing whimsical, he snapped his fingers todrawl, 'All right, old chap. You might as well come along too.'
Dale didn't wait to be asked twice. Before anyone could change their minds he threw himself outside arid jumpingand turning, led the way with his excited barks. Mrs. Kendall, revelling in all the noise and fuss, fluttered out laughingly along with him towards the cars.
Janet saw Francisco standing smilingly beside his little orange machine. Without giving it much thought she drifted towards him. At the same time Bruce assisted her mother into the seat of his dark blue conveyance, closing the door as Dale helped himself to a place on her lap.
With everyone settled, the two cars started out, the dark blue one in the lead. They crunched slowly up the farm road and out on to the main highway. From here they took the road to the coast.
Cruising along in Francisco's restful presence, the breeze rustling in at the open windows, Janet couldn't stir herself to react much to the scenery. And yet, as she watched the polished car a little in front of them, and saw that dark head of hair and those pale blueclad shoulders alongside the green blob of her mother's hat, there was, piercing the inner mists of her lethargy, the glimmerings of a golden feeling which told her there was something special about the day.
The sea, when they arrived, was a strip of azure blue pasted against the skyline, coins of gold glinting and flashing across its middle where the sun struck it.
On the coast road they drove south to take in the Playa Es Cana. The route led through a lovely stretch of country. The red earth was planted with olive trees, later giving way to pinewoods that opened on to the beautiful bay of Es Cana. They circled the small peninsula, passing a large hotel and a holiday village, then continued on towards Santa Eulalia.
Thiss was a sleepy, unsophisticated little spot with a green square encircled by pleasant bars and shadowed by palm trees. Along its main street, colourful boutiques and souvenir shops mingled with grocery shops and general stores. It was a pretty but cluttered little town and theywere soon leaving it behind and making for Ibiza.
They skirted the city with its cathedral and arched and balconied houses to touch on Puig di Molins, Windmill Hill, where the view over the southern tip of the island was considerable, and where in an attractive little village amidst palms and fig trees, an oldfashioned waterwheel, with little tins and buckets to scoop the water from the well, was turned by a mule.
With the polished blue car cruising along leading the way, they continued on their tour of the island across to San Antonio Abad, the international holiday playground. Here the pavement cafes against the colourful harbour teemed with holiday life. Sunbronzed figures were dressed in brilliant beach garb which ranged from the fashionable to the bizzare. There was an exuberant gaiety here unsubdued by the heat. The treelined promenade with gardens and fountains offered a change of scene for those in the mood to walk.
From San Antonio, the cars left the coast and headed for the countryside and the northern tip of the island. This was a beautiful run with citrus orchards and olive groves covering the hillsides. Among the orchards were the typical Ibizanarabstyle house
s and whitewashed farms. With the scent of juniper bushes filling the air, they climbed the road above a rocky bay, then descended in a series of bends to the shoreline of Portinax.
The beach of fine pale sand was lapped by a clear sea shot with a myriad tones of blues and greens. There was a scattering of villas amongst the trees. There were beach bars and hotels too. But Bruce carried on up the winding road until they came to a hotel whose terrace overhung the rocky coasdinc. Here he drew in and parked the car and waited for Francisco to join him.
Where cool white archways showed a panorama of sky and sea they found a table. For drinks, Mrs. Kendall and Francisco agreed on cafe con leche, coffee with milk. Janetpreferred zumo de metocoton, fresh peach juice with ice. Bruce ordered and chose Sangria for himself, a tall drink with ice.
Sitting across from him, noticing how his lean tanned features made a striking contrast against the blue of the sky, Janet felt a curious feeling of wellbeing.
Throughout the drive, with all the beauty of the island spread out before her, it had been impossible not to become alive a little, to feel the old glow inside herself returning. As each new scene turned up, begging to be enjoyed, she had found herself gradually waking up to the realisation that life after all was wonderful.
She knew that a little of the old light had returned to her eyes. Perhaps because of this she couldn't sit still opposite Bruce's blue gaze. As her mother chatted on to him gaily about the pretty setting of the hotel, and the people they had seen in San Antonio, she rose to join Francisco who was standing beside the archway.
In his friendly smiling way he pointed out the view of the bay of Portinax to her, and the colourful boats bobbing to front of the harbour houses. On the occasions when they had stopped along the way, during the drive, to climb the steps of some mirador, a lookout point, or to top the hill overlooking a panorama, Janet had found Francisco's conversation informative and they had often wandered off together to get a better glimpse of the view.
She stood with him and listened now as he laughingly told her about Gala Xarraca near by with its old smugglers cave right on the water's edge.
When the drinks were finished, and Dale had thoroughly investigated the flower pots around the terrace and the garden at the side, Janet and her mother went off to freshen up for the drive back. They had travelled in a full circle around the island so that it was now only thirty or forty kilometres home to San Gabrielle.
The sun's fiery glare was mellowing into the softer golden light of late afternoon when they met at the front of the hotel. Janet never knew how it came about that she and her mm her changed places on the drive back. She wasn't sure whether it was Dale who took the initiative and jumped Into Francisco's car by mistake, or whether Bruce had planned that the little orange car should lead the way on the return journey. At all events her mother settled in happily though in the front vehicle, and Francisco gallantly attended to her needs before closing the doorThen with a wave for a signal they started off.
The polished blue car slid out after it and seated in cushioned comfort, aware of the slim brown hands on the wheel beside her, Janet bad to admit she found the luxurious feel of the padded white upholstery distinctly soothing.
She had rinsed the dust of travel off her skin, combed up her hair into its usual soft waves and added a fresh touch of lipstick. Her white dress, smooth and unmarred in the iron grip of the heat, was but a gossamer weight against her body. As the breeze plucked at it gently with the car's motion, she felt strangely relaxed.
The little orange machine sped merrily ahead in front of them. They had negotiated the climb up from Portinax and were whispering along the deserted country highways towards San Gabrielle, when Janet was startled out of her restful reverie.
Whilst her gaze had been absently fixed ahead she felt the dark blue car suddenly change direction. The next second they were turning off on to a minor road, leaving Francisco's car to go speeding away into the distance on the main highway.
As he steered along the narrow route, Bruce gave no explanation for the move, except to mention casually, 'I have to see a client.'
Janet couldn't get herself to react one way or the other. Her senses were dulled to everything but this peculiar contentment dragging at her limbs.
She wasn't tired of looking at the view. On the contrary, every tumbling wall, every crooked tree and faded blade of grass seemed to take on a new significance now as they invaded the country stillness together.
They had been travelling for perhaps ten or twenty minutes when the vista of the township they were presumably making for opened up suddenly in front of them. As they turned a bend in the road, a valley, yellow and mottled with farm fields and surrounded by humps of pineclad hills, held in its palm a scattering of white houses which from a distance looked like a sprinkling of daisies in a grassy hollow.
The road descended and coursed like a river along the floor of the valley. Soon they were passing squat little dwellings halfscreened by massive hanks of prickly pear cactus, and walls festooned with tropical blossom.
Eventually they came to the narrow streets of the town. The car made its way slowly along the cool shadowed alleys until the houses hung together so close it seemed they must touch.
In a little open courtyard Bruce parked the air, and helping Janet out he commented, 'We haveto walk from here.'
Their footsteps echoed over the tiles of the narrow passageways which he guided her along. The walls of the houses, white or pasteltinted, rose high on either side of them. Above, overhanging bay windows were crowded with flower pots and trailing greenery, and on scroll bars fixed into the wall at intervals, the whimsicaliron shapes of street lamps were etched against the narrow strip of blue sky.
On another street the houses were more imposing. They were spaced wider apart and the gateways had about them a certain oldworld grandeur. It was at one of these gates that Bruce stopped to pull a bell which went pealing through the house. After a moment a woman in black came to the entrance. He handed her his card. She stared at it, then the merest flicker of recognition passing over her dour sun-darkened features, she opened the iron gateway and bade enter. Janet gathered that they had been asked to wait ' the woman went upstairs.
The patio was pleasandy cool, the dark red tiles underfoot, soothing to the eye. There was about everything an air of dated prosperity. In the middle of the patio was a table witha solid rocking chair on either side of it. On the walls under the stairway were Spanish pictures, dark and glossy, and by the side of a door hung a pair of old pistols.
While they waited Bruce lit up a cigarette. Janet found the silence strangely disturbing. She knew a vague relief when at last a tall man appeared on the steps. He was old but agile with skin the colour of old ivory, and hair thick and white. He was dressed in black, and his eyes, equally black above a proud aquiline nose, shone with a fierce brilliance.
He reached the patio and Janet saw that he held in one hand a broadbrimmed hat. Though there was in his bearing a certain dignity, his manner suggested also a gentle humour.
She was introduced to Don Ignario, who took her hand in his warmly and bowed in friendly fashion, after which Bruce went on in smiling but rapid Spanish.
Janet wondered about his business call. He had no briefcase with him. However, it seemed that conversation was enough to cover the points he had called about. She chose a seat near the stairs, leaving the two men to the rocking chairs on the patio, to hold their discussion.
On her own in the cool shadows, she expected to be there for some time, but after only a few minutes of amicable exchanges the men rose, their conversation apparently at an end.
Don Ignacio, with the true hospitality of the Spaniard, wanted to have wine brought and numerous other treats for his guests, all of which were charmingly refused, though BruceWalbrookdidmakeonecasualrequestwhichbrought an eager response from the old man. With a smile he beckoned Janet, who had risen and was waiting to go, and leading the way he took them i
nto a courtyard. From here they went along a narrow passage, then Janet found herself in an enchanting garden.
It was walled on three sides with walls as high as houses, and their old red brick, mellowed by time, was covered with roses. They clothed every inch in pasteltinted scented luxuriance.
With his proud, gentle stoop, Don Ignacio led the way past palms rising high into the air in search of the sun, past dark orange trees, and other trees in flower, and among them roses and more roses.
Bruce's hand on her arm occasionally as they turned along a path, Janet was reminded of another time when she had walked in a garden with him. The villa garden. She felt an odd catch at her heart now at the memory, combined with an overwhelming ache at the beauty here.
The fourth wall was a Moorish loggia with horseshoe arches heavily festooned with hanging greenery. On its edge was a bench of Moorish tiles. One could imagine sitting here in the cool of the day and contemplating the tranquil scene of swallows darting and the sun slanting long shadows down the walls.
When they came back to the passage leading to the courtyard, after looking round the garden they took their leave of Don Ignacio. Janet smiled him her thanks. In return he bowed deeply over her hand, only too happy to have performed a kindness.
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