by Anne Bone
Richard and Vicky were very entertaining and the evening was spent with tales of life in Spain. Richard had retired early and had made loads of money somewhere in London that provided them with the funds for the lavish lifestyle which the couple now enjoyed.
If the truth was told, Richard was rather bored whereas his wife Vicky was not. That was one of the reasons why there was a ban on the gin bottle before late afternoon. Richard’s days had once been filled with the cut and thrust of the business world, and now they were filled with countless sun-filled days on the golf course. For him, while it may have been a lifestyle which most people would dream of, he sometimes wished he was back in the grime of London.
Vicky had never needed to work and therefore her days now were not much different than before. She had even less to do, but thought herself very important now that she had such a large imposing house and a number of staff to supervise.
Vicky was beginning to get very excited about the prospect of assisting this young couple on their search for their lost children. It was incredibly romantic, she told Richard later that night as she smeared thick cream on her face, trying desperately to hold back the lines and wrinkles which seemed to develop overnight.
Richard, who had consumed a large quantity of alcohol steadily throughout the evening, could not quite fathom out how the young couple’s plight could in any way be described as romantic. He would not ask the question though, but allowed himself to drift off into a deep sleep with the tones of his wife’s voice lamenting on, about how bloody romantic it was for two young babes to come searching through the Spanish mountains to retrieve their children out of the hands of these wicked people.
Chapter 31
Beth awoke the next morning just as the sun was beginning to appear on the horizon, its pink and reddish strands becoming stronger as it seemed to float on the Mediterranean Sea. She sat on the balcony outside the lavishly comfortable bedroom they had shared. It was very peaceful, almost serene, as she watched the small fishing boats bob about on the aquamarine sea, while the sun made its way upwards to announce that another clear sunny day was beginning.
She sensed rather than heard Marty behind her. He reached down and placed his hands on her shoulders gently rubbing them before he bent to place a kiss lovingly on the top of her head.
‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ she murmured.
‘Yes, although not as beautiful as you.’
She turned and laughed. ‘You are such a patter merchant.’ Standing, she allowed herself to be drawn into his open arms, where she felt that familiar welcome feeling of absolute security as he crushed her to him.
‘Now, Mrs Paton, we have lots of things to get sorted out. Let’s hope that Vicky follows through on all the promises she made last night to help us get things sorted.’ His hands started to travel until he held her two small breasts. His eyes sparkled. ‘Before we go and find out I think we should take advantage of that very large inviting bath tub which will easily hold the pair of us.’
Beth nodded and needed no further persuasion, and quickly made her way into the luxurious bathroom to fill the bath.
Later that morning they had to admit that they were impressed by Vicky’s organisational skills. Not only had she arranged for a local car hire company to do a great deal, but she had also mapped out a route for them, and even arranged for Jorge to give them advice on how to negotiate the very bendy and narrow mountain roads.
The plan was that they would leave the following morning. The hired car was being brought to the villa this evening, and they would begin to make their way from Malaga to Granada tomorrow. Vicky had booked them into a small hotel just outside of Granada. She knew the owners and had taken great delight in contacting them and briefing them on the couple’s search.
She advised Beth that it might be a very good plan if they used this hotel as their base as, while Juan was Spanish, his wife Jenny was English and Vicky was in no doubt that they would be very useful to them. The hotel was close to the start of the mountain roadways which weaved their way around the high peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. It was very beautiful, but also quite hazardous so they might be very pleased to have a friendly face and even more pleased to hear the sound of an English voice.
Beth and Marty did not need any encouragement to enjoy the villa’s swimming pool and loungers for the rest of the day. Beth even managed to calm down and agreed with Marty that this was sheer luxury; they had to steel themselves for new adventures tomorrow so they might take advantage and rest today. Marty swam up and down the pool. His long arms swept through the water. Beth had never had the opportunity to learn to swim and sat on the edge of the pool dangling her feet into the water. She had ventured in once to cool off in the hot sunshine. Marty had tried to persuade her to let go of the side and try and float, but she had no confidence and was just as happy to watch him swimming.
She couldn’t help thinking to herself that she was the luckiest woman alive to have such a hunk for a husband.
Dinner was another entertaining affair. They were just about to start their dessert when the phone rang. Richard announced it was a call for Beth and Marty. Daphne’s voice boomed over the airwaves. ‘Just thought I would give you a call and wish you the very best of luck. Now keep in touch with Richard and Vicky and they will let me know if there is any progress.’ Beth was very thankful that Daphne had called. She told her how helpful Vicky had already been and what the plan was for tomorrow. Daphne told her that she would phone Molly and let her know they were ok. She would also give Des a ring tomorrow to update him. Beth smiled at this and could not help wondering about the change in Daphne’s usually much-clipped voice which seemed to soften when she mentioned Des. Was something going on between them she wondered?
Chapter 32
The small green saloon car slid its way along the driveway of the villa the following morning. Beth was hanging out of the window waving at the small group of people who were standing at the bottom of the marble steps waving back to them. Vicky was still barking instructions, reminding Marty to call them tonight to let them all know they had arrived safely at the hotel.
Marty, unused to driving a left hand drive car, was concentrating and already beginning to perspire a bit as he tried also to remember the advice Jorge gave him. ‘Remember Señor,’ he had said in his broken English, ‘keep the steering wheel in the centre of the road at all times and you will not forget.’
They set off slowly manoeuvring the small car along the roads. As they progressed Marty gained confidence and began to relax. Sensing that he was feeling happier, Beth began to chat. High on her agenda was, as always, to wonder what the children would be like now. She couldn’t help feeling a tingle of excitement that they may be getting closer to finding out.
Marty decided that it was not the right time to prick her growing balloon of hope. He couldn’t help thinking that they had an awfully long way to go and searching for a needle in a haystack still came to the forefront of his mind.
They arrived at the Hotel Rosa in the late afternoon. It was a comfortable and small hotel. It appeared to be what they would imagine a Spanish hotel would be, with its whitewashed walls and stone floors, with large pots of colourful flowers welcoming guests. Jenny was in the reception and greeted them warmly. She showed them to a very pleasant double room with a window, which revealed the peaks of the Sierra Nevada. The small bathroom was clean and sufficient to their needs. She explained that they had a small restaurant attached to the hotel and asked whether they would be eating there tonight.
Both nodded and agreed a time when they would eat. Jenny informed them that she would be happy to have a chat with them, as would her husband who had some family connections in two of the villages on the mountain range and he would be very happy to meet them.
Indeed, Juan proved extremely helpful. Over a large glass of Rioja he explained to them the culture of the Sierra Nevada. How the small villages were often in competition with each other over water. The water came from
a natural source deep in the mountains and had over the years been the source of bitter and sometimes violent disagreements, when one village would change the direction of the stream to feed its vines and terraces cutting off the supply to the village further down the hillside.
Juan also told them how close knit the villagers were. How they were very insular and so, after he listened to their story about this couple with two small children owing a property and heading for a mountain village, he was sure that they would be noticed. Very few English people ventured to the hills; they spent their time on the Costas he told them.
Juan went off to make a couple of phone calls to his uncle who lived in a village halfway up the mountain. He spoke very fast and the language was totally indecipherable. When he returned after several minutes he explained that he had asked his uncle to make some enquiries around the village, and also he would contact his brother who lived in the next village. ‘You never know,’ he told the couple. He was sure that ‘If they are in the hills they will be found.’
On this reassuring note the couple thanked their hosts and made their way to their room for an early night. They both had a restless night. The combination of a rather lumpy mattress and the anticipation of their forthcoming journey did not aid a good restful sleep. They both felt quite under par the following morning, although Marty was secretly blaming the Rioja. While he had enjoyed the drink he was clearly not used to the effects.
On entering the breakfast room their mood was quickly lifted when they were greeted by Juan who was hovering behind the small table pouring very black thick coffee from a jug.
‘Señor, Señora, Buenos dîas. Good news! My uncle and aunt they are very anxious to help. When my uncle tells his wife about your hunt, she wept with sadness. She insists that you go and stay with them. She has a good room and she wants nothing more than to help you find your children.’
Marty did not know quite what to say. ‘Juan, that is really good of your aunt, but we could not impose on them.’
‘Impose. Impose is not a word they would know. We are Spanish. We are family. Family and Spanish and niños, these are the important things. My uncle and aunt live up the mountainside. They will be of great help to you and will help you in your search. If your children are in the hills they will find out. Now, my cousin Nuria she speaks very good English. She is just twenty-four years old and recently returned to the village. She was working in London and she is willing to help you. Now, my amigos I will give you directions to my uncle’s and aunt’s home. I am so very, very pleased to help you.’ He patted Marty on the shoulder.
So with no further arguments, Marty started the car and off they drove upwards along a narrow road. Marty was staring very carefully in front of him, very conscious that as the little car made its way along the bendy road, there was a very large and deep gorge lying just to the left of him.
Beth was quiet. She also was conscious that as they crept up and up the road seemed to become even narrower. There was very little traffic, but when they did meet another vehicle both had to almost come to a halt as they carefully eased past each other.
On top of this, the road signs were almost non-existent. The three whitewashed villages they travelled through were small and there were little signs of any commercial life. ‘If this is what the villages are like, thank goodness Juan’s uncle has offered us accommodation or else we might have been sleeping in the car. I haven’t spotted any sort of places where we could have stayed,’ Marty exclaimed.
Three hours later after stopping for the umpteenth time, they came to another halt. This time they felt more optimistic as the sign in front to the left did resemble the name of the village they were heading for. Juan did say it was up a very narrow small road. The car slowly crept along up and up until they reached a sharp bend. As they ventured tentatively around it a bunch of white buildings came into view. The road widened slightly and as they approached they realised that the village of Cadiar was larger than the other villages which they had travelled through. It was almost hidden by hillside and they were both surprised they had managed to find it.
Beth gave Marty the instructions to turn right at the crossroads in the centre of the village. On the one side of the square in the centre of the village were wooden seats where two women sat shielded from the hot sun by the branches of the olive tree. The two small children who played on the climbing frame stared inquiringly towards the small car; they were not used to visitors to this hillside retreat.
Beth waved at them, but there was no response. The car made its way along the street; each side of the road held two storey houses. Overhead, the washing lines hung heavy with clothes which swayed slowly in the light breeze.
Beth counted the houses until she came to number 8. ‘This is it,’ she told Marty. He stopped the car and hoped that nothing else would come along the road, as they would not be able to get past the stationary car.
It was as though the occupants of number 8 had been watching for them. The blue wooden door was flung open and a plump middle-aged dark-haired woman bolted out of it.
She came towards them her arms wide open. ‘Señoria, Señor, bienvenido, bienvenido.’ She rushed towards Beth grabbing her and conversing with her in Spanish. Although Beth could not understand what she was saying, it was obvious from her tone and actions that she was very pleased to see her.
Thankfully, another figure appeared from the house. A pretty young woman announced to the couple that she was Nuria, and she was very pleased to meet them. She introduced her mother Christina who by this time had repeated her welcome to Marty and who was now clutched amongst her ample bosom. Christina continued to speak in Spanish, none of which they understood. She was now weeping and using the corner of her apron to wipe her eyes. The commotion had brought interest to the rest of the street and shutters opened along the street where women’s heads emerged to shout to each other. A couple of women appeared from their houses and made their way to join in the welcome. The women uttered greetings which poor Nuria was trying to translate. Within a few minutes it seemed that the entire village had arrived outside number 8, and there was such a loud and excited babble that Beth was beginning to wonder whether they were all deaf, as they shouted so loudly at each other.
Thankfully, Nuria came to the rescue again and extracted them from the crowd to usher them into the house. She waved away Marty’s worry about their car blocking the road. ‘It is not a worry,’ she told him. ‘If another car comes they would know to shout for us.’
The house was dark and very cool. It was a basic house with few frills, but clean and well cared for. They were shown along a very long hallway to a door which when opened revealed a large double bed crammed into a small room. The bed was jammed against one side of the wall. On the other side there was just room for a small bedside table, which held a rather dodgy looking electric lamp.
At the end of the bed was a large wardrobe and chest of drawers. Nuria explained that this was the family’s guest room and her parents were delighted to welcome them to it. She showed them where the toilet and shower were situated just along the hallway before taking them back to the main living area, which doubled up as kitchen/sitting room. It reminded Beth of Cairn View, apart from that fact that it was a Hell of a lot cleaner and warmer.
Chapter 33
The Gordillo household was a hive of activity. The babble of loud excited voices continued to reverberate throughout the building. There seemed to be a constant stream of visitors trooping through the house, Beth was not sure whether this was the norm or whether they were all coming to have a look at the new visitors.
Nuria reassured them by saying that it was a bit of both. Her father Frederico was an important person in the village; he held the position of one of the local councillors as well as the more important post of local electrician. He was in constant demand as the electricity supply was very sensitive, and it was not unusual for him to be called out to any of the households at any time of the day or night with a plea for help.
Nuria advised the couple of the family routines: they would have a good breakfast in the mornings, then lunch would be another sit down affair and, lastly, the family would sit down for their last meal at about eight at night. Beth could not help her thoughts immediately going to Molly who would never have coped with eating so late at night. Supper was always at six on the dot, and dishes would be washed and dried by seven when they would sit down to watch the television.
One of the other pieces of information Nuria imparted was that as tomorrow was Saturday her mother had arranged for a big family get-together. This was to be in honour of them.
Beth was mortified. ‘Oh Nuria, please, we really are putting your parents to such trouble already, we don’t want to create any further work for your mother.’
Nuria laughed, her dark eyes sparkling. ‘Oh Beth, you don’t know my mother. She is absolutely delighted to have such a drama going on around her. The one thing you perhaps don’t fully appreciate is that children and family go together in Spain just like your…,’ she paused for a minute trying to come up with some comparison which would convey how important this was, ‘I know, like your fish and chip.’