Rising from her chair Janet explained to her mother that he was from the ayuntamiento and Mrs. Kendall, always hospitable, hurried to invite him inside for a drink and a sit down.
He declined the cerveza, the bottled beer which she kept in the fridge for the butano men. He agreed to come inside, though not to sit down. Apparently he had brought a message from the town hall. He had called once this afternoon, but they had been out, so he had been obliged to make this second trip. He had just finished work, and was anxious to get home.
All this Janet gathered in a few moments. Her long stay on the island, plus her frequent visits to the village, had given her a reasonable understanding of the language. She listened carefully now to what the clerk had to say.
Occasionally she tilted her head when she didn't quiteget a word. Once or twice she smiled at his remarks, and nodded to show that everything was quite clear. Then, his work finished, the ayuntamiento official bade them both a polite 'Buenas noehes' and left to chug away on his spluttering transport.
Mrs. Kendall, whose Spanish never got any further than a couple of dozen words, had lost interest in trying to fathom the conversation and had drifted into arranging a bowl of fruit on the table. When the sound of the bicycle had faded she asked absently over her shoulder, 'Was it anything important, dear?'
'Fairly,' Janet said lightly. She didn't give anything away at once, but floated around teasingly.
Her mother looked at her. Her curiosity growing, she asked laughingly, 'What did the man come for?'
'Well,' Janet savoured the moment, then went on with a rush, 'the town hall have heard from Madrid at last about the disused railway track. It seems that they have no authority to parcel it out themselves.'
Mrs. Kendall shrugged goodnaturedly. 'So what complications have we got now?' she sighed, turning back to arrange the fruit bowl.
That's just it. There are no complications.' Janet reclaimed her attention. 'Apparently anyone can now buy what they like provided they deal personally with the capital.'
Her mother digested this, and repeated it as she understood it. 'You mean all they have to do is to go there and they get what they want?'
'If it's government land and it's for sale, yes,' Janet nodded.
She saw her mother's gaze leave hers and travel out beyond the living room window. As it came to rest significantly on the dark polished car waiting outside the villa gates, Mrs. Kendall said, 'So whoever gets to Madrid first gets the track.'
'Bruce wouldn't go ahead of us,' Janet laughed radiantly, the memory of bit lips on hers a warm glow in her mind. 'He knows we can't afford to employ a lawyer. And even if we had the fare I wouldn't know what to do.'
Mrs. Kendall agreed with that. Her attention was already beginning to wander towards thoughts of supper. Moving in the direction of the kitchen, she asked, half her mind on the gambas, the large prawns they had bought in the fish market, 'What do you think would be the best way to act, then. Jan?'
'We won't do anything until I've seen Bruce,' said Janet, following her mother into the kitchen. 'He might have been over this afternoon while we were out, so we'll probably have to wait until tomorrow.'
After supper they listened to the English radio while Mrs. Kendall did some crocheting on the toddler's dress she had started. But both were tired after their day, and when Janet returned after taking Dale down the meadow a little way beneath the stars, they locked up the house, glad to have an early night.
The following morning Janet kept an eye on Brace's car while she dusted in the living room. He would be busy in his office in the villa this morning, but she would see him when he came out to drive to town some time this afternoon.
Her mother went off for her siesta after lunch. Janet sat and rocked desultorily in her chair on the patio, listening for a footfall on the villa steps. She went inside during the drowsy afternoon to revive herself with a drink.
Later, out again on the patio, she was surprised to see that the time had crept round to four o'clock. Bruce wouldn't be going to town at this time of day. It was almost the hour when, normally, he was preparing to drive back.
Rising from her chair, she wandered out on to the terrace wondering what she ought to do. She hadn't the nerve to go up the villa steps looking for him. He might be in conference in the grounds with Ralph Ford, and then she wouldn't know where to put herself.
But she could wander out past the front gates. If he was strolling there, or she could catch sight of him on his own...
She went back inside and unhooked the lead from behind the door and, on the pretext of taking the dog for a walk, started out down the track. Dale, delighted at this unexpected treat, tugged excitedly, his short little legs straddling over the uneven surface in his eagerness to get wherever he thought they were going. Out on the farm road, however, the brilliant glare slowed him down and after a while he was content to sniff leisurely in the undergrowth at the sides.
Janet dawdled past the villa gates. Though she waited, allowing Dale to take as long as he liked on the walk by she saw nothing, mainly because the Fords' big expensive American car, which was parked in the inky shade of overhanging greenery, somewhat obstructed the view. She went right on up to the carob tree beside the main road, because she hadn't the heart to cheat Dale out of his walk, then she turned back.
It was beginning to look as though she had come out on a fruitless trip when half way down the farm road she heard the sound of a car starting up. Her heart lifting, she hurried. Soon she saw that it was Francisco's car which had been making the noise. As she approached the villa entrance it came weaving its way out slowly through the gates.
She waved gaily in reply to Francisco's salute. Then as he was about to drive off she thought to call after him. 'I've been waiting to have a word with Bruce. Is he very busy today?'
'Bruce?' Francisco was on the point of speeding away. He threw over his shoulder in passing, 'He's in Madrid.'
Madrid! Janet turned to stone where she stood.
'I drove him to the airport yesterday afternoon,' Francisco called back, smiling, not knowing that he was cutting off her life's blood
Yesterday! The day they had heard about the track.
Thanks!' Janet waved after him with a ghastly smile and turned back towards the house.
She didn't know how she managed to cover the distance still on her feet. She felt as though she had been hit by a runaway boulder.
Indoors, her mother, floating around in a cotton kimono after her nap, was routing our a lemon from the fruit bowl for the afternoon tea. She looked at Janet as she came in and smiled absently. 'Hello, dear. Have you been out?'
Janet followed her into the kitchen. She didn't bother to explain where she had been. She said in strained tones from white marblelike features, 'Bruce is in Madrid.' And as her mother lifted her head quickly from the knife she was using, Janet added quiveringly, 'He's gone to buy the track for the Fords.'
She could do nothing then except stumble away blindly to her room. She locked the door behind her and flung herself on the bed.
She stayed there until it grew dark, hearing the cicadas strike up their clamour in the meadow. A little later her mother knocked at the door brightly. 'Janet! Supper's ready.' And in worried coaxing tones, 'Do come out, dear, and try something to eat.'
Janet rose and dragged over to the mirror to tidy her hair. Her body felt like lead. With an effort she made her way to the kitchen.
Mrs. Kendall had put a vase of fresh flowers on the table. Also she had searched out gay table napkins and her best glassware. Though she tried to appear in the best of spirits as she chatted away about all the cooking she had done, sympathy and compassion were written all over the face she turned to her daughter.
They sat down in silence and started to cat. After a whileMrs. Kendall, trying to be a help, ventured to point out, 'Well, Bruce has his job to do, I suppose, and...'
'On, Mother !' Janet choked back a sob while she tried to ea
t. Pleasc don't talk about it.'
Mrs. Kendall made no more comments. They finished the rest of the meal in weighty silence. They washed up, then sat in the living room winding wool into balls. Mrs. Kendall had plenty of other jobs to do, but she wanted something where she could draw her daughter in with her work.
Janet sat with a lacklustre gaze and watched the strand of wool travel from right to left as the skein grew less on her hands. She could think of nothing but this afternoon's bombshell. She ought to have guessed it would happen, of course. But she had been so sure that Bruce would come across to the house to talk things over. Her mother knew human nature better than she did. One of her first thoughts had been that Bruce might go to Madrid ahead of them.
Around ten o'clock Dale came to sit up and look his most appealing, which was his way of asking her for his evening walk. It was useless to tell him that she had heart for nothing. She got his lead and let him tug her down the meadow and back. It was a relief after that to get to bed and lie alone with her misery in the darkness.
The following morning, for her mother's sake, she rose and tried to act as though it was a normal day. In cotton housecoat she joined her for breakfast on the side terrace with its view of the mountains, and made an effort to appear interested as they discussed the day's activities.
Mrs. Kendall thought it would be a good idea to do some tidying up at the bottom of the meadow. Throughout the summer months things had been rather let go down there. The area around the chicken run was hopelessly choked with dried grass and weeds and the goat paddock needed drastically clearing. Janet agreed slackly that they ought to do something about it.
As soon as the normal household tasks were completedthey put on their oldest clothes and started our down the path. Dale, of course, was in his element. He could trot around to his heart's content down there and he had all the shade he needed under the big old almond tree.
They worked with hand scythes, secateurs, and various tools from the old shed until lunchtime, when Mrs Kendall got the idea of bringing a picnic basket down. Janet washed her hands in cool water from the well and sat down to grilled sardines, stuffed olives, and fruit yoghourt. Though she found it difficult to get anything down her constricted throat, she forced a smile and complimented her mother on the meal, because she knew how hard she was trying to cheer her up.
They worked through the afternoon hacking at old thistles and brambles until the chicken run was in an airy open space again, and the goat compound sweet and green in the shade.
It was approaching six o'clock when they had piled the last of the refuse in a far corner to be burned at a later date. They put the tools back in the shed and trudged up the pathto the house.
Mrs Kendall went straight off for a shower and a liedown. Janet watched her go with a wan, tender smile. She knew her mother had purposely planned a day full of hard work to take her mind off other things. She was grateful to her, and all in favour of the remedy. Though she was worn out now she daren't stop. The wearier she got the less inclination she would have to think.
She washed and put on a cool cotton dress and went off to the kitchen. Here, taking her time, she cooked a threecourse meal for the two of them. She set out the long polished table in the living room and served it in the red glow from the lamps.
She wouldn't let her mother assist with the washing up afterwards, but completed the chore herself. In addition she gave the kitchen an extra going over. When her work wasfinished she noticed thankfully that Dale, having been out all day, was sprawled in his basket with no thoughts of an evening walk. She kissed her mother goodnight, went to clean up under the shower, then fell into bed, too exhausted to do anything but sleep.
The following morning brought a small surprise. Miguel, the leatherfaced old man from the farm, stopped his cart at the end of the track and came trudging up with something in a bundle. It turned out to be a kitten so tiny it fitted in the palm of Mrs Kendall's hand. She was delighted with it. It had practically the same colouring and marking as the cat she had lost, and she promptly named it Twiggy again. Janet was sure it would never be as lovable as Twiggy number one. Still, she rubbed her check against its soft fur and gazed into its china blue eyes.
When Miguel had tossed back a glass of wine as though it was water, he told them he was going into San Gabrielle and asked them if there was anything they wanted. It occurred to Mrs Kendall that he might pick up the mail. Janet hadn't been into the village for two or three days so it was possible there might be letters waiting at the shop. Miguel told them he would drop anything in on his way past back to the farm in the afternoon.
Janet returned to the pile of washing she had started in the back. Her mother went off to search out a box for the new Twiggy.
The day was warm without being too enervating. In light sundresses they lunched out on the side terrace in the shade. Afterwards Janet ironed all she had washed, practically the whole of her wardrobe. She was folding everything in the kitchen ready for transferring through to her bedroom, when a shout came from the farm road.
Miguel, whom they had forgotten all about, was waving a sheaf of letters in his hand at the end of the garden. Obviously anxious to get back to the farm for a meal and his siesta, he didn't want to be bothered getting down fromthe cart.
'I'll go,' said Mrs Kendall, leaving Janet to get on with her work.
She had hung most of her clothes hack in the wardrobe when her mother returned, with three or four letters in her hand. One of these she gave to Janet, but her mind didn't seem to be on what it was doing. Her kindly animated features were dulled by a certain seriousness. She watched Janet as she told her, 'Bruce is back. I saw him just now getting out of a taxi at the villa gates.'
Janet tensed. She was suddenly at a loss where to run to. She went blindly into the garden to gather her thoughts, thinking she had all afternoon to decide what to do. Pacing, whitefaced, she lifted her head after a few moments and was startled to see Bruce coming across the track from the villa side entrance. He must have stayed only long enough to drop his luggage before making his way through the grounds to the steps opposite the house.
She stumbled across the garden. She had no wish to be seen. She got to the patio and had disappeared indoors when he surprised her by coming in at the back.
She swayed into the living room to meet him entering at the other end. They faced each other across the length of the room. Her mother stayed discreetly out of the way.
For a moment Janet's heart dipped when she saw how tired Bruce looked. His face was pale and travelworn. He hadn't even allowed himself time for a proper shave. Quickly she hardened herself against these kind of feelings. Why should she care if he had chosen to work himself to a standstill during the whole of the two days he had been gone, simply to further his own ends?
The thought made her anger claw at her insides like a pain. It gave her voice a queer highpitched sound and made her smile look brittle and pasted on. She hadn't planned to give him any of her time, but since the confrontation had been forced on her, she quivered at him, 'Did you enjoyyour trip?'
'Passably.'
She ignored the worn look about his smile and piped acidly, 'I thought you might.'
His blue gaze fixed on her, he said, 'I've just got back I came straight over.'
'Well, I wish you hadn't,' she choked, finding that she couldn't keep up as well as she would have liked. As she swung away to blink back a tear, Bruce took a step forward.
'Now wait a minute,' he said harshly.
'What is there to wait for?' She flung back at him. 'So that you can crow about your trip to Madrid? I know why you went. You've bought the track for the villa, haven't you?'
'Yes.' His reply was calm and matteroffact.
Janet felt herself breaking up into small pieces. That was all she needed to hear. 'Well, thank you for telling me,' she managed shakily through a blaze of tears. Temporarily I'd forgotten you were a successful lawyer.' She made it clear that she was
hinting at their moments together in the hotel garden. 'I ought to have known that you would allow nothing to come between you and your work.'
'Janet, listen to me!' His face white, Bruce moved towards her.
But Janet was unable to stem the flow of tears any longer. 'I've done all the listening I care to, thank you,' the said with a shaking voice. 'I never want to speak to you or see you again!'
She wouldn't let herself see his haggard look. There might have been something between them once, but that was all finished now. She would never, never forgive him for what he had done.
Eyes brimming, she ran to her room, and slamming and locking the door flung herself sobbing on to the bed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Stormy Encounter Page 17